#s'why she likes him

[neatotito]

Well, there you have it.

#monkey wrench #shrike sanchez #jel #jelatine #ever oblivious #s'why she likes him

[luveline]

Girl pls pls write stripper reader and Spencer where she thinks he would never date her bc she’s a stripper and just a sprinkle of angst with lots of comforting fluff and Spencer reassuring

thank u for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.5k

cw mentioned past domestic/workplace abuse, unhealthy eating habits

Someone broke into my apartment. 9:14AM

Spencer reads the message under the table but forgoes discretion when he registers what it says and who it's from. He excuses himself from the round table, something he isn't even sure he's allowed to do, and hurries out onto the landing. 

You answer on the second dial. "Hey, did you see my text?" you ask. 

"Are you okay?" He squeezes his phone. 

"I'm not sure. I'm fine, but my lock is busted and the door won't stay shut." 

"Where are you?" 

If you're surprised that he's steamrolling, you don't show it. Spencer leaves work to meet you at the coffee shop you've chosen for refuge, your eyes tired, a small bag of your most important possessions hanging on a slumped shoulder. He hugs you straight away. 

"I'm fine," you say into his neck. 

He hugs you tighter. "That's good," he says, feeling useless, fingers stroking little paths into your shoulders. He pictured the worst from your text, and seeing you in person is the only true mitigator. You'll talk down bruises and black eyes —you have in the past. 

He pulls the story from you as you walk back to his apartment, shoulder to shoulder in the cold street. "It was open when I got home, the door, but I did what you asked me to." 

"You didn't go in?" he confirms proudly. 

"Not at first." 

"You really won't call the police?" 

"I texted you." 

Spencer takes the strap of your bag from you and throws it over his own. "I'm not that kind of cop. I'm not really a cop at all." 

"No, you're a fed, which is worse. The girls at work told me to stay away from you." You wipe under your eyes sluggishly. Sleep clings to you like a shadow trailing behind you, ever-present. 

He puts his hand behind your back, worried you'll fall up the steps to his apartment building. "They think I'll what, extort you?" 

You shake your head, something sad in the slow side to side. "Girls like me have no business around guys like you." 

"You probably get too much business from guys like me." 

You laugh, but you both know it's not what you meant. Spencers noticed it more and more lately, nothing so obvious until now, this dead set belief you hold that he's one type of person and you're another. He gets that your work isn't what you wanted for yourself when you were growing up. He knows it isn't easy, even on your 'good' nights. It takes a toll to be seen as you are, nothing left private. But you've always said you liked stripping as much as anyone should like their job. "It's a job," you'd said, having barely known him, tired and hungry, curled up on his couch with nowhere else to go. "Only the luckiest get to really enjoy work. S'why it's called work." 

He'd hoped, perhaps in a self-absorbed way, that  having more support might make you feel better about yourself; he wanted his friendship to give you some confidence, basically. Before you met Spencer there was no one else you could depend on. It's why you stayed working for a man who broke your wrist until Spencer weaselled his way into your life and made you a bed in his living room for the time it took to get you out. His credentials helped, of course, but you survived it because you're resilient. You're awesome. You've done everything you can with what you have and you don't think it's enough. 

You and Spencer take the elevator to his floor, and for the twenty seconds it takes to get there, you let your cheek rest on his shoulder. He's just about to drop his head on top of yours when the doors open, and the slice of quiet you'd both savoured slips like sand between his fingers. 

"I can go back and get some of your stuff," he offers, guiding you the short walk to his door. He passes you the key rather than struggle with the lock himself. 

Your hand shakes as you push down the handle. "There's nothing worth going back for." 

"Don't say that, you have all your clothes there, your couch. You have things. I'll take my car." 

"You hate driving." 

"I'd hate someone robbing you even more." 

"Robbing me again," you correct, holding the door for him. 

You didn't have anything worth the trouble, it seems. You keep your savings in a locked box hidden in the bathroom that they couldn't find, and though your apartment is clean and bigger than the one you lived in before Spencer met you, it's mostly empty. You don't have a TV, you're not a collector. They took the radio off of the refrigerator, your microwave oven, and a box of cosmetic jewellery worth chapel change. 

"But it's your stuff. You deserve to have stuff." Spencer drops your bag gently and his with less care by the door. 

"It's only until the locksmith can come tomorrow," you say with a yawn. "Let the junkies lavish in my stuff for the next twenty hours." 

"That's not a problem for you?" 

"I don't have the luxury of that being a problem for me, Spence. What am I supposed to do? The locksmith can't come–" 

"There are a hundred locksmiths." 

"Not that I can afford." You shrug out of your jacket. "Spence, listen to me. It's okay. I can't ask you to do that, anyways. You've done more than enough for me already," you say, sitting on the couch. You perch for a moment like you're trying to be polite until fatigue overtakes you, and you sink into the cushions with a relieved sigh. 

Spencer crosses the space between you and kneels by your feet to untie your shoelaces. 

"Don't do that," you mumble, hand over your mouth as a second yawn in as many minutes catches you. 

"Why not?" He slips your shoes off, letting his hand rest on your ankle. "Wanna watch that weird cooking show–" 

"Why aren't you at work?" 

He climbs onto the couch next to you, unafraid to sit shoulder to shoulder. "You were having an emergency." 

You rub your face with both hand. "I knew I shouldn't have called you. You can't just leave work because of me, Spencer, what if you get in trouble?" 

"Someone I care about needed my help, and Hotch understands that." Spencer puts on his big boy pants with a wince. "Do you get that?" 

"I don't really… I don't…" You falter. "We're never going to work. You'll never…" 

"I'll never what?" he asks insistently, voice lilting up with a little incredulity. He can't help it.

You refuse to answer, turning your face from his. 

Spencer knows what you're going to say. He's bad with girls but he's good at recognising human emotion; he sees the same insecurity in himself as he does in you. He knows the feeling. 

You're not right, is the thing. 

Spencer would kiss you if he thought that would change your mind. But tired as you are, angry with yourself, defeated, he knows it's not a good idea. He takes your hand instead, sewing your fingers together with a deliberate slowness. He brings his other hand to them and strokes the back of your index finger with his thumb, careful not to disrupt your press on nails. He knows they have a tendency to come off with too much pressure, and you're always losing your glue. 

"If they really need me to go, they'll call me. But I'm staying here." His thumb moves down to your knuckle. You have little calluses and cuts and bruises everywhere from dancing. He's seen the contusions that line your thighs on a semi permanent basis. "When was the last time you had something to eat?"

"Spencer," you murmur. 

"Let me take care of you, please," he says, hand curling around your wrist with extreme gentleness. "You need to eat. You need to sleep. Let me worry about everything else for once, I want to." 

You still don't look at him, but you sink down an inch at a time until your cheek is on his shoulder again, like it had been in the elevator. Hesitant, you wrap your arm around his stomach. 

"I'm so stupid," you say. 

He wonders if that's a placeholder for what you really want to say. You think so little of yourself sometimes, but it's like you've told him before. Not everyone has the luxury of enjoying their job. 

"You're amazing." Spencer feels like he's on fire everywhere that your skin touches him. Is he saying the right things? "You are. You're the only person who doesn't see that." 

"The only person here, maybe." 

"You should always be here, then. With me. That way I can remind you." 

You sound more like yourself when you answer, though tiredness lines every word, "Thank you, Spencer. I don't deserve you." 

"Yes, you do."

Spencer rubs your hand until you fall asleep, and then he buys you a new toaster oven on his phone, and an industrial security lock. He doesn't know what it'll take to convince you that you deserve him, you deserve better, but he's gonna try. 

He presses his cheek to your temple and focuses on the softness of your skin where it touches his.  

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[jarofstyles]

I'd LOVE to see a smut blurb where wolfrry fucks y/n senselessy in public for everyone to see. And point out how slippery his baby cunt is for him ughhhhh

WOAHHHH fbhdjsbhsdbkbdks okay we can do a little blurb for that bc wolfrry is a possessive son of a bitch but loves to show off.

warnings- public sex (In this au it is normal dw), degradation, alpha!Harry, mention of knotting. its filth tbh I'm sorry

Check out our Patreon!

-----

"Look up." His grip on her throat tightened. His body draped over hers, cock buried deep inside of her weepy hole. Y/N's bleary eyes looked up to watch as people passed them, some standing to the side to see the show. Harry'd had enough of her teasing and fulfilled his promise to fuck her dumb where everyone could see- bent over the hood of his car. "See that? They're watching you get fucked. Everyone can see what a naughty little bitch you've been." His chuckle against her ear made her keen, fingers curling on the metal of the hood.

It felt so good, so exhilirating to be fucked like this. She had poked and prodded and teased and now she was learning a lesson. Harry had no fears, no worries, and he was going to take what he wanted. "I see them, I see..." She whined, eyes hooded as she felt him thrust into her again. "I like when people s-see." Her stuttered words faded as his hand tightened on her throat, his deep and thorough fucking making her body light up. It felt so fucking good, Harry doing everything he could to make her as weak for him as possible.

This was the end goal. To make him snap and fuck her until all she could do was moan and cry out, to have him show her off the way she liked. She was a slut for it, the thrill of having other people watch her get pounded, having them know she was his. That he owned her and she was properly taken care of. Harry was thick, splitting her open as her cunt wept on his cock, making a mess.

"I know you do. S'why you were a fucking slut and flashed me your tits like that." He grit, pinching her nipple with his opposite hand. "You want to be a show off? Fine. Now people can see you being fucked dumb like the stupid little pup you are." He tugged on the nipple to make her moan, lifting his leg slightly to get deeper into her. "Slippery cunt take my cock so fucking good, though. Gonna take my knot just as good, hm?" He nipped aw her jaw to make her squeak. "Gonna milk every drop of cum while people watch you be filled?"

"Yes, m'yours. Want to take everything, please, please, please-" She was cut off by his hand covering her mouth, muffling the moans as she jolted with each punishing thrust into her hole. Her eyes rolled back as his cock began to pulse inside of her, his orgasm approaching soon.

"Shut the fuck up and take it then, puppy. No one wants to hear your voice, just want to see how drippy that pathetic hole gets for my cock."

#wolfrry #wolf harry styles #werewolf harry #werewolf harry styles #jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #Harry styles au #harry styles fic

[auteurdelabre]

Please Mister Miller? Part 5 CheatingJoel!Millerxf!Reader

"Please Mister Miller" part 5

Rating: 18+

Words: 4.3k

Tags/warnings: Cheating, Unprotected P in V, Dirty Talk, Public Sex, Almost Caught, Joel has a ‘Daddy’ kink, car sex, mirror sex, Feelings

Summary:  Joel has to run errands and you tag along. . .

a/n: I took a poll and y’all wanted to see this sleazy pair keep gettin’ off so I hope you like it! As usual drop the comments because I live for ‘em.

masterlist

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

“I'm heading into town," Joel says with eyes on everyone but you. "Gotta get some replacement lights and run a few errands if anyone wants to join."

It's the next morning and you're all around the breakfast table eating cereal and chatting about your plans for the day. You're seated next to Joel, eyes on your bowl as your thigh presses against his under the table. He keeps his leg there, not shying from your touch. It makes you feel warm all over.

"I can't," Sarah says, the lie she told you yesterday already on her lips. "I have to grab a few things from the storage locker before we go home." 

She's really going to see Charlie one last time before she heads home. 

"I'm going to the office for a few hours, remember?" Tess says through a mouthful, her eyes on her phone. 

"Oh right," Joel says as if he'd forgotten.

"I could go with you," you say lightly. "I have a few things I need to mail off back home."

"Sure, if you want."

Joel shrugs back as if he couldn't care less. But seated next to him you see the swell of his cock under his jeans. He's eager. 

That's good because so are you.

///

When you finally pull on your jacket and follow him to the garage an hour or so later you're forced to pause as you glance around curiously. You've never been in here, haven't seen this domain of his.

He's got a workbench meticulously organized with cork holders on the wall. But that's not what amazes you when you draw over to it. It's the tiny intricate carvings there, one of a snowman and another of an angel.  

"I didn't know you carved," you say curiously. 

Joel shrugs, not saying more. You know why, it's the same reason you don't share more about yourself. It's not relevant to what you want from one another. 

"Ready to go?"

You nod, pulling yourself up into his truck and buckling yourself in. He backs out of the driveway, neither of you speaking.

For some reason this feels tense, the drive quiet and punctuated only by the gentle hum of the radio playing holiday favorites. Eventually the tension gets to Joel because he clears his throat. 

"So you're goin' back tomorrow."

"Yep."

"You excited?'

You look at Joel from the corner of your eyes, amusement clear in your features. It's such a dad thing to say. He looks uneasy, his dark eyes flicking from you to the road. 

"You don't have to pretend like you care," you tell him gently. 

"Who says I don't?"

"Joel," you say the meaning clear. 

This is fucking. This is carnal. This isn't a relationship. It's not a friendship. It's release, plain and simple. 

Joel doesn't like this. You can see it in the way he drums his thick fingers over the wheel, his dark brows furrowed. He's a man who cares, even if he tries not to and so he tries another tactic. 

"You got someone waiting for you back at school?"

You give a scoff.  "Nope. Got dumped right before Christmas. S'why Sarah brought me with her."

Joel gives a humming noise, looking thoughtful, his presence calming. It makes you feel like you should continue. 

"He was my first boyfriend," you say with your eyes on your hands in your lap. "When we broke up he said it was because he didn't want to settle down with the only girl he slept with."

Joel inhales slowly through his nose, your words upsetting him enough to now tighten his fist around the steering wheel. 

"Idiot boy to let you go."

You give a weak smile, holding back the tears that build behind your eyes. "The worst part is I thought we were getting engaged."

Joel's eyes widen. "Shit."

"Yeah," you nod again. "But, you know, it was for the best. I've realized after this week with you that he was terrible in bed."

Joel lets out a surprised laugh at this; warm and full. It makes you smile to hear it. He says nothing further and the silence descends once more, but this one comfortable. Eventually you stop at a big box store with Joel jogging in to grab the lights he told Tess he'd bring home. 

As you watch him you can't help but imagine what life as Joel's partner would be like. A cozy home with beautiful paintings on the walls. The smell of leather and wood shavings clinging to him as he rolls over in the morning, gathering you into his arms. 

There's a longing there, a sudden desire for more than sex. A warmth that you weren't expecting when this all started. 

Joel returns shortly with a box of lights under his arms and a plastic bag in the other. You look at his body, the wide shoulders and the strong thighs. Your eyes meet his and you see the desire in them as he winks at you. 

If you can't have him as your partner, you'll have him now. You'll have him any way you can. Joel gives you a small smirk as he tosses the lights and bag in the back seat of the truck.

"If Tess asks, you and I had a hard time choosing the best set."

You and I.

His words rattle around in your mind. 

You steal glances at him as the drive continues out of town, to where the trees are fuller, the landscape more desolate. You feel Joel's hand on your knee, fingers tracing small lines over the inside of your bare thighs. 

You sigh happily, basking in the warmth of Joel's touch. When his hand slides higher you part your legs without hesitation, eyes watching from under lowered lids as his long fingers skate under your skirt. 

His fingers curl under the fabric, ready to hit cotton and you hold a giggle as you wait for him to realize. He darts a look at you. 

"No panties?"

"Nope," you grin. 

"Good fucking girl," Joel murmurs approvingly. His voice scratches an itch deep inside you, making you preen. 

Traffic is thinning but the roads are still populated enough. That doesn't stop Joel from curling his fingers into you, marveling at how wet you are. 

"Always ready for me."

"Uh huh," you keen, hand flying to his. You maneuver his wrist slightly, pushing it deeper at that angle and crying out when it hits that sweet spot. 

"That's right," Joel encourages with a grin. "You show me what you like." 

He drives the truck, cock hard under his jeans as you give shuddering breaths beside him. His fingers dance over your slick clit as you try to remain composed, hearing as your cunt milks his fingers, your thighs quivering. He darts his eyes from you to the road and back again.

"C'mon baby," Joel urges you, his cheeks pinking. "Gimme a good one."

You do. Your hips buck into his hand as you cry out, body jolting in the seat and feeling your warm release dripping over his palm like honey.  

You watch in a daze as Joel brings his slick fingers out from under your skirt to his mouth, licking slowly. 

"Tastes so sweet," he rumbles. 

You let out a small moan at the sight of it. Your hand reaches for the bulge in his jeans but he shakes his head, gently pressing your hand away to fold back in your lap. 

"Not yet," he says with a voice of sin. "Be patient."

You don't have to be patient for much longer. In less than fifteen minutes you've arrived at the destination, a large dirt pile on one side, gravel stacks on the other. It looks like an abandoned quarry. 

"Where are we?"

"Construction site my company is working on," Joel murmurs. He turns the car off, unbuckling his seatbelt. You raise a brow. 

"Why here?"

"Got lots of privacy," Joel says smiling, his body tilting to face you. "Can be as loud as we want." 

You duck your head, suddenly shy. You crack the window slightly, needing something to cool the heat in your cheeks. Joel shifts into the middle of the bench seat, down to business. There's no seduction, no romance.

"Over my lap," Joel murmurs gently, his eyelids already heavy. "C'mon now."

You smile shyly as you unbuckle yourself and crawl over the bench seat. You move delicately over his lap, breath leaving you as your abdomen goes over his muscular thighs. Your face is burning as he brings your skirt up over your ass to your waist, making a humming noise as he looks at the sweet flesh waiting for him. 

Joel slaps your ass, watching it jostle under his hand. You yelp in surprise, but not in pain. His wide hand grips one cheek, his groans low and long. 

"All for me," he mutters and you bite your lower lip, groaning at how deep his voice is when he says it. 

He smacks it again, his cock hardening further under you as he watches your ass jiggle deliciously.   

"You’re up for anything aren't you?" 

You consider this as he places another slap to your ass, hypnotized at how your flesh moves under his hand. 

"Yeah." 

"You like older men?"

"Dunno," you say, arching as Joel's hand continues slapping your ass. "You're my first."

"You lyin' to me?"

"No Mister Miller," you say honestly, tilting so you can meet his surprised gaze. "I've only slept with one other person."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yeah."

He almost snarls at that. He urges you to a kneeling position before he twists you to face away from him on your knees.

Your shirt is tugged off over your head by him, discarded by your purse on the floor of the truck. Joel is behind you, urging you onto all fours on the seat as he pulls down his jeans. He grabs handfuls of your ass, squeezing and groaning. 

"Gonna let me fuck this little ass?"

For the first time since you've met him you pause. You've never done that before. It's never appealed to you. It still doesn't if you're honest. 

Joel seems to sense your hesitancy. You wait for him to chastise, to show his disappointment. But instead his voice drops an octave.

"On second thought, I wanna fuck that sweet pussy raw instead."

Joel is much more vocal here, less restrained in the privacy of his truck. You smile when you feel him notch himself at your entrance. 

"Gimme something to remember," Joel grunts out as he thrusts into you. You let out a hiss of pleasure at the sensation, hands curling around the worn material of the trucks seat. 

He sets a brutal pace, sending you flying if not for his hands holding your hips in place. He grunts out as he fucks into you, murmuring under his breath. You rock back and forth, ass bouncing off his hips as he thrusts. 

"Good girl ...good girl..."

You feel his wide right palm move to hold you in place by your lower back and you feel your pussy tighten around his cock. You jerk forward, your tits jolting as he slides between you, thrusting you forward and back.

"Use your left hand to pin me," you whimper. He's confused for a moment, hesitating before he does as you ask. He glowers at you when he realizes what you're after. 

"You want me looking at my wedding ring while I fuck you."

"Uh huh," you twist to look at him over your shoulder, smirking. He's looking at you with his jaw slack and eyes dark with desire.  Joel grunts out, hips smacking obscenely against the meat of your ass. 

"Want you to know how bad you’re being."

That you're choosing me an insidious voice whispers inside you. 

"Does your wife's pussy feel this good, Mister Miller?" you ask, moans being punched out of you with every thrust. "This wet 'n tight for you?" 

Joel gives a strangled groan as his hand tangles itself in your hair. He tugs, pulling you to arch against him. Your ass ripples with every thrust, your hands braced on the edges of the seat. 

"You fucking shut up and take this cock," Joel grunts out angrily. He watches your body start with every thrust into you. 

"I'll give you anything you want," you promise, voice cracking. "Just don't stop. You feel so fucking good."

"Pussy's never been fucked right," Joel tells you. 

"Uh uh," you shake your head as much as you can with Joel's fist still tugging. 

"Only fucked a boy," Joel says, his hips jerking forward. "When you needed a man's cock inside you."

"Yes Mister Miller," you groan out, tears flooding your waterline. It feels so fucking good. Not just because it's wrong but because he's so deep inside you and he knows what he's doing. 

"Gonna take all this come," Joel grunts and you can feel him starting to unravel.

 "Gonna take-"

Joel ceases abruptly, pulling from you so brutally you cry out. He practically shoves you away from him. 

"Put on your fucking clothes. Hurry."

There's a fear in his voice that you've never heard before. It prompts you to do as he asked, pulling the shirt back on and tucking it into your skirt. Joel tucks himself back into his jeans as you look out the rearview mirror just in time to see a cop car pulling up behind the truck .

"Shit," Joel swears and you can see the panic in his face. He knows how this looks. Alone with a college girl in his car, the band on his left finger a brutal reminder of how wrong it all is. 

The officer gets out of his car before slowly sauntering towards the truck. Joel is thankful for the cracked the window because fogged up windows would incriminate him absolutely. 

"Hey there," the officer says leaning over Joel's lowered window. 

"Hey officer," Joel says trying to sound calm. "I know I wasn't speeding..."

The two men chuckle lightly as you hold in an eye roll. Dad humor. 

"License and registration."

Joel's face is pinched as he leans over you to open the glove box. He pulls out some papers and then pulls his wallet from his back pocket, retrieving his license. You watch him pass off both to the officer. 

"What're you doing all the way out here... Joel Miller?" The officer says peering at the license from behind his aviators. 

My construction company is working on this site," Joel says, hands indicating out the windshield. "Wanted to check in on it over the holidays. Heard there were some break-ins nearby."

The officer’s eyes drag over to you, sitting quietly watching them. Suspicion fills the officers expression. 

"And you’re just tagging along, miss?"

Joel's head swivels to face you, eyes unreadable. But you know him; you can feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves. 

You straighten, giving the officer your best and brightest smile. The kind that says you're honest and trustworthy. The kind you use with professors when you need to turn in late assignments. 

"Yeah, my Daddy promised me a ride," you say, batting your eyelashes at the officer and smiling broadly. "I don't get to see him as much since I'm away at college." 

Joel is looking at you with a mix of confusion and horror. 

The officer's suspicion flees from his eyes, his countenance softening. You think that somewhere back home this officer has a daughter who ignores his texts, who rolls her eyes when he suggests a family game night. 

"Sweet she still wants to spend time with you at this age," the officer says almost fondly looking between you.

You nod, taking Joel's hand in yours. He's stricken, his hands barely curling around yours. 

"I'm really lucky," you say smiling sweetly at the officer. "He treats me so well but then again I'm always a good girl for you, right Daddy?"

You don't miss Joel's neck bobbing as you say this. Don't miss the swelling of his cock starting again under his jeans. He shifts, his shirt falling over the vee of his legs. 

"Yep," Joel nods stiffly. 

"I bet you are," the officer says with a warm smile. He hands Joel back his license before tapping a finger to the brim of his hat. "Well I won't interfere any more. Take care you two. Happy Holidays."

"Happy Holidays officer!" You chirp as Joel croaks out a weak farewell. You both watch as the officer loads back into his police car and drives off down the one way road. 

Minutes pass and the two of you are silent, waiting, watching. Finally you see Joel's shoulders relax and he lets out a breath. You giggle, relief flooding your senses. 

"Daddy?" Joel grimaces over at you. "Don't tell me you're one of those."

You shrug, uncertain. You may not be completely into it but Joel sure is, despite his denial. You see it in the blown out pupils of his dark eyes. 

"So do I get a ride?" you ask him as you crawl over to him, eyes trailing his body.  

"You insane?" Joel says with disbelief in his features. "We almost got caught by a fucking cop."

"He won't be back," you say grinning wickedly. Your finger goes to trace his still hard cock through his jeans. "And we both know you still want to." 

"Shouldn't," Joel groans even as he fumbles with the button and fly of his jeans. 

You crawl over his lap and situate yourself between Joel and the steering wheel, facing out the windshield. It’s so desolate, yet the thought that you could be caught turns you on. You start smiling as he tugs the t-shirt over your head again and pulls you onto his waiting cock. 

He slides seamlessly through your dripping folds, cupping your tits in his hands. You arch into his grip and begin to rock your hips. 

"Mhmmm, good girl."

You listen as Joel begins grunting behind you and you lean back, the back of your head tilted against his shoulder as he fucks up into you. Your hands hold loosely to his wrists whimpering when he begins to twist your nipples ever so slightly between his fingers. 

“Feels good, Daddy," you whisper, smirking when you hear Joel give a choke of surprise. 

You catch his heavy-lidded gaze in the rearview mirror and you grin. He likes that he can watch you fucking. You can see how he holds you against him, fucking up into you. You reach up to tilt the mirror slightly and then bring your legs up, forcing your thighs to part and giving a lewd view of where you’re connected. 

You bunch your skirt at your waist so you can both see him thrusting up between your legs in the mirrors reflection. You're both mesmerized at the sight of his glossy cock as it saws in and out of you.

"Daddy, you're so big."

"You're fucking sick," Joel says without conviction, his voice breathless. 

"Can feel you throbbing when I call you that, though." You giggle. "Can feel it when your fucking me with your big cock, Daddy."

Joel makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. You feel him tightening every time the word passes through your lips. 

"Stop pretending you don't like it, Mister Miller."

You give him a wink in the rearview mirror before just tilting back and enjoying the sight of you two fucking.  You both look good together, Joel’s handsome face over your shoulder so he can watch his cock splitting you over and over. You see your tits hanging out, rosy tipped nipples between his fingertips. They ripple as Joel enters you over and over. The slick of Joel's cock shines between your legs. 

His right hand slides over the crease of your thigh, nimble fingers gliding over the slick pearl of your clit. You give a gutteral moan as pleasure shoots through you. 

"Atta girl," Joel smiles broadly at your reflection, watching you bounce for him, his thumb circling your clit with shocking precision. 

You groan, your breathing becoming staccato-ed. You don't know how you're going to go back to regular life. How you're going to attend classes and pretend like this last week and a half never happened. 

"Feels good riding Daddy's cock, doesn't it?" Joel rasps against your ear, eyes still on yours in the mirror bringing you back to the present.

There he is. 

"Yes Daddy."

"Good girl."

It feels so debauched, so illicit. Joel still can't look away, eyes glued to the mirror and his hips move faster as he watches him fuck you in his truck. The same truck he drives to work and does the weekly shopping trip in. 

"So fuckin' good for Daddy... So fuckin' wet."

You can tell he's far gone, words slurring. You give a wide lurid smile, rocking your hips down over him. You watch his face in the mirror and see the glaze to his eyes, the way his jaw is hanging slightly ajar. He whimpers, a needy sound that lets you know you have him exactly where you need him. 

Joel groans, fingers dimpling your thighs as he fucks up into you faster. Your eyes are rolling back, making Joel jerk his hips up quicker. 

"Please," you moan. "Need it."

"What do you need, good girl?" 

"Need you to fill me up," you whine, voice breaking with every thrust of him into you. You rock against him, ass bouncing. 

"You need Daddy's come?" Joel grunts out, hand lightly holding you against him by the throat. 

You can only whine a reply of "yes!", being tugged so harshly against his cock that your teeth crash together. And then you feel that tension in you snap and pleasure floods you, causing you to let out cracked cries of "daddy please!" as you ride out your orgasm, watching Joel the entire time.

"Take it take it," Joel groans, hands going to your waist, holding you in place as his hips move with jerking desperation. "Daddy's girl, Daddy's good girl..."

You watch as Joel's face contorts, eyes slamming shut as he empties himself into you, crying out as he thrusts one finger time and you feel him erupt inside you. He buries his face in the back of your neck as his hips slowly stutter to a stop.

"Fuuuuck," he murmurs as he pulls his softening cock from between your legs. "That was good."

"It really was," you say, sagging against the steering wheel and giving a breathless laugh. Joel's hand is resting on your thigh, gently tracing his fingertips there. 

You take a moment to compose yourself before glancing over your shoulder to look at Joel. His face is so close, your lips almost grazing. You two lock eyes, breathing against each other's mouths. It's you who moves first, lips inching to his. But it's Joel who twists his head, blinking. 

"We should get back." 

Joel shifts and you pull yourself off of his lap, crawling back to where you were sitting. Joel leans back to grab something from the bag. 

"Here, I uh, I bought this earlier," Joel says handing you a packet of wipes and a small towel. You smirk before using them to clean his spend from between your legs. 

Eventually the truck starts and you watch the quarry grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. You drive in silence, not even the radio to accompany you on your journey back. 

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

You glance over at Joel who looks strangely withdrawn. "Sure."

"Why didn't you go home to your parents place? Didn't they miss you this Christmas?"

"They uh.... " you trail off, wincing a bit. "They don't really... My parents don't really care what I do. We all kinda do our own thing."

You can feel it immediately, the pity radiating off of Joel. It makes you cringe, your hands twisting around the edge of the seat. 

"Maybe if you tried talkin'-"

"I'd worry about your own family before you start giving me advice about mine," you snap out at him feeling irritable. Joel's dark eyes scan to you before going back to the road. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know Sarah has a secret boyfriend back here? Apparently your friends with his dad," you tell him, cheeks warm. "She's afraid you'll judge her if she tells you because he didn't finish college."

You see Joel's jaw clench and you feel so satisfaction at his discomfort. You realize it's not just about this, but the kiss he shied from earlier.

But guilt overwhelms you when you realize you've out-ed your best friend. 

"I'm not telling you this so you'll be shitty to her," you chastise. "I'm telling you this because you love your daughter and you guys have a great relationship. You're lucky."

You break off temporarily, swallowing.

"She really likes him. And if you tell her you hate him she's just gonna see him in secret like she has been this entire trip."

Joel drives silently, eyes narrowed. You know he's fighting an internal battle. 

"The way Sarah talks about you? You're her hero," you say quietly. "The thought of disappointing you kills her."

You see it in his eyes first, the softening as your words hit home. You see what it's like to be a father first and a disciplinarian second. You look away, feeling your heart being clutched at by a tight yet invisible grip.

Minutes later Joel's hand finds your knee as he drives, squeezing. 

"Thanks for tellin' me."

"You're welcome."

Finally you pull into the driveway, hiding the bag of wipes and hand towels under the passenger’s seat. Joel looks strangely sombre as he turns the ignition off, glancing at you. 

"You know, you're a very special-"

"Please Joel," you say wincing. "Don't." 

Before he can say anything more you slip from the truck, heading into the house, feeling his eyes following your every step.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller smut #fanfic #smut #fanfiction #dad joel miller #cheating #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller x f!reader

[toomuchracket]

Mads I have this concept in my mind. I see it with d word Matty. I think beginning of the relationship, maybe Matty is supposed to be away for a couple of days so girlie is having a self maintenance night. I imagine her with her hair up to have heat less curl, self tan, maybe some pimple patches. And then Matty surprises her by coming back early, maybe she's waiting for her food, she opens the door and it's Matty. She's super embarrassed/self conscious but of course he's super chill about all of it.

this inspired me to write a lil fic! seeing it as set after candlelight, but before any d words or l words were used lol. enjoy! <3

i've been dying to meet you (d word matty x reader fluff)

the doorbell rings just as you're applying your under-eye patches. you don't rush to get it, though - the drivers know to just leave your food order at the door to your flat once you've buzzed them up. god forbid anyone sees you like this, after all, in the midst of your thursday night routine; you probably look insane, wandering around in your dressing gown and slippers, hair wrapped around a pair of tights and clipped up, face covered in sheet mask and pimple patches, respectively.

but you feel good. and you'll look good tomorrow. which is imperative, given that you’ll see your boyfriend (it still feels weird being able to say that, honestly) for the first time in 20 days.

the thought of that has you slightly giddy. humming happily, you dance through the flat towards the door, only pausing in the living room to click play on the next episode of sex and the city and have a sip of your wine. the mouthwatering scent of your dinner seeps into the hallway, growing stronger as you near the door - it's never quite been so potent before, but then again, you’re fucking starving. 

still humming tunelessly, you open the door to grab your food, and come face to face with matty.

your breath catches in your throat in horror - he can't see you like this, so soon into the relationship! - but your heart swells at the sight of your boyfriend in his hoodie and sweats, your (open!) takeaway in his hands. he grins when he sees you, eyes lighting up as he takes in your appearance; you tense up in preparation of him taking the piss out of it.

he doesn't, though. “hi, baby,” matty says softly. “stole one of your prawn crackers - hope you don't mind.”

you blink. “how- how did you get up here? you didn't buzz.”

“offered to hold the door for the delivery guy and just came in after him. and then i offered to bring this up when i asked if it was for your flat and he said yeah. felt like i was 22 again, honestly, in my old job,” your boyfriend smiles. “although i can safely say i never ever delivered a takeaway to someone as hot as you back then.”

“don't make fun,” you groan, stepping to the side to let him into the flat - he kisses your temple as he passes you - and kicking the door shut. “nobody was meant to see me tonight. s'why i asked them to ring the doorbell and just leave the food without me answering.”

“i did wonder why it took you so long to get to the door, darling,” matty calls over his shoulder as he wanders into your kitchen. he furrows his brow when you walk straight past and continue into your bedroom, laying the food on the counter and following you - well, until the door closes before him. “babe? are you… annoyed at me?”

“no, i'm just putting underwear on,” comes your muffled reply, followed by the sound of a drawer opening and closing.

“don't feel you need to do that on my account, sweetheart, i insist. actually, i'm more than happy to also get naked, if you prefer.”

despite your lingering shock at seeing him, you giggle at your boyfriend’s eager tone. “no, it's alright, matty.”

“you're sure? i've already got my shirt off.”

the speed with which you open your bedroom door at that phrase is almost embarrassing. matty - shirtless, as promised - smirks when you do. “i can't believe you had no pants on when you answered the door.”

you frown, flicking him on the stomach; he just laughs and follows you into the kitchen. “shut up, i couldn't put clothes on, i had just moisturised.”

“what, your arse and all?”

“mhmm.”

“interesting,” matty smirks again. “wouldn't mind seeing that process, to be honest.”

“for fuck's sake, matthew.”

“sorry, darling, couldn't resist,” your boyfriend grins. his face softens into a more tender smile. “just missed you, s'all. hope you don't mind that i came over early and interrupted your pamper night - couldn't settle at home, knowing you were only a few miles away for the first time in weeks.”

the sweetness of his revelation goes straight to your knees; you wrap your arms around his neck to hold yourself up, and press your lips to his in a tender kiss. it deepens when matty runs his tongue across your lips, slipping it into your mouth when they open, but that's as passionate as it gets - the overwhelming emotion behind the kiss is just sheer affection.

“i missed you too,” you kiss matty's nose when you pull away. “and you're not interrupting anything, really, s'just my usual thursday night routine,” you pull the little containers of food from the bag and turn to get a plate from the cupboard. “d'you want to split this with me? i ordered too much.”

matty nods, taking the plates from you and grabbing a fork from the drawer to dish the food up. “thanks, sweetheart. so, tell me more about this thursday night thing. you do this every week?”

“yeah, whenever i'm home, just to prep for the weekend. haven't you ever noticed i always look better at work on fridays?” you grin, pouring your boyfriend a glass of wine.

“not really. i think you look beautiful every day,” matty smiles, kissing your hand after you pass him the wine. “although i have noticed your hair is usually really curly during friday meetings. i like it.”

you point to your head. “blame this.”

“serious? i thought you were going to get a blow dry after work or something.”

“nah,” you giggle. “i just go to sleep with this in. feels a bit weird, but i like the end result.”

“so do i,” matty smiles. “you're so pretty, baby.”

your cheeks burn, and you smile bashfully at the floor. “well, when i take all these weird stickers off my face, maybe.”

“no, even now,” matty gently tilts your chin up so he can look you in the eye. “you’re beautiful. my perfect girl!”

he leans down to kiss you again; you giggle as he pulls away afterwards. “oh, you're down bad bad for me, aren't you? still thinking i'm pretty even when i've got pimple patches on.”

“well, yeah, i have eyes.”

“pretty ones, at that,” you rest your hand on his jaw, and he turns to kiss it. “i'm glad you came to see me tonight. would you like to stay over?”

“if i say yes, do i get to be pampered a little bit?” matty giggles.

“oh, i'll take care of you, don’t you worry, baby.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #d word matty #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader #mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks

[starfxkr]

jj dragging trailer park!reader to his truck fucking the shit out of her right there outside of the party she snuck off to and she’s slapping and punching him telling him to get off her calling him a pervert and an old dirty man

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★

it took nothing for jj to drag you out the party kicking and screaming, sure you were a little tipsy but you had more than enough wherewithal to swing off him, landing a solid smack to his cheekbone causing him to let out a loud grunt.

"alright, i was tryna be nice sweet pea but you wanna play dirty, that's fine by me."

now you were partially hanging out of the passenger side of the truck flailing your arms and legs as he plunged into you hard and fast right outside the party with no regard to who may come out.

"get the fuck off me you fuckin pervert, god i fuckin hate you, you're sick." you punch at his chest as hard as possible and he lets you, knowing you need to get your anger out.

"but you fuckin like this pervert dick sweet pea, s'why you're so fuckin wet." he grabs at your face and you sink your teeth into his hand.

"you're a nasty old man, you're tryna steal me away."

"yeah? from who? some frat boy with coke dick? fine then you can go."

without another word he pulls out, leaving you gasping in shock as you grab for him, " nono it's sorry! i didn't mean it."

jj lets out a derisive snort, pulling you back towards him by your hips, "fuckin figured, you're always coming home with me sugar don't forget that."

#✨.txt #jj maybank prompt #trailer park!jj

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #6] Wishing

warnings: i like to call this a montage chapter - it gets us through the entire summer :) gym trips! dionysus nights! jaykay being sexy in the gym! dynamic and friendship solidified!

soundtrack: c'est la vie - ethan surman; my type - brb.; happiness - the 1975

wc: 6k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

The scowl on your face as you reach the gym prevails. You've a coffee in one hand - ice americano, double shot - and the hood of your sweater is bunching around your shoulders. You lift it over your head, and push the swing door of the gym open with your shoulder, wanting to avoid the unwanted eyes of Jiyeong, just in case she's working.

You don't look over to the reception, but the lobby is empty, regardless. It's quiet, always a little less busy in the morning than it is in the evening.

You make your way to the gate of the gym. Punch in the code. Get it wrong. Tell the keypad to 'stop being a prick'.

You try again, exhaling a weighty sigh as you do so.

There's a whir as it works this time, hinges clicking open for you. The metallic clang of gym equipment and grunts of burly men cloud the air, battling with the voice in your head for the title of most annoying sound. Always have to win, don't you? Couldn't just take a loss!

It's a flaw; one that you'll admit to, but one that you wouldn't change for the world. A little bit of drive is good, even if you do drive yourself up the wall more often than not.

Hood up, a pair of leggings and a sweater on, black high-tops tied in bows around your ankles, you look like death warmed up. There's glitter caught in your lashline, and your hair is still damp from your quick shower, but you've a point to prove.

And so, just shy of midday, your feet stomp heavily up the stairs, as thunderous as the look on your face.

It's not that you're actually mardy or moody at all - you're just hanging like an absolute bitch.

Whatever Jeongguk puts in those tiny purple shots is lethal. Writes you off every single time.

Admittedly, you had gone a little harder last night knowing that you didn't have work the following day, but that's beyond the point. Normally your hangovers aren't so bad, especially not when you drink water throughout the night - which, thanks to Jeongguk, you had been.

Jeongguk doesn't notice your arrival until you roll down onto the bench behind him. You're on your side, legs tucked up, just like you had been in your bed when his message had arrived in your inbox.

He's in shorts - black, finishing midway down his thigh - and a big baggy t-shirt. On his feet, he's matching with you. Black Chucks. The only difference is that he ties his around the front. His bows are double knotted and little lopsided, the white trims on the soles scuffed and well worn. He's got history in his hi-tops, and you wonder how it compares to yours.

There's a girl in the city who matches him, and it isn't you. You don't have the tiny 'J' scrawled into the rubber of your soles like she does. He's scratched out her initial on his sole.

Takes a little longer to erase it from his other soul, mind you. It's still there. Only faintly, but enough to make him trip over himself from time to time. S'why he always double knots. Harder to fall, that way.

There's concentration on his face, features perplexed as the weight he lifts forces him to exert more energy than he's fully ready for. His teeth are bared, face tight, brows tied in a pretty knot between his eyes. You can see why Jiyeong is so territorial. He's not a bad-looking bloke. Quite handsome, actually.

He exhales as he brings the weight down, resting it on the ground, chest heaving ever so slightly before he turns to look at you. His brows are still furrowed, but his eyes are soft as his body gets more comfortable and settles into a state of rest.

A breathly laugh graces his lips as he reaches for the towel by your head. He pays no mind to the fact your crown is resting upon it, whipping it from beneath you to dab at the sweat gathering on the back of his neck.

"I said bright and early," he smirks, knowing that you must be hating everything about this interaction.

"It's before twelve," you mumble, eyes closed, knowing that watching his dimples form would only make your tummy feel all light and vomit-inducing. You're too hungover for anything other than neutral sensations. "It is bright and early."

"You're basically asleep."

"The bet was that I'd be here, Jeon," you remind him, voice a grumble as you shuffle deeper into your position. "Not that I'd be doing anything useful."

You've a point. It's not one that he can argue against, and so instead he just shrugs and picks his water bottle up from beside the bench. He tosses a little back into his mouth, the stream of water running from the plastic opening and into his mouth with such precision that you're sure he must be an asshole deep down.

You don't buy the nice guy front. Only assholes look that good doing the bare minimum. You'll get to the bottom of his assholeness eventually, but not now. Not when you're this grouchy, and everything feels a little biased.

"C'mon," he says as he knocks his head to the side. "Treadmill. Walk with me. You'll feel better for it."

"I think I'll die," you tell him with so much certainty he can't help but laugh at you.

Still, he stands in front of you and waits for you to join him. Knocks his knee against yours. Kicks your shoe with his own.

He's patient, his eyes soft as they look down at what a sorry state you are. There's something about the way his lips purse gently that makes him feel like a safe bet.

You've no regrets for tumbling out of bed and catching the subway to meet him at the gym. Your head is killing, granted, but it would have been killing you at home, too. At least this way you can feel like you've actually done something productive despite the hangover.

"Trust me," he insists, holding out his palm. "It really will help."

And so you take his hand, letting him pull you up. They warm, and a little clammy, but you don't mind.

When you're finally on your feet, your eyes are level with his chest. He's broad, chest well defined even beneath the shirt. You try not to think about the fact you've seen him shirtless, but you can smell the scent of his laundry detergent, and it adds a whole new element to the enigma the Jeon Jeongguk is. Looking at him, you'd imagine a scent of musk - something woody, maybe. Instead, he smells like fresh blooms, sweet peas under summer sun.

You don't let yourself linger for too long, fearful of him reading into the way you can't seem to keep your eyes off him. He's just new. Something shiny. Fresh. Excitement amongst the mundane of a city you've grown tired of.

He reaches down to pick up your half empty coffee and takes a sip as he begins to walk away. "Tastes like shit."

You pull it back from him, and nudge his side. "Feels like crack cocaine. The Purple Starfuckers, man... they actually kill me."

"You're welcome."

Small talk peppers the walk down the steps - How are your friends? Get home alright? How was Jimin feeling in the morning? How long do you have to stay after closing time? - and flitters around the pair of you as you set your inclines. His is noticeably higher than yours, but you're not here to work out. You're here to win a bet - of which he keeps reminding you that you lost, and that you are, in fact, a 'loser'.

You just tell him to 'fuck off' in return.

He never does. Just smiles, beams all wide, teeth on display, nose a little scrunched, and says "sounds like something a loser would say."

Jeongguk is easy to be around. His company, his humour, the anecdotes he tells. They're delivered freely, revealed without pressure. No diamonds are being formed, but there's enough of them in your eyes when you laugh with him, regardless.

You reduce the ease of your interactions to your perceived lack of expectations he has of you.

There's security that comes with fucking someone's housemate. You're no longer a viable sexual conquest, and therefore you don't have to worry about an ulterior motive for your exchanges with Jeongguk. Jimin's been there, done that.

For Jeongguk to be hanging out with you, you think he must actually like your company. It's mutual. Reciprocal. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

There's a clear line drawn in the sand between the two of you, as you walk forward on separate treadmills. He matches your speed - slow and lethargic - despite his marginally higher incline, before offering you his water.

You hold up your coffee, but he shakes his head. "It'll dehydrate you."

You'd left in such a rush (and without any intent on actually working out) so had neglected to bring any water with you. Never mind the fact you stopped by the coffee place inside the subway station. Force of habit.

You're chronically dehydrated as it is. Danbi has to remind you that you need water, not just iced americanos to get you through the day. Sometimes you listen. More often than not, you don't.

"Sure?" you ask, aware that you don't really know each other well enough to be sharing drinks yet (despite the fact he'd already helped himself to your coffee) but he just nods. Doesn't really see it as a big deal.

"Don't backwash," he tells you as you're mid-sip, and it almost makes you choke the water straight back into the bottle. You refrain, swallowing it down, coughing slightly as you recover from your shock.

"Christ. Too late," you joke as you pass it back, before he makes some crude remark about how you've basically kissed now, and that 'you can't have your way' with both him and Jimin.

"Fuck off," you laugh. "For starters, Jimin and I aren't like, a thing. It was a one-time hook-up."

"Sure."

"Well, I mean, he tried last night," you shrug, looking up to the mirror ahead, finding Jeongguk's dark eyes already on you.

He doesn't look away as he says, "he did?"

"You served us, Jeongguk," you remind him. Your memories of last night are far clearer than they were of the night you'd actually hooked up with Jimin. "He wasn't getting me drinks just to be kind."

"You don't know that," Jeongguk pouts, though he's not sure why. He knows Jimin. He was definitely trying to get laid - but he's also his best friend, so he says, "he's a good guy."

"I don't doubt that," you agree, not wanting it to appear as if you're being over-critical of Jimin. You're the one who fucked him, after all. He's incredibly attractive, and you know that many people would consider themselves lucky to end their night with him, but you've fucked handsome men before. It doesn't really couldn't for all that much.

A fuck is just a fuck.

What we do in the dark has no bearing on who we are in the light of day.

"Sounds like you do," he assesses, but you dismiss it.

"Sounds like you're reading into it a little too much," you banter back, slowly learning that Jeongguk likes to do that. He overanalyses. You do quite the opposite.

Jimin could have a noble peace prize for all you care. Doesn't mean you've any interest in fucking him again.

The conversation dwindles on, you gradually upping the pace of your treadmill to the point where Jeongguk might consider it a brisk walk (though you'd argue it's a jog).

He's kind in the way he takes a second to think before he speaks, conscious of letting you finish your sentences, and also wanting to be sure of the words he articulates. Thoughtful. Mild-mannered. Nice, but not in a way that boring. Nice, in a way that feels safe.

By the time your legs begin to ache, the treadmills have been running for over forty-five minutes.

You've been too busy guessing the conversations between other strangers in the gym. Who they are; where they're going after their sessions. What they'd had for breakfast (and for some reason, Jeongguk would guess 'egg whites' without fail for every single person) and what they'd be having for dinner.

He mimics their voices, and you laugh along, adding a narrative. So many lives have been lived by the people around you, and not single one you get even remotely correct.

There's a burly man, bearded and broad, with a petite girl hanging on every word he says towards the far corner, and you decide that they're a couple.

Jeongguk thinks they're siblings.

Makes it a little awkward when the guy starts squeezing the girls ass mid-squat.

"Yep, no, maybe you're right," he cringes, face scrunching up, lip ring almost disappearing into his mouth as he does so. Unfortunately, he does also then begin to debate the prospect of them maybe being stepsiblings, at which point you threaten to push him off his treadmill.

"You watch too much porn," you tell him, and he can't even argue against it.

It's been a little while since his last situationship ended, and he's been avoiding bedding anyone new like the plague. Been keeping girls he thinks he could grow to like at arm's length. Safer that way.

"I watch a perfectly healthy amount of porn," he scoffs, but then bunches his face up, clearly not proud of himself for making such a declaration. He chooses to not share the fact that he and Jimin split a VPN bill for that purpose exactly.

You laugh with him, the topic moving along to the PG shows he watches instead, the Netflix shows you're both hooked on, and what you'd each chosen for your Vecna song (which also leads to him helplessly defending all of his Spotify playlists from your gruelling judgement ( Justin Bieber defined a generation and I won't listen to you talk shit about him.... And fuck off, Mad at Disney is cute! Cute! I'm never showing you my Spotify ever again. EVER.))

He mirrors you as you slow the pace of your treadmill, looking over to you after checking the time on the clock - 58:23. Longer than he'd expected you'd last. "Done?"

"Done," you nod.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like death?"

"Still?"

"Still," you nod. "Need a Vita500 and a nap."

"There's CU round the corner," he notes. "I'm now about to leave anyways. I'll come with you. You can get your vitamins, I'm gonna grab something to eat."

You nod, not minding in the slightest - but he mentioned food, and your stomach begins to grumble like King Kong atop the Empire State.

"Would die for convenience store ramyeon," you sigh, musing over one of the finest delicacies in life. Nothing beats instant jjajangmyeon, not even a home-cooked meal.

"Wanna grab some?" Jeongguk asks a little mindlessly, not thinking much of the offer. "I'll eat with you."

And so he does. The comfort born in the confines of the gym is nurtured over cheap food and even cheaper shots at one another in the form of banter. He's a lot of fun, you think. It's a shame he's always stuck behind the bar and never able to let loose with you in the club.

He texts you midweek to let you know he can put you on the club guest list, if you want. Save paying entry and queueing. You'd be mad to say no - and so you spend the next few days convincing your friends that another night out is a good idea.

It's not. Hoseok somehow ends the night without his shoes, and you wake up with an ache in your lower back from a guy who'd tried to be all sexy in his bedroom last night, failing miserably. Human bodies aren't supposed to bend in the way he insisted on positioning you in.

You ignore the slight burn as you head to the gym though, ready to pretend like Jeongguk's the bane of your life once more.

A routine is forming.

What started as a bet becomes a weekend guarantee: you will get shitfaced at Dionysus on a Saturday, and then you will chat shit with Jeongguk on the treadmills for the duration of your Sunday morning.

He never lets you off the machines until the scowl that you inevitably arrive with transforms into a subtle smile. Some weeks it's quicker than others, but one thing is for certain; your scowl will always fade.

By week three, he's already by the treadmills when you arrive.

"No napping today," he teases with a soft smile, making light of the way you always curl up on the bench behind him as he does his final few reps. He's already done with them. Got to the the gym fifteen minutes early to make sure he would be.

"Gguk," you groan, dragging your feet a little and yet still heading in his direction towards the cardio area.

The way his body swings around to look at you, a single brow raised, is like something out of a kid's cartoon. He's so animated and full of energy that it's hard to believe he was at work until five that morning. "What did you just call me?"

"Shut up," you mumble, crossing your legs and sitting down on the treadmill belt. It's quiet - this time of day is never busy - so you don't feel bad for hogging a machine that no one would be using regardless. "Everyone calls you that."

He hops up on his treadmill and sets an incline, while you let your body flop down on yours.

"You're not everyone."

"Be impossible to be everyone," you mumble, eyes closed, body shuffling into a more comfortable position - until the treadmill jolts, moving ever so slowly beneath you. The way you get up is akin to a cat being confronted with a cucumber, a small yelp leaving your lips. "Jesus, Jeongguk!"

He's smirking, as if hadn't been tampering with the buttons, shrugging. "Started by itself."

"You could have killed me."

"What a shame that would have been." He grins at you like a kid who just found a stash of candy. "C'mon! Up you get. I've got places to be. A life to live."

You scoff as you begin to walk forward, lowering the incline that he'd set it to. "You? A life? Seems unlikely."

"You know, you're incredibly hard to like," he assures you. You catch the challenge of his gaze in the mirror and simply shrug.

"Yet here you are, still trying to be my friend."

"Can't shake you off."

"You force me to come."

"I do no such thing."

"Ohhhh, disco baaaaall," you begin to imitate him, bringing your clasped hands to your heart as if you really are begging. You sound nothing like him, but it's kind of deliberate. The more ridiculous you sound, the more he'll laugh. "Pwetty pwease come to the gym and keep me company."

"I don't talk like that," he laughs at how whiney you sound. "And fuck off, I've never said that."

"So you don't mind if I leave?"

His hand reaches over and hooks into the hood of your sweater, as if you're a dog on a leash. His grip is tight. Ain't no way you're going nowhere.

"No, you're not allowed," he says sternly, but there's a smile on his face, voice dulcet as the command rolls off his tongue and sinks into your ear. "I'll get bored."

"See!" You laugh, and pay no notice to the fact his hand stays with an iron grip on the fabric of your sweater even after the joke has been made. He keeps it there.

"It's either I have you keep me company, or Jimin keep me company," he says with a shrug. "I've always got a second choice."

"Aw, but I'm your first choice. How cute."

"My god, I hate you," he says as he finally drops his grip on your hoodie, nudging your shoulder as you walk. He busies his hand, tampering with his incline, trying to make it seem like the touch was casual. Nothing to read into.

It's a debate the pair of you are able to have for hours; who hates who more, who hated who first, who's gonna hate who for longer.

It's not flirting as such, but it is a ruse. You deflect the fact that you actually really enjoy each other's company, using hatred as a measure of just how much you like one another. It's all very juvenile.

He tells you he hates you when you steal half of the cheese he buys for his instant ramyeon after the gym, and you tell him that you hate him every single time you show up at the gym. It's a win-win.

By the time week four comes around, you're surprised to find yourself considering signing up for another month.

You rarely use your membership - once a week, to be precise, and only for about an hour at a time. It does give you a luxury of freedom, though. Chances are you'll be able to find Jeongguk there, no matter what time of day it is.

You'd swung by one evening that week after work just to show him the painting someone did of breadfish, knowing that he'd be the only other person in the city who remembered something so ridiculous.

He'd been deadlifting at the time, a thick leather belt cinching the baggy shirt he'd been wearing, stopping you quite suddenly in your tracks.

Hands covered in paint, hair up, a pencil still tucked behind your ear, you're the most 'you' he thinks he's ever seen you.

Sure, he's seen you with your makeup all smudged after a night out, and he's seen you after far too many drinks deep, but he's never really had the luxury of a totally sober 'you'. The 'you' that other people get to indulge in.

The glitter on your lids is a little more subtle than he's used to - it's thinner, finer, a little pink in its hue - but still prettily in place. Sparkling under the harsh gym bulbs. It's nice to know you're a disco even in the daylight.

He finds himself holding the bar he's lifting for a little longer than expected. His eyes are on yours in the mirror. You've paused by the top of the stairs, eyes on his.

It had been the shock of how bloody tiny his waist is that had startled you first, the look in his eyes, second.

And it's that second surprise - a pleasant one - which stops you from doing anything else but staring. He's got car crash eyes, and you can't help but watch the disaster of the wreckage burn.

You can't even really take in the rest of his face, and it's a shame, for he's a sight to behold; lips ajar, the freckle beneath them covered by the shadow of his pout, brows furrowing together slowly.

The longer he looks at you, the more strained his expression becomes - until his eyes close, teeth clenching, body holding the weight until he can't support it for much longer. It drops, his body shaking as his chest heaves, the sound shattering the tension between the pair of you.

You feel bad for intruding; as if you've seen him in a way you were never supposed to. It's not like you walked in on him showering or anything as intimate as that, but it's been a while since a man has looked at you like, well, that.

Desire, passion? Sure, whatever. They'd looked at you with those in their eyes.

But Jeongguk hadn't been looking at you with either of those wants. At least, not a want for you.

He'd been pushing himself. Proving himself.

And while he hadn't been proving himself to you, you're reminded why you don't fuck anyone face-to-face these days. Eye-contact. It's too much. Gets you all hot and bothered.

And so while his chest heaves, eyes looking you up and down, a little unsure of what the fuck just happened, you do the only thing you can: distract him.

Behind your back is the breadfish canvas, so you bring it around, hold it in the air and smile as brightly as you possibly can. "Please tell me you know what this is."

He takes a second. Tilts his head, and then realises exactly what it's meant to be - a loaf of bread with a fish head and tail tacked onto the end. He's not seen it since middle school. Was the only one of his friends who found it fucking hilarious - and the way you're beaming makes him think that you were probably just as strange as he was, growing up.

Your mutual childhood strangeness is proven right. Transcends in adulthood, apparently. He sends you voice notes of him singing the breadfish song on loop for three days straight. You block him on 4 separate occasions.

Doesn't stop him from making sure the DJ plays the song on Saturday night. He'll take the blocking if it means he gets to see your smile just as bright as your disco ball eyes.

When Sunday comes, the look on Jeongguk's face as you tell him your membership is due to expire is hard to read.

His eyes, for once, don't give much away.

He's forbearing as he says, "you can't use your memberships expiring as an excuse not to hang out anymore. I'll still force you on hangover walks."

His stoicism fades as he tries to hide a smile when you ask him to wait by the door of the gym lobby. You renew your membership. Just for another month - just enough to keep him happy.

And so the routine continues. Saturday nights are reserved for Dionysus; Sunday mornings for the boy from behind the bar.

There's normally a gap of five or so hours between you saying goodbye at the club and hello at the gym.

Sometimes you go home from Dionysus with Hoseok and Danbi.

Other times, you end up in an apartment that's unfamiliar, with a man who's equally as unknown.

They're always nice enough.

Never nice enough to make you wanna stay the night.

On one occasion, you end up going home with another woman, instead. It's not unheard of, for you, just harder to come by. Your first experiences had been with women, and your dating history is littered with as many women as it is men. You don't subscribe to the idea of sexuality being a linear thing, far more content with just going with who feels right, not what feels right.

Naively, you'd put her on a pedestal, thinking you'd finally get a decent lay - but a drunk shag is a drunk shag. You still ended up leaving as soon as you could, orgasm not quite reached.

At this point, you figure it's a mental block. You never used to have this issue, but you also used to only fuck people you loved.

When the people you loved began to fuck you over, things changed.

You've too many rules now. Too many restrictions on yourself. You can never fully relax and actually enjoy sex for what it is.

The rules are never set in stone, but they always follow the same pattern.

Don't let yourself be vulnerable. Don't get fully naked. No kissing during sex. Absolutely no face-to-face fucking - taken from behind, or not at all. You'll give oral, but the second someone tries to reciprocate, you move it along.

How can you enjoy intimacy with another person when you won't let yourself be intimate?

There are just too many things that remind you still of him; things that will hurt your heart more than it already does when someone else takes his place.

And so sex isn't really sex anymore. It's a tool.

You use it to pretend like you're over everything that happened with your ex; as if you're in control of a situation that he created.

And so that's why Saturday nights are reserved for Dionysus: they're filling the space of date night. Sunday mornings in the gym? Filling the space of lazy morning fucks and brunch down by the lake near Hoseok's place.

Being busy with the gym stops you from making 11:11 wishes for him to show up at your door, and the nights in Dionysus stop you from looking for shooting stars to wish upon instead.

Instant noodles with a guy you barely know don't quite manage to make you forget about eggs benedict with the man you thought you might one day marry, but hey - it's something at least.

On the nights that Jeongguk knows you don't go straight home, he checks up on you; will text when his shift is up, again when he gets home, and one final time when he wakes up. He doesn't care for the semantics that come with double messaging. He isn't trying to impress you.

He knows what you get up to in the dark. What you do is your prerogative. He's more concerned about the lack of trust and faith he has in the people you do it with. Despite this, not once does he berate you for it.

Even Hoseok's made a dumb remark here and there about the fact you're 'getting around', but if Jeongguk's thought similar things, he doesn't let you know it. He's a good friend. One that you're lucky to have. Thank God you fucked his flatmate and not him, instead.

The illusion of you has slipped by this point, for Jeongguk. He knows you too well to toy with what-ifs.

You feel secure in the fact he's not trying to get into your pants; a rarity for dudes these days.

Even Jimin took the hint after you turned him down, and has become a welcome addition to your nights out. He's fun to flirt with, but he knows nothing will happen, so he never pushes it too far - but is also happy to be your cover when another bloke is getting too touchy with you for your liking. He's been your 'boyfriend' a grand total of three times, now - only ever for a night.

You're not too familiar with Jeongguk's other friends yet, but you sometimes get in on a round of shots with them. There are four usual suspects: Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon and Yoongi. All handsome, all perfectly nice. None of them stick to you like glue, though. Not Jeongguk did.

Hoseok and Danbi have followed your lead, and consider the boys casual acquaintances; drinking partners for when they happen to be at the bar at the same time.

A dog walker by profession, Danbi always finds herself flirting with Taehyung, who tries his hardest to get a discount on her services. She always refuses.

Jeongguk and Yeonjun have a running bet going to see how long it takes until he's paying full price, just for an excuse to see her outside of a club setting. They've had to reset the bet twice, because Danbi might just be the most stubborn woman to have ever graced the planet.

Summer is spent in a technicolour haze of Purple Starfuckers, club lights, unorthodox gym routines and enough glitter to open a craft shop.

Jeongguk didn't quite know how, but he was always finding flecks of the metallic warpaint on his gym gear. He always has a little laugh to himself whenever he does the laundry. "Fucking Disco Ball."

It's early autumn by the time Hoseok and Danbi make their first appearance at the club without you.

He texts you - boo, you whore - and waits in the backroom of the bar until he sees a reply come through.

Busy tonight, your reply reads. It feels a little cold, but you don't mean for it to be. You're just a rush, and Jeongguk nagging you is the last thing you need.

JK:  Busy doing what?

You:  none of your business x

Despite the kiss you end your sentence with (he can hear the way you say 'mwah' the same way you do whenever you know you're being a little cheeky), it still feels... off.

JK: Oddly defensive.

You: i'm always defensive :)

You:  lemme know when you get home safe

It's a simple role reversal, but Jeongguk isn't sure what to make of it. He's normally the one making sure you get home safe. Not the other way around. It's not a 'what-if' scenario that he's run through in his head before. He doesn't like it.

He likes being depended on. Has gotten used to you depending on him.

Pushing it to the back of his mind, he makes orders without much thought, too busy letting himself indulge in what-ifs. It's been a while since he's thought of any regarding you, but he's consumed by them, now. Where you are, who you're with. Why Danbi and Hoseok won't give him a straight answer when he asks. They say it's not their business, but the way Danbi gives Hoseok a grimace whenever the topic is mentioned would suggest she doesn't approve.

It's probably why you haven't told him. He wonders how bad it must be. Secrets aren't something really kept between the pair of you.

There are things he hasn't told you - parts of his past he'd rather keep buried - but he doesn't actively hide himself from you. He thought you did the same.

Apparently not.

He arrives home with no new message from you. It's five thirty, and even though he's a little pissed with the sudden change in your attitude towards him, he can't bring himself to take it out on you.

JK: I'm home, asshole.

JK: Dionysus ain't the same without a disco ball.

Tossing his phone down onto his sheets, Jeongguk stares up at his ceiling. There's never been a complicated weight to your friendship, but he's also never been in the dark before.

Above him, origami birds dance in the light breeze coming from his aircon unit.

There's a dozen strung up from his paper folding phase six months ago, when he was trying to get his mind off of the girl whose initial had been scratched out of the soles of his shoes. Thought that if she came back, she'd find the birds endearing.

Kept them up just in case. Now, he just keeps them up as a reminder: You've gotta let wild birds fly away. Can't keep them caged up.

And it's funny, cause the strings the birds hang from feel like a cage for his thoughts, now. They get tangled in the spokes, your name wrapping around the bars. He can't keep you in a cage, either. Can't expect you to be as you always have been with him, just because it's the 'norm'; can't expect you not to have a life without him.

You:  does your apartment need one?

JK: A disco ball? Don't think so?

Truthfully, he thinks a little disco ball would be fitting strung up with all of his birds.

You: gaaawd, ur such a boy

You:  i'm   asking if i can come over :(

He tries not to read into the unhappy face, but it has him sitting up, replying just as quickly as his heart is beating. There's something amiss, and he doesn't like it.

JK: Oh. Now?

You: no, next week

You:  yes now, doofus

JK:  It's 5am?

He doesn't know why he's being like this. Difficult. Perhaps he is a bit bitter. Petty.

You: this isn't a booty call lmao, chill out

You: i'll be there in 15

JK: Do I get a choice?

He's smiling as he sends the message, and hopes you'll read it in the tone he intends. He's bantering, trying to deflect from the heaviness he can feel in your text thread.

He's relieved when you reply just how he hoped you would.

You: no x

JK:  See you in 15, db x

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

#by holly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk #jungkook x reader #jeongguk fanfic #bangtan #jungkook fluff #bartender!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #jeongguk fic #bad decisions #dappleddaisies

[babybluebex]

ok so i tried to post this last week but i posted it on mobile and it got all fucked up bc tumblr mobile sucks, so let me try this again: tom grant being ready to defend you at the drop of a hat

it's been a long week at the resort park, guests making a fuss over nothing and making your job (and life, frankly) a living hell. the only reprieve is your boyfriend, tom— coming home to him is a breath of fresh air, and his smile when he sees you warms your heart.

he knows you've been having a rough few days, so he offers to treat you to a night out, a few drinks and a night away from those guests. he tells you to dress up real pretty so he can take pictures, maybe that black dress that you wore to your anniversary dinner? it's a little short, but that's ok; you know that tom would just give you his jacket if you get cold. tom would probably give you his jacket anyway, even though he's the one who recommended the dress— the man gets jealous rather easily.

and that's put to the test that night at the pub. it's a small seaside pub, nothing but out-of-towners and the occasional cornish customer, and tom helps you up onto the barstool with a gentle hand. he orders a pint and mumbles something about going to the loo, and he buries a kiss in your hair before he goes. your pints arrive while he's gone, and you sip at yours as you scroll at your phone.

and then: "you ain't from around here, huh?"

you look over. a guy, muscled, some sort of tourist, undoubtedly looking for something to occupy his night. not your type. he was talking to you, and you sigh.

"yeah, i am," you say politely, instead of ignoring him. tom will be back any second to save you . "i work at the resort park a few minutes away."

"but you ain't from cornwall, huh?"

you sigh. "no," you say. "But my boyfriend is."

"i don't see any boyfriend" the guy says.

"he's off at the loo" you tell him. "and he's the jealous type, so it's probably best if you leave me alone before he sees you."

"what if i wanna talk to you, though?" the guy asks, and you sneer.

"i'd rather not" you say. "thanks, but no"

"well, alright" the guy says. "don't gotta be a bitch about it. you're dressed like a slag, wouldn't want the likes of ya anyway."

"oi" you hear tom say, and you look over your shoulder to see him. his cheeks are red with anger, and you silently giggle at him. oh tommy, like a wiley little stray dog, always ready for a fight. "whatchu say 'bout my bird?"

"this is the boyfriend?" the guy asks "doesn't look like much to me"

"watch it" tom says, taking a step forward. "how 'bout you step off, mate, 'fore i do something you won't like?"

"'step off'? s'it the 90s?" the guy laughs, and you hold back your laughter. later, you'd tell tom that that did sound sorta ridiculous, but now wasn't the time. "don't want her anyway, she's all yours"

"right, s'why you even talked to her in the first place, cos you didn't want her" tom said. "piss off"

you smile all watery at tom as he gets up onto his barstool and sips at his pint, and he sorta grunts "what?"

"my hero" you coo and kiss his cheek and, when you look at him again, his cheeks are a different sort of red and his eyes have hearts in them. "defending me from some creep"

"s'all in a day's work" tom mumbles, and you smile. "what? m'i supposed to just let him call you a slag and get away with it?"

"you're so cute" you tell him. "your accent got all thick and you started talking all funny. you're adorable"

"oh, stop" tom says, and you kiss him again.

"never"

#tom grant #tom grant x reader #makeup 2019 #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader

[erisxdrifter]

Yesssss!! New Eris and Drifter lore guys, whoo! Love how he let her grab his hand and take the coin from him, the amount of trust between these two hurt and broken characters is incredible. Also, "calloused fingers brush across his knuckles." implies that Eris had her gloves off, due to the fact that it mentions what her hands feel like, calloused. That seems pretty incredible and significant, and it shows how much she's come to trust and like the Drifter, that she took off her glove and then proceeded to touch him. Hehe, she doesn't really think he's a nasty rat😉 I also wonder, will Eris show the Drifter her eyes soon? It's interesting how he questioned her about it, "S'why you hide yours, eh?". Their lore is getting more and more amazing every season/expansion, I can't wait for more!

#drifteris #moonrat #moon rat #eris morn x drifter #eris x drifter #drifter x eris #eris morn/the drifter #eris and drifter #eris morn #the drifter #destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny 2 lore #destiny 2 final shape

[alphabetboyluvr]

bad decisions - jjk | six

Summer is spent in a technicolour haze of Purple Starfuckers, club lights, unorthodox gym routines, and enough glitter to open a craft shop. Jungkook doesn't quite know how, but he's always finding flecks of the metallic warpaint on his gym gear. Has a little laugh to himself whenever he does the laundry. Mutters, "Fucking Disco Ball." It's monsoon season by the time Hoseok and Danbi make their first appearance at the club without you. He texts you—boo, you whore—and waits in the backroom of the bar until he sees a reply come through. Busy tonight, your reply reads. It feels a little cold, but you don't mean for it to be. You're just a rush, and Jungkook nagging you is the last thing you need. JK: Busy doing what? You: none of your business x

Bad Decision #6 - Wishing

warnings: i like to call this a montage chapter - it's gets us through the entire summer :) gym trips! dionysus nights! jungkook being sexy in the gym! dynamic and friendship solidified!

soundtrack: c'est la vie - ethan surman; my type - brb.; happiness - the 1975

wc: 6k

bd total wc: 370k (on-going)

minors dni | wattpad | series masterlist |

The scowl on your face as you reach the gym prevails. You've a coffee in one hand—iced americano, double shot—and the hood of your sweater is bunching around your shoulders. You lift it over your head, and push the swing door of the gym open with your shoulder, wanting to avoid the unwanted eyes of Jiyeong, just in case she's working.

You don't look over to the reception, but the lobby is empty, regardless. It's quiet, always a little less busy in the morning than it is in the evening.

You make your way to the gate of the gym. Punch in the code. Get it wrong. Tell the keypad to 'stop being a prick'.

You try again, exhaling a weighty sigh as you do so.

There's a whir as it works this time, hinges clicking open for you. The metallic clang of gym equipment and grunts of burly men cloud the air, battling with the voice in your head for the title of most annoying sound. Always have to win, don't you? Couldn't just take a loss!

It's a flaw; one that you'll admit to, but one that you wouldn't change for the world. A little bit of drive is good, even if you do drive yourself up the wall more often than not.

Hood up, a pair of leggings and a sweater on, black high-tops tied in bows around your ankles, you look like death warmed up. You haven't showered yet, and there's still glitter caught in your lashline, but you've a point to prove.

And so, just shy of midday, your feet stomp heavily up the stairs, as thunderous as the look on your face.

It's not that you're actually mardy or moody at all—you're just hanging like an absolute bitch.

Whatever Jungkook puts in those tiny purple shots is lethal. Writes you off every single time.

Admittedly, you had gone a little harder last night knowing that you didn't have work the following day, but that's beyond the point. Normally your hangovers aren't so bad, especially not when you drink water throughout the night—which, thanks to Jungkook, you had been.

Jungkook doesn't notice your arrival until you roll down onto the bench behind him. You're on your side, legs tucked up, just like you had been in your bed when his message had arrived in your inbox.

He's in shorts—black, finishing midway down his thigh—and a big baggy t-shirt. On his feet, he's matching with you. Black Chucks. The only difference is that he ties his around the front. His bows are double knotted and little lopsided, the white trims on the soles scuffed and well worn. He's got history in his hi-tops, and you wonder how it compares to yours.

There's a girl in another city who matches him, and it isn't you. You don't have the tiny 'J' scrawled into the rubber of your soles like she does. He's scratched out her initial on his sole.

Takes a little longer to erase it from his other soul, mind you. It's still there. Only faintly, but enough to make him trip over himself from time to time. S'why he always double knots. Harder to fall, that way.

There's concentration on his face, features perplexed as the weight he lifts forces him to exert more energy than he's fully ready for. His teeth are bared, face tight, brows tied in a pretty knot between his eyes. You can see why Jiyeong is so territorial. He's not a bad-looking bloke. Quite handsome, actually.

He exhales as he brings the weight down, resting it on the ground, chest heaving ever so slightly before he turns to look at you. His brows are still furrowed, but his eyes are soft as his body gets more comfortable and settles into a state of rest.

A breathly laugh graces his lips as he reaches for the towel by your head. He pays no mind to the fact your crown is resting upon it, whipping it from beneath you to dab at the sweat gathering on the back of his neck.

"I said bright and early," he smirks, knowing that you must be hating everything about this interaction.

"It's before twelve," you mumble, eyes closed, knowing that watching his dimples form would only make your tummy feel all light and vomit-inducing. You're too hungover for anything other than neutral sensations. "It is bright and early."

"You're basically asleep."

"The bet was that I'd be here, Jeon," you remind him, voice a grumble as you shuffle deeper into your position. "Not that I'd be doing anything useful."

You've a point. It's not one that he can argue against, and so instead he just shrugs and picks his water bottle up from beside the bench. He tosses a little back into his mouth, the stream of water running from the plastic opening and into his mouth with such precision that you're sure he must be an asshole deep down.

You don't buy the nice guy front. Only assholes look that good doing the bare minimum. You'll get to the bottom of his assholeness eventually, but not now. Not when you're this grouchy, and everything feels a little biased.

"C'mon," he says as he knocks his head to the side. "Treadmill. Walk with me. You'll feel better for it."

"I think I'll die," you tell him with so much certainty he can't help but laugh at you.

Still, he stands in front of you and waits for you to join him. Knocks his knee against yours. Kicks your shoe with his own.

He's patient, his eyes soft as they look down at what a sorry state you are. There's something about the way his lips purse gently that makes him feel like a safe bet.

You've no regrets for tumbling out of bed and catching the subway to meet him at the gym. Your head is killing, granted, but it would have been killing you at home, too. At least this way you can feel like you've actually done something productive despite the hangover.

"Trust me," he insists, holding out his palm. "It really will help."

And so you take his hand, letting him pull you up. They warm, and a little clammy, but you don't mind.

When you're finally on your feet, your eyes are level with his chest. He's broad, chest well defined even beneath the shirt. You try not to think about the fact you've seen him shirtless, but you can smell the scent of his laundry detergent, and it adds a whole new element to the enigma the Jeon Jungkook is. Looking at him, you'd imagine a scent of musk - something woody, maybe. Instead, he smells like fresh blooms, sweet peas under summer sun.

You don't let yourself linger for too long, fearful of him reading into the way you can't seem to keep your eyes off him. He's just new. Something shiny. Fresh. Excitement amongst the mundane of a city you've grown tired of.

He reaches down to pick up your half-empty coffee and takes a sip as he begins to walk away. "Tastes like shit."

You pull it back from him, and nudge his side. "Feels like crack cocaine. The Purple Starfuckers, man... they actually kill me."

"You're welcome."

Small talk peppers the walk down the steps—How are your friends? Get home alright? How was Jimin feeling in the morning? How long do you have to stay after closing time?—and flitters around the pair of you as you set your inclines. His is noticeably higher than yours, but you're not here to work out. You're here to win a bet—of which he keeps reminding you that you lost, and that you are, in fact, a loser.

You just tell him to fuck offin return.

He never does. Just smiles, beams all wide, teeth on display, nose a little scrunched, and says, "Sounds like something a loser would say."

Jungkook is easy to be around. His company, his humour, the anecdotes he tells. They're delivered freely, revealed without pressure. No diamonds are being formed, but there's enough of them in your eyes when you laugh with him, regardless.

You reduce the ease of your interactions to your perceived lack of expectations he has of you.

There's security that comes with fucking someone's housemate. You're no longer a viable sexual conquest, and therefore you don't have to worry about an ulterior motive for your exchanges with Jungkook. Jimin's been there, done that.

For Jungkook to be hanging out with you, you think he must actually like your company. It's mutual. Reciprocal. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

There's a clear line drawn in the sand between the two of you, as you walk forward on separate treadmills. He matches your speed—slow and lethargic—despite his marginally higher incline, before offering you his water.

You hold up your coffee, but he shakes his head. "It'll dehydrate you."

You'd left in such a rush (and without any intent on actually working out) so had neglected to bring any water with you. Never mind the fact you stopped by the coffee place inside the subway station. Force of habit.

You're chronically dehydrated as it is. Danbi has to remind you that you need water, not just iced americanos to get you through the day. Sometimes you listen. More often than not, you don't.

"Sure?" you ask, aware that you don't really know each other well enough to be sharing drinks yet (despite the fact he'd already helped himself to your coffee) but he just nods. Doesn't really see it as a big deal.

"Don't backwash," he tells you as you're mid-sip, and it almost makes you choke the water straight back into the bottle. You refrain, swallowing it down, coughing slightly as you recover from your shock.

"Christ. Too late," you joke as you pass it back, before he makes some crude remark about how you've basically kissed now, and that 'you can't have your way' with both him and Jimin.

"Fuck off," you laugh. "For starters, Jimin and I aren't like, a thing. It was a one-time hook-up."

"Sure."

"Well, I mean, he tried last night," you shrug, looking up to the mirror ahead, finding Jungkook's dark eyes already on you.

He doesn't look away as he says, "he did?"

"You served us, Jungkook," you remind him. Your memories of last night are far clearer than they were of the night you'd actually hooked up with Jimin. "He wasn't getting me drinks just to be kind."

"You don't know that," Jungkook pouts, though he's not sure why. He knows Jimin. He was definitely trying to get laid, but he's also his best friend, so he says, "He's a good guy."

"I don't doubt that," you agree, not wanting it to appear as if you're being over-critical of Jimin. You're the one who fucked him, after all. He's incredibly attractive, and you know that many people would consider themselves lucky to end their night with him, but you've fucked handsome men before. It doesn't really couldn't for all that much.

A fuck is just a fuck.

What we do in the dark has no bearing on who we are in the light of day.

"Sounds like you do," he assesses, but you dismiss it.

"Sounds like you're reading into it a little too much," you banter back, slowly learning that Jungkook likes to do that. He overanalyses. You do quite the opposite.

Jimin could have a noble peace prize for all you care. Doesn't mean you've any interest in fucking him again.

The conversation dwindles on, you gradually upping the pace of your treadmill to the point where Jungkook might consider it a brisk walk (though you'd argue it's a jog).

He's kind in the way he takes a second to think before he speaks, conscious of letting you finish your sentences, and also wanting to be sure of the words he articulates. Thoughtful. Mild-mannered. Nice, but not in a way that boring. Nice, in a way that feels safe.

By the time your legs begin to ache, the treadmills have been running for over forty-five minutes.

You've been too busy guessing the conversations between other strangers in the gym. Who they are; where they're going after their sessions. What they'd had for breakfast (and for some reason, Jungkook would guess 'egg whites' without fail for every single person) and what they'd be having for dinner.

He mimics their voices, and you laugh along, adding a narrative. So many lives have been lived by the people around you, and not a single one you get even remotely correct.

There's a burly man, bearded and broad, with a petite girl hanging on every word he says towards the far corner, and you decide that they're a couple.

Jungkook thinks they're siblings.

Makes it a little awkward when the guy starts squeezing the girl's ass mid-squat.

"Yep, no, maybe you're right," he cringes, face scrunching up, lip ring almost disappearing into his mouth as he does so. Unfortunately, he does also then begin to debate the prospect of them maybe being stepsiblings, at which point you threaten to push him off his treadmill.

"You watch too much porn," you tell him, and he can't even argue against it.

It's been a little while since his last situationship ended, and he's been avoiding bedding anyone new like the plague. Been keeping girls he thinks he could grow to like at arm's length. Safer that way.

"I watch a perfectly healthy amount of porn," he scoffs, but then bunches his face up, clearly not proud of himself for making such a declaration. He chooses to not share the fact that he and Jimin split a VPN bill for that purpose exactly.

You laugh with him, the topic moving along to the PG shows he watches instead, the Netflix shows you're both hooked on, and what you'd each chosen for your Vecna song (which also leads to him helplessly defending all of his Spotify playlists from your gruelling judgement ( Justin Bieber defined a generation and I won't listen to you talk shit about him.... And fuck off, Mad at Disney is cute! Cute! I'm never showing you my Spotify ever again. EVER.))

He mirrors you as you slow the pace of your treadmill, looking over to you after checking the time on the clock - 58:23. Longer than he'd expected you'd last. "Done?"

"Done," you nod.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like death?"

"Still?"

"Still," you nod. "Need a Vita500 and a nap."

"There's CU round the corner," he notes. "I'm now about to leave anyways. I'll come with you. You can get your vitamins, I'm gonna grab something to eat."

You nod, not minding in the slightest—but he mentioned food, and your stomach begins to grumble like King Kong atop the Empire State.

"Would die for convenience store ramyeon," you sigh, musing over one of the finest delicacies in life. Nothing beats instant jjajangmyeon, not even a home-cooked meal.

"Wanna grab some?" Jungkook asks a little mindlessly, not thinking much of the offer. "I'll eat with you."

And so he does. The comfort born in the confines of the gym is nurtured over cheap food and even cheaper shots at one another in the form of banter. He's a lot of fun, you think. It's a shame he's always stuck behind the bar and never able to let loose with you in the club.

He texts you midweek to let you know he can put you on the club guest list, if you want. Save paying entry and queuing. You'd be mad to say no - and so you spend the next few days convincing your friends that another night out is a good idea.

It's not. Hoseok somehow ends the night without his shoes, and you wake up with an ache in your lower back from a guy who'd tried to be all sexy in his bedroom last night, failing miserably. Human bodies aren't supposed to bend in the way he insisted on positioning you in.

You ignore the slight burn as you head to the gym though, ready to pretend like Jungkook's the bane of your life once more.

A routine is forming.

What started as a bet becomes a weekend guarantee: you will get shitfaced at Dionysus on a Saturday, and then you will chat shit with Jungkook on the treadmills for the duration of your Sunday morning.

He never lets you off the machines until the scowl that you inevitably arrive with transforms into a subtle smile. Some weeks it's quicker than others, but one thing is for certain; your scowl will always fade.

By week three, he's already by the treadmills when you arrive.

"No napping today," he teases with a soft smile, making light of the way you always curl up on the bench behind him as he does his final few reps. He's already done with them. Got to the gym fifteen minutes early to make sure he would be.

"Kook," you groan, dragging your feet a little and yet still heading in his direction towards the cardio area.

The way his body swings around to look at you, a single brow raised, is like something out of a kid's cartoon. He's so animated and full of energy that it's hard to believe he was at work until five that morning. "What did you just call me?"

"Shut up," you mumble, crossing your legs and sitting down on the treadmill belt. It's quiet—this time of day is never busy—so you don't feel bad for hogging a machine that no one would be using regardless. "Everyone calls you that."

He hops up on his treadmill and sets an incline, while you let your body flop down on yours.

"You're not everyone."

"Be impossible to be everyone," you mumble, eyes closed, body shuffling into a more comfortable position - until the treadmill jolts, moving ever so slowly beneath you. The way you get up is akin to a cat being confronted with a cucumber, a small yelp leaving your lips. "Jesus, Jungkook!"

He's smirking, as if hadn't been tampering with the buttons, shrugging. "Started by itself."

"You could have killed me."

"What a shame that would have been." He grins at you like a kid who just found a stash of candy. "C'mon! Up you get. I've got places to be. A life to live."

You scoff as you begin to walk forward, lowering the incline that he'd set it to. "You? A life? Seems unlikely."

"You know, you're incredibly hard to like," he assures you. You catch the challenge of his gaze in the mirror and simply shrug.

"Yet here you are, still trying to be my friend."

"Can't shake you off."

"You force me to come."

"I do no such thing."

"Ohhhh, disco baaaaall," you begin to imitate him, bringing your clasped hands to your heart as if you really are begging. You sound nothing like him, but it's kind of deliberate. The more ridiculous you sound, the more he'll laugh. "Pwetty pwease come to the gym and keep me company."

"I don't talk like that," he laughs at how whiney you sound. "And fuck off, I've never said that."

"So you don't mind if I leave?"

His hand reaches over and hooks into the hood of your sweater, as if you're a dog on a leash. His grip is tight. Ain't no way you're going nowhere.

"No, you're not allowed," he says sternly, but there's a smile on his face, voice dulcet as the command rolls off his tongue and sinks into your ear. "I'll get bored."

"See!" You laugh, and pay no notice to the fact his hand stays with an iron grip on the fabric of your sweater even after the joke has been made. He keeps it there.

"It's either I have you keep me company, or Jimin keep me company," he says with a shrug. "I've always got a second choice."

"Aw, but I'm your first choice. How cute."

"My god, I hate you," he says as he finally drops his grip on your hoodie, nudging your shoulder as you walk. He busies his hand, tampering with his incline, trying to make it seem like the touch was casual. Nothing to read into.

It's a debate the pair of you are able to have for hours; who hates who more, who hated who first, who's gonna hate who for longer.

It's not flirting as such, but it is a ruse. You deflect the fact that you actually really enjoy each other's company, using hatred as a measure of just how much you like one another. It's all very juvenile.

He tells you he hates you when you steal half of the cheese he buys for his instant ramyeon after the gym, and you tell him that you hate him every single time you show up at the gym. It's a win-win.

By the time week four comes around, you're surprised to find yourself considering signing up for another month.

You rarely use your membership - once a week, to be precise, and only for about an hour at a time. It does give you a luxury of freedom, though. Chances are you'll be able to find Jungkook there, no matter what time of day it is.

You'd swung by one evening that week after work just to show him the painting someone did of breadfish, knowing that he'd be the only other person in the city who remembered something so ridiculous.

He'd been deadlifting at the time, a thick leather belt cinching the baggy shirt he'd been wearing, stopping you quite suddenly in your tracks.

Hands covered in paint, hair up, a pencil still tucked behind your ear, you're the most 'you' he thinks he's ever seen you.

Sure, he's seen you with your makeup all smudged after a night out, and he's seen you after far too many drinks deep, but he's never really had the luxury of a totally sober 'you'. The 'you' that other people get to indulge in.

The glitter on your lids is a little more subtle than he's used to—it's thinner, finer, a little pink in its hue—but still prettily in place. Sparkling under the harsh gym bulbs. It's nice to know you're a disco even in the daylight.

He finds himself holding the bar he's lifting for a little longer than expected. His eyes are on yours in the mirror. You've paused by the top of the stairs, eyes on his.

It had been the shock of how bloody tiny his waist is that had startled you first, the look in his eyes, second.

And it's that second surprise—a pleasant one—which stops you from doing anything else but staring. He's got car crash eyes, and you can't help but watch the disaster of the wreckage burn.

You can't even really take in the rest of his face, and it's a shame, for he's a sight to behold; lips ajar, the freckle beneath them covered by the shadow of his pout, brows furrowing together slowly.

The longer he looks at you, the more strained his expression becomes - until his eyes close, teeth clenching, body holding the weight until he can't support it for much longer. It drops, his body shaking as his chest heaves, the sound shattering the tension between the pair of you.

You feel bad for intruding; as if you've seen him in a way you were never supposed to. It's not like you walked in on him showering or anything as intimate as that, but it's been a while since a man has looked at you like, well, that.

Desire, passion? Sure, whatever. They'd looked at you with those in their eyes.

But Jungkook hadn't been looking at you with either of those wants. At least, not a want for you.

He'd been pushing himself. Proving himself.

And while he hadn't been proving himself to you, you're reminded why you don't fuck anyone face-to-face these days. Eye-contact. It's too much. Gets you all hot and bothered.

And so while his chest heaves, eyes looking you up and down, a little unsure of what the fuck just happened, you do the only thing you can: distract him.

Behind your back is the breadfish canvas, so you bring it around, hold it in the air and smile as brightly as you possibly can. "Please tell me you know what this is."

He takes a second. Tilts his head, and then realises exactly what it's meant to be - a loaf of bread with a fish head and tail tacked onto the end. He's not seen it since middle school. Was the only one of his friends who found it fucking hilarious - and the way you're beaming makes him think that you were probably just as strange as he was, growing up.

Your mutual childhood strangeness is proven right. Transcends in adulthood, apparently. He sends you voice notes of him singing the breadfish song on loop for three days straight. You block him on 4 separate occasions.

Doesn't stop him from making sure the DJ plays the song on Saturday night. He'll take the blocking if it means he gets to see your smile just as bright as your disco-ball eyes.

When Sunday comes, the look on Jungkook's face as you tell him your membership is due to expire is hard to read.

His eyes, for once, don't give much away.

He's forbearing as he says, "You can't use your memberships expiring as an excuse not to hang out anymore. I'll still force you on hangover walks."

His stoicism fades as he tries to hide a smile when you ask him to wait by the door of the gym lobby. You renew your membership. Just for another month. Just enough to keep him happy.

And so the routine continues. Saturday nights are reserved for Dionysus; Sunday mornings for the boy from behind the bar.

There's normally a gap of five or so hours between you saying goodbye at the club and hello at the gym.

Sometimes you go home from Dionysus with Hoseok and Danbi.

Other times, you end up in an apartment that's unfamiliar, with a man who's equally as unknown.

They're always nice enough.

Never nice enough to make you wanna stay the night.

On one occasion, you end up going home with another woman, instead. It's not unheard of, for you, just harder to come by. Your first experiences had been with women, and your dating history is littered with as many women as it is men. You don't subscribe to the idea of sexuality being a linear thing, far more content with just going with who feels right, not what feels right.

Naively, you'd put her on a pedestal, thinking you'd finally get a decent lay—but a drunk shag is a drunk shag. You still ended up leaving as soon as you could, orgasm not quite reached.

At this point, you figure it's a mental block. You never used to have this issue, but you also used to only fuck people you loved.

When the people you loved began to fuck you over, things changed.

You've too many rules now. Too many restrictions on yourself. You can never fully relax and actually enjoy sex for what it is.

The rules are never set in stone, but they always follow the same pattern.

Don't let yourself be vulnerable. Don't get fully naked. No kissing during sex. Absolutely no face-to-face fucking. Taken from behind, or not at all. You'll give oral, but the second some tries to reciprocate, you move it along.

How can you enjoy intimacy with another person when you won't let yourself be intimate?

There are just too many things that remind you still of him; things that will hurt your heart more than it already does when someone else takes his place.

And so sex isn't really sex anymore. It's a tool.

You use it to pretend like you're over everything that happened with your ex; as if you're in control of a situation that he created.

And so that's why Saturday nights are reserved for Dionysus: they're filling the space of date night. Sunday mornings in the gym? Filling the space of lazy morning fucks and brunch down by the lake near Hoseok's place.

Being busy with the gym stops you from making 11:11 wishes for him to show up at your door, and the nights in Dionysus stop you from looking for shooting stars to wish upon instead.

Instant noodles with a guy you barely know don't quite manage to make you forget about eggs benedict with the man you thought you might one day marry, but hey - it's something at least.

On the nights that Jungkook knows you don't go straight home, he checks up on you; will text when his shift is up, again when he gets home, and one final time when he wakes up. He doesn't care for the semantics that come with double messaging. He isn't trying to impress you.

He knows what you get up to in the dark. What you do is your prerogative. He's more concerned about the lack of trust and faith he has in the people you do it with. Despite this, not once does he berate you for it.

Even Hoseok's made a dumb remark here and there about the fact you're 'getting around', but if Jungkook's thought similar things, he doesn't let you know it. He's a good friend. One that you're lucky to have. Thank God you fucked his flatmate and not him, instead.

The illusion of you has slipped by this point, for Jungkook. He knows you too well to toy with what-ifs.

You feel secure in the fact he's not trying to get into your pants; a rarity for dudes these days.

Even Jimin took the hint after you turned him down, and has become a welcome addition to your nights out. He's fun to flirt with, but he knows nothing will happen, so he never pushes it too far - but is also happy to be your cover when another bloke is getting too touchy with you for your liking. He's been your 'boyfriend' a grand total of three times, now - only ever for a night.

You're not too familiar with Jungkook's other friends yet, but you sometimes get in on a round of shots with them. There are four usual suspects: Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon and Yoongi. All handsome, all perfectly nice. None of them stick to you like glue, though. Not Jungkook did.

Hoseok and Danbi have followed your lead, and consider the boys casual acquaintances; drinking partners for when they happen to be at the bar at the same time.

A dog walker by profession, Danbi always finds herself flirting with Taehyung, who tries his hardest to get a discount on her services. She always refuses.

Jungkook and Yeonjun have a running bet going to see how long it takes until he's paying full price, just for an excuse to see her outside of a club setting. They've had to reset the bet twice, because Danbi might just be the most stubborn woman to have ever graced the planet.

Summer is spent in a technicolour haze of Purple Starfuckers, club lights, unorthodox gym routines and enough glitter to open a craft shop.

Jungkook doesn't quite know how, but he's always finding flecks of the metallic warpaint on his gym gear. Has a little laugh to himself whenever he does the laundry. Mutters, "Fucking Disco Ball."

It's monsoon season by the time Hoseok and Danbi make their first appearance at the club without you.

He texts you—boo, you whore—and waits in the backroom of the bar until he sees a reply come through.

Busy tonight, your reply reads. It feels a little cold, but you don't mean for it to be. You're just a rush, and Jungkook nagging you is the last thing you need.

JK: Busy doing what?

You: none of your business x

Despite the kiss you end your sentence with (he can hear the way you say 'mwah' the same way you do whenever you know you're being a little cheeky), it still feels... off.

JK: Oddly defensive.

You: i'm always defensive :)

You: lemme know when you get home safe

It's a simple role reversal, but Jungkook isn't sure what to make of it. He's normally the one making sure you get home safe. Not the other way around. It's not a 'what-if' scenario that he's run through in his head before. He doesn't like it.

He likes being depended on. Has gotten used to you depending on him.

Pushing it to the back of his mind, he makes orders without much thought, too busy letting himself indulge in what-ifs. It's been a while since he's thought of any regarding you, but he's consumed by them, now. Where you are, who you're with. Why Danbi and Hoseok won't give him a straight answer when he asks. They say it's not their business, but the way Danbi gives Hoseok a grimace whenever the topic is mentioned would suggest she doesn't approve.

It's probably why you haven't told him. He wonders how bad it must be. Secrets aren't something really kept between the pair of you.

There are things he hasn't told you - parts of his past he'd rather keep buried - but he doesn't actively hide himself from you. He thought you did the same.

Apparently not.

He arrives home with no new message from you. It's five thirty, and even though he's a little pissed with the sudden change in your attitude towards him, he can't bring himself to take it out on you.

JK: I'm home, asshole.

JK: Dionysus ain't the same without a disco ball.

Tossing his phone down onto his sheets, Jungkook stares up at his ceiling. There's never been a complicated weight to your friendship, but he's also never been in the dark before.

Above him, origami birds dance in the light breeze coming from his aircon unit.

There's a dozen strung up from his paper folding phase six months ago, when he was trying to get his mind off of the girl whose initial had been scratched out of the soles of his shoes. Thought that if she came back, she'd find the birds endearing.

Kept them up just in case. Now, he just keeps them up as a reminder: You've gotta let wild birds fly away. Can't keep them caged up.

And it's funny, cause the strings the birds hang from feel like a cage for his thoughts, now. They get tangled in the spokes, your name wrapping around the bars. He can't keep you in a cage, either.

Can't expect you to be as you always have been with him, just because it's the 'norm'. Can't expect you not to have a life without him.

You: does your apartment need one?

JK: A disco ball? Don't think so?

Truthfully, he thinks a little disco ball would be fitting strung up with all of his birds.

You: gaaawd, ur such a boy

You: i'm asking if i can come over :(

He tries not to read into the unhappy face, but it has him sitting up, replying just as quickly as his heart is beating. There's something amiss, and he doesn't like it.

JK: Oh. Now?

You: no, next week

You: yes now, doofus

JK: It's 5am?

He doesn't know why he's being like this. Difficult. Perhaps he is a bit bitter. Petty.

You: this isn't a booty call lmao, chill out

You: i'll be there in 15

JK: Do I get a choice?

He's smiling as he sends the message, and hopes you'll read it in the tone he intends. He's bantering, trying to deflect from the heaviness he can feel in your text thread.

He's relieved when you reply just how he hoped you would.

You: no x

JK: See you in 15, db x

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#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook masterlist #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook smut #bts fanfic #byholly #angst #smut #jungkook x y/n #college!jungkook #bartender!jk #jungkook fluff #bd #bad decisions #bd!jk #bts

[sichore]

(( @inky-da-dinky has a Murmaider Merfolk AU that's thoroughly consumed me the past day or two, so I filled out another prompt using that as the setting.

25. Write about your ship bathing or swimming together. ))

Jimi watches the slow movement of her feet kicking underwater, her soles unnaturally pale in the light, and sighs. “I still think this is all just a ploy for you to see my toes.”

She feels Pickles’ laughter vibrate up through the current to her legs and body, before he breaks the surface and she hears it. Funny, how different it feels through the water, like gentle drumming, compared to the light and jovial snickers he vocalizes.

“I'm not gonna lie, they are cute.” The cecaelian grins as he folds his arms at the water's edge, flashing that golden canine at the painter. “Yer just so adorable, I could eat ya up.”

“Ohhh, so that's it! You're gonna have me for dinner.”

“When ya put it that way…”

The twinkle in those seagrass eyes this time makes Jimi gulp, and she looks away, pulling the towel more tightly around her shoulders.

“How ya feeling?”

“... Pretty good, I guess. Everything's all warm.”

The molly was working as intended, then. Truthfully, Jimi didn't feel all that anxious anymore. The water was no longer cool, she actually didn't feel any kind of chill that necessitated the towel around her. It was just a really nice towel, each little loop of cotton feeling like cloudsilk against her skin. The water didn't feel wet so much as, like, a second, comforting skin from mid-calf down to feet, velvet and natural against her.

And everything's so vibrant. She can almost taste the glow of the lamps off the water, the colors of the paintings in progress across the wall, and Pickles himself. Crimson and salt and iron and something else that feels just right for her to grind beneath her teeth.

Jimi blinks. Okay, yeah. She's definitely high enough for this now.

“Good?” Pickles pushes off the edge, tentacles flowing beneath him like a slow-dancing blossom. He floats in front of Jimi, watching her expectantly. “Ready?”

Taking a deep breath, Jimi sits up straight, letting the towel drop from shoulders. She stops moving her feet, letting them drift, but makes no move otherwise. There's still a tiny bead of anxiety in her, tickling the back of her mind like a long-buried memory, and it's enough to make her chew her lip as she stares into the shallows of Pickles’ tank. “... This is still weird.”

“How come?”

“People like me don't swim, Pickles.”

At the cecaelian's confused quirk of his lips, Jimi gestures at herself. It takes a moment, but his mouth forms a little ‘o’ of understanding.

“Well, that's just sad.” That's putting it lightly, Jimi thinks, but judging by the way Pickles sways from side to side, he means it sincerely. “She really loves ya, you know. S'why I wanna do this for ya.”

“Who's ‘She’?” asks Jimi.

But Pickles doesn't respond, instead drifting closer to her, holding out his hands. “It's better if I show you. I won't let ya go, promise. Just one lap.”

There's just one last, long moment of hesitation. It's too late to back out now. Jimi's already here and in the appropriate swimwear, already braided her hair down for this, and if something goes wrong, hopefully, it'll be quick. At least she'll be too zooted to feel the suffocation.

Taking one last deep breath, she pushes off.

Her stomach drops as she leaves the concrete for the fluid depths, feeling like she's dropping into a warm vat of nothing. A strong tendril wraps around her waist, leaving her suspended and above water from the ribs up. Her flailing hands are grasped firmly with fingers that are damp and only slightly alien. 

As promised, Pickles doesn't let her sink. Wrapped around her like a safety belt, the cecaelian smiles at her as Jimi otherwise floats in the water, her feet slowly, naturally kicking. She's halfway to swimming, for the first time in her life. No thrashing, no silent screams as she's pulled and dragged under. 

There's no panic or dread in her heart, only a calm sense of… belonging.

“Holy shit,” Jimi murmurs, and Pickles laughs again.

“I know, right?” His eyes are nearly black from the ecstasy, but he's still with her, still has a pinprick of focus on the painter that makes her shiver.

Jimi glances down, hardly able to comprehend the grass and rocks below for the mass of crimson around her. All writhing and wonderful and… chewy. “Can I touch ‘em?”

“By all means!”

“Don't sound so eager,” Jimi finally laughs, just a bit. 

Pickles releases one of her hands as another tentacle rises up, the flexible little tip curling and waving in a little ‘hello!’ for her. Jimi reaches out with curious fingers and it – he – wraps around and through them and she's not sure what she expected, but it’s certainly not this. Firm and slippery, velvety with just the slightest give beneath her fingertips as she travels down the length. There's the faintest hint of texture, like goosebumps, and the suction cups feel like strong little kisses against her palm, but otherwise…

“Feels like a dick,” Jimi blurts out, and Pickles throws his head back in raucous laughter.

“Well,” The scarlet-headed cecaelian drawls, once he settles down into a fit of giggles. “If you really wanna, later, we can…”

His words stay suspended in the air, like ripe fruit for the plucking. Jimi raises two dark brows at him and he lifts a pierced pair right back at her.

“How about… we stay focused here?” The painter says carefully, a smirk playing about her lips.

“Eyes on the prize?”

“Eyes on the prize.”

Yet they're only staring at each other. Pickles takes Jimi's hands in his own again and slowly eases up on the grip around her waist. Still holding her, but also allowing Jimi to start feeling the encompassing embrace of the water. And she feels it all, the microscopic brushes of millions of crystals of salt on her skin, the ghost sensation of reeds and weeds against her legs, the faint call of precious daughter, come home.

Pickles pushes off without warning and suddenly they're moving, soaring through the water.

Jimi falls forward and wraps her arms around his torso with a yelp of “Oh shit!” She feels the rumble of laughter in his chest as he wraps strong arms around her, and they swim as one.

Well, Pickles is doing the swimming, really, as Jimi holds on for dear life, but they feel like one. Like there's no difference between his skin and her swimsuit and the water that flows around and through them. Pickles leans back so she's nearly laid atop him, head and shoulders kept up and out of the pool while the rest of her is vertical like she's swimming herself. The tendril around her waist eventually unwinds, instead steadying her from beneath as they slowly swim around the surface of his tank.

It’s absurd that Jimi was ever afraid of this. There is no distinction between herself and the crimson cecaelian and the water and the echoes of the ocean where they all belong. Being held in his many arms, unwinding like an unspooled ribbon, all to sway entwined just as it was meant to be. Here, she’s not small, she’s not insignificant, scared and seclusive. In the waves, she’s grand, she is brilliant, and together they have the universe as their domain. Schools of stars scatter before them, reefs of planet falls tremble as they pass over them. Winding between chaos and cosmos, they roar. A pounding of carmine drums, their many hearts beating in tandem. Light flashes at the edge of creation and lucent bells ring in response – the glow of the eternal one, reborn and rejoined to the crimson beast, at last. – come home, come home, o darling daughter, luminous and lost – The brilliant colors dull as Jimi sputters, turning over to eject more water from her nose and mouth, salt stinging her sinuses and making her eyes water.

“Ope, easy there.”

Pickles lays at her side, blocking a good amount of the light. Her coughs subsiding, Jimi pushes herself up on her forearm. They’re back on ground, and the water feels miles away, even though Jimi could see it if she could peer over Pickles’ form. The pull is there, fading ache, soon replaced by a yearning as deep as it was bewildering.

“What… what?” She sits up, and a cloth is dropped around her, dabbing at face and body until Jimi waves her hands. “Oof, hey – thanks,” she sighs hoarsely, throat stinging, as she takes the towel from the attentive tentacles attempting to dry her. Even in shadow, Pickles’ eyes are radiant, his pupils once again that unidentifiable dark shape surrounded by seagrass irises. He looks at the painter with an unreadable expression, and even his normally restless arms are subdued and steady. “What happened?” Jimi finally manages to ask, once she’s rubbed the droplets from her body and wrapped the towel around herself once more. Pickles’ fingers tap against the concrete, a rapid, uneasy beat. “... You tried to dive,” he says quietly. She should be more startled than she is. Instead, Jimi looks to where the water is, her brown eyes going beyond the pool, beyond Mordhaus Aquarium – to the rivers and seas and Ocean beyond. There’s a song within her, wrapped tightly in a helix shell, and it’s silent. “Can we go back?” Jimi asks in a small voice. The wet slide of tendrils foretell of the twin slaps that sound against the ground. Pickles wraps his arms molded in the shape of man around Jimi, and feels so very human when he breathes deep of the air and exhales against her neck. “I’ll take you anywhere ya want,” he says in a shuddering, world-trembling voice. Jimi nods and holds him in return, feels the swirl of galaxies churning and settling within her. “Okay,” she says, and she swallows down that spark, the newborn sun alight with her after a long cycle of shadow. “Thank you.” 

[Soft OTP Prompts]

#metalocalypse #pickles the drummer #jamila calabash #mtl oc #my writing #more of the myth/lore side of mtl stuff

[0nlythrowharrybeaux]

Can i send you a request? I’m a classical music student and the end of uni semester is hard 😪 what if Harry was y/n’s instrument teacher (individual classes) and they have a good relationship but he’s really a perfectionist and she’s putting a lot of pressure on herself and one day he tells her a criticism about her piece and she takes it the wrong way and starts crying and have a panic attack in her class ☹️

(Lets make it sweet and fluffy though 😂)

Of course! I actually majored in vocal performance my Freshman year and the pressure got to me and I switched majors lol. It was just so competitive and stressful and a lot of work outside of classes and lessons and sectionals and juries! ANYWAY! I know how hard end of term can be so I'm wishing you all the best! 🫶

After midterms everything just sort of becomes a blur in university, students are frantic to catch up or improve or maintain their grades, professors are suddenly starting to grade all assignments in bulk, and for Y/N particularly, this meant very inconvenient practice times for her end of the year jury practice. The practice rooms were constantly busy and it was hard to find a reasonable time between her other classes to put in some practice. She was really pushing herself to show fast improvement because during her last semester jury she was told that her nerves were coming through. She was only nervous because she was scared she would forget how to play or read music or count. Just normal thoughts from an anxious and panicked brain.

After that feedback though she brainstormed and decided that the only way none of those things would happen would be if she memorized her next jury piece. It had to be a piece that was at least 5 minutes in length, which wasn't a hard feat. She and her faculty advisor, who was also her assigned instrument teacher, Prof. Styles, well he liked to be called Harry, but they had chosen Chopin's Berceuse Op. 57. She had started to learn that piece the year before but for one reason or another they just stopped practicing it for her repertoire, but he suggested it was time to bring it back. It was an opportunity for her to be able to show off her technical skills while also showcasing how freely she could play. Chopin was all about movement and expression, it gave a lot of wiggle room for the pianist's own artistic expression and based on the previous semester's criticism, her own expression was severely lacking.

It was the week before juries now and due to the hectic schedules and end of term assignments Y/N was running on 4 hours of sleep, burnt coffee, and stale pop-tarts as she was rationing her meal points at this point. She was blazing through the campus to make it to her lesson on time and she just made it in, Harry hated tardiness more than anything.

"Just in time. How's it going." he asked as Y/N walked in panting.

"It's going." she huffed as she set her backpack down and dug out her sheet music, though by this point she really didn't need it.

"How's practice been going?" he asked as she settled herself onto the bench.

"Alright, been going 2 to 2 and half hours." she said as stretched her hands back and wiggled her fingers around. She was still breathing heavily, "I warmed up at my dorm before I came over, s'why I was rushing." she said, "I just need to your honest opinion on how this is sounding."

"S'why I'm here, my dear." he assured and she smiled, "Also, please take a minute to catch your breath." he chuckled and she swallowed down thickly and nodded. She closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders back before exhaling slowly, "There you go, nice and relaxed." he encouraged.

Harry was attractive, there was no denying that. He was practically a musical prodigy and his talent was extraordinary. He was the youngest faculty member, he actually started on her first year, so naturally, she got assigned to him for her lessons, a lot of the new kids did. He was stern and serious, but he also let his kindness seep through - he was just so balanced and it made her feel really comfortable around him. He was an excellent instructor and just within a year of them working together for individual lessons her abilities had improved to the point where she was made second chair to accompany the ensembles as her second year. Obviously, there was a senior as first chair, but her being that much younger and being offered second chair was a big deal. She was Harry's best student and that also came with it's own pressure. With him being who he was, it made people scrutinize his pupils even more as they were his living legacy! Y/N stared at the black and white keys before her for a moment before she put her hands in position and the piece took off.

Harry didn't interrupt her once, he let her play it how she had been rehearsing. But he noticed that her gaze was set down at the keys and her eyes were a bit narrowed. Her shoulders tense and it was causing her posture to worsen as time progressed. Yes, she was hitting all of the right notes but what she was displaying visually and emoting was not matching the easy and fluid feeling of the piece she was playing. As soon as she started to wrap up she relaxed a bit more and finished nicely, holding the last note for a few beats before slowly stepping off of the reverb petal.

Y/N exhaled d and turned to him with a big smile. This was the first time she had made it through the whole piece without a little mistake that she noticed or a feeling that her performance was lacking in some capacity. She couldn't really decipher the look on his face, but she just knew it had to be good feedback. She waited eagerly as he stood there, waiting for a few moments, taking it in. Usually speechless meant good - like there were no words.

"Well, I mean you certainly learned the piece." he said and she chuckled.

"I just wanted to make sure that I didn't miss anything. That I just knew when and where things are supposed to happen so that I'm not freaking out like last time." she explained and he hummed.

"How do you think you did?" he asked and she shrugged with some humility.

"I'd say maybe 8.9 or 9 out of 10." she said and his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, OK." he said with some surprise in his voice and immediately her stomach sank. It couldn't be good that he looked shocked at her self-evaluation.

"Was it not that good?" she asked and he licked over his lips.

"It was and it wasn't, technically you're perfect-"

"So then what?" she asked as she started to feel her hands prick with nerves. She swallowed down that awful burning in her chest, that kind when your breath is short.

"You're literally playing it exactly as it's written there in the sheet music. Where's the feeling?"

"Well I'm playing the dynamics like it says there to give it some movement!" she said and he shook his head and sighed.

"Y/N, you're so focused on making it perfect that you've completely thrown out the entire purpose of music. Yes, you would definitely impress any audience with your skill but if you just keep focusing on perfection you'll never be able to move an audience with your music." he said and she doesn't know why that hurt so much coming from him but it did, "Yes, the dynamics there are a guide for the overall tone of the piece, but you're not being vulnerable and showing us what this feels like for you." he critiqued, "The arpeggios should give me the visual of...let's say a butterfly, fluttering it's wings, right now they feel like a wounded bird, you're dragging the tempo and pressing the keys too hard in trying to ensure that you don't miss a note. And you're glissando is also dragged. You know how to do this, Y/N-" he stopped talking when he heard her gasp, almost as if she was about to cry, "Y/N?" he asked and she glanced up to him with tears rolling down her face and her mouth slightly parted and he could see her chest was rising and falling quickly with how shallow her breathing was. "Oh my god." he said grabbing her hands, "Y/N, it's alright." he said as her shallow breathing started to worsen.

"I-Ican'tbreathe." she slurred and he looked into her panicked and tearful eyes trying to decide how he could help.

"Fuck." he whispered as he took in her demeanor, "Y/N, I-i'm gonna hold you, OK." he warned before he just pulled her into his chest and nestled her face into his neck. Her tears and puffs of air were heating and dampening his skin and surely the collar of his shirt but he just wanted her to be OK. Harry had a huge soft spot for Y/N. He's known her since she started here and he'd been able to help her cultivate her gift and she had a talent that he admired. Maybe in wanting to make her the best he pushed her too far? "I'm sorry if I've been pressuring you too much. I just believe in you and your gift so much. I don't want to push you to the point where I'm taking away your feelings for the music. I'm sorry if I have." he said softly as he rubbed at her back. She was starting to calm down, "There you go, darling. Breathe in and out, it's alright." he comforted her, "Breathe with me." he said and she slowly started to sync up her breathing with his own, "That's it." He encouraged her until she had calmed down.

“I’m sorry.” She stammered as she hiccuped on her tears.

“Hey, it’s alright, you don’t have to apologize.” He assured.

“I’ve just been trying so hard and I don’t want to disappoint you or myself or anyone and-“

“Y/N, I’m not disappointed in you. I just want you to remember that being great at something doesn’t mean you have to stop showing your love for it. Show that you’re passionate about your playing! That’s what we want to see, that’s all.” He said with a soft smile and she nodded into his chest before he released her and reared back to look into her eyes, they were already fixed on his own. “You alright?” He asked and she nodded, “Good.” He smiled as he scooted down the bench to give her sufficient space, “I’ll be right here beside you. Again from the top.”

#harry styles #writing #Harry styles Drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #professor!harry #0nlythrowharrybeaux #harry styles fan fic

[luveline]

would loveeee to see your version of jake!! maybe just something fluffy and domestic, sorry im leaving you to fill in the blanks so much bby ;; <3

thank you for your request lovely ♡ fem!reader

Jake does this thing whenever he sees you like he's trying not to smile —or eat you alive. 

Face desperate to stay impassive but eyes giving him away, his lips and the space just above his left brow twitch at the same time, and the pool cue he holds is swiftly given to a nearby friend. 

"Now what do we have here?" he asks, sizing you up shamelessly. 

You hide your own smile and turn from him. Predictably, Jake follows you from the pool table and toward the bar, where you open your purse for a rumpled ten, the warm summer air ruffling your layered skirt and the air con above battling to keep your cheeks cool. 

He covers your hand. "What's with you?" 

"What's with me?" you ask lightly. 

"Don't tell me you've been this pretty all your life and you still try buying your own drinks?" 

"I'm a big girl," you say, flagging down Penny for your usual. 

Jake, still predictable, declares it on him. Despite his insistence and his easy compliments, he doesn't look at you as Penny pours your drinks, eyes meandering lazily around the Hard Deck and its patrons like he hadn't just followed you up here. 

"I can pay for my own drink," you say. 

He still doesn't look at you, but his smile turns smarmy, almost, his tone wry, "Ah, but should you have to?" 

"Jake–" 

"A first name basis?" He nods at Penny in thanks as she finishes up. A prop for his derision, he picks up his drink and smirks at you from over the rim. "We're getting somewhere."

You place your elbow on the bar and rest your cheek in the cup of your hand, relaxing each feature. You're as unashamed as he was to look at him, though for a different reason, cataloguing the little differences since you last saw him. His tanned cheeks apple the longer you look, and for the first time since this morning, he smiles at you genuinely. 

"Shit," he mutters through it, putting his drink down. "You know I can't handle it when you're looking at me like that, angel." 

"Almost like that's why I do it," you say softly. Your smile melds from contented to something with a little more excitement as Jake puts his hand on your waist a deliberate, slow placement, each finger in a specific set. Thumb pressing into soft tummy, pinky finger teasing the waistband of your skirt. "S'why I wore the skirt, too." 

He catches your lips for a sudden kiss. You laugh into his mouth, grabbing a handful of rigid, corded forearm muscle to stop him from getting too close. (You'd love for him to get closer, but you hope to be able to show your face here for the rest of your life.) 

"I win," you say, the tip of your nose bumping his as you break the kiss. 

"You win," he says. "You were supposed to be here half an hour ago, you know that?"

"So you could subject us to your weird foreplay just after dinner?" Fanboy asks, rocking up to the bar with Rooster beside him. 

"It's not foreplay," you say, mortified but quickly mollified when Rooster waves a hand. 

"He's kidding. Doesn't mean he isn't half right. Why do you guys do that?"

"What, pretend not to know each other?" you ask. 

Jake's arm moves from its risqué grasping of your waist to cover your back. He's not hulking but he's not a small man, you feel his presence behind you like a steadying, remarkably handsome constant. You've no trouble leaning against him with all your weight, your hair pressed to his shoulder. 

"You boys wouldn't understand," Jake says, arm curving around you like a seat belt locking into place. He gives your tummy a squeeze. You place your sandal clad heel on his boot as though that might scare him into behaving, and he likes you enough to pretend it does. 

"It's just fun." You reach for Jake's drink and take a sip, your own ignored and weeping condensation. "Keeps life interesting."

"'Cos I'm such a bore," Jake drawls, nosing behind the shell of your ear. 

You smile and huff a laugh through your nose as he shakes you from one side to another playfully. You're being downright disgusting in public, in broad daylight, but you're so in love you don't mind. It's not as if you're necking, anyways. Jake's just soft-handed when he wants to be, and with you, that's all the time. 

"You're the worst," you say. Your tone is honeyed enough that it's obvious from the first syllable that what you're saying isn't true. 

"I'll drink to that!" Rooster cheers, flagging Penny for another beer.

Jake ignores him. "I really do like the skirt, doll." 

"Thank you. I'm thinking I might get it in white." 

"Oh, yeah. I'd like to see that on you. Almost as much as I'd like taking it right fucking off of—" You step on his toes until he stops.

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x fem!reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin oneshot #jake seresin scenario #jake seresin drabble #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick x reader #rooster x reader #top gun hangman

[ginnsbaker]

re: re: the love letter (details)

that quote is so good... but it's true... we're all haters.

hating danny is easy! you're right.. but i think that's why i love his character.. because... he's very obviously... seemingly selfish.. but that makes him human. especially when he tries his best to reason for all of the things that happened. and also the reader! and how you actively.. made them think thru it but selfishly still turned it back onto danny. (read, both danny and reader are human with realistic traits and emotions and i love it. oftentimes people write characters as one sided... so i'm just really glad yours have more dimensions!)

also i definitely don't view danny as an antagonist btw! i don't think anyone could be in such a story like this, but again... s'why i like all the characters so much. they all have their sides to the story. he's just is who he is. as the reader i feel like i should dislike him for what he's done though, especially when he asks the reader to.. keep it a secret??

and yes. leigh is. (i'm repeating myself.) selfish- i was gushing to my friends about this fic earlier before i wrote the love letter, i kept.. describing leigh's character in this as... bitter. (using danny, putting on a show for matt's spirit) and mean.. (when she finds out there's more things being kept from her and she lashes out to - anyone and everyone, etcetc.) and well yeah. leigh is just as flawed as danny and the reader, but it’s like you wrote “Her... directness is refreshing. In a world full of people trying to sugarcoat everything, Leigh just says it like it is. And yes, it can come off a bit strong, but there's something genuine about it. — Formidable.” and ahhh i could pick apart the little things you wrote for paragraphs and why it scratches my brain so good but alas.

long response, stort reply; i don’t hate danny. hate was too strong of a word. danny is human, so is leigh. and we’re all guilty to being selfish at some points in our lives, whether we like to admit it or not.

and honestly, i felt a little silly after submitting the long ask, but i’m glad you had a positive reaction to it. (plus!! you tagged it as a love letter— i know i called it that on a whim, but it made my heart flutter when you tagged it as such.)

thank you for taking time to read my words and respond to them! i also figure.. i’ll be back in this inbox with more love letters when the next chapter comes… so maybe i can claim an anon spot…?

Yes, exactly. I think he needs to do more growing up. I've been around enough to realize that men mature more slowly than women. which is explains why im so appalled by men my age and younger lol

him asking reader to keep it a secret was him not seeing that leigh has become important to reader, or that their relationship is, while still on an acquaintance-level, is layered with something magnetic.

i think when i wrote leigh, just piled on how the show wrote her. they did an incredible job on her. and i was also sourcing my from own experience with this girl i used to like.. who isn't the most pleasant person to be with and kind of aloof and standoffish. and that's what made her so charming to me. so im glad you're noticing that leigh's imperfection is actually her attractive trait.

I'm sorry if it took a bit longer to reply to this one, i was just working the whole day and working on chapter 7. so i set aside specific times of the day to check out tumblr and reply to asks :)

once again, thank you for your thoughts. keep them long, i love reading feedback no matter the length :D

#anon #if i bleed asks

[esoterium]

@wexarethewalkingxdead || Send ❝ I didn't know where else to go. . . ❞ || accepting!

❝ I didn't know where else to go . . . ❞ (from Carol to Daryl)

thing about carol peletier. she still. after all these years. has a bad fuckin' habit of underestimating how much she means to him. how deeply he cares about her. down to her damn bones is how deep. beyond that. doesn't matter how many times they are in some sorta misunderstandin'. or she feels like she's got no one? he'll be right here for her. if all she does is ask.

s'why when she comes knocking on his door inside the walls of alexandria. this little place that's been through hell and back and all over again? the one where he always wanted her to stick around in? even though he knew she needed out of here at times. more than anyone. for her own sanity. because it was gonna break if she stayed. he got that. oh. he got that. but he always wished for her to come back. even if he wasn't here. because alexandria was always safer with her in it. even if she didn't think so.

that and it meant daryl knew where she was.

even if she didn't need him 'ta. yeah. she didn't need that at all. him knowing where she was? that she was safe? that was more a him needing thing. but that door would always open for her. no matter what. both sets. the ones to welcome her inside the little town. and the ones to welcome her home.

judith and michonne are asleep upstairs when he hears it. puzzled expression lifts up from the chair he'd dozed off in. but he's crossed over to it before another set of knocks can come. when it's her face that greets him? surprise lifts his eyebrows. holy shit. daryl dixon's (cleaner) than normal. might be a pre-requisite to him huddlin' up in michonne's house for as long as he's been here. but carol looks like she's come a ways. and she woulda had 'ta if it was from the kingdom. and there's no one with her..but herself.

"hmm," he's measuring what the hell is up. it's obvious. but then he breaks not a second later. concern on his expression. "c'mon then..," the screen door opens and he waves her in. she's two steps past the threshold before his arms wrapped around her shoulders and his chin's tucked against the curve of her neck. "hey.." his voice is low and gravelly. warm as warm can be. "you okay?" he pulls back but leaves both hands on her shoulders so he can give her a once over. "what's goin' on?"

#featuring: carol peletier (wexarethewalkingxdead) #dem. #am i the only one zen around here? (daryl dixon) #wexarethewalkingxdead

[toomuchracket]

the thought of Matty making the clone dildo is absolutely sending me, how do you think girlie is reacting during it?

i mean i've never been with someone who's made one but given that he would need to be hard during the process, i think you're just chilling naked in front of him to get him going, maybe touching yourself, and it's all quite sexy and exciting. that is... until he has to just wait for a bit with his dick in the mould so it takes the shape, and you have to purposefully avoid looking at it and bite your tongue to keep from laughing at the sight - you can't stop a giggle or two, though, and matty flicks you on the leg like "oi, stop it, i'm doing this for you". you're like "i know, baby, i'm sorry, i just... you do look a little bit funny right now. but i do appreciate it. i love you!", and move to give him a kiss, and matty smiles like "i love you too, sweetheart. s'why i'm doing this". naturally, you tease him a bit like "god, you're SO down bad for me", and he raises a brow like "says the one making me literally clone my dick just so she can get off without me"; you're like "ok fair i'm sorry. feel free to go down on me, as an apology treat", and matty smirks like "don't have to tell me twice" <3

#mads answers asks #matty asks #smutty asks #d word matty