#rumple x hook

[oautincorrectquotes]

Hook: You played me like a fiddle!

Rumple: Oh no, fiddles are actually difficult to play, I played you like the cheap kazoo you are.

[martianbugsbunny]

Rogers and Weaver would so get on Emma and Hook’s nerves. I mean, 1) it would be hilarious to see Hook’s face when he realized that a version of him married Rumple, that mental image waters my crops (but doesn’t overwater them) and curates my garden

And 2) Rogers and Weaver are probably the single most annoying pair of detectives to have running around any district you’re supposed to be sheriffing. Intentional lack of communication, air of shadiness, and I just know it would drive Emma crazy that they’re actually pretty good at being detectives. Maybe the Killians would have competitions to see who could solve the most cases in a month, but Emma wouldn’t be able to stand when Weaver solved a case she couldn’t.

[depressedstressedlemonzest]

He's trying so hard to avoid this conversation

God you can tell it pains him, wanting to tell her but also being afraid that she'll leave after she finds out what he did.

She knows there's more. That you're hiding rumple.

[satansapostle6]

love and blood | killian jones

The course of history is changed forever when a ruggedly charming pirate’s fate is intertwined with that of a dark sorceress more powerful than any he had ever encountered.

Warnings: Violence. Mature themes/language. Sexual content.

I. The Encounter

Killian Jones, the handsome pirate captain known by the crude moniker ‘Hook’ for his missing left hand, had never passed through any territory so treacherous as that of the Land of Blood. What else he was expecting, he had no idea. But the long treks through the territory had him perpetually on edge, even with his entire crew behind him. The Land of Blood was like nowhere the captain had ever ventured before, even in his years as a seafarer.

Hook had heard many things said about the realm that had only been referred to as the ‘Land of Blood’, many a gruesome and depraved tale, but only now did he begin to heed the warnings, the hushed whispers he remembered being spoken in dimly lit taverns. Hook was an adventurer; he never backed down from a challenge of any sort, and he certainly never abandoned a rewarding quest. But even he was off-put by the dark, foggy forests and the occasional, intermittent screams that would cut through the silence every now and then.

Captain Hook truly had no idea what those strangely paced screams could have been, or even which direction they were coming from. But he knew one thing; the less time spent in this godforsaken land, the better. Soon enough, a small but grating voice cut into Hook’s contemplation.

“Captain, pardon me, but shouldn’t we take a rest?”

Hook’s first mate, William Smee, had broken the men’s long silent streak. It had been almost an entire day since they had docked their ship.

“We’ve been over this, Mr. Smee,” Killian Jones said curtly. “These are not woods to lollygag in.”

Killian had mixed feelings about his own use of the word ‘lollygag’, but he committed anyway and doubled down on his display of authority.

“But we’re all so tired, Captain,” Smee complained still, stopping to scream and squat as a giant raven swooped over his head. “I-I asked the men. They’re not too afraid of the wolves.”

It had been hours since Killian had last eaten, and his first mate had just disrespected his authority for the last time.

“Listen to me, you insubordinate fuck,” Hook spat, turning around sharply.

Mr. Smee gulped frantically as the sharp metal hook that replaced his captain’s left hand was held under his chin, the point barely piercing his throat.

“I am your captain. I am your judge, jury, and executioner, for a reason; because you’re all a bunch of idiots. None of you could survive another second in this forest without me. But you’re welcome to try, if you want that rest so badly. The fact that wolves are what you lot think we have to be afraid of in these woods shows how little imagination you have,” Hook reminded the group.

The men all seemed to look at each other in fear as they suddenly remembered the magic that existed in the world.

“Now. Anyone feeling brave?” Hook questioned rhetorically, throwing his hands up in the air. “Anyone feeling like taking a rest?”

The silence and stillness of all the men answered his question for him.

“Alright. Now shut up, and keep behind me.”

The journey deeper into the realm continued in complete silence. No one felt like provoking their ornery captain any further. It seemed Hook was the only one who truly kept their goal in mind; they had journeyed to the Land of Blood solely for the purpose of finding a mysterious individual by the name of Col, in the City of Ash, who was said to possess something essential by the vague name of the ‘Blue Scroll’.

Hook had no idea what this scroll was, or even who this ‘Col’ person was. He knew nothing other than that basic information, even in regards to who had sent him and his men on this strange quest. He knew almost nothing of his client, a bizarre and secretive sorcerer who had promised an obscene quantity of diamonds to the men. Hook knew nothing of the cloaked sorcerer he had struck a deal with; he was only mostly certain that it was even a man.

But asking questions was never something Hook concerned himself with, thinking himself an ‘opportunistic’ individual. Hook would’ve retrieved that damned scroll for a dog, had it paid him enough. Hook wasn’t stupid; he knew that the journey through the Land of Blood alone would be more treacherous than anywhere he had ever traveled before.

He knew that the journey there would be difficult and treacherous with stormy weather and magical obstacles, which it was, and he knew that the Land of Blood itself was full of magical lawlessness he did not wish to stay long enough to understand. He had made sure that his and the crew’s compensation would be more than enough to justify the harrowing task ahead.

Hook knew nothing of Col, or of the inner workings of the infamous Land of Blood. Although he had heard rumors. He’d heard many rumors, mostly pertaining to the dark magic that resided within the land. Some rumors suggested that it was ruled by dark sorcerers who lured children and criminals such as Hook and his men to their deaths.

Many rumors also seemed to reflect that some believed that the land was ruled by vicious cannibals. Some rumors even claimed that the criminals and monsters themselves had since pillaged the land, and taken control, still to this day continued on murdering and raping as they pleased. Most of the rumors about the Land of Blood believed all of these things to be true.

Hook’s greatest fear in his travels was that he’d find out. It was only hours before he and the men, on pained and tired feet, reached civilization. If it could even be called that. Hook ascertained that this realm’s idea of civilization was not like most of the places one might travel to. Everything was just everywhere. There was no sense of structure, no order.

Killian could not tell the residences apart from the establishments, and neither seemed to be well-run. Every single one of the structures the men encountered were crudely built and prioritized functionality above all else, as if built from scraps in a hurry. They saw no people; they only heard them, in the alarming forms of scuffling feet, or loud bangs, or even piercing screams.

Killian had no idea what was actually going on in this strange, disenfranchised village, but he kept to himself, fiercely ordering all of the men to keep their heads down and their mouths shut so as to avoid trouble. They had only just arrived, but Killian was quickly gathering that this was the kind of place to be avoided even in broad daylight.

*****

It took another day or so, but eventually, Captain Hook and his men found their way into parts that more so resembled civilization. There were, at the very least, actual roads, and buildings, and the people could actually be seen and seemed relatively safe to talk to. The men had asked around for directions and found suitable inns and taverns to acquaint themselves with, preparing for the rest of their journey.

It was another three days before the men of he Jolly Roger arrived in a town near the City of Ash. Even in the safer heart of the Land of Blood, their travels were still embedded with danger. It was like nothing Killian Jones had ever seen; even those who could be considered well-off in comparison with the other denizens of this cursed land seemed to have this glimmer of spiteful desperation in their eyes.

Even when they spoke to Killian and his men in a civilized manner, giving directions, or offering hospitality, it seemed as if they were still itching and would’ve slit all their throats without hesitation if given a reason. Given those odd experiences, Hook told his men never to interact with anyone unless absolutely necessary.

All of the people that they encountered were, at best, strange and off-putting, and at worst, violent and sadistic. Many of these strangers seemed to notice Hook and his men automatically, but luckily, none of them acted upon it.

Although they had all kept to themselves, the men had witnessed countless stabbings, magical duels, and other unusual acts of violence in the Land of Blood. Hook dreaded their arrival in the City of Ash, because he knew it meant they’d have to start asking questions once again. Luckily, their interactions were ideal, as far as the Land of Blood; just strange and unpleasant.

A man in a cloak had pointed them east toward the larger city, and Hook had thanked him promptly before they headed in that direction. He had been questioning the decision to take directions from all the seemingly untrustworthy locals ever since they had arrived, but nothing had happened so far. One thing that he was noticing was that almost everyone they had met was wearing a long, dark cloak, as if concealing themselves from the word.

None of his men had cloaks, himself included, and Hook was beginning to feel very uneasy as they reached the city. Once they had found themselves in the City of Ash, where it seemed to be lightly snowing for some reason, Hook took upon himself to ask a question of the nearby local he found to be the least threatening.

The longer they stayed, the more Killian became assured of the truth behind the cannibal rumors; everyone looked at them hatefully and hungrily as they passed through, from the beggars on the ground to the shop owners who Killian frankly had no idea what they actually sold, given the state of things.

There was a man in a burgundy cloak standing in the middle of what sort of resembled a town square, almost as if waiting to provide assistance, so Hook figured that this man had to be some sort of public servant or something.

“Excuse me sir,” he said. “Can I ask a question of you?”

The man looked at him with an almost scholarly curiosity. “Depends on the question.”

Hook’s crew all looked at one another, not surprised by the eccentric response.

“I’m looking for someone. A sorcerer,” Hook stated promptly.

“Do you have a name?”

The man’s voice had an odd, rather theatrical lilt to it, as if every sentence he spoke was its own soliloquy.

“Col,” Hook responded. “Just Col.”

“Mmm!” the stranger said with intrigue.

Hook tried to contain his confusing mixture of simultaneous fear and annoyance.

“No one’s come looking for Col in ages!”

The man thought for a moment.

“I believe you’ll find him skulking about the Forbidden Palace.”

“Great. And how do we get there?” Hook asked, only to be met with a loud, derisive giggle.

“Pardon me!” the man cackled humorously. “But one simply does not ignore the name of the palace! It’s called ‘forbidden’ for a reason!”

“What’s the reason?” Hook demanded impatience.

“Why, look at the people around you now!” the stranger reasoned. “Murderers, rapists, cannibals, lowlifes! Imagine the evil that towers over us!”

“We can handle it,” Killian assured him.

“No,” the man laughed still, “You can’t!”

“Just tell me how to get there!” Hook yelled, instantly regretting losing his temper.

“Fine, fine, fine!” the man complained melodramatically, “You go north up to the Haunted Forest, and you stop at the giant fucking palace that lords over everything like a giant bird in the sky! Satisfied now?!” he screeched at him.

Hook fought the urge to roll his eyes, concluding the conversation as calmly as he could. He was never this polite, but given these people and the strange magic many of them seemed to possess, he was in no mood to trifle with them.

“Thank you. We’ll be on our way now.”

The man watched with great interest as the group of men walked past him, heading off into the woods.

“You’re going to your death!” the stranger yelled at them rather cheerfully.

*****

The Forbidden Palace was just as eerie and sinister as Killian could’ve imagined. It looked like an evil place, made from stone that looked almost black. All of the men were starting to panic as they mindfully crossed the bridge together, watching fearfully as the gate began to slowly rise.

“Does someone know we’re here?!” Mr. Smee whispered.

“Shut up!” the captain hissed, drawing his sword.

The men readied themselves and waited, only for nothing to happen.

“Follow me,” Hook murmured, treading carefully. “It looks like a trap.”

They all proceeded as instructed, slowly inching their way toward the gate until they found themselves right at the front doors, alarmed by how easy it all was. Hook was startled as the heavy doors suddenly swung open on their own, revealing nothing but darkness inside. This, Hook knew, was magic, only he still had no idea as to who had conjured it.

“Captain?” Smee whispered as they stood at the open doors, sounding like a scared child. “What do we do?”

“Follow me,” Hook repeated through gritted teeth, his eyes dark as he prepared himself for danger, “And don’t make a sound.”

Hook and his men stepped over the threshold, all of them entering the palace just as he whipped around in an instant to find that all of his men were individually disappearing in puffs of thick black smoke. Killian began to panic as he realized he had no idea what was happening, nor did he have any idea what would stop it. He only searched the room frantically for the source of the enchantments.

He saw no one in the darkness, but once the doors magically shut behind him and his eyes adjusted to the absence of light, they settled on a tiny silhouette at the very top of the stairs that seemed a mile away from him. A small voice, even from that distance, managed to fill his ears like a yell. It was magic he was entirely unfamiliar with.

“Well. Who might you be?”

A woman’s voice, sultry and calculated, haunted and tormented his mind in a single moment.

-

II. The Witch

[timaeusluver88990]

Once Upon a Time Playlist

(In no Particular order or deiced to one character but songs meaning one or several character for just even the theme of the show or even situations )

[if you aw this before, its a Repost from my OLD account since Tumblr deleted my last account and ashen replaced my account count in yet 3 months🙃]

"A Dream Is A Wish You're Heart Makes" ~ Disney Channel Stars

"Seasons Of Love "~ Rent (movie version)

"Neverland"~ Zendaya

"Find Your Grail"~ Sara Ramirez (Spamalot)

"The Call" ~Regina Spektor

"There's music In You"~Whitney Huston (Cinderella Movie Rogger Hammerstiens)

"Impossible "~ Brandy (Cinderella Movie Rogger Hammerstein)

"Let it Go"~ (Frozen)

"Miracles Happen "~ Myra

"You'll Be in My Heart"~Phil Collins

"Can't Help Falling in Love"~(A*Teens ver.)

"Can I Have This Dance"~ High School Musical 3

"Take Me As I Am"~ (Jekyll and Hyde )

"Tightrope"~ The Greatest Showman

"Know who You Are" ~ Moana

"Let Me Be Your Wings"~ Thumbelina

"Keep Your Mind Wide Open"~ Anna Sophia Robb

"Queen Of Mean"~ Descendants 3

"What's My Name"~ Descendants 2

"Stand in the Rain" ~Superchick

"Ever ever after" ~ Carrie Underwood

"The Waltz"~ The Princess Diaries Soundtrack

"I Still Believe"~Hayden Pannettiere

[bookaddiction14]

By looking over all my book/ tv boyfriends, it really helps me understand why I have so many problems 🥴

OUAT Hook and Rumplestiltskin,

Vektal (Ice Plant Barbarians),

Theo (Clecarian series),

Daryl Dixon,

John Murphy (The 100),

Kaz (6of Crows),

Aragorn,

Loki,

Bucky Barnes,

Xaden Riorson (Fourth Wing),

Dean Winchester,

Thorin Oakenshield,

Merlin (BBC),

[wikisl]

I have a OUAT prompt, if anyone is interested:

Cora dies when Regina is still young and Henry marries a nice woman who may just be more powerful than Cora and Rumplestiltskin.

Optional: Henry and his new wife adopt Zelena. And/or get a couple of kids.

Optional 2: Regina and Robin know each other as children.

Have fun and don't let my tags stop you!

Let me know if you like and use it.

If you want, tag me on AO3. WinnieKirk https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinnieKirk

[joeloverture]

morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance. 

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven. 

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

[yuutx]

POPS IN AND WAVES

hi athena!!! :3

athena i hope you’re doing well…… you are the next person on my list!! athena… hands on ur shoulders…. athena… hear me out.. jjk papas :33

ೀ ׅ ۫ . 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 ! (𝑀𝒰𝐿𝒯𝐼𝒫𝐿𝐸 𝒞𝐻𝒜𝑅𝒜𝒞𝒯𝐸𝑅)

gojo satoru, nanami kento, sukuna ryōmen, choso kamo, okkotsu yūta x f!reader ﾉ sfw content. ﾉ sfw + children ﾉ mentions of childbirth ﾉ established relationship ﾉ married couple ( husband + wife ) ﾉ gojo + newborn baby ﾉ nanami + newborn baby ﾉ choso + toddler ﾉ sukuna + toddler ﾉ yūta + newborn baby ﾉ pure fluffy content ﾉ not proofread ! ꒰ᐢ˵´ ˆ `˵ᐢ꒱

maryse ! this is literally s' fuckin cute ? ! 'm goin thru sum insense bby fever rn, u gave me the motivation 2 finally write a fic liek this ! ! plus, 've been needing 2 write fluff :(( sum characters are shorter fics, not biased jus' wrote watever came 2 m' mind ! i hope u enjoy reading, m' lovelies ! ♡ + ↻ are rlly appreciated ! !

A tiny hand clung onto his index finger, a look of pure wonder on a small, chubby face that gazed up at him. The newborn in his arms was barely a week old, small enough to fit in the crook of his elbow and still red from the warmth of her mother's womb. He could feel the delicate grip the child had on him, her little fingers wrapping around the one his finger was hooked onto. Gojo's thumb was gently rubbing along her palm, an affectionate action that was meant to coax her into sleepiness.

Her bright eyes looked at him, not seeing him fully, but still searching him out.

"Hello, my little love," Gojo said quietly, smiling at her. She looked up at him, her lips puckering a few times before settling back into a neutral expression. She was quiet, content in his hold and enjoying the new sensation of her father holding her for the first time. "You're so cute," he murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

His smile grew when he heard her make a noise. It was a small sound, something a little less than a squeak but not quite a whimper. A noise of surprise. He leaned back and saw that her eyes had fluttered shut, her tiny brows furrowing together as she shifted in his arms, her grip tightening. The movement brought her closer to his chest, and with his shirt partially open, her cheek brushed against his warm skin. She opened her eyes a fraction, the contact sending a small wave of comfort through her. Her head tilted, the baby trying to find the spot where his heartbeat was the loudest, her eyes fluttering shut once again when she did. Gojo smiled, shifting his hold on her so that his free hand was supporting her head, the palm of his hand covering the entire top of her small head. He watched his daughter for a moment, enjoying the peace between them before a small tug on his hand reminded him that his little love wasn't the only one he had to take care of.

Looking over his shoulder, Gojo saw you, laying back on the hospital bed, the sheets rumpled under you. Your arms were limp at your sides, exhaustion evident on your features. Despite this, you still managed a tired smile when you saw him looking at you. You nodded towards the infant in his arms.

"You two bonding..?" you asked, your voice a raspy whisper. The smile on his face grew at the sight of you. You looked absolutely stunning, despite the fatigue, and it made his heart skip a beat. He had been in love with you for so long, and to see you as a mother, the mother of his children, made him fall in love with you all over again. He hummed, stepping closer to the bed and leaning down to brush a tender kiss across your forehead. You reached up and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, keeping him close to you for a moment longer.

"We are," he replied, "She's perfect, baby.. she's a mini version of you." His voice was a quiet murmur, the words for your ears only. Gojo felt your lips curl into a smile against his skin, the simple action sending a jolt through his body. You pressed another kiss to his cheek, and he turned his head so that your lips met. It was a short kiss, a sweet one, and when he pulled away, he saw that you were fighting to keep your eyes open. Gojo let out a soft chuckle, and with one more kiss to the tip of your nose, he turned and stepped away from the bed. He knew that you needed sleep, and the last thing he wanted was for you to exhaust yourself while you were still healing.

"Get some rest, baby," he told you, "I'll be right here with her." He could see the uncertainty in your eyes. You knew that Gojo had never changed a diaper, or given a bath to a baby, or even fed one. But you also knew that he was a natural born caregiver, and that his heart was in the right place.

"Okay.." you mumbled, relaxing against the pillows behind you. Your fingers slid from his wrist and back onto the bed. You watched as Gojo moved across the room, rocking your daughter in his arms and murmuring quietly to her, his voice low and gentle. It made your heart flutter, and you were sure that even though you couldn't hear the exact words he was saying, they were sweet and full of love.

Nanami was quiet as he gazed at the little one in his arms, a soft smile upon his face. The child was asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath she took. He could see the way her dark eyelashes fluttered against her skin, and the way her hands were curled into tiny fists. Her squishy cheeks were tinted pink, and he couldn't resist the urge to touch her. His fingertips were gentle, lightly brushing over the baby's cheek.

"What are you thinking about, hm?"

Nanami looked up and saw you, his wife, a soft smile playing at the corner of your lips. You was standing in the doorway, your arms folded over your chest. It was a simple pose, but it was one he adored. It made you look powerful and beautiful, a combination that made his heart flutter.

"How lucky I am to have you and her," Nanami answered, nodding down at the sleeping infant. The child in his arms was theirs, a beautiful creation born out of the love they shared. You were still recovering from childbirth, and while Nanami could tell that the physical pain was subsiding, there was a lingering exhaustion that followed.

You smiled, your cheeks tinted a light pink as you approached him, taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to him. Your arm wrapped around his waist, and you leaned against his side. Nanami leaned his head against yours, a content sigh escaping him. He was happy, incredibly so, and it showed. He was more relaxed, and despite the chaos that a newborn could bring, he was at peace.

"I'm the lucky one.." you murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw, "You're an incredible father, and a wonderful husband.." You turned your head and pressed another kiss to his cheek. When you leaned away, Nanami looked at you. Your eyes were shining, the same love that had drawn him to you in the first place still burning bright.

"I love you," he said softly, the words making your cheeks turn an even darker shade of red.

"I love you, too, Ken.."

Your gaze then fell to the baby, your little one, and you reached out to caress her soft, fuzzy hair. You were gentle, and Nanami watched the interaction with a warm, full feeling in his chest. He felt complete, his life filled with everything he could've ever wanted.

"And we love you," you continued, smiling at the sleeping baby, "Our beautiful girl.."

With ease, Choso tied up his daughter's hair, his fingers nimbly tying the silky strands into two little buns to match his own. The little girl was sitting in his lap, her eyes on the screen as she watched a show, completely enthralled. His chin rested atop her head, his arms wrapping around her little body. "We're matching, kiddo" he said, his voice a soft murmur. His daughter giggled, wiggling a bit to get more comfortable in his hold.

"I know, Papa! You did my hair like yours!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbly and cheerful. Choso's lips curled into a smile. He always thought that perhaps he should change the way he looked. His style was rather unique, often attracting the judgemental eyes of those who didn't understand him. But his daughter, his beautiful little princess, was one of the few people in his life who loved him no matter what. "We look cool, right?!" she asked, twisting her neck so that she could look up at him, her eyes sparkling with joy. He felt his heart grow in size, warmth blooming in his chest. The happiness in his little girl's face made him feel proud, and it only made him love her more. He hummed and gave her a nod. She beamed.

"Yes, little one, we do." he agreed. Her smile grew, and she leaned back, her back hitting his chest as she let out a little cheer.

As Choso looked at the buns on the top of her head, he couldn't help but reminisce about how far he had come. As a cursed being, the offspring of a monster, he had always assumed he'd spend his life alone. No one would love a 'thing' like him, he used to think. But as he sat in his living room, holding his daughter and watching her favorite cartoon, he realised that he couldn't have been more wrong. You had seen something in him that no one else had, and after years of being together, you had given him a family. Something he had never imagined he would have. He had a wife, a daughter, and the best home a man could ask for. He was surrounded by love, and the idea that this was just the beginning of his life made him giddy.

"Papa?" his daughter's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he blinked, his gaze focusing on her face again. "We gotta show mama!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in excitement, "She'll think we're awesome!! 'N then you can do her hair too!!"

A chuckle left his lips and he nodded affirmatively, the smile on his face never fading. "Sure, little one," he replied, "Let's show mama.."

"..Papa!"

A soft gasp escaped him when the door to the bedroom creaked open, and Sukuna watched, frozen in shock as the small toddler waddled her way into the room. Her little hands were pressed to the wooden door, pushing it open as she toddled inside. She was clad in a pink onesie, the soft material making her look like a little marshmallow. Her dark hair was in disarray, a tangled mess on top of her head, and Sukuna was sure that her bright eyes were puffy from sleep. He was surprised by the sudden appearance of his daughter, the child having been tucked away in her bed a couple of hours ago.

The door opened all the way, and her face lit up at the sight of him, her cheeks growing rosy with joy.

"Papa!" she called out to him, her hands balling into fists and raising them towards him, a silent request to be held.

Sukuna was quick to get to his feet, moving across the room with the grace of a tiger, his steps quiet and measured. His hands were gentle as he picked her up, holding her close and tucking her into the crook of his arm. As soon as he was holding her, her arms were around his neck, her tiny fingers tangling themselves into his hair. Sukuna let out a soft laugh, pressing a tender kiss to the side of her head. Although he was feared by most, he was a doting father, and a kind lover, his love for you and your child growing every single day. His life had taken a turn for the better the moment you stepped into his life, and the arrival of your little princess had only brought him joy and a new reason to live.

"Why aren't you in bed, hm?" he asked her, his tone a soft, soothing one, "You should be asleep, baby girl."

Your daughter looked at him, a small pout forming on her lips, a frown pulling the corners of her mouth down. It was the same look she gave him whenever he was reprimanding her for getting into trouble, and the sight made him smirk.

"Bad dream," she answered, her voice a mumble. Sukuna hummed, and began to move, rocking his body gently from side to side as he did, the movement helping soothe the child. His hands were gentle as he rubbed along her spine, his large palm spanning across her entire back. He could feel the way she melted into him, her body going slack as she relaxed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, knowing that sometimes talking about her nightmares could help her get over the fear that she had felt when she woke up. Your daughter was a quiet one, and she kept most things to herself, a trait she had inherited from him. It wasn't easy to coax her into telling him what she was thinking or feeling, but Sukuna had gotten the hang of it.

He could feel the way her little head moved, shaking from side to side, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head.

"Alright. Come on, I'll tuck you in."

"No," came her reply, her voice muffled against his neck, "Wanna sleep with you 'n mama."

Sukuna was unable to hide his amusement, and a small smirk pulled at the corners of his lips.

"Is that so?" he teased, earning a nod in response.

"Yes."

"And why is that?"

"Cause you 'n mama make me safe," she mumbled, and her arms tightened around his neck, her tiny form clinging to him. It made his heart melt, and he held her a little closer.

"Okay, you little monster," he said softly, a small laugh escaping him, "We can do that. Mama won't mind, don't worry."

Your daughter relaxed even further into his hold, and with the gentlest of movements, he slipped his hand under her legs and carefully tucked her in right beside you, ensuring that she was safe and warm. Your daughter looked at you, her eyes searching your face for any signs of wakefulness, and when she was satisfied that you were asleep, she nestled herself into your side, her hand clutching the fabric of your nightshirt. Sukuna climbed into the bed beside her, the little girl squished comfortably between the two of you.

Sukuna watched her, his crimson gaze studying the peaceful expression on her face, his hands moving to cradle her head, his thumbs brushing along her cheeks, a loving caress.

"Night, night, papa.. love you.."

"Love ya too, little one.."

Yuuta's nose bumped against the infant's forehead, the action drawing a soft giggle from the child. The baby was wrapped in a swaddle, her little legs kicking at the air as she lay in the middle of the bed. Her hands were reaching out, trying to grab a hold of the strands of his hair, her little fingers grasping at thin air. Yuuta smiled at her, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to the tip of her button nose, a small gesture that never failed to draw a babble from her. "Daddy loves you, angel," he murmured, his eyes twinkling with adoration. He reached out and ran a gentle finger along her round cheek, the softness of her skin reminding him of a pillow. He couldn't help but laugh. Her entire face was chubby and round, and her green eyes were a mirror image of his own. Yuuta was completely enamoured with her, his heart having grown twice its size the moment he first held her. "And mommy loves you too," he added, his tone a soft whisper. "So very much." The infant gazed up at him, her hands falling onto the blanket that was wrapped around her. "Bah," she babbled, her voice light and full of love. Yuuta smiled. He would never tire of hearing her gibberish.

At that moment, you swooped in, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face to his back, the gesture reminiscent of a koala.

"What're you two doing in here?" you asked, peeking over his shoulder to gaze down at the bundle of joy in the middle of the bed. Your baby was looking up at the both of you, her eyes wide and curious. She let out a tiny squeak, and reached her hands up, her chubby little fingers wiggling. You let out a giggle, and pressed a kiss to Yuuta's shoulder. "Look at you," you continued, a smile on your face, "Prettiest daddy alive, aren't you?" You teased, making his cheeks flush a deep red.

Shyly, he turned his head to look at you, and you could see the embarrassment written on his face. "Don't say stuff like that," he murmured, his eyes averting yours, "It's embarrassing.." He could feel your gaze on him, and the way you nuzzled your face against his back was enough to make him shiver.

"I can't help it, Yuuta," you said, your voice soft, "I've got the most beautiful husband ever, and a gorgeous baby that he helped create. It's only natural that I appreciate you, baby.." You could feel the way he stiffened, his cheeks burning a brighter shade of red. Yuuta let out a shaky sigh, his shoulders slumping. It was clear that he was embarrassed, and the fact that you could have such an effect on him made your heart skip a beat. Slowly, you stepped away from him, moving to scoop the baby off the bed and into your arms, the child cooing as you held her. "Besides, you deserve to hear how much I love and adore you.." You whispered, a smirk playing on your lips.

Yuuta looked at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks still tinted pink.

"But-" he began, only for you to shake your head, a look of mock seriousness on your face.

"No buts, baby. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," you told him, "You and our baby.."

".. You two are the best things that have ever happened to me too.." Yuuta admitted, his gaze flickering down to the sweet thing in your arms, "I couldn't ask for a more perfect life.."

With that, you stepped towards him, and Yuuta wrapped his arms around your shoulders, his chin resting atop your head as you held the infant between you, her eyes blinking sleepily at the sight of her parents. "And it's only the beginning, my love," you murmured, a soft smile on your face. "The best is yet to come.."

[falling-endlessly]

Boomerang (part 4)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: Vox is determined to win you over, no matter what. You just want your damn peace back.

Warnings: some mature themes (mention of sexual arousal)

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

Vox gripped the bathroom counter, staring at himself in the LED outlined mirror. "You've still got it," he said to himself firmly, lifting a clawed finger to point at his reflection. "Just be cool, man."

He relaxed his face into his signature grin, leaning an elbow against the counter. "Hey Y/n, how's everything? I was wondering if you wanted to go for coffee sometime?" He threw in a wink for good measure.

A second of silence passed before he shuddered violently, breaking composure. "Ugh, no, no. Focus, man. Okay," he repositioned himself, shoving his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. He cleared his throat, mustering up his best confident, devil-may-care expression. "Doll, what do you say we get out of here tonight, yeah? Just say the word and I'll get us a private room at your favorite restaurant."

His smile twitched. Shit. That wouldn’t work on you either.

This was ridiculous. He started trends on a whim, charmed the masses to hang off of his every word, and yet—here he was, rehearsing in front of a bathroom mirror like a prepubescent boy with a crush. And failing miserably too.

He shook his head to clear it, hands grasping at the sides of his monitor so tightly it displaced the pixels on his screen. "Think Vox, what did you do to make her like you the first time?"

But if he was being completely honest, it was actually you who made all of the first moves. You who captured his attention like a vice. You who reeled him in, hook, line and sinker. There was no grand courtship on his part. In fact, he couldn't even remember the exact moment he had started to fall for you. It was all so easy, natural, seamless. He didn't have to do anything except for be himself.

He pursed his lips, turning back to the mirror warily. And—whatever, fine, fuck it. Not like anyone could see him debase himself like this anyway.

Vox sighed, his smile dropping like an overused mask. The desperation and vulnerability that he hated so much creeped back into his eyes, making him tense.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm such a damn idiot and—I just..." he trailed off, before groaning, dropping his head in his hands. "Fuck, this is pathetic."

What was he doing? Wallowing in self pity like some lovesick loser? For fuck's sake, he wasn't just some spineless bottom feeder, he was Vox. CEO of Pride's largest conglomerate. People would kill to be in his position.

A shaky grin forced itself back on his face as he lifted his head. Fuck, enough of this. Nothing was going to get done if he just sat here and twiddled his thumbs all day. It was time to make a move.

With his mental armor back in place, he marched to your room like a man on a mission. He may or may not have sent a drone on your tail to find it, since everyone else in this damned hotel seemed hellbent on pretending that they had short term memory loss when he asked. It was still a prototype, unreleased to the public. A camera the size of an ant, for incognito purposes of course.

When he finally reached your door, he pasted a confident, charming smile on his face. One that he knew used to fluster you once upon a time.

"Just act natural," he chided himself quietly, taking a deep breath before knocking on your door.

There was a moment of silence, before some shuffling was heard, and then the handle was turned.

Vox froze as you opened the door, dressed in baggy sweats with your hair in a disarray. Your shirt had ridden to the side at some point, and the rumpled neckline was exposing the enticing dip of your collarbone. He felt his mouth go dry.

And suddenly it struck him how much he missed you. God, he'd missed you. Your comforting presence, your lively humor, even the small things like waking up next to you or seeing your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. And fuck, it hurt to have you just out of reach.

Your pretty mouth pulled down into a frown when you saw him, body language changing from relaxed to guarded in an instant.

Vox forced himself out of his trance, clearing his throat. This was his moment to shine. He'd practiced for this.

"Hey—" he started cheerfully, before the door was promptly shut in his face.

Vox blinked stupidly, standing in front of your room in shocked silence. Did—did you just—?

Frowning, he raised a hand to knock again. "Y/n?" He called out in confusion.

"Go away, asshole," your muffled voice came from somewhere on the other side of the door. "I don't want to talk to you."

"But—"

"I said beat it," you growled, before a glowing barrier materialized outside of your door. Fuck, if he touched that he knew he wouldn't stop bugging until tomorrow morning.

"Fine," he hissed under his breath, turning and storming away. So that was how you wanted to play it, huh? Fine, joke’s on you. He liked a challenge.

On the way back to his room though, he felt a familiar, pleasant tightness between his legs. Vox froze, slowly looking down at the noticeable tent in his pants in horror.

"Oh, come on."

****

The next few days could only be described as an intensely aggressive game of cat and mouse. He tailed your ass like a damn police dog, determined to get even a moment alone with you—but to his absolute irritation, you kept coming up with increasingly ridiculous ways to blow him off.

He invited you to take a walk with him after dinner? You suddenly developed a spontaneous stomach bug and now you were bedridden. He held a door open for you? You pushed open the other side of the double doors and maintained unimpressed eye contact with him the entire time. He couldn't even follow you with his micro-camera anymore, because you'd promptly discovered it and stabbed it to his bedroom door with a needle as a violent warning.

Nothing was going according to plan and he was growing more frustrated by the minute. What was the point of coming here if he saw you just as often as if he had stayed in his tower?

"How am I supposed to convince her to come back," his eye twitched, one night on a rant-filled phone call with Velvette. "If I can't fucking talk to her?"

Velvette looked at him like he was a dried piss stain on the wall. "Vox, do I look like I give a singular fuck about your dumpster fire of a love life?"

Ah yes, such encouraging commentary as always. Really, he didn't even know why he bothered to call if his abused ego was just going to get attacked while it was already rolling around in a fetal position.

"You're still on the call with me," he said pointedly.

Velvette rolled her eyes, scrunching her nose up at him in irritation. "Fine, since you're so pathetic, I guess I could spare some charity," she ignored his scoff, continuing without a hitch. "You need to fucking lay off, stop trying so damn hard to get her attention. It’s giving desperate and creepy."

"I'm not—"

"Yes you are," Velvette glared. "Listen. If you don't want to end up permanently dumped, you need to compromise. Stop acting on your emotions like a toddler, you can't fucking afford that right now. And neither can we," she grumbled the last part.

Vox dug his claws into the bedding he was lying on, tearing up the soft material. The thought of giving up on you physically pained him, but...this wouldn't really be giving up, right? Velvette was suggesting a temporary ceasefire, a way to make you let your guard down, which might not be such a bad idea. It was more like...a strategic redirection of his efforts. Something that would benefit him in the long run.

He needed to build up the trust you'd lost in him. Slowly, bit by bit, until you accepted his feelings again.

The gravity of the situation was daunting. Something told him that this was his last chance, that if he fucked up one more time, you really would be gone for good.

He couldn't afford to lose you like that. It would fucking break him.

A loud crash sounded in the background on the other line, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Velvette's face drew into an aggravated sneer as she turned around. "For fuck's sake. What the fuck is it no—"

The line went dark, cutting off the call.

Vox sighed, throwing his phone blindly somewhere on the bed as he leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep evaded him that night, but in its place he started to devise a new strategy. Velvette was right, if he kept pushing, he would only drive you away. It was time to change his approach, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was...time to put his pride on the backburner.

Because he could live without his pride, but fuck—he didn't even want to think about what an eternity without you would be like. Besides, it was only until all of this was over and you came back home. He just...had to be patient.

****

After taking a few days to regroup, Vox was now more than ready to put his plan into action.

He’d rehearsed an embarrassing amount of times in the bathroom mirror, popped a breath mint, chugged an energy drink, and slapped himself in the face for good measure. Not necessarily in that order.

Now, in the late hours of the morning, he waited patiently for everyone to filter out before making his move, quietly cornering you in the kitchen.

You were sitting in the far corner, hunched over a steaming mug just like he knew you would be. It was something you'd been doing since he first met you, always reserving twenty minutes after breakfast to enjoy a second cup. He didn't even need to look at the contents to know that there was only a single cream, but enough sugar to make an elephant go into cardiac arrest.

That precious information would forever be saved to his hard drive.

For a long moment, he just stood there like a certified creep, admiring the familiar scene with painful longing. You hadn't noticed him yet, so your expression was still the vision of perfect bliss, eyes closed with a slight uptick to the corner of your mouth. And suddenly, he wasn't in this shitty hotel anymore. The retro kitchen transformed into a sleek modern design, the white walls melting to light blue. It was one of the few lazy mornings both of you were able to spend together, and—

"What do you think you're doing?" Your irritated voice shattered his fantasy like a pane of rose-tinted glass.

"Ah, Y/n!" His grin slotted back into place like a puzzle piece. Fuck, he hadn't even said a proper sentence to you, and you were already looking at him like he was a piece of shit someone forgot to flush down a public toilet. He had to act fast or you'd walk out again. "Funny running into you like this," he chuckled, hiding his fidgeting hands behind his back. Electricity crackled between them. "Actually, I was wondering if—"

"No," you said sharply, cutting him off.

"I—What?" His grin twitched.

"Whatever it is that you're going to say, no," you snapped, turning your back to him for emphasis.

Vox went silent for a moment. Tone it down, he repeated in his head. Stick to the plan.

"Look," he started, softening his tone. "I realize that I haven't exactly been," he grimaced. "Fair to you."

You laughed bitterly. "Understatement of the decade, asshole."

"I'm sorry," he sighed, watching carefully as your shoulders tensed in surprise. "I'll stop, if that's what you want. I won't ask you out anymore or bother you with stupid, meaningless shit."

"But?" You said quietly.

"But I still want to be...friends with you," the word left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he swallowed it with a smile.

He chanced a quick glance at your face, and—well you looked like you didn't really buy it, but at least you didn't look like you wanted to kill him and dispose of his body in a ditch anymore.

"Alright," you said, after a long period of skeptical silence, your eyes unreadable. "I’ll hold you to it, then."

He closed his eyes. "Please, just consider—" he froze, processing your words.

You said yes? Fuck, you said yes!

He cleared his throat. "I mean, yeah, absolutely. Totally. Makes sense."

He caught the briefest flash of amusement in your eyes, before you turned to bring your empty mug to the sink.

"So, uh," he started giddily. Fuck rein it in man, slow down. "What are you doing later?"

“I’m busy today,” you shut him down immediately, making him deflate at your sharp tone. Then you paused for a second, seeming to contemplate something. “Well actually,” you said lightly, making him perk up again. “There is something you can join me for, but it’s a little…out of your depth.”

“Oh really? Try me,” he smirked confidently. As if anything would stop him from finally spending time with you today.

A vindictive spark suddenly flared in your eyes, making him hesitate. "Group therapy and trust exercises," you said smugly, and a jumble of odd noises quickly glitched from his head, his screen flashing briefly to show a giant, red exclamation point. "But since you're too busy with that billion dollar company and all, I thought you wouldn't be interested," you smiled sweetly.

Oh. You conniving little shit. You had him cornered.

Looks like he wasn’t the only one doing his homework.

“How f-f-fun,” he forced out, the words literally tasting like ash on his tongue.

“It is,” you nodded genuinely, making him double take. “I actually quite enjoy it.”

Vox pressed his lips together into a fine line, dread steadily welling in his chest as he realized that yes, you were actually serious. Sweet fuck.

For a second, Vox contemplated making a strategic retreat and calling it a day. He eyed the door behind him longingly.

But no, he couldn’t afford to back down from your little game just yet. If this was how you wanted to raise the stakes, fine. Bring it on.

Before he could lose his nerve, Vox mustered up a pained smile. "Actually," he said, making you raise a brow. "I'd like to give it a shot."

"Really?" You said incredulously.

"Yeah?" His grin twitched. "Why not?"

****

<— Part 3 Chapter Index

Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah @yellowsubiesdance @dirk-strides @justaspectatorforfandomarts @harmoira @sunnyslug @gum-iie @lady-valtieri @mit-suri @whatelsecouldgowrong @sillysimplysilky @eternalera @aoiyx @hazellight11 @hopefully-not @tsuvvy @imcryinginemo @dinorawrss @rekoloid @ayesha-eroticax3 @sle3pyh3ad2 @l0verboyxoxo1111 @lucasisstupid @lu-ferri12 @fandom-queen37 @ilunapb @skyeliteratures @shannoncosplay @da-disappointment @memospacexx @crazyforbarnes

[oautincorrectquotes]

Rumple: I will not hesitate to strangle you.

Hook: Can you even reach my neck?

[martianbugsbunny]

Rogers and Weaver being the partner to husband pipeline>>>>>

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! Would you be able to do a hero x villain scene with a villain that's used to trapping their opponents socially but the hero would rather just ignore that and punch them in the face, and the villain is kind of in love and kind of murderous?

The villain staggered back at the force of the punch with a groan of pain. They cupped a hand to their bloody nose.

The villain's various soldiers and lackeys immediately moved to restrain the hero.

"No." The villain held out their other hand. "No."

The lackeys froze, uncertain.

The hero, well-prepared for the possibility of fight, paused too. They shook out their fist, shoulders squared.

"Nice left hook," the villain said, straightening slowly. When they dropped their hand, the break had already healed, leaving only the blood.

"Fuck you."

"Yes, that might help your anger issues."

The hero scoffed. "I don't have anger issues, I just don't like being backed into a corner. I told you what would happen."

"Mm. That you did." The villain's head tilted. "Bold move."

"Clear communication. Do I need to do it some more?"

The villain grinned, letting their blood drip grotesque and feral across their teeth. They took a swaggering step forward, even as they neatly adjusted their outfit and rumpled hair back to the veneer of polite society. It didn't reach their eyes. Their eyes had that wild quality too, burning bright and fierce with something that the hero couldn't quite read.

"People generally prefer me when I keep things civil," the villain said. "It's neater. Safer for everyone involved."

"You mean, people normally cave because they're scared of you?"

"And you're not."

"If there's going to blood, let there be blood. I won't be bullied. Certainly not by the likes of you."

The villain laughed, a soft and rumbling danger. They swiped their tongue across their teeth, cleaning the blood away, and closed the distance with another step.

Apparently, they hadn't learned the dangers of getting too close.

The hero swung.

That time, the villain dodged, driving their knee deep into the hero's gut.

The hero doubled over, wheezing.

The villain caught a fistful of their hair, using the grip to smash the hero's face in one startlingly deft movement, before tipping the hero's head back before the blood splattered across the floor.

The whole room had gone quiet; focused in on the two of them. Someone had cut the music.

The villain grinned again. "So pretty."

The hero spat blood at them, but the villain didn't seem to mind. In the next instant, the hero had wrenched themselves free with an expert move.

The two of them circled.

The villain did not have a reputation for violence, or at least not for getting their hands dirty. They were a sleek monster, crafted of fine clothes and the clink of glasses and clever words in the shadowy backrooms that ruled the world.

"You're right," the villain said. "I do prefer less...crude games, than this. We're a civilized species. We should know better. Do not mistake my distaste for incapability, though."

The hero snarled. "Silvered words doesn't make what you do less ugly."

"A moral high ground doesn't make you less of a brute, gorgeous."

"I'm not a brute, you condescending-"

"-temper, temper." The villain's voice was a purr. "Have I struck a nerve?"

The hero lunged.

The villain dodged.

They circled again, more evenly matched than the hero had expected. They'd thought a hard hit, the possibility of real danger, would reveal the villain's sniveling heart. The cowardice at the core of so many powerful, evil people.

"You owe me an apology," the villain said. "I was having a perfectly lovely time. If you give me one now, like a good little hero, this doesn't have to get...unpleasant."

"Your face is unpleasant. Everything about you and what you do is unpleasant. I'd rather not lie."

The villain's eyes flashed, a mix of rage and desire. Then, their power lashed out. The windows shattered. People screamed. People fell.

The hero stared around the room, horrified.

"Far be it from me to deny a guest," the villain said, drawing their power back to themselves. "Let there be blood."

The fight escalated from there.

[depressedstressedlemonzest]

Oh Archie don't tell him about belle.

And you told him.

She's so excited for him.

All I hear is Amos Diggory going "THATS MY SON! THATS MY BOY!"

😭😭😭

[cosmal]

okay tasm!peter parker thought!!! he’s obsessed with touching your face. like, when you’re talking about something he’ll just randomly grab your face and smoosh your cheeks. he’ll boop or kiss your nose at random times. most importantly, when he’s kissing you he’ll be holding your face, his big hands on your cheeks guiding your head so he can kiss you better. omg

doughnuts

summary you're really excited about doughnuts. peter really wants to kiss you.

content tasm!peterparker x fem!afab!reader

note this is my first time writing for tasm!peter please forgive me if it sucks.

For the first time in a while, you come home after work with enough excitement to light up the entire flat.

Peter's sitting up in his bed reading when you find him. All things soft with rumpled hair, his clothes even worse, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. You're not sure if he really needs them anymore, but he likes to wear them to keep an ounce of normalcy.

"Hi," you chirp when he notices you. He dog-ears his book and puts it down almost immediately. You beam.

"Hi, baby," he seems just as happy to see you as you do him. Though, there's a buzz to you that Pete lacks. You think if you got home twenty minutes later he would've been napping.

You move across his room while pushing your work skirt down your legs. Peter's heart skips when it looks like you might trip and he tries to keep his eyes off your soft thighs. You rifle through his draws to find one of his shirts to wear, unbuttoning your own blouse in the process.

"How was your day?" you ask, holding up a shirt to your nose. You choose it because it smells more like your boyfriend than the others.

Peter crumples his face, trying not to laugh. "It was good. Didn't do much - you?"

You say something while pulling the shirt over your face that Pete can't discern. You all but jump into his lap when you reach him. Hooking your thighs over his lap until you're face to face.

He allows you to get comfy, pushing your knees into his side while he sits up, hands finding their place on your hips. "Hello," he says again, much quieter now that you're in his space. You look adorable in his shirt and your work tights.

"Did you hear me?" you ask, basically pulsing with giddy energy. You push your fingers under the hem of his shirt and he short-circuits for a moment.

He blinks. "You had your face in your shirt."

"Right," you giggle, a girlish sound that Peter wants seared in his brain, "I said, you know the food truck around the block?"

"You'll have to be more specific," he says, squeezing at your hips.

"The one that shut down."

"Oh, right. The Jam Van," he laughs knowingly. You'd moped for almost a month when they closed. You were inconsolable.

"Yeah," you grin, poking his chest, "yeah, they reopened!"

You're smiling so hard Peter worries that you'll get stuck like that. With your eyebrows raised and your cheeks appled. He thinks he needs to hold your face like right now.

He lets his hands leave your hips and raises them to hold your cheeks. Your skin is warm under his touch like he expected. "That's great, baby."

You ignore his hands. "Right? It's amazing."

Peter pushes your cheeks together until your lips pout outwards. He thinks you look extremely cute. Even worse when you try to frown and it just looks like a smooshed mess. He wants to laugh but you look peeved.

"Pete," you try to say. It comes out all mumbled.

"Yeah?" he says, distracted by your puffy face.

You pull your face from his hands and struggle a bit. Holding his arms to his chest you say, "Are you even listening to me?"

"The Jam Van," he says nodding. Smarmy.

"Right," you say, still mildly upset, "they're open right now if you wanna..."

"You wanna go get doughnuts?" he asks with his arms still pinned to his body. His hands wriggle to touch you.

"Can we?" you ask, eyes wide with hope. Peter wishes he had his camera with him.

"Can I kiss you first?" he grins boyishly. You wish you had a better resolve. He's awfully pretty and you really want doughnuts.

You let his arms go, huffing like kissing him is a difficult task. "If you really want." You have to hold back a laugh.

He reaches his hands back up to your cheeks and gives them another squeeze, "Of course, I want to."

You let him guide your face down to meet his lips, huffing into his mouth once they meet. You go lax in his lap when he presses firmer, spreading his fingers over your warming cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he has better access to slip his tongue in your mouth. You whine when he has you exactly where he wants. Putty in his hold, holding you close by your soft cheeks.

You pull away from his lips, blinking away the dizziness. "Pete," you say panting.

Peter licks his lips, "Yeah?"

You push your face into his neck to hide the way he so obviously makes you feel, holding onto his sleep shirt for dear life. You try to even out your breathing and fail.

"You okay, love?" he asks. There's a hint of smartassery you don't miss. He's awful.

"Yeah," you say a tad breathlessly. "Yeah."

He kisses your shoulder and you shudder. His ego swells tenfold. "You sure?"

You take a moment to compose yourself, hating yourself for being so pliable. You sit back to look him in the eye. "So," you say with a confidence you lack, "Jam Van?"

Peter laughs and catches your face again. You like it much more than the first time. "That felt like coercion ."

"You asked to kiss me!" you say bewildered, pushing at his chest with not enough force than you feel is deserved.

"You tricked me," he laughs with you, letting you paw at his chest. It's quite adorable, really.

"Whatever," you say with more heat than you mean, a smile tugging at your red lips. You untangle yourself from his lap and stand to walk away. "I'll get my own jam doughnuts."

Peter smacks your ass before you can get away and you gasp. "Peter Parker!"

"You can't go out like that."

"I'll do what I like!" you call from the other end of the hallway.

Peter chases you around the flat until he gets you in his arms. The doughnuts wait for a few more hours.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Paper Rings - A Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 750 Summary: Signs of you are all over Joel's bedroom in Jackson. Warnings: Smut, slight somnophilia, drinking.

Masterlist

Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge, I picked Lover because I've been listening to a lot more of it as the weather begins to get warmer. "Paper Rings" is definitely not my favorite Taylor song, but oh my god I LOVED writing this about Joel, it fits perfectly for him.

***

The story of your romance with Joel Miller could be told with just one look around his bedroom. 

The picture frame on his dresser with a picture that you painted of the two of you the night you met.

It was quite a meeting, a quick slip on the ice as you stepped off the curb on your way to the Tipsy Bison to celebrate Tommy’s birthday, Joel jumping towards you to catch you. His hand grabbing your blue jacket’s shoulder before you fell into the large pool of water leftover from the melting snow. You both making your way to the Bison together, his handsome face taking your breath away once you saw him in the light of the high moon. You became fast friends, urged on by Tommy and Maria’s matchmaking. Your friendship accidentally turning into something more after a night of drinking and dancing together in Joel’s kitchen. The two of you sharing your first kiss as you slowly swayed along to a Neil Young record. The kiss turning heated, turning into Joel taking you from behind as you gripped his kitchen countertop.  

The books you’ve read stacked up on the table beside your side of the bed. Your favorite chapters marked with the bookmarks you made.

He’d always try to bring you home a book to make up for how early he’d have to leave for patrol on Monday mornings, the day always being more sad and dreary due to his absence. He’d always succeed at not waking you up until he’d kiss you goodbye. He found it hard to control himself when he’d hear you let out a small sleep drunk moan as his lips touched yours. Some mornings he could manage it and walk away, and others he’d be late to the stables, leaving you satiated and smiling after gently fucking you in the light of dawn. 

The comforter rumpled on the floor in the corner, left there from when Joel threw it off the bed last night before he made love to you.

Your glass is still sitting on the coffee table half full of wine, the thought of finishing it out of your mind once Joel began kissing your neck. You were teasing each other all day, playing a game of cat and mouse. Biding your time until both of you couldn’t take it, Joel stalking behind you up the steps as he threw his shirt off and started unbuttoning his jeans. 

The t-shirt of Joel’s you wear to bed with the large blue paint stain on it from the time you helped him paint Tommy’s house. 

He loves to see you in it, your body filling it out in places he loves to touch. He loves how you smell of him whenever you wear it, how it sits against your smooth skin. He loves it when you ride him while wearing it, seeing his clothes on his girl as you grind your hips.

The sheets on the bed always on your side, Joel sleeps warm, he never needs a blanket.

You like to watch him sleep, his face more at peace, his breathing relaxed and slow. A small grunt usually escaping his mouth when he turns away from you, followed by a hum of contentment when you wrap your arm around him. Sometimes you’ll wake up before him just to watch the rise and fall of his chest quicken as you take his cock into your mouth. Joel always waking up thinking he was having a dirty dream until he looks down and meets your eyes staring up at him. A small half smile as he realizes what comes next, his tired eyes growing larger with lust. 

The jewelry hung from the hooks surrounding the mirror above his dresser. 

The mirror that Joel loves to watch himself kiss you in. Sometimes because you had a long night. Sometimes because it’s the best way he knows to tell you it’s gonna be alright. Sometimes because he waited his whole life for you. He loves to stand behind you and watch his reflection touch you, he loves watching you gasp as he sticks his hand down your pants. 

The paper rings on each of your nightstands. 

Joel secretly teaching himself how to fold them as a way to surprise you until he could find a ring that would fit you. He just couldn’t wait to make you his wife.