#keep those scissors AWAY FROM HIM!!!!!!!!

[tinfoil-jones]

Do you have any crumbs of the Stan twins bonding in your JF au? How do they take care of one another in their own little ways? Do they follow specific routines when taking care of one another?

[Stan Twin Post]

[Art by @tearosepedall]

Everything grouped together + transcript below (& bonus sketch)

[Panel 1:

Stan asking Jerk Ford for help with a cell phone]

[Panel 2:

Rando, suddenly nervous: *Flirting*

Stan, clueless: *Flustered*

Jerk Ford, crushing a juice box in his fist: *Foe*]

[Panel 3:

Jerk Ford hugging Stan → Stan returning the hug]

[Panel 4:

It's nighttime and Stanley is asleep at the desk in front of his computer. Jerk Ford puts a blanket over him and takes his glasses off for him. There's also a disorderly pile of papers nearby.

The next morning, Stan is still sleeping and he now has a sticky note on his forehead that says 'You're Welcome'. His glasses are folded nearby, he still has the blanket on, and there's a pillow under his chin. The paperwork nearby has been neatly organized]

[Panel 5:

Stan is smiling and clasping his hands together tightly. Jerk Ford has an arm around him, and is looking at the audience angrily. They are equally as angry as each other, but Stan is keeping his composure better]

[Panel 6:

Both Stan and Jerk Ford are wearing safety goggles and a lab coat. Stan is holding a beaker and a test tube, Jerk Ford is holding an active blowtorch and a glass vial.

Teaching 7th Grade

Stan: Today we're gonna be looking at PH level.

Jerk Ford: And next lesson, I'm going to teach you how to seal an ampule.

Stan: No.]

+bonus

[Mario Kart]

Stanley (in general) will play either as Bowser or Donkey Kong. While Ford would play as Mario because he doesn't know what to pick.

[michanvalentine]

I was just thinking—for fun—about how I picture Astarion’s radiant hopeful ending after the six-month celebration following the events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Sometimes you come across such absurd takes that you just go “meh,” honestly. Like, him living in the sewers, lol—why, exactly? Or him setting himself on fire the moment Tav/Durge passes away, because let’s face it, our character is apparently the only valid reason for this poor little vampy-boy’s existence (level 12 adventurer and hero who defeated the Netherbrain, sure).

Naturally, I’m focusing on the single ending—not because I don’t enjoy the romance, but because it sparks my imagination more.

I picture this vampire spawn with his small, well-kept apartment in Baldur’s Gate. A ground floor with a cozy sitting room, a hearth, and lovely wide windows letting in the light of lanterns and the chatter of the city’s nightlife. A staircase leads down to the bedroom and bath in the basement—safety first, of course, since sunlight isn’t ideal during naps. Two kinds of curtains hang from the top of the windows: a lighter, hand-embroidered one made by him, and a heavier, darker one to block out the sun.

Near the hearth is a little sewing corner and a mannequin proudly displaying his latest tailoring projects. At the foot of the small workspace sits a basket filled with spools of thread and fabric samples. On the table: patterns, needles, scissors, thimbles, and everything else he needs to work. There are always flowers on the mantel and the table—some brought straight from Shadowheart’s meadow. He wrinkles his nose, but keeps them anyway; he likes remembering how vibrant their colors are.

On the other side of the hearth is a small bookcase and an armchair full of pillows. There’s a brightly colored fuzzy throw he enjoys for the texture. That’s where he relaxes alone when he has time to read something interesting. Gale makes sure to bring him a new tome every month. There’s a stack of boring books on the floor—those come straight from Waterdeep and he can’t bring himself to throw them away. The good ones are neatly shelved, except for the one he’s currently reading, which rests on the armrest, waiting to be picked up again.

Nearby is a three-legged wooden stool, carved with floral patterns—useful for sitting by the fire or as a footrest. Halsin gifted it to him. The sideboard is well-stocked with plates, glasses, tablecloths, pots, cutlery, and all kinds of utensils. Not just any kind—he likes them refined, even if he doesn’t use them. Gotta impress the guests! And even though he doesn’t eat human food, there’s always bread and cheese on the kitchen counter. Sausages hang from the hooks. One drawer hides rigged cards and dice—only he knows how to make them work.

Next to the sideboard is a small rack for vintage bottles. Only the finest wines (many stolen) in House Ancunin! Guests are few and carefully selected from his inner circle. He values privacy and discretion, especially with those he doesn’t fully trust. He has standards! Lol. That’s why he’s rigged some traps at the entrance. Trust is good, but caution is better—especially when he’s away or asleep downstairs.

The bedroom features a luxurious canopy bed—probably the most expensive item in the house—draped with rich fabric all the way to the floor. Pillows everywhere, in every color and shape. He usually sleeps naked, in black silk sheets. The wardrobe is filled with outfits for every occasion. Many he made himself, some were custom-made by Figaro when he wanted to treat himself, and some he just flat-out stole from rich bastards. Astarion Ancunin is a fashion icon, after all.

Naturally, there are also simpler, comfortable clothes suited to his work. At the foot of the bed is a magically trapped and locked chest (crafted by Gale just for him), where he keeps gold and rare or magical items looted from evil rich folk—who didn’t deserve them anyway. He’ll put them to good use… more or less. One day, that chest will also contain the amulet or cloak that lets him walk in the sun again—he and his old adventuring party are still working on it.

In one corner of the room is a tall mirror with a refined frame. He likes it as a decorative piece—but hey, with the right company in bed, it can always come in handy! Lol. In the other corner is a battered dartboard with at least two daggers stuck in it. Mounted on the wall is a rack of weapons. A pair of curved daggers were gifts from Avernus, courtesy of Karlach and Wyll. A dagger with a Spartan hilt came from another plane, sent by Lae’zel. He doesn’t like it, but he trusts her taste when it comes to efficiency and effectiveness.

The bathroom is, of course, well-equipped: a full tub (not connected to plumbing), with a stack of soft, fragrant towels beside it, and a rug he enjoys stepping on when entering or exiting the bath. There’s a carved floral stool there too—another gift from Halsin. A couple of shelves display his beloved collection of oils and soaps. Also proudly displayed: a set of brushes for every need, because we know how meticulous he is about his hair.

His work as a vigilante (or paid assassin) is slowly paying off, thanks to word of mouth. His clientele includes people from all social classes. Rarely, but when he feels personally involved, he’s accepted jobs in exchange for goods (that he doesn’t eat). Once, a woman abused by her so-called rich lover gave him a chicken as payment. He cursed every god, then accepted, warning her not to tell anyone. He then gave the chicken to the orphan kids who plague his soul begging him to mentor them—just because he once gave them tips on how to properly pickpocket rich fools. Especially foreign merchants with heavy coin purses.

Since then, the brats look up to him and beg for adventurous stories, dreaming of becoming like him. He treats them with disdain, but he secretly loves seeing those little misfits seek his attention and try to apply what he teaches (with hilariously poor results). Not before being begged with: “Pleeeease, Mister Astarion!”

In the colder seasons, when the sun sets early, business picks up—he has more time to be active. He also has more time for the Elfsong when he’s in the mood for fun. Everyone knows him there—he’s the life of the party. Cards, dice, gossip (while gathering intel), flirting just for fun, and sometimes... upstairs shenanigans. All on his terms, of course.

Few people know the real him, and for now, that’s fine. Not everyone can be among the privileged few with access to his home, his life, his intimacy. Alfira, who often performs there, knows and accepts this. Same for his friend Lakrissa.

Once, he saved Chef Roover from a drunk, ill-intentioned outsider by draining him dry. Roover raised an eyebrow and ordered him to help mop up the piss (the guy had wet himself in fear). After that and a few explanations, Alan Alyth tried to hire Astarion as a bouncer. He agreed to “make troublemakers disappear”—nothing more—in exchange for unrestricted access to the tavern’s lower floors for his business.

Now Astarion has taken over the old Emperor’s chambers, giving them a new purpose. Still under renovation, but clients can drop by the bartender, say the code word, and be sent downstairs... Astarion has big plans for himself and his enterprise. Maybe someday he’ll add a small hedonistic lounge to share with friends who enjoy the same bloody pleasures. In moderation, of course. After all, it’s nice to inspire hope in people, not just fear, right?

And then there’s Jaheira, who drops by nearly every day under the pretense of helping with renovations, delivering materials, or suggesting more “reasonable” interior design. Really, she just wants to play mama wolf and make sure he stays out of trouble, while slipping him extra gigs on behalf of the Harpers or the Flaming Fists. At least she doesn’t nag at his house—and tries to keep Minsc out of it—but Astarion knows it’s just a matter of time before the ranger shows up in his kitchen out of nowhere, bloody, half-dressed, and with a dumb story about how he got there.

And of course, there are the Gur, who frequently seek his advice about vampire spawn kids or local monsters. If they can offload more work onto him, all the better! At least they’ve stopped hunting him, and sometimes they even help lighten the weight of vampirism. He’d never admit it, but a lot of them are actually fun—and nearly as good at cheating at dice as he is. Once, they held a kind of tournament where he almost lost. Damn cutthroat vagabonds!

So yeah, just a little headcanon about poor, helpless, useless Spawn Astarion, who supposedly can’t survive a day without Tav/Durge. xP

[venusbyline]

HEADCANON: (Sexual) Gameplays with Targtowers boys and Velaryon boys

⚠️: Velaryon!reader, Targcest (uncles/niece & older brother/younger sister & twin brother/twin sister), smut, oral sex (male receiving), underage sex, implied/referenced orgy, age gap (older men/younger woman), Lucerys and reader are 16, Jacaerys and Daeron are 17, Aemond is 21, Aegon is 24, free use. modern AU.

❥ Aegon II masterlist • Aemond masterlist • Daeron masterlist

❥ Jacaerys masterlist • Lucerys masterlist

❥ HOTD masterlist • ASOIAF headcanons

One night, the whole group decided to play a stupid challenge. It was about spending the week trying to see who would do better playing and getting a blowjob at the same time — and you, of course, did not care at all about pleasing the boys, loving the feeling of being sexually used by your brothers and uncles, each one of them during a different day of the week.

Based on the outcome of rock, paper, scissors between them, Lucerys had been the one who got the Monday. The poor sixteen-year-old boy was too nervous the whole time and had barely been able to concentrate on their game, since that was the first blowjob he was getting in his entire life, and it was also given by his twin sister, the only girl he was in love with since he was a child — even though you thought that situation was unfair because he would be at a disadvantage, you had fun watching your sweet brother whimper and writhe with that thick cock inside your throat, until he came in less than five minutes.

"Sister, please. I-I can't..." Lucerys whimpered, his hands shaking and his character taking more damage than usual. He looked at you with those pretty hazel eyes and filled with tears of pleasure, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment when he heard Aegon laughing at him over the audio call. "S-Shut up, uncle, I just... O-Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit!"

You giggled after Lucerys struggled to pull his cock out of your throat so you would not swallow all those white spurts, and what was supposed to be a cute attempt to keep his twin sister clean ended up just failing, your pretty face all sticky with his warm cum.

On Tuesday, it had been Aemond's turn. Much more controlled than Luke, your uncle just kept his jaw clenched most of that time, not even looking at you while you literally shoved every inch of his shaft into your throat. For a few minutes, you thought you were doing something wrong or that he was not even physically attracted to you the way Aegon had gossiped a few months ago — but that doubt ended when your uncle finally looked away from the computer screen for a few seconds.

"Mhmm, you're really hot, little niece," your uncle's humming words made you whimper in embarrassment around his cock, sending vibrations through his body.

"Hey! It's not fair... How are enjoying the blowjob and yet you're playing so well this round?" Lucerys exclaimed, being all frustrated when he almost hitting one of their own team's players.

The shrill laughter of the other boys softened the situation a little bit. "It's 'cause you're a fucking virgin and a whiny little baby, Luke," Daeron teased his nephew.

Daeron had to work twice as hard to have even half the self-control his older brother had. He had always been the second best player out of the five of them, and the fact that he already fucked you so many times did not help matters much, because you knew everything he liked. Every time you flicked your tongue over the tip of his cock, Daeron gripped the joystick so tightly it turned his knuckles white. Being left until Wednesday, right after Aemond, caused more despair than he could have imagined.

"H-Holy shit, babe, why are you taking it out on me?" Daeron gasped, growling in frustration afterwards as you focused the teasing on the prominent vein of his pink cock.

"Well, it's your fault," you muttered through swollen, red lips. "For flirting with that Lannister bitch from my chemistry class."

"How the hell did you–" the question was cut off by the sound of his game character dying from a stupid gunshot.

Jacaerys was not an excellent player as Daeron, much less as Aemond. However, his determination to give his best on that damn Thursday spoke louder than his daily lust for you. Well, almost... Because every time you started to flutter your eyelashes on purpose, he would distract himself from what he needed to do in the game, staring at you and admiring the sight of your bright eyes and flushed cheeks, as they always were when the two of you were having sex. He could not wait to have a chance to fuck you again soon, before the vacations were over.

"Feeling good, big brother?" your mocking purr caught Jacaerys off guard, almost needing to close his eyes so he would not see you rubbing and fingering your own pussy when you took his cock out of your mouth to breathe for a few seconds.

"Damn it, things like that looks so much easier in the porn," Jacaerys sighed between ragged breaths, trying to continue pressing the joystick buttons with precision, like he always did when he was playing with his little brother and his uncles — but more desperately now —. "You're such a brat, little sister..."

With Aegon, the situation had been more degrading and intense for you. Even though it was already Friday and his turn was the last one, he was not even a little bit worried about coming in the fifth place — or at least the fourth place, since Lucerys' performance in the game had been so bad that everyone was already sure that the youngest boy would come in last place —, his attention was all focused on his little niece. No matter how many nights he had fucked you, he was still completely addicted to it. The feeling of having your pretty mouth engulfed around his thick cock, always giving him the best deepthroat...

"Fuck, you little whore... You love being used by us, don't you? Being a free use doll for your brothers and uncles?" The gameplay was not even over yet, but he let go of the joystick anyway, his heavy hand grabbing you by the hair and starting to fuck your throat, chuckling while you choked, tears streaming from your wide eyes and spit running down your chin.

"That's enough, Aegon! Stop that shit right now, you asshole!" Jacaerys yelled furiously into the headset, so jealous and listening to his younger sister being used by his stupid uncle.

"I hope you're enjoying the sounds of your baby sister gagging on my fat cock, nephew," The hysterical taunt made Jacaerys huff angrily and shut off the computer.

As soon as the Saturday night arrived, no one was surprised by the official result of that silly challenge. Lucerys in fifth, Aegon in fourth, Jacaerys in third, Daeron in second and, of course, Aemond in first.

The agreement had been that the winner would fuck you while the others watched, a fair exchange but also kind of mean and teasing. Although the rules were clear and everyone had previously agreed on those consequences, no one in that Targaryen family knew how to deal well when they lost at something.

Then, by the end of the night, what was supposed to be a fuck based on voyeurism and exhibitionism ended up more like a messy orgy.

[miupow]

Ahem... *cleans throat* Abruptly pulling on Huening's ponytail while you two fuck causing him to let out a load groan and a small smirk because you're both all over each other like starved men and he enjoys the fact that it's all bites and scratches and hair pulling like you're about to devour and destroy each other out of love (,,>﹏<,,) *cutely disappears (LMAO)*

— Sky, that sadly has gone mad after seeing black ponytail Hyuka today, R.I.P

SKY

[prythiansprincess]

What's each boys fav sex position?

— switchin' the positions for you

a slytherin boys headcanon

theo loves cowgirl. there's just something about watching you ride him that drives him insane. eye contact is a must for him. mostly because he knows how flustered you get when his dead eyes lock in on yours, drinking in every inch of your body while you rock your hips and moan his name. he can’t help but admire you as your tits bounce, his large hands cupping them softly, before taking them into his mouth, groaning as he licks and sucks and marks you up. so good bella, just like that. la mia piccola troia perfetta. theo thinks it’s hot when you lose control, smirking and chuckling to himself when your pussy clenches while he speaks dirty, filthy things to you in italian. sometimes he’ll stop midway to eat you out because it’s his nature — theodore nott is a munch through and through. he never gets tired of the taste and if you even dare say that you’re too sensitive, he’ll yank you by the ankles and pry your legs apart because you’re done when he says you’re done. countless orgasms later, he’d return you to your original position, smirking as you straddle him with shaky legs. when you’re too tired to ride, he’d hold your hips in place and fuck into you, coaxing another orgasm even though you swore you couldn’t take any more. theo knows you can. he loves pushing you to your limits. watching you fall apart and cum on his cock is his favorite thing in the world. keep those pretty eyes open, cara mia. I want to watch you cum for me.

mattheo switches between missionary and doggystyle. if you’re being good, he loves taking the lead and doesn’t mind you being a pillow princess. he’d worship and adore you, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear while he hovers over you, that endearing smile tugging at his lips in response to your giggles about his curls tickling your nose. he’d lean down and give you a sweet kiss before making you see god. if you’re being bad, then there’s no mercy in him as he bends you over a bed, a desk, a counter — it doesn’t matter where or when, mattheo will fuck that attitude right out of you and make you wish you’d never acted like such a brat in the first place. he’d spank you until you’re crying, leaving red handprints all over your ass for days to come. he’d be rough and degrading, his fingers bruising your hips as he fucks you from behind. mattheo isn’t fooled by your tears, he knows it’s not out of pain but of pleasure. he’s well aware that you purposely push his buttons to get fucked dumb, so he edges you over and over again until you’re whining and sobbing. mattheo shuts you up by hooking his arm around your neck, his bicep holding you in place as he shakes his head in feigned disappointment. not so brave now, huh princess? where did all the fire go? now you’re begging me to fuck you like the needy little slut that you are. too fucking bad. if you want to cum, you’ll have to work for it, baby.

enzo is the designated big spoon. your cuddles always start off innocent enough, but it’s not long before he’s slipping a hand into your shorts, teasing your clit in tantalizing circles and smirking against your shoulder as you arch against him for more. you’re so wet that it’s almost too easy for him to slip his fingers right in, scissoring and pumping and curling them into that sweet spot that has you seeing stars. pretty soon, you’re pliant and needy, exactly how enzo wants you because it makes it that much easier to slip off your shorts and panties before rubbing himself against your folds. just the tip, honey. let me make you feel good, yeah? you nod, biting your lip. both of you know it’s never just the tip, but it gives you a sick little thrill as enzo fucks you in shallow little thrusts, edging you until you’re teary eyed and begging him to fuck you for real. enzo coos as he licks your tears away. aw, you’re so pretty when you beg, honey. how could I say no? it’s then that enzo finally sinks in, spreading your legs so he can bury himself so much deeper. you’re sobbing from relief, nothing but a blubbering mess as his skilled fingers circle around your swollen clit.

draco is a fan of the classic. missionary is his go to. he used to hate it before he met you because of how vulnerable the act is, but when he looks into your eyes, he knows that you see him for who he truly is — the good, the bad, and the ugly. you see every part of him and you love him through it all. you trust him through it all. you’re taking me so well, darling. such a good girl. he makes sure to reassure you every step of the way, communicating how much he loves and adores you with every action. draco kisses your ankles before yanking you towards him, the backs of your thighs pressed firmly against his chest as his cock kisses your cervix, both of you groaning from how deep he is inside you. his signet ring is cold against your stomach as he marvels at the size difference. can you feel me, princess? i’m so fucking deep. a choked moan is all you can manage before his ring makes it way down to your clit, vibrating against the already sensitive nub while draco worships your body.

tom is a no brainer. this man is a sucker for doggystyle. he loves bending you over and spreading your cheeks before thrusting all the way in, smirking when you gasp at how big he is. watching his cock slip in and out of your pussy as he sets a punishing pace is so satisfying to him. tom is dark and dominant, deliciously possessive as he lays his claim on you. he knows he’s the only one who can make you feel this good. tears streaming down your cheeks, profanities spilling from your lips, and fingers clutching at the sheets as he pounds into you over and over again. tom is relentless, driving you towards the brink and release just to pull you back and repeat the process until you’re so desperate that you’re outright begging. he sneers when you fuck yourself against him, eager to take as much of him as you can. your pussy suctions him in so greedily, the warmth of your walls hugging around his cock like a vice. such a needy little slut. you’re so desperate for my cock, aren’t you? look at you, all stretched out and still asking for more. you’re shameless as you rock against him, moaning when tom spanks your ass, his handprints seared into your skin. tom lets you have your fun, but at some point, he takes the reign again by yanking your hair back, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he stills your movements. you belong to me, doll. I own you — mind, body, and soul. don't you ever fucking forget that.

regulus is a certified freak. he may not look like it, but he’s hiding a basilisk in those trousers. he doesn’t really have a preference of position. this man just loves to fuck. most of the time, the two of you do it while standing because he loves the thrill of getting caught. sex with reggie is risky. he has a huge exhibition kink and definitely gets off on the thought of someone walking in while he’s balls deep in you. there’s been countless times when you’ve ended up fucking at a common room party or at a night out in hogsmeade or even during movie nights with your friends because he just can’t keep his hands off of you. his favorite is when you’re in the restricted section with your legs wrapped around him, skirt pulled up over your waist while he thrusts, making the shelves shake behind you. reg bites his lip as you sink down slowly, his eyes nearly rolling back as he watches his cock disappear between your folds. he’s got one hand around your waist to hold you up and the other against your mouth to keep you from moaning too loud and attracting attention. he also loves dirty talking in french because he knows it gets you so much wetter for him. j'aime quand tu me regardes comme ça, mon amour. the black family heirloom ring kisses the side of your neck as regulus wraps a hand around your throat, tilting your chin as his lips meet yours in a filthy kiss. you’re mine, love. mine and only mine.

[babycharmander]

(THE BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS!!)

Thinking about Bill’s appearance at the end of the book…

[ID: BIll when confronting the Axolotl. He is shown in white silhouette, hovering in space, hovering neutrally. Notably, he has a massive crack running through his body, splitting him into multiple pieces, some of which are coming apart. /end ID]

When confronting the Axolotl, Bill is broken. The Axolotl even notes this: "Shattered, broken, not yet dead."

(Which, side note, makes me think Bill might have been lying about having been "kicked out of Hell," if he didn't actually die in Stan's head.)

[ID: Three pictures of Bill in the Theraprism. The first one shows him holding his hand against the side of his head in a dazed expression, sitting in a chair in a white padded room between a wizard with a clock for a face and Saturn (taken directly from the painting Saturn Devouring His Son). The second is a camera recording of him wearing an orange jumpsuit and kneeling in a cell, surrounded by arts and crafts tools, holding a pair of scissors, and beaming his thoughts frantically into a book. The third shows a mugshot of him staring blankly into the camera, his own name written on coded text below him. In all three images, he has a glowing scar where the cracks were, and is in one piece. /end ID]

When he's shown in the Theraprism, we see a glowing, static-y scar where the cracks were. The scar crosses his entire body (and even crosses to the other side of his eye without affecting it!), but he's actually whole, keeping himself together.

But then...

[ID: Two pictures of Bill from the last pages of the book. In the first one he is facing forward and holding up one finger, his eye reddened, his entire form glitching, and his crack is notably worse than prior, cracking through his eye, multiple smaller pieces drifting away. In the second one he is staring blankly at the viewer, his arms hanging limply, his eye wide and blank, the crack worse than the previous image, with more pieces floating away. /end ID]

In the last few pages, we see the scar is gone and the cracks are back, and even more of him is breaking away, including parts of his eye. It's especially bad in the last image, with even more pieces of him breaking away.

Also noteworthy is that the static texture behind him seems to be the same as the blood sample the US government took from him in the 1940s. He's bleeding.

We know from context that these images are meant to be taken somewhat chronologically. After dying (or nearly dying), Bill seeks out the Axolotl, who sends him to the Theraprism. While there, he writes the journal that he's beaming to us. The staff at the Theraprism catch onto this, and allow him to write out the last few pages, meaning those last few pages are chronologically the last of Bill we see.

This means that, after the events of the show, Bill was shattered... and then, upon entering the Theraprism, started to heal, his body coming together and scars forming... but at some point afterward, he started breaking apart again.

I'd made a post previously about Bill's development, how he views himself as a monster after the Euclidian Disaster, and how he continues to act monstrous afterward (and winds up agonizingly lonely as a result). I didn't really touch on this in the post, but I feel like after inadvertently destroying his home dimension...

Bill never left the denial phase of grief.

I could be wrong on this, but I get the feeling that part of his reason for acting monstrous toward just about everybody is because he sees himself as a monster, because "this is just how I am" is easier to accept than "I really really screwed up."

Bringing this back to his shattering... It's interesting to me that after entering the Theraprism, his body is scarring, which means it is healing. But then, at the end, as he's signing off the book, he's shattered again, and looking even worse than he did when talking to the Axolotl. When talking this over with a friend, they pointed out something that struck me:

Bill does not want to heal.

Healing means having to actually think through what happened. It means having to confront his past, confront destroying his home dimension, confront the harm he caused to others, confront the fact that he did not have to be this way.

And he refuses to do that.

He refuses to heal.

[queenendless]

ARISE

A/n: As we are now in a new year, time to write on some new fandoms.

Rewatched S1 dubbed — and yes Aleks Le as Sung Jinwoo is the reason why cause he's so damn fine~! Listen to his voice as you read this, I insist! I just need to get my Sung Jinwoo fix. Therefore—

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x F!Adult!Reader

CW: Explicit 21+ MATURE content inside. SOME SPOILERS but not much. Morning smut, implied mentions of suicide, reader got reincarnated as a humanoid magic beast and serves Jinwoo now.

DON'T PLAGARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY FANFIC WORK. Rather reblog like and follow pls n thx.

"Wakey wakey." That teasing low purr in the crook of your neck had you giggling tiredly as the ticklish sensation pulled you out of slumber. Spooning you from behind, his legs entangled with yours, Jinwoo breathes in your scent, sucking tenderly. Taking his enormous hand that rested on your hip into yours, just to play with his fingers, made him smile.

“Don't go.” You murmur, raising that hand to brush petal soft pecks to his knuckles.

"Come on, now. I gotta get ready." His slurred gruffness were telltale signs he was in no hurry.

"The world is your kingdom now, Jinwoo. It'll still be there tomorrow." Your reassurance meant you curled further into your side of the bed, the tendrils of slumber creeping back in. His deep chuckle trailed butterfly pecks from your cheek, down the pane of your neck, then up to your ear. "Stay here with me, please."

"Even the Shadow Monarch needs to lead his guild." His words were one thing. His wandering hands were another story. "But, if you rather keep me in bed all day, I suppose you could persuade me." His very presence chased away the bitter freezing loneliness you were accustomed to, submerging you in his comfortable burning embrace.

"God, you're something else." You turned in his grasp, finally able to face him and shower him with your smooches, such smitteness brought warmth blooming within him. Not to mention his bulge rubbing against your crotch sent sparks shooting through you both.

Flashes of memories surfaced in your mind. Such a whiplash it is that the most powerful hunter in this world that you personally witness slaughtering every beast and human that dares stand in his way, soaked in their blood, could be the very same man that held such requited smoldering endearment for you.

The butterflies and flips occurring inside from every gaze, touch and word given are always worth it.

"God has been long gone from this world ... just Rulers and Monarchs now ... and yours is beside himself. To think his favorite beast on the streets ... is a lamb in the sheets~" That rumbling deep voice roughly heaved in between kisses. Opening your mouth so willingly had him grinning against you as his velvety tongue entangled yours, lost in the thralls of the passionate dance within. “My favorite~”

His sculpted hands slithered underneath your top, lightly brushing up against your sides, then your tummy. One hand stayed to fondle your cushiony mounds; he never gets tired of feeling you up.

"A human from another world ... reborn as a humanoid magic beast." Pinching, pulling and rubbing your pearls between his long sly fingers had you melting as your muffled mewling grew frequent. “Failed by those closest to you, abandoned to that pain and fear … a kindred soul.”

His other sly hand slips under your undies, cupping your dripping sex. Your moaning had him smirking as he nibbled your bottom lip in tune with his thumb insistently rubbing your clit and the tips of his fingers brushing around your cunt. "Isn't this what you wanted? To be touched by me? Your beloved King?"

"Mmm yes~" His voice always got you going, especially when those four fingers filled you up well, curling and scissoring in their trek straight to your burning core. "Aaah~" Your hips rutting into his hand got him bricked up through his sweatpants. "Nngh~" Wringing your hands through those dark messy locks and stroking along his shaved undercut got him trembling, all to reel him in and keep you as grounded as you could currently be in your haze filled state. "Don't stop~"

"So touch starved." Your sharp gasp was the sign he reached your bundle of nerves, prodding it with such vigor, stuffing you right up to his wrist, lathered up in your cream. “To let me be the first and only one to shower you with such devotion ... I'll forever be grateful for that blessing." Tears of ecstasy leave your e/c eyes and he kisses them away, his ebony bangs tickling your moaning burning face, the flames of passion stoked for you as you come undone. "My Queen~"

His creamy hand then pulled right out of your valley, leaving you desperately wanting him to fill up your emptiness. Your faith got restored, however, as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, revealing the chiseled marble sculpture that is his physique.

He knows the sight alone makes your mouth water. Your hands traversed the panes of his soft firm pecs, that thick neck, those broad shoulders, even these sculpted biceps that flexed as his daily tasked push ups came with the added benefit of pushing down to your laying form, being enthralled by your rewarding kisses. Such reliable stability beneath that lean stature of resilience.

Your own eyes burned with the glow of enchantment, the image of who he used to be versus who he has become reminded you of yourself. How the physical and mental scars that plagued your old life for years on end shaped you into who you have become. A magic beast serving the Shadow Monarch. What a pairing.

His cream coated hand slips under his own waistband, pulling his beast free from its confines, using your cum as his lube to be more prepared.

His other hand cupped under your knee, draping your leg over his shoulder. "Wouldn't you rather I give you tongue~?" That low toned growl already got your other leg willingly draped over his other broad shoulder already as that mouth sunk into your wet folds.

“Yes love~!” Ripping such a concupiscent symphony outta your mouth. His other hand couldn't help but jack off to your venereal cries. The scorching presence his mouth gave as the starvation had him ravaging, suckling as much as making out with your now squirting folds.

His cheeks filled with your essence, dexterously aiming his tongue to drive you further up the tower of sins. Your spasming hips only buried his face deeper in, inhaling your scent as his nose got pushed in your pubes, his light yet sturdy weight. Those lidded silver eyes flashed violet as their predatory gaze marveled in your sweaty flushed expressions due to his ravenous gorging, your voice shrieking as you unloaded, his creamy covered lips curling swallowing gratefully.

“You're truly decadent.”

Your body and soul trembled in anticipation for what's to come; your legs falling off his shoulders to hug his firm hips. So did him, leading his dick slowly into your loosened yet smothering grip. "Let me make love to you." He grunted, you sucking him up as greedily as his cock started into the slow steady rhythm stroking your creamy grip.

“Fuck me! Please~! Don't stop~! Don't ever stop!” Your unhinged shouts of passion hit his ear as you hugged his neck, his own hot breath hitting your shoulder as he picked up the lace into the feverish fueled tapping; skin squelching and smacking noises bouncing off the walls.

“Fuck~! You’re heaven incarnate~!” Your sob filled yell riled up his necessity to bust his nuts in you even more. His feral groans in response had you squeezing him in a vice state, marking the side of his neck into a bruising suck, drawing scratches along his chiseled shoulder blades.

His own fingers dug into your rolling hips, finger shaped bruises painting your skin in kind, while his sharp teeth marked along your shoulder and neck, marking you as his and his alone, raising you further to the apex.

“I’ll fuck you until the world ends. This needy pussy deserves to be ravaged every waking moment. Every inch of you is mine to worship. Your beautiful womb filled up with my seed. That's my dream. To have you as my wife. To raise a family together. To make you Mrs. Sung!”

“Yes, Jin~! Yes~!” Your choked up agreement got lost in the sloppy, tongue filled kisses as you came a third in a row, making a cum circle around his shaft, painting his rippling thighs and the once pure sheets.

Your orgasmic greeting met with his, shooting right into your womb quite thickly, lifting you in his shredded grasp, externally and internally. Thrusting his still oozing libido into your heavenly valley like a madman to chase that euphoric high.

Your head limply rested on his shoulder like a pillow, fatigued mewls spilling out as the burning weight of his essence settled into your abdomen. Carefully setting you down on the bed, Jinwoo collapsed on his side, heaving slowly and deeply, his dazed eyes gazing at yours, glowing radiantly as the sunlight slipping in outlined your form.

Still submerged in you, now limp dicked, his muscular arm draped over you, pulling you both closer, all to have you curling into his slickened torso, breathing in your intermingled scent.

“Now call in sick.” Your weak request got him chuckling deeply.

“I will in a bit.” Curling your cascading hair through his fingertips, he caressed your pretty head, allowing the tranquil silence to linger.

“I love you, Y/n. So damn much. Thank you for being in my life, in this moment, and for the rest of our reign to come.” His whole being enveloped you in his bear hug of an embrace, drawing in your shared taste through an endearing kiss.

“I love you too, Jin. So damn much.” Your voice fluttered from the swelling of emotion taking hold on your heart, as you couldn't help but fall into the routine of peppering smooches all over that beautifully precious face of his.

“I'll love you. In this life and the next. Until the end of it all.” He vowed to you as you succumbed to sleep once again, smiling softly at your face, kissing your sweet lips once more before reaching out behind him for his phone, sending a quick text to Yoo Jinho about his impromptu work absence. His brother in arms was A-okay about, already suspecting fooling around with you being the reason why.

Jinwoo's next text was him dubbing Jinho as his best man at your upcoming wedding, already looking forward to seeing you on that sacred day, followed up by quite the steamy honeymoon.

He was already anticipating your future together, basking in the early morning, setting his phone aside as it filled with the following texts of congrats and excitement from his little bro, before joining you in the confines of dreams, cocooned in your shared comfy warmth, watched on by his shadow army in the corner, silently cheering for their master’s engagement with their future Queen Regnant.

[redtsundere-writes]

Price's beard is famous around base—a rugged, full, and commanding presence that spoke to both discipline and masculinity. That type of beard that's hard to grow and maintain. And there's his hair. An immaculately cut, effortlessly styled, and somehow looking even better every time he comes back for a mission. Soldiers always pester him to tell them who his barber is, but he always gatekeeps it. He never cracks. It's his best well-kept secret.

After months of deployment, his beard needed a refresh. He knocked on his neighbor's door, a cute hairstylist that does her family and friend's hair on her free time. You opened the door with a huge smile to see Price was back home safe and sound.

“The usual?” You asked, pulling a chair from the kitchen for him to sit in. It was part of the routine. A warm hug after months of not seeing each other, letting him in your house, offer him something to drink, and putting his favorite tunes on the speaker.

“You know it. Just work your magic.” Price trusted you completely, almost blindly. You had been his barber for years now. “How's the family?”

“Pretty good, captain. My lil sister is getting married next week. I'll be doing her hair, such a huge honor.” You placed the cape around his neck, breathing in his intoxicating scent with notes of amber and musk.

“That's wonderful news. You better send my congrats.”

“Will do, captain.”

You prepared your tools—your shears, straight blade, a new leather strap you bought recently. You really like when Price came by, it was the perfect opportunity to use your barber kit and practice with a handsome model. “The usual” was simple. Price was meticulous about his grooming, already keeping his hair in check with the products you’d recommended. It was just cutting the top of his hair, cleaning the edges of his beard and carve out sharp lines that framed that unmistakably strong jaw.

But it wasn’t just the cut that brought him back, he liked the nice chats and to admire how you worked. He loved the way you worked—slow, steady, deliberate. The way your tongue peeked out to focus on the details. The gentle press of your soft fingertips as you tilted his head. Unlike other barbers, you never asked any questions about his work, he didn't like to think about that on his free time. When he sat in your chair, the world outside didn’t exist. It was just the sound of the scissors, the warmth of your presence, and a fleeting sense of home.

“And this dickhead even has the nerve to ask: 'Are we fucking or are we splitting the check?' Like, what the hell?!” You were telling him how your last blind date ended as you cut the sides of his hair, making sure it didn't touch his ears because the tickles bothered him.

“What a fucking pillock!” Price gasped angry.

“That's what I said!” You huffed. “Who is raising these boys? I swear to god, my 8-year-old nephew is more a man than that bastard.”

“I always wondered why are you single, I think I have my answer now,” Price said.

“Look, I may be single, but I ain't desperate. I won't settle for anything less than a gentleman.” You scoffed as you finished the touch ups. “We are all done, handsome.”

You gave Price a mirror. He moved his head around to admire the details of your wonderful, usual, job. He felt like a new, clean man. You looked at him with a bright smile, satisfied with your job.

“I am telling ya, you were born for this,” Price said as you unbuttoned the cape.

“Aw, thanks, captain. You are always so sweet.” You blushed.

“How much do I owe you, luv?” Price pulled up his wallet.

“Oh, c'mon. You know it's always from the house.” You pushed the wallet from your sight, making him to put it back in his pocket.

“You can't be giving away your talent for free,” Price smiled. He liked the attention, but he didn't want to abuse of your kindness. “At least let me tip you.”

“Please, captain. I insist.” You looked at him straight to the eye. Your heart skipped a beat when he looked back at you with those dreamy eyes of him. He finally smiled in defeat.

“Fine, fine.” Price sighed, putting the wallet back in his pocket. “What about I take you out to dinner?”

“Captain, that's not necessary…” You chuckled.

“Not as payment,” Price interrupted you. “As a date. I can give you the real gentleman you want.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, catching you completely off guard. You hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected him to be so direct, so effortlessly charming. Price took your hand and kissed your knuckles softly, his beard tickling your skin lightly.

You met his gaze, your smile breaking through before you could even think to suppress it. How could you say no? The most handsome client to ever sit in your chair had just asked you out—and you accepted without hesitation.

Masterlist.

[lady-lauren]

❥ SATORU GOJO X FEM! READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.1k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: incest (big brother/little sister), hatefucking, degradation, Satoru's hand smothering your mouth, some dub-con tones but really you both want this fucked up situation, semi-public sex (the door isn't closed and it really should be), creampie

Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Read those warnings again.

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

You’ve always eclipsed his light. A stain on his legacy, a re-shifting of the scales when you were born.

Always on his heels, nipping at his skin. 

Satoru wonders how many times the two of you have tangled like this—fury and jealousy, adults carrying the bitterness of spoiled children.

“Are you even trying?” 

You’re pinned beneath him, both of you wild and uncoordinated, driven more by emotion than immeasurable skills. 

“Fighting dirty isn’t fair, ‘Toru,” your tits are heaving as you try to catch your breath, hips squirming and bucking to keep mean fingers from playing with the one toy he was never allowed to have.

“Excuses, excuses,” he tuts, bicep flexing as he catches your wrist in an attempt to scratch his cheek, “you like when I play dirty, little whore.”

One step away from a tense family dinner had him cornering you in some tucked away office with your dress bunched around your hips on the floor.

Satoru thought fucking you would depredate you, make you take on the burden of his sins. Instead it’s only wrecked him further. Now he tastes you in the back of his cheeks whenever he looks in the mirror.

God he hates you. Because you make him sick, make him do sick, nasty things and you barely try to fight back. 

“It’s like you want to get fucked by your brother, hm?” he thinks aloud before pressing his mouth against yours. He cups your neck, pulls you closer, pays attention to how you grunt and tug at his shirt. Your nails catch buttons, scratch into skin. 

He shouldn’t kiss you here, where any roaming maid or distant cousin could catch a glimpse of what the Gojos do when no one is looking. 

But he’s at a point where he wants people to look, wants people to see just how fucked up you both are.

“Toru,” you hiss, “stop, get off—”

“Oh shut the fuck up. We don’t have time for the but ~Satoru~ we shouldn’t song and dance. You always let me have you, so be quiet and take it.” 

Still, you fight, like you always do. Your toned muscles push and shove, one leg nearly smashing air from his lungs. He catches your calf in time, insatiably mean fingers digging into your soft flesh and forcing your thighs apart. He can tell you bite back a whine of pain, too prideful to let him know when he hurts you.

“You cannot do this here in the fucking floor of—” 

“Really? Would you rather me take you to your old bedroom so you can cuddle your stuffies while big brother fucks you stupid? Hm? Is that what you want?” 

“What I want,” you try to pull his hair like a child, “is for you to find someone else to be obsessed with. What about Sugu? Oh, that’s right you—”

Just the sound of that name makes him want to rip you apart, smash you to such small pieces that he’ll never have to think of you again. Satoru clamps his hand over your babbling mouth, squeezing until his knuckles turn white and you actually whimper.

He’s going to fuck you into the floor, into oblivion, until all you can think about is him. It’s only fair. 

Satoru keeps the pressure on your mouth, forcing his free hand between your spread thighs so he can shove two long fingers into your cunt. Your panties are soaked around the edges of his knuckles, pussy drooling and squishy as he thrusts and scissors in the way he knows will make your eyes roll. 

“You sure are wet for someone who doesn’t want this.” 

He knows you do. You don’t have to tell him—you probably never will say the exact words aloud. He won’t either. 

You roll your hips back as he fingers you, the dress around your hips falling open like wilting petals against your skin. 

The palm of his hand eats your moans, still small and breathy, desperate to feel more than just the squelching spread of his fingers. 

He wants to punish you, wants to bruise your pussy with his knuckles and make you scream. But he doesn’t have that kind of patience. His cock is smothered in his pants, straining and thumping against the floor. Pre is already leaking into threads; he feels another drop bead against his cockhead as your cunt squeezes when he curls his fingers into a spongy spot that makes you buck.

It’s so wrong and fucked up that he knows that soft spot within you, knows that if he rubs it a few more times it might actually make you cum in his hand.

“God, is your slutty cunt this messy for other guys? Such a fucking pain in the ass—you’re gonna stain the rug.”

Only he loves how easy access your slick makes you. Just a few movements—glossy hand down his pants, shoving the waistband down over his ass, plugging his tip into your hole—and he can thrust his cock all the way to the back of your pussy. 

You manage to bite into the side of his palm, canines pressing into sinew as you weep for him.

Fuck you feel so good, too good, tight and full with the most familiar, decadent squeeze around his thick shaft.

“Pull your tits out,” white lashes flutter as he pushes in, out, “lemme see ‘em.” 

Like always, your fight is gone the moment he’s buried in your cunt. Your hands scramble to obey him, nearly ripping the delicate straps of your dress so you can pull it down, breasts falling on display. Satoru keeps his eyes on the bouncing fat, biting his tongue when your nipples harden into the most delicious looking buds.

You muffle a cry at a particular cruel thrust, legs starting to burn and shake from the weight of his hips between them. Your lips are swelling behind his hand, sloppy with drool. 

Satoru shifts back, getting on his knees so he can curl your leg against your bare chest and worm his way to the very depths of your pussy. The sound is lewd, all wet and gushing, each push of skin on skin making him prickle.

His keen senses perk—footsteps in the hallway, voices through the wall. Dinner guests shuffling about in the absence of the prodigal siblings. 

Your eyes flash toward the cracked door, yet the little ah, ah, ah~ behind his palm won’t quit.

“Yeah? You want someone to find us? Want them to see how your big brother pounds into your guts because he can? Because you’re a little fucking slut who lets me?”

The annoyance that flares to life as your gaze returns to him has his balls tightening. You hate that he gets the best of you. This is the one way he can, by making you weak and wet and willing for his cock.

Satoru presses his hand to your belly, presses in deep and hard until the heel of his hand meets the outline of his dick. 

“Feel that? Feel how fucking full you are with my cock?” 

He uses strength he couldn’t on anyone else, barreling his hips until you’re moving back on the floor, rug scrunching beneath your bodies as he pounds into you so recklessly. 

You whine, actively try to bite his hand, to suck his skin, to hurt him. 

“Oh please, you can take it. You’re a Gojo.”

That reminder makes you both groan, your cunt sucking as his cock swells. 

He wonders for a split moment what really draws you together. Lust? Failed parenting? Some mutual sense of rebellion? All of it, probably, and some other sick, twisted shit laced in between. 

Your little fingers start prying at his over your mouth, clawing and plucking his knuckles. 

He shows a little mercy and releases his hold on you, only to clamp both hands down on your hips so he can fix your pace and build a faster rhythm. 

You suck in a deep breath, “Kiss me.” 

A pale brow quirks at your request, smirk tugging at his cheek. 

“Really? And why should I? Thought you didn’t like me.” 

“Oh my, ah, god, Toru, I ask for one nice thing. Just,” you reach for him, gripping onto his flexing biceps and pulling him down, “just do it, for me.”

He was always going to oblige you. He hates admitting it, but he’d kiss you all the time, if you’d let him. 

Satoru’s lips meet yours with a bruising fervor. 

Your hand tugs in his snowy hair, drags him closer. Your mouth moves against his, eyes closed, suddenly greedy and hungry; for what, neither of you really know. All he does know is that you still taste the same, like home, and he wants your breath in his lungs.

He is a snake, wrapping around you, suffocating, crushing until you can’t breathe anything but the poison he spits.

Your mouth slants for him, a hum resounding from both your throats as your stomach starts to get tight, tell-tell pulls and sucks like you’re begging him to keep stroking the flames.

“You’re so spoiled, aren’t you,” he groans into your mouth, lips messy with spit, “you gonna cum just from my cock? Do I fuck you that good?”

“God, sh-shove that fat cock deep and cum inside me—”

Your demand makes his blood run hot. 

Satoru throws his head back and laughs, maniacal and oh so satisfied. “You’re spoiled fucking rotten. That’s what mommy and daddy did to you, spoiled you so fucking much you think you deserve everything. Even me.”

Because you started this, didn’t you? When you got old enough to be so fucking tempting in your twenties, started flirting with his friends and batting your pretty eyes at all the higher-ups. When you got strong enough to match him, to take up space in his light.

“Fuck you,” you purr like you’re trying to mean it, like you’re trying to deny him. “Hate you so fucking, ah, god–shit—” he’s got your clit pinched between his fingers now, pressing until he knows it hurts, “make me cum and let me go.”

White hair spreads into the sweat of your skin as he buries his face in your neck. He’s so close to losing it, to being done with this.

“I’ll do one of those things. Let you figure out which one.”

Satoru grinds his cock into your gummy walls, cock strangled in your suction. His pelvis is rolling against your clit, coarse curls making your legs twitch. 

The moment he gets his thumb over your clit, it’s like dropping a match into gasoline. You both burn so hot, melting into one another as he explodes and you convulse. No matter how many times he feels you cum, hears you whisper his name and choke on the three little words you never say, he will never get used to it. 

So familiar and foreign and fucked up, the kind of drug that scratches at his brain and begs from more. 

He empties his balls into you, creaming into a cunt he should never touch let alone fill to the brim. 

You’ve never told him he can’t, that he shouldn’t. You both know it’s abhorrent, disgusting, but maybe that’s why you keep letting him do it. 

He’ll still watch you take your morning pill, though, just to make sure.

Your bodies lie panting in a forgotten corner of the home you both hate, the scent of sex rolling in the air like smoke.

“Get off me and go.” 

Shame is wavering in your voice, it always does. He can understand why you feel it—he does too, he just morphs it into some kind of wicked hatred so he can still sleep at night. 

“One last ~kiss~?” He mocks your voice and revels in how you claw your way out from under him, trying to pull yourself back together and catch the cum dribbling down your thigh. 

“Fuck you. Fuck this. It won’t happen again.” 

And it shouldn’t. But it does. It always happens again. 

Because he wants to hurt you, shame you, make you feel weak in his arms when you shatter and cum. Because he hates how much he loves you. So he wants to crush you, wrap around you like a viper and pop you out of existence. 

His life would be so much easier if he didn’t have a spoiled brat of a sister. 

You make him want to eat his fist when you swipe his cum from between your legs and put your fingers in your mouth, smiling because you know he’ll return to dinner with a tent in his pants. 

You live to torture him, he’s sure of it. 

[cheshitora]

† michael kaiser and the preacher's daughter

WARNING : AFAB!READER, ORAL (F!RECEIVING), CORRUPTION KINK, NONCON, STALKING THEMES, FINGERING, AGED UP, NOT PROOFREAD

† michael kaiser who moves away from the city to escape the life he lived before. he's not well off in any way. he has nothing to his name, but he needed to escape, even if it meant finding refuge in your small hometown

† michael kaiser who becomes known as the "town outcast" and resident "hoodlum" by the community for his lack of wealth and faith in your religious town. he finds himself constantly berated and shunned, especially by those in your father's flock, not that he seems to care.

he's been told worse by his own father, after all.

† michael kaiser who becomes infatuated with you, the innocent, sin-free, preacher's daughter and the only one who's ever shown his kindness. he follows you wherever you go, though without your knowledge.

he quickly learns new things about you everyday, the different aspects of your life, both big and small. from the types of dress you like to wear, your shoe size, your favorite snacks, the brand of shampoo you use, all the way down to the only type of underwear you're allowed to wear. he's fallen too hard for you, and he's determined to make you his.

† michael kaiser who seeks you out in need of comfort, though he won't phrase it that way. he'll simply find wherever you've perched yourself in the fields, usually with a book or your bible. it's almost funny how dedicated to you faith you are. both admirable and silly, he thinks.

once he's spotted you, he'll rest his head in your lap, his lifeless cobalt orbs staring up at you in silent adoration. you don't know just how much you mean to him, and when you place your hand on his cheek, he feels safe, feels as though he's finally found refuge in you.

† michael kaiser who finally breaks and decides it's time to take what he wants, what he needs. and what he needs is you. he stealthily sneaks into your bedroom at night, thanking your god that you left your window unlock.

once he settles into your bedroom, he takes a moment to just stare at you while you sleep, the soft glow of the moonlight making you look more ethereal than you already are. there you are, his angel. and he's never so badly wanted to corrupt someone. to ruin that perfect image of a 'sweet angel' everyone sees you as.

the mere thought of you being untouched, saving yourself for the day you get married. he wants it all. he wants the one, the only one, who gets to corrupt you. he's selfish. he's a greedy bastard. but he doesn't care.

† michael kaiser who not so subtley wakes you up, your vision slightly blurred from sleep but making out his presence right next to your bedside. he's thankful that you're not panicking and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering for you to stay quiet.

† michael kaiser who pulls your cotton panties down your legs, sliding his finger between your slippery folds, coaxing you as you begin to whimper a little too loud, the foreign sensations flooding your body all at once.

he has to wrap an arm around your head to place his hand on your mouth when he pushes his digit into your tight cunt, shushing you and telling you how good you're doing for him, even as an ache forms in between your thighs from the sudden intrusion.

it doesn't take him long to add another finger in, scissoring you open with his long fingers. your body shudders against him, hot tears pricking your eyes as he keeps his hand on your mouth, only pulling it away when he feels you're being quiet enough to not wake your parents.

† michael kaiser who snakes down your body, peppering wet kisses onto every inch of skin he can put his mouth on, nibbling and sucking on your neck, breasts, stomach and thighs to leave little traces of his mark on you. he didn't care about your image. he wanted everyone, including your father, to know that you were his angel now.

† michael kaiser who finds your puffy folds with his lips, kissing just above your clit in a teasing manner before splitting your lower lips apart, his tongue darting out to taste what he's been vying for. and it's like heaven on his tongue.

your hands quickly dig their way through his blonde scruff, tugging on his hair as your rock your hips up into his mouth, pitiful moans tumbling from your lips as kaiser laps at your clit, shoving his digits back inside of you, curling them just right to hit your sweet spot, a brand new pleasure you'd never experienced before

† michael kaiser who can'r get enough of the way you taste. the sweetness of you staining his tongue, swallowing every bit of nectar he can leech from you. he's never been the biggest believer of god, but he was seeing the pearly gates of heaven right now, and you were right there with him.

your belly was beginning to burn, an unfamiliar coil winding up as he quickened the speed of his hand, plunging his digits in and out of you with a vigour he didn't know he still had, the loud squelching noises of your weeping pussy echoing in your burning ears, tears slipping from your eyes as you arched off the bed, the roll of your hips being brought to a halt as kaiser held you down with his arm, attacking your clit with his mouth in a final attempt to push you to your limit.

and with a loud shriek, too loud for your liking, you splattered your juices onto his tongue, dripping down his chin and coating his fingers that were still pumping your fluttering cunt.

† michael kaiser who cleans up the mess he made, nestling you back into bed with a kiss to your temple, sitting at your bedside as he watches you fall back to sleep, whispering sweet praises into your ear, and as you slip back into slumber, he slots his lips against yours, relishing the sweet taste of your tongue sliding with his.

† michael kaiser who realizes that once isn't enough. he can't let you go after this, and he'd be damned if he ever lets anyone else see you like this. you were his angel now. and if he could kidnap you and take you away from prying eyes, then he would. but not yet. he needs to wait for you to wake up first so he can make you cum again. and again. and again.

† michael kaiser who smiles when he hears the sound of frantic footsteps approaching your room.

FINAL CALL : hey, che here. guess what? this isnt the last of kaiser and the preacher's daughter lol. ive got something coming soon. excuse any spelling errors. i wrote this instead of going to sleep. anyways, enjoy :D

©ALL WORKS BELONG TO CHESHITORA. PLAGARISM AND STEALING WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR ORIGINAL CREATORS BUT THE STORIES ARE MY OWN WORK.

[bugboi01]

Not again

yandere batfam x trans masc reader

Inspired by @nikovraskol crack baby! (You should totally go read that too)

Summary: After being killed in a robbery gone wrong, you wake up in your younger self's body.

You shot awake, grasping at your chest as the echoes of pain tingled under your skin like electric shocks. You looked around in confusion. Weren't you just at the store? Scratch that. When was the last time your room was pink? Flashes of memories flitted across your scattered mind. You... you were at the store. You remember there being a robbery and a gun being involved. Was it the robber or the cashier who pulled the gun? Did you pass out or something?

You slid out of bed, head pounding as you stumble your way through getting dressed. Everything felt off. A book missing from your desk, clothes you thought you donated sitting neatly in your dresser, and the absence of any personality decorating your walls. You didn't put it together until you saw yourself in the cracked full-length mirror attached to your door. Correction: You saw yourself from two years ago in the mirror.

"What the fuck." There were no other words to describe the situation you had found yourself in. The fragmented memories suddenly make more sense, disjointed parts of a puzzle coming together. You died. Or rather, you were going to die? A soft sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your reflection, disphoria rising in the back of your throat like bile. You had forgotten what you looked like with long hair. Everything about your appearance only made the cacophony of emotions settling inside you at your revelation grow ever stronger and more violent.

A choked sob fell from your mouth despite your best attempts to keep quiet. You suddenly couldn't stand to see yourself, eyes zeroing in on the pair of scissors on your desk. You didn't register that you had picked up the scissors until the first lock of hair drifted to the ground with a deafening snip. Every cut made the weight in your shoulders just a bit lighter until you didn't have any hair below your ears. You looked... better. The style was choppy and haphazard, but it made you feel a bit better about your appearance.

You looked down at the mess of hair, leaving your room to grab a broom to clean it. While you walked, you thought about what to do next. This was a second chance, you supposed. A chance to live your life in a way you had been too scared to before. You were seventeen at the moment, eighteen in a little less than half a year. That was still quite a bit away for your plans. Lost in thought as you were, you failed to notice the person in front of you until you collided into a large body.

"Watch where you're..." A familiar voice snapped before trailing off. Looking up, you spotted Jason's bright blue-green eyes studying you intensely.

"Sorry," you replied flatly, feeling far too drained to care all that much.

"What happened to your hair?"

"Cut it."

"I can see that, princess. Why'd you give yourself a haircut?"

"Don't call me princess."

Jason seemed taken aback by the harshness in your voice. He frowned, eyes studying you with more intensity than before. It felt like thousands of ants crawling along your skin, burrowing inside until they reached your heart and began chewing away at the organ. You turned your head away, unable to stand the feeling any longer.

"Do you know where the broom is?" You asked, trying to change the conversation.

"What?"

"The broom. Actually never mind. I'll just ask Alfred." With those parting words, you brushed past Jason despite him calling out to you. You had better things to deal with than fighting with your brother. You thought back to the first time you met Jason. He was a scrawny little thing the same size as you despite being two years older. That didn't last long once he got a proper three meals of Alfred's cooking per day. He was a sweet kid who didn't mind hanging out with you. He seemed in need of you just as much as you needed him. It made you wonder what happened after he died and came back. He was distant with you but tried to hold his temper when you were around. Well, now you had something in common besides having the Batman for a father. Perhaps that would make the sweet boy who used to look at you with all the love he could hold in his small, fragile body come back.

You didn't bump into anyone else on your way to find the broom, thank the stars. It took longer than you would have liked, though. Seriously, how many closets does one house need? Surely, there weren't that many servants around at a time before Alfred. Satisfied, you make the trek back to your room. Maybe you should ask about moving rooms to one closer to the first floor? Well, that was a conversation for another day. You shut the closet door, only to come face to face with Alfred. Ah, hell.

"Oh, um..." You trailed off, unsure how to talk to the older man. Sure, he was kind enough when you first arrived, but it had been years since you last remembered truly interacting with him besides the occasional small talk or him handing you your lunch for the day. His eyes studied your new hair and baggy shirt carefully before he rested a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Shall I inform the others of this development, young Master?" Alfred asked, plucking the broom from your fingers despite your protests. "And it would please me greatly if you allowed me to touch up your hair."

You could only nod in response to the butler's question and barely concealed demand. Was this why everyone else liked Alfred so much? His ability to know what to say and do to make your longing for affection and acceptance ease away? You found yourself being led to a bathroom where Alfred had you sit on a chair while he made your impromptu haircut less sloppy and more deliberate looking. You looked in the mirror while he worked. You liked what you saw.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Djungelskog | Oscar Piastri x Teacher! Reader

Summary: Summer break means forcing Oscar to help you get your classroom ready in time for upcoming school year. 

Fluff. 2024 season. Pinterest pics

Requested: Yes by anon (here)

There's a little blurb halfway down

F1 Masterlist

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yn_ln just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

yn_ln last day of term. last recess, last day of chalk drawings. i’ve had a lovely bunch this year and will miss them loads as they move on. looking forward to a much needed break

681 comments

bestfriend feet on the desk? empty classroom? looks like slacking to me

oscarpiastri can’t wait to spend summer break with you 

→ yn_ln it’ll be nice to not have to share you with lando

→ landonorris what makes you think you can get away from me

→ georgerussel63 that sounds like a threat, mate

hattiepiastri does this mean you’ll have time to take me to the babymetal concert? ‘cause mum keeps trying to get out of it 

→ yn_ln do i have to learn the all the lyrics? 

→ hattiepiastri you’re a teacher, learning is in your blood 

→ yn_ln osc, help

→ oscarpiastri no, you chose to befriend her

alexandrasaintmleux omg did the kids do those drawings? 🥹belle

→ yn_ln no, that was lando’s drawing

→ landonorris don’t be silly. i can’t draw that well

teacherfriend i’ll do my best to look after them next year but i know i can’t compete with the fabulous miss ln 

nicolepiastri when can we see miss ln turn to mrs piastri?

→ oscarpiastri this is why i don’t come home 

→ nicolepiastri no, you don’t come home because yn does your laundry now 

oscarpiastri just posted

liked by yn_ln, danielricciardo and others

oscarpiastri first part of the season done. first GP victory. first broken bone. looking forward to a much needed break for the rib

4,811 comments

landonorris omg stop copying your girlfriend’s caption style

→ yn_ln he can’t help it. he’s obsessed with me

→ oscarpiastri true

→ user1 let us innnnn

user2 does a broken bone mean he’ll win the next race

→ yn_ln only if i'm there

charles_leclerc and what have you been doing to break a bone?

→ oscarpiastri helping my girlfriend empty a classroom. there’s a lot of books in there

mclaren enjoy the break. we can’t wait to have you back racing and refreshed 

→ user3 he’s literally only just left the mtc, give him a minute of peace

→ yn_ln don’t worry. i’ll be putting them in a time out if they try and take him

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yn_ln just posted

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and others

yn_ln my happy place. quick lunch break. dragging my big strong man to carry stuff for me in ikea 

814 comments

oscarpiastri before that bear, i was your big strong man :( 

→ yn_ln you broke a rib. you’re only so useful. the bear can’t break 

→ oscarpiastri it can if i pull it’s head off

→ yn_ln you were a biter, weren’t you?

→ hattiepiastri yes

landonorris why wasn’t i invited

landonorris sushi 🤢

→ yn_ln this is why you weren’t invited 

→ landonorris stop trying to push me out 

→ oscarpiastri i see you practically 10 months out of the year. she can have me for one afternoon

charles_leclerc oh i love ikea furniture! can i help?

→ yn_ln of course you can. we have snacks as well

→ landonorris blatant favouritism 

→ yn_ln yes 

danielricciardo omg the djungelskog. when can i meet him?

→ oscarpiastri he’s called skoggie for short 

→ nicolepiastri the closest i’ll get to grandkids

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Oscar grinned at the face filling up the front of his phone, sliding the button across to answer it. 

“He-”

“Babe, I need more glue.” You exploded, cutting him off before he could even greet you properly. “Oh, and paper.”

“-And I broke the scissors. But the good news is, Lan said he could come and help so could you actually pick up 3 pairs of scissors, please?” 

“Sweetheart, breathe.” Oscar reminded you, a soft laugh echoing down the phone. “I’ve literally only been gone for 10 minutes. All we needed was milk. How did you manage to rope Lando into this?” 

“Rope? He was practically hanging by the phone waiting for one of us to call. I asked if he could spare a few minutes - just to give you a hand moving the desk - and he was already in the car on his way.”

“At least he’s preparing us for our own children one day,” joked Oscar.

“How have you got paint in your curls? I didn’t ask you to paint because I knew you couldn't be trusted to paint,” the exasperated voice of his girlfriend echoed down the empty school hallways. Light radiated from a singular doorway at the end of the hallway, beckoning him forward. 

“Every year, I deal with a class of 30 five year olds, experiencing freedom from their parents for the first time. And yet I feel like I need to watch you more than I do them.” 

“But it was just sat on the side, with the lid off!.”

“So you felt the need to somehow stick your entire hand in it?” 

Oscar leant against the doorframe, watching affectionately as you used a wet wipe to get the paint off of Lando as best as possible. Despite the curly-haired Brit being old than you, it didn’t stop the caring instinct that came with being a first-year teacher. 

One wall was painted a soft lilac whilst the other three had been given fresh coats of white. The chairs and tables had been organised into little groups to help you see each child’s face from the front of the class, and the drawers were freshly stocked with stationery. A little rug and some bean bags were set up in the corner for the story nook, and all that was left to do was start hanging up the wall deco. 

“There?” 

“Little higher,” you remarked, after faking a contemplative pause. 

“Now?”

“Little higher,” you leaned back to really take in the view. “Oh, yeah, that’s good.”

The white t-shirt sat snugly on his strained biceps as he held the board up over his head. The hem rode up as he stretched, revealing a nice sliver of tan, muscular back. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you sighed deeply at the sight before you. How easy would it be to reach and smack-

“Babe!” Oscar called again, turning around to check on you. “I can’t hold this- Are you checking me out? You’re supposed to be telling me where this goes.” 

“You shouldn’t look that good then.”

Clambering down from the ladder, he placed the thick board down on the nearest table and sauntered over to you. Placing his hands on your hips, he pulled you flush against him. Pressing a kiss to your nose, he trailed his lips down to your jaw and then under your ear. 

“How about we call it a night? This’ll all be here tomorrow, and you can appreciate the view without the t-shirt.” 

When you didn’t smile at his enticing offer, Oscar pulled down to look at you. Brushing a strand of hair back from your face, he frowned at the furrow between your brows. 

“What’s up, sweetheart?” 

“I’m just worried that it’s not enough, you know…”

Oscar turned his head slightly, drinking in all the work you had put together. The butterflies made out of patterned cards that you had spent hours scouring stores for. The paper flowers decorating the whiteboard that you had spent days stressing about. The stack of drawers with each student's name labelled across the front. The days of work that had gone into ensuring that each little person that crossed your threshold was as happy as they could be. A teacher that cared. 

“I know they’re only five, and they’ve never had another classroom to go off but- I don’t know. I just want them to feel comfortable and safe, and happy. I don’t want them to feel like they’re in an institution designed to make them sit in a seat for six hours.” 

“Look at all the effort you’ve put in so far. Without all the lesson planning and actual caring you’ll do when those kids come under your care. Did you ever have a classroom like this growing up? No. Neither did I. You know why, because nobody cares as much as you do.”

Straightening, he swung you up into his arms, bridal style. A cheeky grin pulled at the corners of his mouth when you shrieked in laughter. 

“Now, let’s go home, Skoggie is waiting for us. We'll grab some dinner and take a bath together. What do you say?” 

“Okay, Piastri. Take me home or lose me forever.” 

oscarpiastri just posted

liked by mclaren, arthur_leclerc and others

oscarpiastri dating a teacher means spending summer break painting, cutting, glueing and then being told “it’s quiet time” whilst she decompresses from watching you do all the work 

3,381 comments

yn_ln you wouldn’t stop talking and i was trying to refresh my barbie knowledge

→ user1 princess and the pauper?

→ yn_ln absolutely 

→ landonorris i’m the erika to her annalise 

→ oscarpiastri whoa, you help with one classroom and think you can take my coveted spot? 

yn_ln plus it was hard work taking in the view 

→ oscarpiastri i had a pretty good view afterwards 🛁🫧

user2 idk why but the paint hands make me wanna scream

→ user3 omg i wonder if they made the little hand canvas things loads of couples have done

→ oscarpiastri we did! they’re now hung up over our bed

maxverstappen1 think you can make some more of those flowers for P’s room? 

→ oscarpiastri i’ve got paper cuts on top of paper cuts. don't ask me to do more

→ yn_ln i’ve got loads left over. she can pick the ones she likes best 

user4 the matching pjs 🥰 this couple has my whole heart

→ yn_ln he also has mine! 

user5 i love when oscar’s insta has something other than racing on it

→ user6 i want yn to let us onto hers so bad. i would sell my soul for the couples content on there

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yn_ln just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and others

yn_ln and it’s done. one week of relaxation left before the new term starts. i can’t wait to meet my new bunch of kids. a huge thank you to my constant kid @/landonorris for his help and mess. and an even bigger gratitude to osc. without you, this never would’ve been finished. you helped not only physically but mentally. my rock 💕

1,681 comments

user7 omg am i seeing things? is this actually oscar’s yn? 

oscarpiastri you did an amazing job 🤍 enjoy your last week off

→ yn_ln you better not win any more races without me

→ mclaren you know he can’t promise that 

landonorris maybe if you had been my teacher, i would’ve stayed in school

→ carlossainz55 doubtful 

maxverstappen1 P can’t wait to be in your class

→ yn_ln and i’m looking forward to being her teacher. although it might be hard to fight the urge to show favouritism 

hattiepiastri ew, don’t be cute online

→ oscarpiastri you're just mad that i'm her favourite piastri

→ hattiepiastri we both know that's a lie

→ nicolepiastri it's me

user8 um, can she be my teacher, please?

charles_leclerc i think this is a sign that i need to have children so that you can become their teacher 

→ alexandrasaintmleux let’s stick with leo for now 

→ nicolepiastri i keep trying to convince oscar and yn. you’ll be next, don’t worry 

→ oscarpiastri you have Skoggie. you don’t need any other grandkids

user9 we’re in! everyone say thank you oscar for making her come off priv

→ user10 their couple content is healing my soul

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Request for F1 fics are open.

A/N: Apologies for the delay in getting these out. I've been super busy making jumpers for my upcoming family Disney trip

Tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119

[nicksolemnlyswears]

JUST TEASIN’

summary: you call joel an old man…amongst other names

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 4.4k [i need to learn how to keep things concise]

warnings: 18+, cursing, spanking, p in v, fingering, oral (male receiving), age gap? totally legal though, joel's in his early 40s and reader is in her early 30s, joel is an ass guy which is strange cause i always make my men boob guys, idk i guess this is pretty tame

a/n: as a joke i tend to call pedro and joel peepaw cause he’s older and a total dilf but i love these men so fucking much. i'll be the first to get on my knees

thought i’d make a sweet oneshot about how they’d react to you calling them old. it’s a mix of fluff and smut. a little something for everyone!

also don’t judge me, this is my first time writing for joel 🥺

there’s a little nudge to another favorite fictional men of mine

i want to thank @yxtkiwiyxt for providing me with all the pedro pascal pictures and gifs and movie trailers and for ranting with me all day every day about how amazing this human is… if anyone is to blame about this oneshot it’s her ❤️

It’s one of those lazy Sunday mornings where everyone sleeps in, leaving the Miller household at complete ease. There are no responsibilities to tend to and nowhere to go.

You’re the only one awake, singing quietly under your breath and flipping pancakes until they’re nice and golden. Joel will come seeking you out soon, missing the warmth of your body and Sarah will follow when Joel cracks her door open to let the sweet smell of batter waft into her room.

No matter how hard you try you’re always the first one up. Sometimes you stay in bed with your husband, tracing figures on his bare skin until he pulls you into him and kisses your head good morning, raspy voice begging you for five more minutes.

But most of the time you decide on getting up and having an early start to your day, which includes making breakfast and sorting through your work emails.

The puppy Sarah adopted a couple weeks ago, sits on your feet, licking your legs as if begging for the fluffy sweetness of the pancakes. He had a taste of it when batter dripped on the floor, he licked it up before you had the chance of cleaning it.

Lost in your little world, singing to the tune of Lana del Rey you fail to notice your husband coming down the stairs. Joel leans against the kitchen island admiring you in your distracted state. The loose brown curls in a disarray at the top of his head.

His eyes scan you from head to toe, noting your messy hair pulled up to a half ponytail half bun thing he can’t begin to explain. Down they go to the cropped tshirt with his company’s logo on the back. The frayed edges are the byproduct of your use of kitchen scissors to crop it yourself.

Joel bites his lip as he ogles at your ass and thick thighs framed by the tiniest cotton shorts he’s ever seen. They fail to cover the bottom of your butt cheeks, exposing a sliver of the indigo panties and the crease where thighs meet butt.

Unable to stay away, Joel wraps his warm arms around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. He squeezes you to him, bodies pressed flushed to reveal the stiffness in his pajama pants.

The puppy wags his tail in the presence of his favorite human, standing on two legs to call his attention. The man didn’t want him in the first place but was out voted by the females in the household.

“Morning,” Joel murmurs, placing kisses all over your cheeks and down your neck until he finally presses a warm kiss on your shoulder where he rests his chin to look over at the stovetop.

“Morning old man,” you say with a giggle as his scruffy beard tickles your skin. Your lips press against his in a quick kiss, muffling his sigh of disappointment.

“Don’t start, sweetheart,” he warns. His lips brushing against your ear. Joel’s hands find themselves under your tshirt, his thumbs ghosting over your underboob. At the same time the fingertips of his other hand teasingly dip on the waistband of your shorts.

“Or what?” You say with a bite to your lip, flipping over the last batch of pancakes. Couple more seconds and they would’ve burned—that’s how much he distracts you.

“It’s too early for this!” Sarah’s high pitched voice yells. “Not in the kitchen and not in front of the baby, please!”

The puppy scrambles over to Sarah, jumping into her arms. He recognizes she’s the one who will cave and give him scraps of food.

Joel, startled, takes his hands off of you, facing Sarah with an apologetic smile, not that she sees it as she covers her eyes with a hand. “Are you decent? Can I look now? I’m really hungry if you don’t mind.”

You laugh loudly, shaking your head at Sarah’s dramatics. She takes after Joel and is well on her way to beat him at his own game.

“We’re not doin’ anythin’,” Joel mumbles, sitting on one of the kitchen island stools and petting the pups fluffy head, and the ear that flipped over cutely.

“Not yet,” you whisper to him as you place his stack of pancakes in front of him.

“I heard that!” Sarah yells, covering her ears this time. Joel laughs, nudging her shoulder and telling her to pass the syrup.

You lean across from them, grabbing a sliced strawberry to plop into your mouth. Sarah takes over the conversation as you and Joel share a glance. This is far from over.

Later on the day you head outside with a tray of lemonade and pie in your hands. You’ve gotta take care of your dear husband before the Texas heat gets the best of him.

You nudge Joel’s leg with your foot. He’s under the beat up truck, fixing some odd part. He has the means to replace the old thing but he likes to remind you that ‘Betsy,’ as he’s named his truck, is a part of the family and will never be replaced.

“Thanks, darlin,‘“ he drawls, wiping his dirty hands on a random rag he found on the bed of the truck.

Joel takes a second too long to get up from the floor. You see the hesitance in his eyes as he tries to think the best way to stand without hurting or pulling a muscle.

This is your chance. “Need help there, grandpa?” You pipe up, resting the tray on the portable table scattered with tools.

Joel openly glares at you while you smile broadly at him. It’s not often you make fun of his age, or rather, the age gap between the two of you. It’s only when you’re feeling a particular sort of way.

The age gap between the two of you isn’t the craziest but it’s large enough for people to notice. Joel is easily through the first half of his fourth decade, while you are barely entering your third.

“Watch your mouth,” Joel warns you, standing up quickly despite the cracking of his knees and the ache on his lower back.

Your eyes spark when he grabs the glass of cool lemonade and begins chugging it. The drops of sweat sliding down his neck and into the damp collar of his shirt stealing your attention and any innocent thought you’ve might’ve had about him. They weren’t many to begin with.

You clench your thighs together as you imagine licking that same trail, tasting his salty skin. Say what you want but you love a man that works with his hands and gets all dirty and grimy.

Joel catches onto the glazed look covering your eyes and grasps your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. His body gravitating towards yours as if nature demanded it.

You’re overly conscious of the motor oil covering his hands if not you would’ve sucked his thumb into your mouth, reminding him just exactly you can do with your tongue.

“What’s in that pretty lil head of yours, darlin’?”

Him. It’s all about him. He’s always interrupting whatever sane thought you have. Scenarios of you being bent over the hood of the truck as he sinks his aching length from behind. You riding him in the front seat as you’ve done on more than one occasion, fogging up the windows. The time he was knuckles deep inside of you, teasing fingers drenched during his lunch break.

“How good gray looks on you,” you reply, diverting the conversation somewhere else entirely. A delicate fingers wraps around the charming curl that constantly falls over his forehead, twirling it around.

Joel doesn’t take kindly to your comment, rolling his eyes and clicking his jaw as he lets go of you to return to the truck. Your hand which had been playing with his curl drops to your side as you cock your hip to assess him.

He’s much too aware of the age gap, it makes him insecure. Like you’ll one day realize you’re with an old man and leave him for someone younger.

Except in your eyes he’s the most perfect man alive. The grey streaks of hair that mix with the typical brown of his curls give him an air of authority, making him look dashing in all ways. A silver fox. Strong muscles from working manual labor most of his life are now covered with a healthy layer of fat but remain strong nonetheless. Warm brown eyes that sweep you off your feet every morning as soon as they open.

That man is aging like fine wine and he doesn’t begin to realize it. You feel extremely lucky to be the only one to enjoy it…squeaky joints and all.

Joel is experienced and mature and loyal. He simply wants to have a nice life with his family. A family you’re now a part of. It’s all a woman could ask for.

“You know I love you,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him as he leans over the hood.

“Love to torture me,” he scoffs, taking hold of one of your hands affectionately. He can never stay mad at you.

“I don’t know what you mean? I brought you lemonade and even that apple pie you love so much,” you feign innocence, pressing a kiss to the middle of his back.

Facing you with a sigh, he lets his heavy hands fall on your hips, “What’re you playing at?”

“Me? Nothing,” you say with a wicked smile, “I’m gonna go with Sarah to the mall to get her homecoming dress. Will you be alright here with Ghost?”

He’s quickly distracted by the words Sarah and Homecoming. His babygirl is growing too fast, starting High School and going on dances with boys. She hasn’t told him yet if she’s been invited by someone and he hopes it stays that way.

There’s no way he’s letting her go with a date and you can’t convince him other wise. If she wants a date she can take the puppy she adopted, Ghost. Joel is determined to teach the ball of fur how to defend his daughter.

“Here,” he says, pulling out his wallet to hand you his credit card.

“No, it’s my treat!” You say, pushing his hand away.

“Take it,” Joel insists, trying to slip it into the tight pair of jeans you’re wearing. Fuck. How didn’t he notice until now.

It should be illegal to wear jeans that make you look THAT good. The blue material hugs your thighs tightly and lifts your perky ass to heaven—not that you other wise need it.

He doesn’t hold back and slides his palms on your back pockets, giving you a firm squeeze. You stumble, falling onto him with a weak protest.

“‘M so fucking lucky you’re my woman,” he groans, taking another feel. Temporarily forgetting the conversation at hand, yet another comment directed at his age snaps Joel back to reality.

“Honey, I know I married an older man but it wasn’t for your money,” you tease again, patting his cheek and removing his hands from your pockets—credit card and all.

A sharp slap to your ass, startles you, eliciting a cheeky giggle. All this teasing and you’re leaving him home alone with the mutt.

You don’t apologize, you’ll never apologize for teasing him. Unless it’s in the right circumstances…in his bed.

Towards the end of the night you finish pushing him to the edge of no return. Remember, opportunities are always around when you’re determined.

“Dad, can you sign this for school?” Sarah comes into the living room where you and Joel are watching a movie. Ghost’s head is plopped on his lap, where Joel had been ‘forced’ to pet him.

“What’s this for?” Joel tries to read the paper but has to keep it at arms reach to be able to read it. Failing, he searches for his glasses until Sarah points at his head where they’ve been resting for half the night, nestled between his curls.

You stifle a laugh as you think of what to say. “Sorry Sarah, good old peepaw needs his glasses to read.”

It’s clear you’re pushing it far as Joel freezes only to glare at you. If looks could kill you’d be six feet underground. Sarah laughs until her belly hurts, repeating the word peepaw between breaths.

“You two are bullies,” Joel shakes his head in disbelief, signing the permit and handing it to Sarah who is wiping her tears away.

“I’m heading to bed, goodnight old man,” Sarah tells a pouting Joel, kissing his cheek and running up the stairs. “Come on, Ghost. Bedtime!”

“Peepaw? Really?” Joel raises his eyebrows at you when both Sarah and Ghost are gone.

You shrug feigning innocence, hiding your smile with the edge of the blanket. ”Yeah, peepaw. It’s cute.”

“It ain’t cute,” Joel kisses his teeth before turning off the TV and standing from the couch, leaving you behind.

“Where are you going?” You call after him.

“To bed,” he dryly responds, shutting off the lights and climbing the stairs. He only leaves the lamp by the couch on. How considerate of him.

“What? Joel it’s barely 10!” Hiding your satisfaction is difficult. Joel’s ticked off, a day of calling him old will do that. It’s exactly what you hoped for.

“Guess that’s what old men do, darlin,’” Joel says sarcastically half way up the stairs.

With a hand over your mouth, you follow him, “Honey, come on. Don’t be angry, it’s harmless teasing. Are you really heading to bed?”

Joel turns at the top of the stairs, glaring down at you, “You really think I’m an old man?”

“Technically speaking you are an older man,” you quip, scrunching your nose cutely.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Joel crosses his arms, reprimanding you for your cheekiness.

“I dunno why you get like this, you should know I love my older men,” you say sultrily, although it falls on deaf ears as Joel retreats to the bedroom.

When you step into the bedroom you’re instantly pressed against the door, slamming it shut. Joel’s sneaky hands lock it. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darlin.’ Don’t make me bend you over my knee and give you a spanking.”

The thought alone makes you shudder in delight. Wetness instantly seeping into your underwear. You’ve finally succeeded. You have him right where you want him.

With your hands braced on his chest you deliver the final blow. “You sure your knees can take it?”

Disbelief flashes in Joel’s eyes, “That’s it!”

Grabbing your arms Joel leads you to the bed where he sits on the edge. He roughly pull down on your jeans, panties and all, leaving them pooled on your knees, limiting your mobility.

With another tug he lays you face down on his lap, holding your wrists behind you in a tight grip. Joel shakes his head at your upturned ass that’s waiting a little too eagerly for his touch.

Delight bubbles out of you and Joel is determined to take you down a notch or two. Let’s see how you handle this after fucking with him all damn day.

The first swat comes without warning, eliciting a gasp from you. It’s sharp and borderline painful. A red handprint magically appearing on your left butt cheek.

Joel massages and paws at the skin, getting ready to deliver another one. “Cat got your tongue?” He questions at your sudden silence.

You try to look over your shoulder and say, “Is that all you got?”

A sarcastic chuckle leaves Joel’s mouth. Then, three fast slaps are delivered, successfully earning him a whine from your pretty lips. He rubs on the sweltering flesh, easing some of the sting.

Finding their way to your thighs his fingers dig between them to cup your pussy. It’s no surprise that it’s warm, messy and slick. Clear strands extending from it to the inside of your thighs and covering his digits.

You’re a fucking vixen who loves to torture him for your own fucking pleasure and he’s the damn fool who falls for it each and every time.

“Touch me,” you huff, wiggling on his lap to grind on his hand, hoping to gain more contact with his coated digits.

“Touch you? Oh, darlin’ you’re not getting off the hook so easily,” Joel mentions darkly, retrieving his hand and landing yet another smack to your ass, making it ripple from the impact.

“Ow!” You flinch yet remain in the same position, expecting more. You fucking love when Joel gets rough with you. It’s a shame you have to gauge it out of him like this.

“Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hm?” Joel’s asks and when he doesn’t get a response his hand flies down once more. “What was it you called me?”

There’s a beat of silence before his hand strikes, this time aiming towards the middle. “Gra-grandpa,” you stutter at the small burst of pleasure.

“Mhm, what else darlin’?” He prompts again. His middle finger tracing the slit of your pussy, feeling you grow impossibly wetter. His pretty little wife is always so reactive to his touch.

“Old man.”

The stinging in your skin grows warmer, no doubt turning a considerable shade of cherry red. Yet the ache in your cunt obscures it all. The scraps of attention only makes your arousal worse.

“I think there was one more,” Joel hums, urging you on. His slick finger teasing your weeping entrance.

“P-peepaw,” you gasp when Joel pushes it in until his knuckle meets your delicate skin.

“That’s right, peepaw,” Joel repeats absentmindedly, pushing his middle finger in and out. Listening intently to the squishing sound your pussy makes.

He’ll have you calling him something else by the end of the night.

Tight walls grip his finger like a vice, refusing to let go. Soft puffs of air tumble out of your mouth and he knows your eyes are closed as you concentrate on the minimal pleasure he’s providing you with. It’ll never be enough to make you cum but it’ll keep you bothered.

“Get up,” Joel orders with a softer smack to your bottom, wiping his slick covered finger on your skin. He helps you up from the restrained position he kept you in and makes work of taking off your clothes.

Joel pulls and tugs on your shirt roughly, throwing it mindlessly across the room. He palms your tits briefly, pinching one of your nipples to make you whine his name. With cracking knees he kneels on the floor to help you out your jeans and underwear, kneading your thighs with his big strong hands.

He catches a glance of your reddening skin and feels a prickle of pride at the mark he left. Most of it will fade by morning but you’ll feel it nonetheless.

Sitting back on the edge of the bed he wordlessly motions you to get on your knees. A wicked smile spreads on your cheeks as you do as you’re told, kneeling between his spread legs.

Eager hands grasp his belt, undoing the worn leather to get to the button of his jeans. He provides no help, leaning back on his hands and simply watching you with hooded and expecting eyes.

You pull down on his jeans and underwear, revealing the happy trail that comes down his navel to the patch of brown at his pelvis.

His hard cock springs free once you’ve worked his pants down enough. A throaty groan coming from above you at the release of tension.

“Mmm,” you hum, grasping his length in your fist. His eyes meet yours when you look up to press a kiss to the tip, your hand pulling the thin skin back to reveal it.

“Stop with the teasin,’” Joel growls audibly, chastising you.

You rolls your eyes obnoxiosuly, “You’re no fun, g-“

A hand flies to your hair, gripping the roots tightly. Your eyes fly open, starting up at Joel. “You sure you want to finish that sentence, babygirl?”

“Maybe not,” you shrug with a pout, your hand mindlessly pumping his length.

“That’s what I thought.” Joel keeps his grip on your hair, pulling it back to see every detail of you taking his cock into your pretty mouth.

Your tongue goes flat against the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein that runs along his length and letting saliva drip all down and into your fisted hand. Joel watches intently as your lips wrap around the angry red tip of his cock.

You start off slow taking more of his length with each bob of your head. Your eyes never leaves his face, observing every small reaction he makes. The sharp intake of breath when your tongue grazes his tip, the furrowing of his eyebrows, the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he fails to keep his moans in.

The sudden jerk of Joel’s hips causes your eyes to water and screw shut. The initial intrusion of his cockhead unexpected yet welcome. Joel throws his head back, “That’s a fucking good girl.”

Those magic words make everything worth it as you messily continue to suck and lick every inch of his cock. Neither the tears in the corner of your eyes nor the saliva dripping down his length stop you from tasting him.

You swear you’re dripping on the floor as your pussy flutters at his pleased words. You could touch yourself but all your energy and attention goes to pleasing the man above you.

The pain of kneeling hard wood floor for an extended period of time doesn’t bother you and the ache on your jaw is barely noticeable because all your concentration is on Joel and making him feel good.

Joel continues to set the pace, his grip tight on your scalp. “Fuck, just like that,” he moans when you tease the crown of his cock expertly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Joel’s voice lilts in a reprimanding voice.

A string of saliva connects you to the tip of him as your hand continuing to work on the rest of his length.

Joel takes note of your red rimmed eyes and flushed nose as well as in your swollen lips and moussed hair. The picture of you completely filthy and sexy.

Joel cups the back of your neck, bringing you up to his height. He brings you into a sloppy kiss consisting of teeth and tongue and saliva. Joel loves that can taste himself in your mouth. A job well done.

You straddle his lap so his cock grazes your dripping pussy, tugging needily at his tshirt. “Take it off,” you beg. Your lips separate for a brief second as the shirt comes off before they smash back together.

He complies but quickly reminds himself that this all started because you were calling him old. He can’t be quick to reward you.

You foolishly believe that’s it and you get to have him. Eagerly you try to sink into his cock but he holds you still, not letting you take him to the hilt.

“Who’s the tease now?” You pant against his lips, stealing another long kiss before whispering in his ear begging him to take you, to use you.

“I like to see you begging for it.” That’s Joel’s response as he pushes you off of him.

You protest but fall silent when he removes his remaining clothes. God you’re like a teenager desperate to fuck with clothes and all.

It drives Joel nuts the way you look at him with lust filled eyes. You bite your lip as you take him in all his glory, hands reaching to touch his chest.

He pulls you back to him, his cock wedged between the two of you. The saliva covering it, sticking to your skin. He cups your face, “You have something to say?”

“Nope.”

Joel to cos his head in disappointment, pushing you into bed and maneuvering you till your head is buried in the pillows and your ass is high in the air. It’s tinged a dozen shades of pink and red from his hands.

You wiggle your hips offering yourself to him. Air hits your pussy, giving you an idea of how aroused you are. That’s what happens whenever you have the pleasure of going down in Joel.

Joel grips himself, spreading his pre before pumping his hand. Smack. His hand flies down to strike your ass once more. Your back arches when Joel teases your entrance with the tip. He runs it up and down your slit, wetting it with your slick. He lightly pushes into you so only the tip is inside before he pulls out again.

“Please fuck me,” you plead breathlessly, attempting to rock back to get more of him inside you.

Joel laughs. “Now you’re nice and polite. Is there something else you want to tell me?” He asks expecting an apology.

“No,” you repeat stubbornly.

He’ll get you soon enough. There’s no way you’ll resist.

Joel’s cock brushes against your clit, making you jump and moan. He does it again and again. Your pussy clenches desperately wanting him inside of you.

“You sure? You don’t want to apologize?” He gives you another chance. Sinking his cock deeper into you to give you a taste before he pulls out.

You huff and pout but you can’t take it anymore. You need him. “I’m sorry!”

“Now, was that so hard,” Joel grunts, pushing his length all the way in, rewarding you.

You bury your head into the pillow, stifling the guttural moan that rips from your throat. You could die like this suffocated and blissfully impaled on Joel’s cock and be happy.

With a tight grip on your waist Joel fucks into you at his own pace, watching how easily you accept him, covering him with your essence. It feels fucking fantastic.

His skin slaps against yours rhythmically. You swear you can cum at that moment but Joel knows all your tells and he slows his pace, pushing into you only when the tip remains. Long, slow strokes keeping you from cumming.

“I wanna cum,” you cry out frustrated but he ignores you, edging you.

“If you want to cum tonight you have to stop calling me old,” Joel grits. This is torture for him as much as it is for you.

“I said I’m sorry,” you sob into the pillow, your back arching as you try and take matters into your own hands. Smack, another spank, warning you to stop.

“Will you stop calling me grandpa?”

You have the audacity to fucking hesitate. He’s serious about not letting you cum but he’s confident he’ll get you to cave in.

Joel pulls out his cock when you refuse to answer. He instantly misses the warmth and tightness of your walls. His cock is soaked with your slick, a creamy white substance covering him from root to tip.

Licking his middle and ring fingers he replaces his cock, feeling your walls clench around them. He pumps them angling them downward to reach that spot inside of you, his other hand pressing on your lower back so you arch more.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp when this thumb presses on your bud. An orgasm quickly building. “Please Joel.” You wanted to cum around his cock not his fingers but at this point you’ll take anything you can get. Your mind is completely clouded and years for release.

“Did you reconsider what you wanted to call me?” Joel curves his fingers, quickening the pace.

“Yes,” you whine as your hips grind against his hand.

“And what’s that?” His fingers are sticky, your essence dripping down his hand.

“Please, daddy,” you cry abashedly, hiding your reddening face in the pillows.

“I didn’t hear ya’ darlin’. How about you look at me when you speak?” Joel dares to say while his fingers continue to drive into you.

Fuck, your legs are shaking and the knot continues to tighten in your belly. You have to say it or Joel will stop. You turn your head to meet his eyes, “Please, daddy.”

“That’s more like it,” Joel’s raspy voice says, removing his fingers when you’re at the cusp once more.

You audibly groan in frustration but it’s interrupted when Joel eases his cock back into you Fucking you just as you want it, hard and fast.

The bed sheets are fisted in your hands as you hold on. Your nipples brushing against the bed with each thrust. It doesn’t take long at all for you both to titer over the edge. Your pussy squeezing tightly around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

When Joel pulls out you fall to lie on your stomach, catching your breath. He lies beside you doing the same. Sharing a glance you both start laughing.

“Next time you want it rough just tell me,” Joel shakes his head at you. He knew all along and yet it still pissed him off.

“It’s not the same, honey,” you sigh, kissing his shoulder. The nearest part of him you can reach without moving too much.

The following morning you wake up with a kink in your back and Joel being the ever loving husband brings you painkillers to bed where you’re lying still, “Take these grandma. They’ll make you feel better.”

He won’t ever call you ‘grandma’ again. The daggers you sent him were fucking terrifying.

listen...typically i'm not the biggest fan of the daddy kink...but when it works, it works

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜 𝐴𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑

Y/n gets a giant chibi Bakugo plush in the mail

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment and, as usual, Bakugo was the first to get to the door. Not because he was excited to get packages—hell no, he wasn’t some damn golden retriever waiting for a treat—but deep down, though he'd never say it out loud, there was always a little buzz of curiosity when it came to something you ordered.

The box was big. Too big. Bakugo lifted it easily, but frowned at the size.

"What the hell did you order now...?" he muttered, kicking the door shut behind him while carrying the package to the living room.

Not even two seconds passed after he set it down before you came running in like you’d just won the lottery. Your eyes sparkled, your hands trembled with excitement as you looked for scissors.

"Ah! It’s here! Finally!"

"Another damn box, huh?" he grunted, crossing his arms and standing off to the side, watching like a hawk. His scowl didn’t ease even when you sat on the floor, legs crossed, to open it.

The cardboard ripped, plastic flew everywhere, and then—he saw it.

"What the fuck...?" The words got stuck in his throat.

You pulled out a massive plush toy from the box. Not just any plush. No. It was a chibi... of him. Bakugo Katsuki. With those ridiculously big eyes, his signature frown stitched in black thread, even the tiny explosion details on the stuffed gloves. A plush that was eighty damn centimeters tall.

"Look at it, it’s perfect!" you exclaimed, like you’d just received a newborn baby.

Bakugo blinked. Once. Twice. The world around him froze as you stood up, hugged the plush to your chest, and squeezed it like it was treasure.

Your smile was so wide, so genuine, that something shifted inside him.

And he didn’t like it.

"Seriously...?" he asked under his breath, his voice laced with disbelief.

His jaw tightened, brow furrowed so deep it looked like it might never relax. His hands slowly curled into fists—not from anger... okay, maybe, but not like when he was fighting. It was a different kind of irritation. A weird, uncomfortable pinch in his gut.

He was jealous.

Of a plushie.

Of himself.

He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual as he let out a sharp breath.

"You’ve got a damn problem," he finally said, voice low, gruff, but there was something underneath it. Something unsure.

You looked at him from the couch, still hugging the chibi like it was the most adorable thing in the world.

"But look how cute it is. And it’s soft! And it smells good!"

A vein pulsed at his temple. He walked toward you with heavy steps, arms tense, like he might rip the plush from your hands and chuck it out the window. But when he stopped in front of you, he just stared.

You. With those bright, happy eyes. That dumb smile that sometimes knocked the air right out of him. With his goddamn mini-me clutched to your chest like it was worth protecting.

"You don’t need that shitty doll if you’ve got the real deal," he grumbled through his teeth, crouching down to your level.

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Are you jealous...?"

"Don’t fuckin’ start! Of course not!" he snapped instantly, but the tips of his ears flushed red. A quick, annoyed blush that only someone who knew him would catch.

You let out a soft laugh, entertained, and reached out to take his hand. Your fingers brushed over his knuckles gently, and it made him drop his guard for a second—not that he’d ever admit it.

"No matter how many things I have of you, none of them compare to you," you whispered.

He looked away, but didn’t pull his hand back.

"...Still, stop wasting your money on that crap," he muttered.

"Sure, sure," you said, with a smile he knew didn’t mean “sure.”

Bakugo sighed, dropped onto the couch next to you, and gave the oversized plush one last death glare.

He definitely had to keep an eye on that thing. What if you started sleeping with it instead of him? What if you took it to work? What if...?

He growled under his breath.

That plush wasn’t gonna win.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[neeeooon]

Hi!!! First of all, love ur smau 🥹❤️‍🔥 second could I request Nagi, Reo, Rin, Bachira and Shidou with s/o who's a beauty influencer and wants to do my boyfriend does my makeup challenge?

hiii TYSM 🫶🫶 i love this lmao thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoy!!

“my boyfriend does my makeup” challenge with them ;

bf bllk x beauty influencer gn!reader

nagi seishiro

-> “let’s play rock, paper, scissors.” “all of a sudden?” “yep. if i win, you have to do my makeup for a challenge on my youtube.” “… fine.” low and behold, he loses

-> nagi sits slumped on a stool in front of you, the camera set up beside you so it catches only your side profiles. “this is a bad idea,” he hums while staring into your makeup bag like it’s a bomb needing to be defused

-> “y/n.. i don’t know about this…” but he’s already applying your eyeshadow, so it’s too late to back down now

-> his hopeless sigh causes you to peek an eye open. “can you give me a hint about what goes where?” “no hints!” “please?” “… curse my weak heart.” so you separate your products by where they go on your face, but don’t tell him what goes where

-> nagi takes all of two minutes to complete your makeup. “done.” “done? but—“ he spins your chair so you can look in the mirror

-> eyeshadow, blush, and lipgloss. that’s it. and you shrug, because you know that’s better than chapstick. “alright, i’ll take it.” “you look pretty.” “😳🤭”

mikage reo

-> “you will not regret this,” reo encouraged confidently as he plucked a brow brush from your bag. you had the strangest feeling that you were going to regret this !

-> reo talks to the camera, flashing your makeup products to the lenses and making you laugh at his confident cluelessness. “this..! is for y/n’s eyes—“ “lips,” “—lips! i said lips.”

-> “what are these?” “faux lashes. but we don’t need those—“ oh, we need these.” you start praying to choki the cactus

-> he takes his time, which makes you increasingly nervous, because things don’t feel entirely.. right

-> “okay! open your eyes!” and you look like if someone introduced a child to crayons and paper for the first time

-> nothing is blended correctly, so even if reo applied the correct product, it stands out unnaturally. the only part you’re seriously impressed in is, surprisingly, the lashes

-> “woah? you’re seriously great at applying lashes?” “am i? what about the rest of it?” “… well, practice makes perfect!”

-> your viewers find him and his confidence adorable, and give him tips on how to correctly use brushes and blend

itoshi rin

-> “am i doing this right?”

-> the genuine concern in your boyfriend’s voice made you smile and internally coo, but when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you jolted back in a startled surprise. “uh. yeah! just, uh, do whatever feels right!”

-> you can tell he’s trying, and rin even look a seat away from the camera so that it would capture your entire face rather than his back. “are you sure..?”

-> “that’s the point of this challenge, babe,” you comfort him quietly, keeping your eyes shut to hide the final product until he’s done

-> his touch is soft against your skin, and he avoids anything that has to do with poking around your eyes (liner). “okay. don’t break up with me.”

-> it could be worse. you don’t start when you see yourself, which releases some of the tension in rin’s shoulders

-> “thank you, baby! i.. love it!” you give him a quick kiss before turning your attention to the camera. “and thank you all for watching my boyfriend do my makeup! rate him out of ten in the comments, haha. bye!”

bachira meguru

-> “sit still!” “bachira, that tickles!” “yeah, cause it’s working!” “that doesn’t even make sense!”

-> you were 99% sure bachira was blocking you entirely from your camera’s view, but you didn’t even care. you can’t stop laughing as he makes jokes, tickles you with your brushes, and makes the silliest concentrated faces you’ve ever seen

-> “bachira! focus!” “i’m so focused right now, y/n, it’s actually insane. woah, it shimmers!” “oh god.”

-> you should have known it was a mistake to give your boyfriend access to your glittery products, because when he yells “done!” you’re blinded by your reflection

-> “did you give me blue lips?” “i like blue!” and gold eyes?” “they sparkle!” “and—“ “you hate it :(“

-> so you turn to the camera and show your face off like it’s the most majestic thing in the world. “you guys, look at what my boyfriend did? his first time using makeup! don’t i look fabulous?!”

-> he wants to read the comments after upload, and thankfully your viewers were on the same page. they all complimented him, asked him to do their makeup next, etc. “see? it was great!” “.. okay! i wonder if we should go with purple lips next time—“ “next time ? :D ?”

shidou ryusei

-> “hey, babe?” “yes.” “would you be okay filming a video—“ “yes.” “—with me on my makeup channel?” “yes.”

-> you aren’t surprised when ryusei grabs exactly what he’s supposed to to do your makeup. you do get a little nervous when he reaches for the liquid liner, but his touch his light and fleeting, so you trust he didn’t go overboard

-> “you seem surprisingly good at this.” “surprisingly? babe, look at me. i’m an artist.” you smile at that and wait patiently for him to finish

-> shidou takes his time, and though you keep your eyes shut, you can feel that he’s going in the correct application order. he even put on your foundation, which most boyfriends in challenges skip

-> “do you want me to do your hair, too?” “i’m only doing the makeup—“ “wait here! let me get my dye~” “wait, let’s talk about this…”

-> when he’s finally done, you’re… jealous? “um, why do i look so good?” “because i know your color palette, y/n. i told you, i’m an artist!”

-> apparently your viewers agree, because they all but beg you to help shidou open his own influencer channel dedicated to hair and makeup. “they like you more than me.” “teehee~”

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑻𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒚𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒂

To see the well-versed, experienced cardiac surgeon in such a state of distress was a sight you were not keen to experience again, and even at the cost of your shared secret, you would do anything to soothe him and bring him down from the adrenaline high.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Zayne x Scrub Nurse!F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 2.1k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Smut, fluff, pet names, secret relationship, power imbalance, innappropriate use of an on-call room, Greyson is so sick of Zayne's shit ➺ Wall, public, desperate sex, creampie, praise, uniform, size kink 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐀 ── @smutconnoisseur (my absolute saviour, thank you for buckling in with my utterly insane rambles) 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒 ── Keep It Down by Migrant Motel 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── My first smut I have written in a year, oi vey.

─── 𝑳𝑨𝑫𝑺 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

The atmosphere was tense — not unlike any other time within the bustling halls of the surgery floor, but this time, the air was thick with apprehension, a dash of uncertainty for what laid behind the double doors of the operating room. 

As though you could feel the gaze of those above in the observation window, you shivered from nerves beneath the countless layers you wore. The shirt you wore was form fitting, as all scrub wear was, but it felt somehow even tighter, closing in around your throat even with the deep-necked collar. 

In front of you were the immovable and ever-focused figures of your superiors. Both were skilled surgeons and almost indistinguishable while gowned in endless layers, but one stood out in particular — he was straight-backed and intently homed in on the chest cavity of his patient while his deft fingers moved with purpose, going from scalpel to scissors, to thread and needles. The occasional, clear command of: “Suction,” came every few seconds to every minute. 

“Doctor,” a voice spoke, clear and kind in tone. 

“We’re almost finished–” Snip.

Footsteps shuffled around you as a few team members re-emerged in new places to better accommodate the final stages of surgery. This singular procedure had been in the pipeline for months, and naturally, they called upon the most skilled surgeon to undertake it, the chief of surgery himself, Zayne. 

Few knew of the intimate relationship between the chief surgeon of Akso hospital and his dedicated scrub nurse — a secret you desperately hoped to maintain.

Time seemed to melt away in a haze of stolen glances and lingering touches, your history together blurring into an intoxicating mix of professional respect and burning desire. A shiver ran down your spine as Zayne declared the surgery complete, his commanding voice sending a familiar heat through your core. 

He stepped back from the patient, his scrubs marked with evidence of his skilled work — crimson streaks and surgical fluids that somehow made him look even more imposing, more powerful.

“Sir,” you said quietly, outstretching your hands to meet him halfway. Your own gloved hands carefully pulled the soiled gloves from his hands to reveal the scrub cuffs of his shirt.

Zayne strode silently toward the sliding, pressurized door leading to the preparation room. A large metal basin gleamed under the harsh downlights. You watched with concern as he gripped its edge, his wrists shaking from strain. 

The door slid shut with an ominous, loud click, leaving you alone with him in the preparation room. 

Your heart raced as you stepped closer, closing the distance between you both. The fingers on your outstretched hand trembled slightly as you reached for the ties of his surgical gown, and the fabric rustled beneath your touch as you slowly undid the knots at his upper back, then lower, each movement deliberate and charged with tension. 

The scrub gown fell away from his broad shoulders, and your breath caught at your proximity to him while you helped him shrug it off. 

With quick, almost desperate movements, you discarded both his soiled gown and your own into the waste bin, the sudden lack of barriers between you making the air feel electric.

The metal of the basin began to creak under his grip, and his shoulders heaved slightly. “Zayne?” you whispered, resting a hand on the back of his bicep. “Are you all right?”

It happened in a whirl — one moment you were standing beside the trembling figure of your lover, and then, the next moment your feet scrambled to keep you upright against the sudden tug of Zayne’s hand gripping your elbow. “Wait, wait, Zay– What’s wrong?” The question sounded sharp to your ears, and he only huffed in reply. 

His footsteps echoed harshly in the eerily deserted corridor outside of the surgery suite, and the sight seemed to bring his mind back into focus. “Come with me.” 

“Where?” you rushed, still jogging to keep up with his long strides. The determined pull of his brow and set line of his lips stirred something deep within you, but you shoved that thought down with extreme force — you were at work, you scolded silently. “They– Won’t they need you back–?”

“No, Greyson will handle it.” His pace increased, as did the rustle of his slacks. The sound caught your attention, but before you could glance down to make sure he wasn’t leaving the OR suite with contaminated clothes, fingers gripped your chin and forced your face upwards. 

You gulped, the flush of heat that coursed through you had nothing to do with nerves or exertion within the operating room. Deep, hazel eyes bore into your own, and his mouth opened around a few words that made your stomach swoop. “I need you.” 

The outline of his face grew blurry, and you blinked. “I– Uh, okay, um–”

“Now.” 

The force of his pull made a squeak of surprise slip past your tight lips, and you were tugged toward the closest on-call room. “But we’re at work–!”

“I don’t care,” Zayne grit out through clenched teeth. The door slammed open, and you rushed inside, him following right behind you. You noticed his grip was still trembling, the twitch of his arm far more noticeable now that his shirt left nothing to your imagination. 

“But– Oh, shit, Zayne!” Your feet were lifted from the ground, and your hands carded through his hair to ground yourself. The sheer volume of your shout made a sense of fear tear through your middle; being caught in such a compromising situation with your superior would spell disaster. “Wait, wait, baby,” you begged, panting against his lips, but he was not deterred. 

While one hand gripped the swell of your ass to keep you in the air, the other moved towards your neck. “No,” Zayne grunted, tilting your head back with his thumb beneath your chin. His lips trailed from your jaw to your collarbone and back up again. “The only way that I will wait,” he continued, his voice lowering into a husked rasp. “Is if you were to tell me you didn’t want this.” 

“No, no I do, please–” The hand pushing your head back vanished, and you lowered your chin to capture his lips with yours — to tease him even further, you nibbled on his bottom lip and grinned as he groaned low in his throat, a silent curse escaping in a sigh. 

“Be quiet for me then, darling.” 

You giggled and shifted in his grip to help pull down the scrub pants you wore, and they fell to your ankles with ease. The sheer strength needed to make such a move made you swoon, a rush of light headedness forcing you to gasp for air. “How can you–?”

“I need you,” Zayne repeated in a low growl. “I need this—need to feel you.” 

The pressure of his hand on your ass increased, and you felt the flutter of fabric against the back of your thigh, followed by the quiet clink of his belt. “Zayne, please,” you breathed, staring at him through half-lidded eyes. Fabric rustled as the waistband of his slacks shifted and fell to his hips. 

"I know," he whispered. His fingers traced along your clothed cunt, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. A knowing smirk curved his mouth as he felt your arousal. "I can feel how much you want this, already so wet for me, my darling girl, hm? Who knew you were so eager." 

The sudden sound of muffled footsteps made you both freeze, your attention now front and center on the fact you were currently half-way up the wall of an on-call room, legs wrapped around Zayne’s tense middle while he teased your clit with the pads of his fingers. Shocks of pleasure shot up your spine as he circled your clit with precision, and his other hand hastily closed your parted mouth. “Shh, keep quiet, darling. You don’t want them to know how well you take it, do you?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you hissed, the words muffled by his palm. 

Zayne chuckled and stepped closer, the tip of his cock pressing against your clit. “Easy, darling,” he cooed, finally moving his hand away from your mouth. "Open up for me, sweetheart," Zayne murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Let yourself feel everything–” The push of his cock made your eyes squeeze shut. “Yes, just like that, perfect."

A hitched whine caught in your throat as the pressure grew. “Ha– Oh, my god.” Your forehead fell to his shoulder, and your hands moved from his hair to his broad shoulders. “Don’t– Don’t you dare stop–”

“I don’t plan to, but you have to let me in, baby,” Zayne rasped, his breath hot over the shell of your ear. “You can do it—be a good girl for me.”

Shuddering with the onslaught of sensation, you took a deep breath. The gentle coaxes and praise from Zayne made it easier to breathe, and after several, slow inhales, you nodded slightly. “M’kay.”

A soft brush of Zayne’s lips against your temples made you smile dazedly, and you moaned softly as you felt him withdraw, then gasped at the delicious pressure as he pushed back in. “You must’a been all pent up,” you breathed. 

“You have no idea,” he grunted, and then you felt his resolve snap. 

The pitch of your moans increased as Zayne lost himself in you, the slide of the plaster wall while the force of his thrusts kept moving you up the wall behind you pulled at your shirt and exposed your lower stomach — the feeling of his own shirt against the strip of bare skin only made the intensity of your pleasure burn hotter. “Za– Ohmygod, you feel–”

“How you can be so tight, baby,” he growled, his forehead now resting against your sternum. “I can’t last– Fuck, I can’t.” 

The outward curse made you gasp, your heart raced to keep up with the rush of pleasure he gave you. “Give it to me, please—I need it, Zayne, ohgod–”

“You’ll have it.” 

Your scrub shirt rustled and you squeaked as you were pulled back down the wall, now eye to eye with him. “I want to watch you, see how pretty my darling is when she loses herself over my cock.”

“Don’t–” 

“Don’t what?” The few strands of hair that brushed against the very top of his glasses now stuck to his forehead. “I cannot help but be greedy for what’s mine.”

“Oh– Zayne, Zayne,” you chanted, the sudden burn all consuming as the coil in your stomach grew unbearably taut. “Please, ‘m so close, please!”

The sounds and mewls of pleasure that fell from your parted lips were silenced by his own, a kiss that was all teeth and tongue — the feeling of being consumed from the inside out by him blurred your vision around the edges with its intensity. 

“Give it to me, baby. Give it all to me, come on,” he coaxed, voice rough against your lips, and his harsh pants for air only added to the litany of sensations. “Come apart for me, that’s it–”

“Zayne!”

Waves of pleasure crashed over you as your senses overloaded — blood rushed in your ears, your thighs trembled uncontrollably against his sides, and your toes curled in your shoes. Your fingers desperately sought anchor; one hand gripped his broad shoulder while the other tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as ecstasy consumed you completely.

“Fuck, oh god, fuck,” Zayne groaned deeply, his hips stuttering to a stop as your walls clenched around him. “I’m going to–” His words cut off with a guttural moan as he came, flooding you with warmth that triggered another wave of pleasure through your oversensitive body. Each subtle movement of his cock inside you drew out more delicious aftershocks.

“Please,” you hoarsely begged, putting your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. He moaned in reply and tucked his face into your neck, all while rocking in place to ride out what pleasure was left. 

The room filled with your shared breaths and soft moans as you squeezed around him deliberately, making him press even closer. “You're quite unprofessional,” he rumbled against your neck, his smile evident in his voice. “And such a troublemaker too.”

You let out a wicked laugh, ignorant of the footsteps outside in the corridor, and squeezed around him deliberately, delighting in the strangled gasp that escaped his throat. “Oh, that's rich coming from the one who just had to have me against a wall at work. So much for being professional, Doctor.”

“Hush.” ​​His hands slid from your hips to your waist as he let out a breathless chuckle. "If I were you, I would be more careful with that mouth of yours, darling. We still have half a shift to get through." The warning in his voice held a playful edge that made you shiver with anticipation for when he would drive you home.

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