#so I only get to see it in motion at the end

[vasito-de-leche]

I love, LOVE your characterization of the Saja Boys, and while I know you’ve only written complete dating hcs for Baby and Abs, I was hoping if it was okay if I could request something with the Saja Boys (separately) where it follows the prompt “you're about to argue but you're so pretty that his brain short circuits”? If you don’t want to write for all of them, then maybe you could do Baby and Abs (separately)?

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS SAJA BOYS - Too Pretty

Saja Boys (separate) x Reader 2.5k words silly, fluff Being a demon's soft spot has its benefits. Who would've thought?

i'm so glad you like the way I write them!! this prompt sounded so fun, I just had to try my hand at it, thank you!

this also served as a way for me to slowly figure out how I'd like to characterize the other members o7 I tried to keep the relationship vague enough to be read as whatever people want, so hope that comes across well enough. also also, dont let these dramatic edgy idols fool you, all drabbles end up being silly and cute

JINU

"Are you even listening, Jinu?"

He is, of course. But he'd rather not, especially when you're getting worked up over nothing; so much for escaping an endless cycle of torture in the underworld, he now has to deal with a brand new mess, pacing behind him like a madman. By now, you've probably noticed the monotonous and non-committal answers he's been giving on loop.

"Uh-huh," Jinu's eyes never stray from the notebook in front of him, attempting to come up with a better verse for an upcoming song. And he knows he's fucked up when he hears you groan, stomping towards him.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I stopped listening abooout ... five or ten minutes ago, who's counting, but--"

Your hand comes into view, fast as lighting, and he can only look as you snatch the notebook away from him. Great, awesome.

There goes the perfect verse in his head. He remains frozen for a moment, the hand holding a pen still hovering over the now empty spot on his desk until your voice reaches him once more.

"If you're not going to listen, at least tell me so I don't waste my time talking to you."

Jinu slouches in his seat, raising both hands to cover his face, before sliding them upwards to slick back his hair in a feeble attempt at regaining his composure. You can't even see him from this angle, his back turned to you, but he still rolls his eyes.

You want to argue? Get it out of your system? Fine, he can give you the fight you want.

In one swift motion, his position changes; now he's straddling the chair, a powerplay he's come to master after bickering with his own band for so long, eyes closed as he prepares to deliver a devastating comeback to rile you up. But when he looks up, the golden glow in his eyes wavers--you're standing so close in front of him, looking down at his seated form with your arms crossed, as if daring him to speak.

He doesn't, and you tilt forwards, hair cascading over him so that the only thing he can focus is your face in this one-sided glaring contest.

Jinu has seen you at your best and your worst, but this is the first time he's found himself at the other end of your undivided attention and anger. It is as intimidating as it is alluring. What are you doing to him? Is this allowed? His neck feels hot, his face feels hot. The room feels like it's on fire, but not the same type of hellfire he's grown used to; it's a different sort of warmth, equal parts shame and pleasure as he takes in the sight. His lips part without him noticing, whispering ever so gently.

"Pretty ..."

"What was that?" Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Shitty. I said you look. Shitty. As in, you look like shit. Being angry isn't doing you any favors, you know? You should get some rest, okay. Byeee."

Without giving you any time to react, Jinu fumbles over his words, trips over your furniture and he stumbles out of your apartment in a rush, almost breaking into a sprint for the elevator. It's only when the doors close that he allows himself to breathe in and out, finally noticing the extra passenger inside with him. His bird companion chirps smugly, and Jinu groans into his palms.

"I don't want to talk about it."

ROMANCE

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Romance scoffs at your words, still refusing to leave his room. All the heart shaped decorations seem to mock him as he leans his full weight against the door, easily preventing you from entering no matter how hard you try to rattle the doorknob.

Both of you find yourself at the edge of an argument, and the decision to escalate things lies solely on his hands. He knows this because he can practically hear the affection in your words, even as you whine and tell him to get over himself to talk to you, face to face. That alone is enough to make Romance's chest tighten--no matter how many times he does this, this game of push and pull, you still make sure to chase after him time and time again.

Surely you must be reaching your breaking point; nobody is strong enough to withstand this much heartbreak. Maybe if he tries a little harder, you'll realize that there's nothing good in a future with him.

All he has to do is stay silent and wait for you to leave.

"Then what did you mean?" His voice is whiny, it always is. But you always insist that you love that about him, the way he feels so deeply about everything.

"You really want to argue about something like this?" You're right, you usually are--he's making things difficult when he's not even officially yours. "Well, I don't. So you can call me once you've cooled off."

And just like that, it's quiet; there's no more pressure pushing against him from the other side of the door, no more cutesy nicknames and attempts at coercing him out. Romance's heart drops, and he practically claws his way out, torn between cursing you out for proving him right and leaving, or begging you to take him back and sort everything out as if he hadn't been the one to start this. He's taken only a single step out of the threshold of his sanctuary when your smile greets him--you're leaning casually against the door frame, pretending to inspect your nails.

"So, are you done brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

That playful grin renders Romance speechless; the contrast of your casual attitude against his frenzied panic is impossible to ignore, he's gone through all five stages of grief in under a minute while your trust in him never wavered. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder because there's a glint in your eyes that tugs at his heartstrings, wild strands of hair that he'd love to twirl in his fingers and kiss ever so gently. Romance knows that you'll let him if he asks for permission, and a knot forms in his throat, face flushed bright pink.

"No." It's all he manages to squeak out before closing the door once more.

"Rommie! Are you mad at me or not?!"

"I don't??? Know??? I need a moment! Just stay there!"

ABBY

"That's the last time I take you anywhere. You can't just pick a fight like that, Abby!" Abby sinks even deeper into the plush cushions of the couch as you continue to scold him, as if his sulking and his silence could single-handedly help him win this argument.

He's already found himself a comfortable spot, but you're still fussing about the living room, throwing your shoes to the side, sending your jacket flying onto the backrest of the sofa, pausing to drink and slamming the glass on the counter a little harder than necessary. Abby knows better than to try and stop you, so he stays put, waiting for his opening.

"What if anyone saw? Did you even think about that? The amount of trouble you'd be in?"

Those are all very good questions that he never bothered to consider; in fact, he still refuses to think about the consequences. There's no point in doing so when you managed to pull him away before he could do any damage to anyone, or to his own reputation as an idol.

"Like they'd even care," Abby huffs, trying to blow a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Just catching a glimpse of us outside is enough to make everyone turn a blind eye, it's almost too easy to work the crowd. One flex of these guns and any broken noses will be totally forgotten."

He makes an attempt to flex said guns, but he finds you looming over him from behind the couch, your grasp on his wrists as steady as death. There is a wild look in your expression, one he can't quite understand, but he finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from you. Getting to play the part of guard dog for you comes as easy as breathing, Abby can't get enough of the little tells that give you away, letting him know that you enjoy his antics--but it never crossed his mind that the tables could be reversed like this.

"Fine, let me put it this way! What if you got in trouble or worse, what if you got hurt? Ever thought of that one? Just because you're an all mighty demon doesn't mean you're--"

"You're hot when you're mad." He blurts out.

"I--What?"

A chance to rectify his mistake is presented to him, and he immediately pivots away from it when you blink your pretty eyes at him in confusion. "I said that you're hot when you're--"

"I heard you the first time, Abby. It's just--were you listening to what I was saying?" Okay, this is his chance to steer the conversation back on track. It's very easy, he just has to--

"If I say no, will you scold me some more?"

"Oh my God. Abby. Nevermind."

MYSTERY

Arguing with you is a rare occurrence.

But so is speaking to you, or engaging in any sort of conversation at all with anyone. This is one of the many perks that came with his role as the cool, mysterious and aloof member of the Saja Boys; anything he didn't feel like addressing could be easily swept under the rug and left ignored for centuries. This had been Mystery's modus operandi for years, and he wasn't planning on changing it any time soon.

You, on the other hand, were the opposite, filling the silence he often sought so desperately, until your voice became background noise in his life, a constant, confusing and somewhat comforting presence that simply followed him around.

Mystery still remembers the first time he deigned himself to reply, something off-handed that didn't matter at all, and yet you clung to his every word and went the extra mile to include him in your one-sided talks. It took a long time for the demon to get used to this, and an even longer time to acknowledge the fact that he enjoys the sound of your laughter, way better than the miserable voices crawling in the back of his mind.

Which is why the claustrophobic and oppressive silence lingering in the room irks him to no end. You're supposed to be talking, not playing hard to get or ignoring him over a stupid argument; the way you brush past him, barely acknowledging his existence as you go about your day is getting under his skin in ways he never knew were possible.

And then, for a fleeting second, you meet his gaze--this moment lasts for an eternity in his eyes, and he opens his mouth to speak, to seize the opportunity and break the ice, but before he can get a single word out, you turn around and begin to scroll through your phone. That's the last straw.

Mystery stands up and forces himself into your peripheral, hands firmly planted on the wall, trapping you in.

For the first time in forever, he wants to scream, to bark, to growl and give you a piece of his mind. But when he sees the way you awkwardly avoid his gaze, fiddling with your hands and standing at your tiptoes, Mystery relents and his frustration is replaced with something else; endearment. You're still wearing his merch, one of the very first shirts the Saja Boys released long ago with his name written on it, you're still attempting to hide from him despite knowing there's nowhere in the world you could go without him finding you.

Slowly, Mystery raises a hand towards you, enjoying your half-hearted attempt at shaking him off, pretending to bite the air near him.

And then he pinches your nose. "Cute."

After that, he leaves. You'll come around when you feel like it.

BABY

"You went too far this time, there was no need to get so personal back there."

"That's the entire point of dissing someone, duh. So, was it good? Did you like it?" Baby kicks his feet, hands cupping his cheeks to make himself look as innocent as possible. "I didn't know I could rhyme that many words with 'cunt' but it was soooo fun! Right, right?"

"Baby!"

Tsk. Guess it's the hard way today. That cute expression quickly turns into a scowl and he makes a bee-line for the fridge, if only to find something to drink and distract himself with.

He blows bubbles into the silly straw, sulking in the kitchen. "What? They got what they deserved. What kind of idiot would challenge me to a rap battle if they can't take the heat? Hellooooo, it's Baby Saja we're talking about."

"But it was a friendly thing, you turned it into a massacre for no reason."

"Heh," he knows he shouldn't, but he snickers to himself anyway. "Guess I did, huh? What, do you wanna have a go in their place?"

This is how Baby likes to play, to earn a reaction and entertain himself if only for a little--but you always know better than to play into his shenanigans. And you also know how to get a message through his thick skull, something that continues to astonish him to this day.

Baby continues to sip away on his drink as you busy yourself, fully believing himself to be the victor of this round. But dread starts to make its presence known deep in his chest as he sees you slowly gathering your things--this isn't how things usually go, you always stay the night at his place to keep him company, watching horrible romcoms, eating snacks and falling asleep at 5 a.m.

So why were you leaving?

"Hey, hey. Woaaah! Are you really going to ditch me because I got a little mean to some rando? That's so unfair." The look you give him is enough for his act to crumble, and Baby groans dramatically before hurrying to your side, tugging onto the hem of your sleeves. "Stay here! Pleeeeeeaase? I'll behave next time!"

It doesn't work; you pinch his cheeks and pull, stretching them like mochi. Your voice is stern, even after you let go. "You're old enough to know that what you have to say is 'sorry,' Baby. But if you want to beg for forgiveness, you'll have to try a little harder than that."

Shit. So much for being unfair, the tone of your voice and that look in your eye are more than enough to get all the thoughts in his mind twisted up--Baby hates when you don't indulge him, but even he has to admit that he loves that stubborn streak in you.

"What? Cat got your tongue? I know you well enough by now, there's no way you have nothing to say."

You never waver, meeting his eyes with the same intensity, running a hand through your hair. Baby's mouth turns into a fine line, followed by a pout. If he says anything right now, he'll most likely end up digging his own grave. You look SUPER hot right now, is that good enough to make up and get you to stay? Something like that would most likely earn him the silent treatment for a week.

"Sssssssorry ..."

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it--"

"...for being soooo damn good at my job. Like it's my fault?"

"I'll see you tomorrow Baby."

"Aw, c'mon!"

[eliasoir]

୭౿ AFTER HOURS ⠀── L. HEESEUNG !⠀

【 𝖨𝖭 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 】 ⏖ 𝓈𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅. 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 . . .

⏜💬. 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 ﹙ 𝖬𝖣𝖭𝖨 𝟣𝟪+ ﹚ ⠀◞ ◟ 𝗰𝗼𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿!𝗵𝗲𝗲𝘀𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝘅 𝓯!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ! 𓂃 𝖻𝖾𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 ／ 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑 , 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗑 , 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝒻. 𝗋𝖾𝖼 , 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 , 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 , 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 . 𝘄𝓬 𝟤.𝟣𝗄

★ 𝓑𝖫𝖮𝖶𝖠𝗞𝗶𝗦𝗦 !

the office was almost completely still, dead quiet after eight pm. the lights were dimmed, halls empty, the last of the cleaning staff gone a little bit ago.

but you’re still here trying to catch up on some of your paperwork. apparently, so is lee heeseung. and god, you’ve been trying to ignore him for weeks. he’s too smug, too good at his damn job, and worst of all, too attractive.

always has his sleeves rolled up by the end of the day, loosened tie, tousled hair that always looks like he just ran his hands through it after winning a case. in your books he was disgustingly perfect. and it didn’t help that he was always around. flirting with you in passing like it’s a reflex, always saying your name with a tone that is anything but casual or coworker-like. almost like he knows it does something to you. and it does. but you were a professional. composed. however, heeseung was a walking sin in a three-piece suit.

you’re halfway through drafting a motion that was supposed to be done a few days ago, when a soft sounds hits your door. “hey.” his voice is low, annoyingly smooth.

you glance up and he’s leaning against the doorframe, sleeves rolled up per usual, pretty silver watch glinting. he holds a file in one hand, other tucked in his pocket. his tie loose around his neck but this time with the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

“got those docs you needed,” he says, stepping in closer to your desk.

you swallow hard. “thanks.”

you stand, reaching for the file, only for him to hold onto it a second too long, fingers brushing yours as you tug it to you. the silence stretches thickly.

“got a lot left?” he asks, eyes flicking over you. his gaze is blatant, hungry. score ripping them off you and looking at your paper cluttered desk.

“not really,” you mutter, hugging the file to your chest. “was just about to—“

“head out?” he cuts in, brows twitching. “or come by my office?” his tone is easy, but his eyes say something else. something darker.

“your office?” you ask, voice a little too breathy.

he grins slow, like he’s been waiting for this moment. “yeah. i owe you for those merger notes, right?”

you try not to let your breathing catch and stay calm. his presence alone made your skin heat up. “you could’ve just emailed me.”

“sure,” he shrugs. “but then i wouldn’t get to see you like this.”

he steps closer, your back hits the desk with the step you take back.

“like what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

he eyes your legs, your black skirt, your matching pantyhose, your high heels on your feet.

“like this,” he calmly says. “you in this skirt. those pretty heels. standing there looking at me like you’re either gonna make out with me or hit me.”

you should stop this, make him leave. you know you should. but then he lifts a slow hand and runs the pad of his thumb just beneath your lip, tilting your chin up slightly.

“come to my office,” he murmurs, gaze locked on your lips like he was already pressing his to them. “please.”

you don’t remember saying yes, but you let your hand slip in his as you walk with him.

the second the door clicks shut, he’s on you.

you drop the file down on his desk, back facing him and he takes that for advantage. he presses up behind you, hands not on you yet, just lets his breath ghost over your ear and neck. whatever it was about him, it snaps the thread you’ve both been trying to keep up for weeks. you spin to face him and then you’re kissing.

the kiss was never once anything but hunger. it was deep, hard, months of sexual tension fulminating in one filthy, unprofessional mess. now his hands were everywhere. sliding down your sides, gripping your ass, pressing you even closer to him. then he’s pushing you back onto the edge of his desk.

“shit,” he mutters, yanking at your blouse, eyes locking with yours. “you know how hot you are?”

“heeseung—“ you gasp as he grinds his hips into your slowly, the hard bulge of his cock through his slacks pressing between your thighs.

“been thinking about this since you started here,” he breathes heavily. “every time you walked in here with those cute little outfits. so slutty—shit.”

he grabs at your blouse, yanking it open hard enough that you thought it broke. the buttoned top freeing your boobs and the black lace covering them.

“fucking finally,” he mutters, his mouth crashing down to your chest, tongue licking a bold stripe over the swell of your breast before he’s tugging your bra down roughly. the quick movement making your tits spill out of the, and he wastes no time, sucking one of your nipples straight into his mouth.

you gasp, arching your body into him, hands flying to grab at his shoulders. he groans against you, sucking hard, tongue swirling as his hands come up to the other, squeezing, kneading, pinching it. anything he could to make you whimper. he switches to the other breast with just as much desperation.

“so fucking pretty,” he growls, lips glossy, breath hot. “been dying to get my mouth on you.”

you try to say something back, but he grinds into you again, right against the heat of your pussy through your thin clothing. it’s filthy. he’s filthy. perfect. he ruts into you slow, yet still rough, like he’s trying to feel you through your clothes. he’s still groping your tits, licking and sucking and moaning into your skin.

“feel that?” he mutters, grinding harder. “s’how hard i get for you.”

all you can do is moan softly in response. as if something clicked in him, his hands hike up your skirt just enough to get to your pantyhose better. he doesn’t wait another second, bunching them in his fists and rips them, causing the cool air to float to your aching core.

“oh my god,” you breathe.

“don’t worry. i’ll buy you another pair,” he says, eyes glued to the run in the nylon. “or twenty. fuck—spread your legs.”

you do, heels sliding apart on the polished wood as he sinks to his knees in front of you. and his own breath catches when he sees what’s underneath.

“fuck,” he murmurs, fingers brushing over the thin black string cutting across your hips. his eyes snap up to yours, full of heat and thick lust.

“a thong?” he smirks, almost laughing. “fucking hell. you knew i’d be here tonight, didn’t you?”

his hand grip around to your ass, thumb sliding along the curve of it. he pulls the elastic away from your skin, hard, letting it snap back against your skin with a loud pop. the act causing a small whimper from you.

“nasty girl,” he mutters, mouth trailing up your thigh. “walking around the office like you’re so fucking innocent…but wearing this under your skirt.”

your heart slams against your ribcage. and suddenly, as if it hit you all at once what you two were doing, you speak up.

“heeseung—what if someone—“ “they won’t.” his voice is wracked with need. “office is empty. just us.”

and then he buries his face between your thighs. you gasp, a choked moan leaving you as his tongue meets your pussy. his hand gripping your thigh tight as he held the fabric of your thong to the side.

he groans deep into you. “fuck—you’re soaked,” he mutters, stuffing his face closer to get to your bare cunt. “can’t believe i waited this long.”

you can’t think, let alone speak. his mouth is too good. lips and tongue working you open like he knows your body already, like he’s done it a hundred times and committed it to memory. he slides two fingers into you without a warning. you moan out, clutching at the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

he curls them with perfect precision, sucking on your clit, murmuring, “so fucking tight,” like he’s losing it already.

when he finally pulls back, lips shiny, he stands and kisses you like he can’t be away from you any longer. his lips and tongue mingle with yours, letting you taste yourself. his fingers still buried inside you, still pumping you slow.

“you taste so good,” he whispers, voice gone gravelly. “think about this every time you say my name. imagine what you would sound like…let me hear you.”

his fingers reach the perfect spot just as he speaks, curling inside you just right. “f-fuck, hee—“ your moan breaks out of you before you can stop it, high and trembling, hips grinding against his palm.

he moans lowly, taking his fingers from your cunt as you whine. he’s unbuttoning his shirt now, working his tie looser. he pulls at it, frustrated and needy, yanking it off and throwing it aside.

“turn around,” he says, low and firm. “bend over the desk.” your knees almost give out at the sole tone of his voice but you do as he says.

his hand splays on your back, pressing you down to the cool wood, the other hand pulling your hips back toward him. you hear the unbuckle of his belt. the tugging of his zipper, and the low, shaky breath he exhales when he finally takes in your form bent over for him.

“you’re perfect,” he mutters. “absolutely fucking perfect.” smoothing his hand over the curve of your bare ass, licking his lips.

he slowly drags the head of his cock through your folds, spreading you open. he teases you leisurely, collecting slick on the tip.

“beg,” he says.

“please,” you moan in a breathy voice. “heeseung—need you.”

knowing he could hardly wait any longer either, he decides that was enough for him and pushes in. the moan you let out is a broken one, echoing off the high ceilings of his clean office.

he bottoms out, hips pressing to yours as his breath stutters. “fuck. you feel—fucking amazing, baby.”

he barely waits another second before pulling almost all the way out of you before snapping his hip forward. the motion making you jolt a giant the desk, hands grasping tightly. he fucks into you like he’s wanted to for months. like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to do.

his thrusts are deep, and angled just right every time. he was relentless. one of his hands come around to rub your clit, fingers still wet from earlier. “you’re mine now,” he growls lowly into your ear, pounding into you harder. “understand?”

you nod frantically, crying out when he hits your sweet spot over and over.

“say it.”

“yours,” you sob. “i’m yours—ngh—heeseung, i’m—“

before you could register it, your orgasm hits you like a truck. you come around him hard, hole clenching tight, legs shaking. the heels you were wearing were the only things keeping your legs from giving out.

he curses under his breath, thrusts into you a few more times, then groans deep as ecstasy shoots through him in shockwaves, his hand gripping your waist grip almost bruising.

the air around you was thick and hot with sweat, sex, and silence, the office going still.

he leans over you, breath ragged, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“wanna do that again on the conference table next time,” he murmurs, grinning smugly against your skin.

you laugh weakly. “you’re unbelievable.”

he eases out, tugging your skirt back down. “and you’re irresistible. we should stay after hours more often.”

he eases back from you slowly, lips brushing your body again like he’s not ready to let go. you’re still pinned against the desk as you face him, blouse open, skirt wrinkled up, your pantyhose letting a cold patch of air float up to your cunt. he glances down, winces slightly, then meets your eyes with the ghost of a smirk.

“shit. i really did a number on those, huh?”

you blink at him, still breathless. “you ripped them. ruined them.”

“they were in my way,” he shrugs unapologetically. but then his face softens a little. “i’ll buy you more. promise.”

he steps back just a little, looking you up and down like he only just realized how wrecked you look. then he laughs, both admiring and amused.

“how the fuck are you gonna leave the building like this?”

you sigh, buttoning your shirt back up. “guess you’re walking me out.”

he grins, grabs his tie off the floor, and presses one last kiss to your lips. “c’mon,”

© ELIASOIR ⠀──all rights reserved.

[kdh-tally]

Baby x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Baby and his Partner.

Author's Note : I might do one of these for each of the Saja Boys and Huntr/x girls. I started with Baby though because he currently has no pairing (and is actually my favourite Saja Boy lol)

You work at a small convenience store somewhere in the Hongdae shopping district. 

Your store is close to one of the popular schools but it’s small so most don’t even notice that there was an actual convenience store there.

One day the bell chimed, alerting you that someone came in.

You looked up from your phone only to come face to face with some cat eyed, blue haired boy. He looked familiar. Kinda like one of the boys on the ramen cups that were flying off shelves (when people actually came into the store).

“Welcome to Y/N’s convenience, what can I get you?”

He tilts his head, as though studying you, and all of a sudden you feel self conscious.

“You have anything spicy here?”

Your eyes widen noticeably in surprise. You didn’t expect his voice to be so deep or rough, especially when he had such a baby face.

Clearing your thoughts, you motioned to the back shelves with your head. “There should be some stuff back there. If you need help don’t be afraid to ask” you nodded before sending him off and leaning back into your seat.

As you opened your social media account, the very first video that popped up had the guy's face on it. “Join the pride,” he smirked at the camera as he stood next to a group of 4 other guys. 

Before you could look into it even more, the guy slammed a thick bottle of jalapeno sauce on the counter. You began to ring him up when he asked, “You wanna hang out?”.

Baby definitely came back the next day and every day after. 

He'd pretend to try new spicy combos, but really he's just standing in the ramen aisle waiting for you to notice him.

When you ask, “Didn’t you come in yesterday?” he just shrugs and responds, “I missed the vibe.”

You didn’t say it out loud, but you fixed your hair the next day before your shift.

He ends up really enjoying your presence, and really enjoying how much he can annoy you.

He’ll “accidentally” knock over the chip display just to hear you sigh and call him a menace.

Would bring you random drinks to “taste test” but makes you guess which is which by sniffing them. 

It was something he had tried on Mystery back in the dorms when Jinu was busy yapping to them about how they would be defeating the hunters. 

He eventually earns what he likes calling ‘behind the counter’ privileges. 

Basically means you allow him into the workers area, and behind the cash register so he doesn’t have to talk to you from across the counter.

He doesn’t do much working though. Mainly just watched youtube on his Ipad.

He always acts like you’re the one flirting with him. 

If you ever blush around him, he has his hands up as though surrendering or calming a rabid animal. “Woah, relax. I’m just here for the spicy chips.”

He calls you “Cashier-nim” for the first two weeks of knowing you, then switches to “pretty thing” whenever he feels like teasing you.

The day you finally found out he was actually THE Baby from Saja Boys, you were mid-bite of your snack and almost choked.

“Wait. You’re famous?”

“Duh.”

“Why are you HERE?”

“You’re here.” he says deadpan.

He once livestreamed from the store without telling you, and suddenly you had a line out the door and business took off.

He likes that you didn’t fangirl or scream when you found out. It makes him feel like a real person.

He also likes how calmly human you are. You’re one of the few that don’t go crazy because of his idol image but also don’t want to kill him. Not that you knew he was a demon anyways.

You’re one of the only people who can see past his teasing and know when he’s actually tired or stressed.

You don’t know why but you're pretty sure it's probably pressure from being an idol or something else.

He’ll sneak into the shop near closing time, hoodie pulled low above his head, hands in pockets, and just sit behind the counter with you while you do restock. No words, just chilling.

If fans ever asked if he was dating anyone, he’d smirk and go, “Maybe.” Not only are the fans shocked but so are the other boys.

They didn’t expect baby of all people to actually fall for a human and not tell them

They insist on meeting you but Baby refuses. He’s so calm about it too. 

Easily avoids all of them and poofs out of the building before they can follow him.

You two don’t do super fancy dates. You’ll walk the streets of Hongdae with spicy corn dogs and bubble tea, trying every new snack he spots.

He loves making you try unnecessarily spicy things just to watch your reactions, knowing you won’t be able to handle them. “C’mon, you survived me. You can survive this.”

He takes horrible selfies with you.

 Tongues out, fake gang signs that make him feel cool (he saw them on tiktok) and captions like “me n my boss lady”

Does he get jealous?

Baby? Nah, not really… Okay fine, a little.

If some schoolboy flirts with you while buying gum, Baby will suddenly “appear” from behind a shelf with 20 spicy ramen cups in his arms like “Pretty thing, help me figure out where to box these up yea?”

He’d dump the cups in your arms so he could take over the cash register and would absolutely glare into the boy's soul as he rings up his order.

The boy leaves.

He would call you things like: 

Cashier-nim : when you first met.

Boss Lady : Whenever you order him around.

Snack : When he tries to resist the urge to bite you. 

Trouble : When he wants to accuse you of flirting with him.

Pretty Thing : To get you flustered

Y/N-ie : Only calls you by your name during quiet and VERY sincere moments.

You call him things like: 

Spice King : You watched him down like 5 ghost peppers with ease.

Little Brat : Whenever he’s being annoying on purpose.

Incompetent toddler : You see the pattern?

Pretty Boy : Only when he’s being sweet.

Baby : It’s literally his name

He would confess to you by leaving a sticky note on the counter that says “Employee discount for boyfriends??”

Though its not super duper straight up, he’s still pretty to the point with it.

When you look up confused, he just winks and says, “I like you. Now say yes before I buy out your whole damn store.”

[dawnfire12]

Dressing Room Hookup

Pairing: Jinu (Kpop Demon Hunter) X You (female)

Summary: You are Rumi’s youngster sister and a part of Huntrix. You and Jinu have had some interactions which consist of insults and fights to hide the tension between the two of you. Jinu has come to take what is his.

Warning: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, breeding kink, creampie

Y/N was fluffing the ends of your hair and humming to warm up the vocal cords before going on stuff. Your dressing room was very simple. It has a long mirror with little fairy lights wrapped around the edges of the mirror frame and a long white benchtop in front of it. You had a few different colored bean bag chairs scattered around the room with a long brown couch that had two pink heart shaped pillows towards the back of the room.

While you were fixing your mascara, a creak from the door let you know someone entered. Your eyes focused and you saw it was Jinu, wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. 

You whipped around,”What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t come see my favorite artist before they perform?” He put his hand on his heart.

You held your hand out by your side conjuring your sword when he started waving his finger. As your sword entered your hand, Jinu appeared in front of you and pressed his arm against your throat.

“Now, that’s just rude. Having a weapon in front of a guest.” He wrapped his other arm around my waist bringing me closer to him.

“You’re not exactly a guest.” You grip my sword.

“Hmm. I guess you can say that’s true since I’m here for one thing.” He brought his face closer to mine, our noses brushing.

“And what’s that?” You exhaled.

You didn’t get a reply. Or you can get the reply was his lips pressing against yours. You dropped the sword out of shock and he pinched your waist, making you moan and letting his tongue in your mouth. You gripped his shirt as he devoured you. Each kiss made your head spin and you couldn’t think. You could barely breathe but that didn’t matter as long as he kept kissing you. His other arm that was against your neck brought one of your legs around his waist. He moved his hips up and down and you gasped, separating from the kiss, and throwing your head back.

He trailed his lips down to your neck and started sucking and licking wherever he could. You dug your nails into his arms as he grinded faster against you. The motion of his hips felt so delicious as he had his hips angled to where it brushed against your clothed clit every time.

He brought his lips back to yours and had his tongue curling behind your teeth. You didn’t even notice him unbuttoning your shorts until his fingers had found their way into your pussy.

“Oh my god!” You moaned as his fingers just brushed against your opening.

“You are dripping. Only I can get you this wet.” He says as his fingers still tease you by not entering.

You bit your lip, “You wish.”

He narrows his eyes and shoves two fingers in you, making you cry out. His fingers curl up every time he thrusts them in you. You let out little whimpers and small moans. His other hand comes down and he starts circling your clit.

“Oh Jinu!” You start shaking, the pressure he puts on your clit feels so good.

He smirks before ripping out his fingers and turns you around to face your mirror. He yanks down his pants and bends you forwards a bit before thrusting into you at once. He gives you no time to adjust to his big cock.

“Oh fuck! Jinu!” You cry out.

He sets a relentless brutal pace. He grabs your hips and slams his into you over and over again. You can’t even hide the moans, they just keep pouring out of you, especially the moans of his name.

“See, only I can get you this wrecked.” He brags.

You don’t acknowledge his statement, too busy focusing on how his dick just hits your g spot so nicely.

He pulls your hair,”Say it!”

You whine,”Only you! Jinu!”

He keeps thrusting into you while yanking on your hair. Your hands scrambling against the desk, it feels so good. 

“Look at yourself making a mess all over my cock.” He moves his hand down to your neck and you open your eyes to see how his dick goes in and out of you. His eyes changing yellow and his patterns start to show. His nails start to grow long, you can feel them digging into your waist and your neck. 

“I’m gonna wreck this pussy. Your pussy will only remember my dick. You were made for me.” He bites your neck and starts circling your clit.

“Oh Jinu! Jinu!” You shout as your walls start to hug his dick tighter and tighter.

“That’s it! Be a good girl and cum on my cock! And once you’re done I’ll fill you with my seed so everyone knows who you belong to. You want that don’t you?” His voice started to sound a bit demonic.

“Yes Jinu! Yes! Yours!” You sob as the pressure that kept building inside exploded making you cry out and keep repeating his name.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He pumped into you a few more times before spilling his seed in you. You moan once you feel his cum filling you up, feeling full.

He pulled out of you and pulled your shorts back up, securing his cum in you. You looked at yourself in the mirror and you had marks all over you, mascara running down your face and wild hair.

“Well, good luck performing now,” He flipped his hair.

You stood there in shock as he left trying to figure out how you were going to hide the marks and put yourself together before the performance.

One thing for sure is you are going to get him back.

[asiatic-apple]

Love your writing! Thank you for taking requests.

I would absolutely adore fluff promp 6 with Zayne and female MC. Imaging them at maybe Dr Noah’s place in Snowcrest? Or anywhere where you prefer it :)

Thank you so much, lovely!! I'm still getting used to writing for Zayne, but I hope this is to your liking 💙 and I apologize for the long wait

Late night warmth

Zayne x female reader

Prompt: it’s freezing cold and they can’t figure out how to turn on the heat; they’ll just have to share the bed to stay warm then

Content: tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, cuddling

Dr. Noah’s house is quiet this late at night. Snowcrest’s frigid winds push softly against the windows, but inside, everything is still. The wooden floorboards creak as you pad down the hall, half-asleep, rubbing your arms to ward off the cold.

The thermostat near the kitchen hasn’t responded to anything you tried. Dr. Noah warned you the heating system could be stubborn this time of year, but you hadn’t expected it to be this bad.

You could go back to your room and try huddling up in the blankets. But there’s another, more tempting solution. When you glance down the dark hallway, you catch the faint glow of warm light beneath the other guest bedroom’s door. The one Zayne is staying in.

He’s still awake, it seems.

Waddling over to the door, you knock gently and whisper, “Zayne?”

A pause. Then, “Yeah.”

You crack the door open. He’s sitting upright in bed with the duvet tucked around his shoulders a bit comically and a datapad resting on his lap. The blue glow from the screen highlights the tiredness in his eyes. But there’s also a hint of amusement in them; he doesn’t look surprised to see you.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks quietly.

“Not in that room,” you say, stepping in and closing the door behind you. “It’s freezing in there.”

He hums in understanding—although you both ignore the fact that your excuse doesn’t make much sense since it’s freezing everywhere in this house.

You see him shift slightly beneath the covers, a subtle motion. As if he’s making space for you.

You glance down at the bed, then back at him. “Is your bed warm?”

He meets your eyes for a beat. To anyone else, they’d only see that calm, unreadable expression of his. But you notice the glint of playful teasing behind his wire-frame glasses.

“A little,” he says. “Blankets help.”

You stand there for another second. Then you cross the room.

Zayne doesn't say anything when you slide under the covers beside him. He just lies down beside you and adjusts the quilted duvet to tug it up over your shoulders. The bed is warmer than the one in the room you were given. Or maybe it’s your imagination.

Maybe it’s the way your skin always goes a bit too clammy whenever you’re near Zayne. And being in the same bed as him only heightens your yearning for him. The air feels thick with his calming scent—something clean yet faintly herbal like peppermint or eucalyptus.

You lie stiffly at first, trying to give him space by sticking to the extreme end of the bed. But the air beyond the blanket’s edge is cold, and you don’t want to accidentally slip out into the frosty air.

Zayne doesn’t say a word. He just reaches out, fingers grazing your wrist under the sheets. It’s the softest touch, almost uncertain. Somehow, his fingers feel even colder than the air outside. But his touch makes your skin sweat.

You turn your head toward him.

“Are you still cold?” you ask.

You expected to borrow his warmth, but instead, something about him draws the heat from you—like he needs it more than you do. For once, you want to be the warmth that eases into his chest. Maybe all the heat he makes you feel with a simple look or the graze of his fingertips can finally serve a bigger purpose.

He nods, barely perceptible in the dim light. “A bit.”

You shift, turning onto your side to face him properly. “C’mere,” you whisper, a little less confident than you want to sound.

There’s a pause. Then he inches closer, slow and deliberate, until you can feel the chill of his body against yours. Your legs brush. His hand settles lightly at your waist, no pressure behind it, like he’s testing the space between you.

You reach up and touch his cheek, brushing his hair back from his forehead. His skin is cool. But he melts under your touch—the perfect complement to how you always burn for him. You watch, enraptured, as his eyelashes flutter in what seems like bliss.

“You couldn’t sleep because of the cold either, could you?” you ask with a chuckle. “You should’ve come to my room.”

He exhales softly, something between a laugh and a hitched breath. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You never bother me.”

Your voice is quiet, but you mean it. You’re close enough now to feel the soft rhythm of his breathing against your chest. His body gradually relaxes as the warmth spreads between you—a slow, calm settling, like snow drifting to earth.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a moment. “For being my hearth.”

You feel his fingers tighten slightly against your side, a quiet acknowledgment of how much your presence means to him—more than just the warmth you can provide.

His words and touch fan the flames beneath your skin, and you press a light kiss to his forehead in reply. Eventually, his breathing evens out. The house is wrapped in silence again as your stoic doctor curls closer to you in his sleep.

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dividers by me (please do not repost)

[sparrows4bats]

So I think Lois Lane adores Damian Wayne.

Sure, she was unsure about Jons friendship with him at first. The stories she was told about him weren't the most flattering, and she would always worry about her bad, invulnerable, or not.

But when she meets Damian properly, gets to know him and his history?

She loves that kid.

Damian Wayne is a boy who was abused and turned into a weapon for the first ten years of his life and then was abandoned to the care of strangers and told everything he ever knew was wrong. When given the chance to choose and learn for the first time in his life, he became a hero, an artist, a vegetarian, and an animal lover.

Lois Lane, a reporter and a staunch humanitarian, looks at Damian Wayne and sees a child who had people he was meant to trust betray and abuse him for their own ends.

She sees a boy who would do anything to ensure Jon comes home to her.

She gets a true soft spot for the tiny ex assassin one night when, during a sleepover, she finds Damian Wayne sitting at her kitchen table at 3am.

"I know you're a bat, but I didn't think you were actually nocturnal. "

"I'm not, I assure you Mrs Lane."

"Jons snoring wake you?"

The boy smiles at her, "No, I got trained to sleep through anything, even the super chainsaw in there."

"So, why are you up so late?" Lois motions for the kid to sit with her.

"Sometimes it is hard to stay asleep." As he says this the kid looks haunted and Lois she gets it.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." Lois decides not to push him even if she is curious.

"Okay, so Jon tells me you rescued a cow recently?"

The boy lights up and shares tales of Batcow and the evils of industrial meat factories. They have a very nice conversation until Clark comes looking for her and shoos them both back to bed, but only after offeringhis own opinions on ethical agriculture.

She sees how smart Damian is, with connections and links to underground dealings that they use to get justice in Lois's way. Exposing trafficking rings and embezzlement while showing Damian that sometimes the system works.

Damian becomes her silent informant and researcher because he gets bored. They win Lois her third Pulitizer together.

Remember, Lois Lane has and will continue to jump out of windows to prove a point, and much to Jon and Clarks distress, Damian follows her example.

Jon is very glad his best friend calls for him when he needs help, but he really wishes Damian would stop putting himself in danger.

Clark has to save all three of them when Lois bring both boys to investigate a bad landlord that ended up being a front for a cartel.

When Damian decides he can do more for the world as a doctor, Lois becomes one of his biggest supporters.

She gets him placement tests and uses her connections to get Damian proof of his many qualifications. She even helps him practice for his college interviews.

Dr Damian Wayne helps her take down corrupt pharmaceutical and health insurance companies.

They meet at least once a week for coffee and to vent about their favourite kryptonitians.

Needless to say, when her son approaches her, panicking over the fact he is love with their favourite bat, Lois is very excited.

She knows the feeling is more than mutual and decided that Damian WILL be her son in law.

So she tells Jon exactly how she fell in love with his father. He is horrified at all the near death experiences, but overall, the two come up with a plan.

Clark tries to stop them but is ignored. He considers warning Bruce but decides that he can't risk Lois getting mad at him again.

Jon confesses his love to Damian over an erupting volcano while rescuing a team of geologists. His mom was right. It was very romantic.

He kisses Damian for the first time while riding a new dragon friend they found for Wiggles that Jon insists they call Mushu.

When Jon proposes, he and Lois design the ring together. Jon moulds it in the heat of a collapsing star and forms a diamond in his hands to set in the centre.

Damian says yes while performing emergency medicine on other heroes. The JL are extremely happy for them but confused about the timing.

Lois loves showing off how wonderful her new son in law is. Especially when she has grandchildren to spoil.

Jon will never regret bringing Damian into the family. He loves his husband, but he really wishes he and his mom would stop jumping out of windows.

Especially when the kids start to follow them, Thank Rao they can fly.

[dragonmasterhiccup]

Part of him did want to show Astrid his world. The other part of him was scared to. At least, scared to show her his pod. They didn't exactly like him all that much.

But, if they could find a way to get her there without them knowing she was human...it could work, at least long enough for her to get to see it. Then, he'd bring her home, back to the surface.

There was however the issue of the water pressure...

"I'll see what I can do. You've shown me so much here, I'd like to return the favor."

He leaned in again, closing his eyes, when a sudden shout caused him to pull away. His eyes widened at the old man's accusations, the merman at a loss for words as Astrid helped him get to his crutch.

Evil. Sea-devil. Creature.

It echoed in his mind, bringing back bad memories from his pod. His heart was racing, and he felt as though he couldn't get enough air.

Outside. He needed to get outside...

Using the crutch, he hurried out as fast as he could, with only Phlegma seeing him escape.

The door was left ajar as he continued on down the massive stairwell.

A spell. He'd never put a spell on Astrid, let alone drag her to the depths. That wasn't who he is! Even then, that wasn't how his magic worked. He knew he'd have to go back eventually, but that was to be temporary. Hiccup wanted to live among the humans, but if they would only see him as some trickster creature, could they ever truly accept him?

The sun was low, lower than he thought it would be. He had to get to water before moonrise, he knew that. But where? He still had to keep the end of his tail dry.

🐟

He didn't make it.

Hiccup had gotten the human clothes off, and just as he was about to climb into the wash basin, his tail returned, leaving him stuck in the grass.

Flopping over to his back, he let out a frustrated groan. "Why can't things ever be simple," he wondered aloud, hands in his hair and his eyes closed, "she's a human, and I'm a merman. I should have expected that it wouldn't be received all that well..."

Astrid, the best warrior on Berk. And Hiccup...the cowardly merman who ran at the first sign of trouble.

His hands lowered to cover his face. "She deserves better..."

"I'm not so sure about that," said a voice from above. Startled, Hiccup opened his eyes to find Phlegma standing above him. Her arms were crossed, a basket of banging on her arm. "Aye, you shouldn't have left. You missed quite the spectacle. But, Hiccup?"

She knelt down, looking him in the eye. "What my daughter deserves is someone who loves her, cherishes her. You may be part fish, but you fit that bill."

Hiccup shook his head, "She's a warrior. She shouldn't be with a coward."

Phlegma paused before motioning for him to give her his tail. He curled the end of it towards her, and she began to change the wrappings, "Hiccup. I get the feeling that something caused that reaction of yours. It wasn't just Mildew, but something else."

Hiccup didn't respond, averting his gaze.

"Hm. I thought so. Something also tells me that you can be quite brave when the situation calls for it. I don't know how you did it, but you befriended a dragon. That takes bravery, lad."

"You're both young. You both have a lot to learn. But don't be so hard on yourself, Hiccup. Even mermen deserve love, you know," she gave him a soft smile, tying the new wrappings after applying some salve.

"Astrid is inside, worried about you. I told her to let me speak with you first," she rested a hand on his shoulder, and he finally met her gaze. "You did nothing wrong, Hiccup. Mildew, he's just looking to cause trouble. He always has been that way. If you had stayed, you would have seen just about everyone come to your defense. Axel and Astrid were the most vocal."

Gathering the supplies, she got to her feet. "I'll send Astrid out to you. I'll see you in the morning, dear."

Without another word, she left, leaving Hiccup a bit speechless as he stretched his fins out.

A moment later, he heard hurried footsteps approaching. Looking over at his girlfriend, he said, "I, I'm so sorry I ran off like that, I can explain..."

After a long training session, all Astrid wanted to do was cool off on the beach. Maybe a tiny swim, even though the ocean was so cold at this time of year. She pushed through the brush and staggered down to the shore.

Only to find a boy lounging in the shallows.

“Oh!” She dropped her axe in the sand. From his bare torso, she assumed he was naked. “Sorry! I didn’t know someone else would be…here…” as the apologies flowed, she realized from the waist down, he had green scales and a pair of fins.

No wonder she hadn’t recognized him.

“No way…” she inched closer. “A real mermaid! In the flesh! Are the stories true?” She stamped down her overwhelming curiosity for a moment to give him a stern point. “Don’t try anything fishy, mermaid. I’m very capable of protecting myself, got it?”

((I saw the prompt and went feral, hope you don’t mind))

[X]

Hiccup started, the water around him splashing as he sat up straight in surprise, before he moved a little further back, his cheeks flushed.

"No, sorry, I, I shouldn't--" Ducking his head, the merman awkwardly held up a hand, "Usually no one comes here..."

But his movements only caused his tail to briefly break the surface, emerald scales glittering in the sun for a moment before dipping below the water again.

Firmly, he responded, "Merman. I am a merman. And no, don't worry, I, I wasn't going to try anything...I know you'd probably kill me if I did..."

Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair, which had partially dried in his time sitting in the shallow water. "What, what stories are you referring to?"

He knew, or at least had a gut feeling about what she was asking, but he wanted to hear it from her. She appeared wary, but not fearful. Maybe these humans didn't have the same fears of his kind like the others?

[sanotymanjiro]

𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 ꨄ︎

𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙟𝙞𝙧𝙤

𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩

fluff, soft, set in whatever timeline the reader wants, secret crush; mikey on reader, mild swearing

⚽ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

mikey is a manchild. he is your best friend and soulmate, the boy you grew up with and the boy who has protected you, teased you, cared for you but also been a pain in your ass forcing you to spend countless nights fetching him some dorayaki dead at night because he couldn't sleep. you knock as quietly as you can covey your annoyance without waking the entire sano household up and the door instantly swings open revealing the golden haired boy with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. you fight the urge to roll your eyes and shove the bag his way ready to turn away until his hand catches your wrist.

mikey: waittt!

y/n, practically hissing: what?!

mikey, with a pleading grin: movie night please please pleaseeee?

y/n: are you mad?! u may skip school but i very much still have an 8 to 3 schedule manjiro! i'm getting no sleep at this rate!

mikey, begging: please! fine fine fine! ill...ill let you do my hair...?

and thats how you ended up in his room snuggled together with an assortment of coloured hair ties and accessories in your lap with spirited away rolling in the back at a low volume. you brush his golden locks using your portable hairbrush smiling to yourself as you lean down to sniff it since it smells like your favourite shampoo when you were a child, baby johnson's. you had teased mikey for using it at his big age of 15 but every time he would pout and explain how it was the only thing that isn't damaging and even try to force you to use it just to prove his point, he had a serious fear of going bald in the future and you once caught him trying to generate himself as a bald on man on ai which had you dying of laughter while he whined in embarrassment.

mikey: owww- hss- ow! slow down y/n!!

y/n: stop being a baby i'm done, i'm done...

after untangling the knots in his hair you split it down the middle and gather it into two small pon-pons before sliding a baby blue hair tie with a bow attached to hold them in place, smiling to yourself at how cute it looked while applying some white clips to his bangs.

𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐯:

mikey pretended to watch the movie but the mirror on his closet opposite him reflecting your joyful face wouldn't let him. his fingers fidgeted with the covers of his bed which you had bought him as a gift claiming his room was too plain and mature, his eyes darting to the gentle curve of your jaw in the warm light flowing from the bedside lamp. manjiro had always found you cute, sure you were bratty, nagging, extremely stubborn and persistent and maybe sometimes annoying but your cuteness won all of that ten times over, and mikey was one of the few to notice it. the way you tilt your head to check the sides of his hair, the way your tongue would peek out when you were focused, the soothing motion of your fingers as they brushed his hair over and over thanks to your perfectionist nature, the light of satisfaction that would swirl in your eyes when you were finally pleased with the result; two cute ponytail sort pon-pons with baby blue bows, white clips and a small butterfly clip right on the top of his hair.

mikey couldn't understand why you were so proud of making him look like a walking clown but that didn't matter because he got to see your smile, he got to see you happy and that mattered most of all. before he even notices theres a gentle smile etched onto his lips like second nature and the movie is forgotten completely.

it hurt like hell whenever you would tug too hard at his locks or brush through a knot but if he could watch you like this without you noticing that was all he could ever want not because he didn't want to confess, but because he wanted to make sure that when he does, he'll no longer be the manchild he is now, but the reliable man of your dreams.

2025 @sanotymanjiro

tags (for everyone who enjoyed bubble baths): @dolledupformanjiro | @tetsuyuuuuuuu | @artsjiwoo | @mikeysgf1 | @natsumis-stuff | @katsukisat0 | @dancingnewcat | @whyme287 | @destinyfleur | @banana-revenge | @bebacebe | @mikeys-therapy | @peensas | @afterunigoths | @skr1mps | @beetusbritt | @dollrndo | @yourbabydolllll | @cherry-blossom5 | and anyone else!

[heylittleriotact]

but hidden in his coat is an orange right hand

Here it is. The most unserious thing I've ever written: Emmrich has the day off and Rook is at work. He decides to tidy her apartment for her, but gets distracted by the laundry. He borrows her lotion, and chaos ensues.

@aldisobey - I dedicate this to you with all of my love. This is in every way, in every fucked up word, for You <3

Read below or on ao3

It had all started out so innocently: Rook left for work, and he had the day off. He might have gone home, but with the automatic feeder for Manfred set up to be controlled with an app on his phone, Emmrich decided that loitering around Rook’s small apartment for the day would be a nice change of pace.

By noon he’d washed and put away the sink full of dishes, watered her houseplants, and made a trip to the grocery store to replenish her cupboards.

After vacuuming the carpet in the living room (how was there so much cat fur? She didn’t even own a cat), he changed the record on her turntable (the Velvet Underground and Nico was swapped for Cohen’s ‘I’m Your Man’), and decided to start on her bedroom: there was nothing like coming home to a tidy house, and there was no denying Rook’s well-lived in space was in need of tending.

He’d been partway through picking up the not insignificant amount of clothing on the floor, and depositing it into the duct-taped plastic laundry basket he fully intended to take down to the communal laundry room in the basement, when he found himself staring at the dark blue panties sitting atop a Motörhead t-shirt that he’d just placed in the basket.

They were just panties. They weren’t even her most alluring pair: these were plain modal fabric, free of lace or cut-outs or suggestive designs.

Yet he stared — and for a good deal longer than he had any reason to.

These were what she had worn to bed the night before after she’d emerged from the shower. She had cuddled up against him, fingers scratching lazily through his chest hair, falling into a deep easy sleep at least a full hour before sleep found him too.

It had been a long day for both of them, and neither had the energy to make love the night before. He liked that about this particular place in their relationship: it wasn’t that he didn’t relish every single opportunity he had to make her legs shake, but there was an ease about their day-to-day interactions after so many months of being together that was effortless and simple. No longer was every spare moment spent wrapped around each other as if it may be their last, but instead their lust had established mature roots until it became a comfortable - but ever-present - option instead of a necessity.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, however, Rook’s worn panties balled up innocently in the laundry basket had his heart racing and blood rushing below his waistline faster than he could say ‘pervert.’

How they’d ended up in his hand was a mystery to him, even as he swallowed hard and brought them to his nose, feeling sinful as he inhaled. His cock throbbed receptively as the familiar scent of her mingled with her body wash and laundry detergent flooded his olfactory receptors.

He moaned softly into the mid-afternoon silence of Rook’s bedroom, and surrendered himself with surprisingly little shame to what his body was implying it should do: it was only natural to feel called to see to oneself from time to time, after all.

Undoing his belt with one hand, he dropped onto his side of Rook’s bed, pushing up his cashmere pullover and unzipping his pants in one efficient motion.

He realized then that the bottle of lube was still in its most recently utilized location, which was the bathroom. Did he really want to hold his pants up and shuffle all that way to get it?

Deciding he’d rather not, his eyes landed on a nondescript bottle of lotion perched on Rook’s bedside table behind the ashtray. Figuring that plain old Jergens was good enough for him when he was a young man, it would most certainly do in a pinch now.

Setting the panties down atop the bulge in his underwear, he reached over the bed and pumped a generous palmful of lotion into his left hand and leaned back into his pillow, careful not to get any on his clothes or the sheets.

The panties were picked up again, and he fished his cock out of his briefs as he savoured the softness of her intimates under his thumb.

Rook… oh… even when he could have her whenever he liked, the thrill never wore off — never diminished to anything less than absolute…

His cock throbbed under his fingers and he let out a low groan as he worked the room-temperature lotion over his hot length. He dragged his teeth over his lower lip, uttering another indulgent moan through them as he lifted the hand gripping the panties again so he could steal another lungful of all that was her.

Everything. She was everything. His life could be defined as little more than banal purgatory before she’d graced it: elevator music and beige everything - endlessly waiting for something, though no one could tell him what.

Oh how he loved her… craved her… needed her…

He set a well-practiced pace, confident in his understanding of his body as his slick hand glided up and down his cock, the lewd sounds of his pleasure accompanying his deep, heavy breaths.

If only she could see: if only she could witness for herself the monumental effect that she had on him, reducing him - an accomplished and successful man of his age - to little more than a horny adolescent, unable to make it through a single afternoon without a furious and passionate wank...

He whined into the cotton against his face, completely lost in the ghostly sweetness of her mesmerizing cunt that had been in contact with the scant clothing only hours earlier.

Maker how lovely it would be if it was actually her cunt against his lips instead…

He’d spread her open like the pages of a lurid book, taking his time - as one should in a beautiful garden - to bury his nose within her perfect bloom; graze upon her with all the gentle innocence of a new fawn nibbling upon the delicate meadow flax of springtime…

She’d whisper his name first: a breathy, flattered little exclamation that would give way to rich moans from deep within the very core of her as her thighs shuddered against his ears and her hips arced upwards…

‘Ohhhh…’ she would sigh, deliriously, deliciously undone. ‘Oh Emmrich - I’m going to cum…’

‘Come for me, darling,’ he would say then. ‘Wash over me like a wave on a cruel summer day, and I shall be the happiest man who ever was - with your dew upon my lips, and the dream that I might yet savour your sweetness, even with my very last breath...’

His hips jerked and he fucked into his clenched hand, his breaths falling from his lips in frenzied bursts as his toes curled into the bedsheets.

He came with a ragged groan, feeling his hot spend pulse out of him and drip steadily down his greasy fingers, pooling on his exposed belly and pubic hair.

Reposed on the bed, he waited until the lightheadedness subsided and his vision cleared, the hand holding the navy blue panties that had been his undoing falling to his side as he swallowed thickly and took stock of the situation: he was laying in his girlfriend’s bed at three o’clock on a Tuesday, covered in lotion and his own cum while she was at work and a half-full laundry basket of clothes sat forgotten on the floor.

She very well may be the death of me…

Confident again in his ability to stand, Emmrich hastily cleaned himself up with the panties, feeling somewhat guilty about soiling them so vulgarly despite their impending date with the washing machine. They were dropped in the laundry basket and he tucked himself back into his pants and refastened his belt before making his way to the bathroom to wash the remnants of cum and lotion off his hand.

Certain he had his wits about him once more, he deposited a few more pieces of clothing into the basket, then hoisted it under his arm, grabbing the laundry detergent and a handful of quarters from the bowl by the front door and whistling a jaunty tune as he descended to the laundry room.

It was about an hour or so later when he was dusting Rook’s dresser that it first occurred to him that something was amiss.

Initially he thought the strange hue of his left palm might be merely a late afternoon shadow filtering in the nicotine-tinted window, but when he set down the Swiffer duster in his right hand and the rabbit shaped piggy bank he’d been dusting underneath, it became abundantly clear that was not the case.

“Uhhh…”

He inspected his left hand — the palm of which was now a vivid copper-orange. Aggressive brown stains lingered on the sides of his fingers and the skin between them, collecting gaudily at the edges of his many rings.

“Oh,” he whimpered, horrible, damning realization settling upon him. “Oh no.”

He cleared the distance to Rook’s nightstand in two long steps, stumbling over her vanity chair in his fervour, and snatched the bottle of duplicitous lotion from its innocent place, holding it up to read the label.

The words ‘natural glow’ imprinted themselves upon his brain in cruel confirmation, and he made a sound like a pelican gargling a bowling ball, fingers tightening around the damnable bottle.

Self-tanner. Why in the name of all that is precious and sane does Rook have a bottle of self-tanner next to her bed? She’s as white as the freshly driven snow! She gets sunburn if she stands close to a window at mid-day for too long!

Why? — WHY?!—

— Horrified and already knowing what awaited him, Emmrich slammed the bottle of lotion down and hooked his thumb into the waistband of his pants, pulling them away from his body far enough to dimly make out his mortifyingly ‘sun-kissed’ dick, nestled in his underwear.

Time. He needed time to figure this out.

He looked at his watch: 4:17. Rook was finished work at 5:00 if no last minute First Calls wandered into the chapel, and Pemberly was a twelve minute drive from her apartment…

He forced himself to take a deep breath.

I have time. I can sort this out with time to spare, surely. Perhaps it hasn’t really had time to develop fully. A shower — yes, a shower is in order…

He was already halfway to the bathroom — sweater yanked off and discarded on the floor, his pants undone for the second time that afternoon — though this time for a much different reason.

This wasn’t as simple as correcting the colouring of a jaundiced cadaver with a few ounces of extra red colourant added to the embalming fluid and some clever cosmetics: this chemical was sunk into the outer layers of his skin, and cosmetizing a penis was no small feat: hiding this from Rook was not going to be an option — he needed to scour the tanner from his person before she got home.

Hopping into the bathtub like a startled doe, Emmrich cranked the faucet, not waiting for the water to heat up (which took no less than forty seconds in Rook’s shower) before standing directly under the frigid water and squirting a full palmful of her grapefruit and neroli body wash into his hand and working it into the briefest of lathers before applying it directly to his nethers.

He coated himself liberally, sudsy fingers slipping over his soft cock, panic mounting as every swath of skin revealed as he worked the soap around was still stubbornly orange.

“Nnnngh!”

He lifted his left hand and held it inches from his face, scrubbing his palm and fingers with his right.

I have to go to work tomorrow… what will people think of a supposedly ‘dignified’ mortician with only one hand suspiciously orange? Ohhhhhh—

“Please!” He begged the obstinate beauty product, as if it would do him any good.

Something else, perhaps…

He glanced around the shower: Rook didn’t use shower poufs or loofahs or anything he could solidly scrub himself with, but…

The pot of body scrub in the corner practically waved at him and he dropped the lid on the floor of the bathtub in his haste to access the contents within.

Three minutes and as much ‘gentle’ exfoliation as his cock could handle later, Emmrich abandoned the idea: it hadn’t helped - perhaps smoothed out some of the patchiness and the brown borders on his fingers, but it had done depressingly little to actually purge the stain from his skin.  

He turned the water off and got out of the shower, parsing his remaining options, settling finally upon the communal knowledge of the internet to hopefully get him out of this predicament.

Vinegar, baking soda, lemon juice - even toothpaste. He tried them all, and with time running out, nothing helped. In fact, the lemon juice might have even made it worse, and now he smelled like a middle-school science project to boot.

It wasn’t that he thought Rook would be disturbed or upset - quite the opposite: she would be delighted. She might never stop laughing.

She might never take him seriously again.

Who could take a man with an orange cock seriously?

He could just leave, he supposed. Text her and tell her that he forgot that he had plans that evening and he wouldn’t be able to see her until tomorrow when hopefully he could figure a way out of this mess…

“What 'plans?'” He asked himself sardonically: Rook knew better. He did too.

All he could do was act as normally as possible and hope that she wouldn't notice. It wouldn't be too difficult, would it? He was right-handed, and could conceal his left easily enough, and there was no real reason she would need to see him naked at any point in the evening. Even if they found themselves in an amorous mood, waiting until the lights were off before undressing would be easy enough. Indeed... with some cunning and carefully controlled lighting, he very well could get away with this without Rook being any the wiser... 

The folly of his plan became apparent a short time later when Rook walked in the door to her pristinely clean apartment and looked around from the entryway, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, before whispering, "Y-you cleaned my apartment for me?"  

He had barely opened his mouth to respond by the time Rook had dumped her backpack on the doormat and shed her jacket in a pile behind her, clearing distance between them with baffling ease and all but tackling him onto the worn couch, her weight - familiar and warm settling against him as her lips met his in an enthusiastic - and deep - kiss.  

"You spent your day off cleaning my apartment?" She breathed, straddling his thigh, her breasts pressing against him, "Why did you do that?"

Knowing where this was going as she nuzzled into his neck and slipped a hand past the hem of his sweater and up over his abdomen, he scrambled to redirect her.

"I-it was nothing, darling - I thought it might be a good way to pass the ti– TIME!"

He yelped when her hand redirected itself instead - directly into his pants, her fingers cool against his flaccid cock.

"I love you," she purred against his neck, her silken palm curving around his softness in a way his own hand never could. "I love you, I love you, I love you – you didn't have to..."

"No, but I wanted to – you know how I operate, dear."

If only he hadn't been enchanted by her panties...

She placed a sucking kiss against his neck, slowly moving her hand within his pants, "Thank you..."

"You're welcome, darling, b-but you needn't..." he swallowed and debated extracting her hand. "Reciprocate."

"But what if I want to?" She breathed against his ear, and he could hear her smile and smell her lipstick: a shiver stroked up his spine – he twitched in her hand.

Oh... the things she did... the way she did them...

His head hit the arm of the couch with a resigned 'thud' as she continued to lick and nibble his earlobe.

“Are you hungry?” He inquired, searching for a way out of this despite his conviction that waned with each stroke of her perfect hand. “L-let me — ohh… let me take you out for dinner — we can go anywhere you’d like.”

Yes — if he could get her out of the apartment…

"Sure..." she murmured, though to his dismay she continued her business within his trousers, grinding herself lazily against his thigh. "But first, an amuse-bouche."

He felt her hand leave his cock and flip the tongue of his belt free from the buckle.

"Wouldn't you rather wait?!" Emmrich half-screeched, catching her wrist before she could undress him further.

Rook sat up, hand still on his belt, his cock straining visibly against the front of his pants. Her eyes left his, wandering pointedly to the bulge between them. "Would you?"

"N-no of course not–" he babbled. "– it's only that, you see – I simply think that – if we only–"

She took advantage of his scramble for an explanation and batted his hand away from hers, easily undoing the rest of his buckle and fly, with a coquettish laugh. "You're being weird, babe. You never turn down a blow– oh!" His cock was in her hand again, bronze tint contrasting garishly with her pale, pale fingers.

Frowning, she studied him, then said, all business: "Emmrich, why is your dick orange?"

Blood rushed to his ears and cheeks. "Why do you have self-tanning lotion on your bedside table?!"

The frown wavered, twitched, then gave way to a disbelieving grin as Rook clearly put the pieces together in her mind.

"Did... did you...? No way..." an amused titter slipped past her lips. "Did you jerk off with self-tanner?"

"I fail to see the humour in this," Emmrich muttered reproachfully.

"Maker's tits, you did!" She was laughing properly now: just like he knew she would... now she was unlikely to ever stop.

"Well why would you leave it next to your bed?" He snapped, trying to sit up, but Rook had him pinned. "You don't even use tanning lotion!"

"No–-" she gasped, "– but at one point I thought I might, so I bought a bottle. That was years ago though. I used it maybe twice."

He wanted to grab her arms and shake her: it was all so funny now, but after a week of this, the novelty of a boyfriend with orange genitals might wear thin.

"I look ridiculous!"

"Yeah," she agreed, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. She slipped down the couch, resting on her belly and putting her face close to the offending reproductive organ, "But you know what, handsome?"

He sighed, wishing for nothing more than to be enveloped by a black hole. "What?"

"I still love you anyway." The words washed over him, body and soul: hot, breathy, and utterly honest.

How had he found himself so fortunate? So blessed?

His breath caught when her tongue dragged up the underside of his length, flicking against the crown of his cock.

"Why does it taste like peppermint?" She inquired in a soft whisper from between his legs, licking him again, stroking him in tandem.

He chanced a look down – saw her looking up at him, the lust in her grey eyes tempered by that benign curiosity he loved so much.

"T-toothpaste..." he confided. "The... the Google suggested it might uh... lighten it. As you can see, it didn't work..."

She didn't call him an idiot for thinking it would. Didn't laugh at his foolish desperation.

Instead, she pressed her lips ever-so-sweetly against the tip of his cock, and they parted in a breathtaking smile.

He loved her. He loved her more than life itself. He would truly give anything to see that smile every day for the rest of their lives...

His Rook. His kind, enchanting, joyful Rook. Non-judgemental and compassionate – a marvelous woman by all definitions.

How foolish he was to think that she would be anything but understanding about this silly faux pas...

He had been just about to tell her that when she placed his cock against the corner of her mouth, and said in the nasally imitation of a beloved cartoon character, "Ehhh... what's up, Doc?" –

– and then proceeded to give him the best blowjob of his life.

[leashybebes]

thirsty thursday

tagged by @trombonechurchill, mwah!

disclaimer: it's not thirsty other than in the way sal's sisters are thirsty for wine (and gossip!). look. i could be working on a) my job, or b) an actual story but instead, have another love in stereo outtake i'm poking at

"Ah, Jesus," Sal says when they pull up to the sidewalk - because they can't park on the driveway, because there's already a car in the spot behind Buck's Jeep. "They beat us here. C'mon, help me with the bags."

Buck wants to. He really does. It's just that he's completely frozen in the passenger seat, can't even unbuckle his seatbelt.

"Sal - "

Sal looks over at him, grin fading at whatever he sees on Buck's face.

"What's up with you?"

"What if they don't like me?"

"Listen, Gaby makes it a point not to like anyone she meets for at least a month. Bianca likes everybody. Giovanna and Cat are gonna adore you, and even if they don't, they're the babies, they don't get to have an opinion."

"They're gonna think I'm a homewrecker," Buck blurts out and Sal leans over to sling an arm around his neck and plant a smacking kiss on his temple.

"Does this home look wrecked?"

"N-no," Buck admits.

"There you go," Sal says. "Now, c'mon, if Gaby and Bianca get into the good stuff I'm never gonna hear the end of it from Tommy."

Buck takes a deep breath and follows Sal into the house. The living room is a wall of noise, more than four people should be able to produce. Four dark heads turn to look at them in unison. Buck's seen them all in photos enough to clock the family resemblance but in motion they all look so much like Sal that Buck has a fleeting feeling of sympathy for their parents.

"Okay, okay, shut up," Sal calls out, tugging Buck forward from where he's - not hiding exactly, but maybe attempting to be a little small. He points to them one at a time and says, "Bianca, Gaby-not-Gabriella, Giovanna, Cat-not-Caterina. This is Evan Buckley. You can call him Buck. Not Evan, only Tommy gets Evan privileges, don't ask me why. Please at least attempt to appear civilized, we like him very much and he's worried you won't."

Buck tries to simultaneously elbow Sal in the ribs and offer his sisters a wave and a smile that feels wobbly on his face, all while not dropping the groceries.

"Aw, c'mon Buck, we like Tommy," Gaby says. "You'll be fine."

Sal laughs, but Buck can't help frowning.

"Tommy's great," he says firmly.

Bianca busts out laughing. "Oh god, Sally, he's adorable."

"C'mon, knock it off, you animals," Sal says affectionately. "He's from a two-child household, he isn't built for this shit."

"Talking of Tommy, where is your better half?" Giovanna asks, and then corrects herself to, "Better third."

"Off doing Top Gun shit," Sal says. "Should be home soon."

"He messaged to say he was leaving - " Buck glances at the clock. "Right around now, actually."

Giovanna throws her arms in the air with a whoop of delight, exuberant and probably already a little drunk, Buck realizes as he notices wine bottles and glasses on the coffee table and in their hands. "My real brother's coming home!"

Sal sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, backyard, the lot of you. Go on, out, out, away from the breakables!"

"Okay, dad," Gaby says, flipping him the bird. Sal bares his teeth in a not-quite-smile and the four of them snatch up their wine glasses, Bianca snagging the only one of the two bottles with anything left in it. They troop out as Sal shepherds them through to the kitchen and out into the yard. 

no pressure tags for @setmeatopthepyre, @sugarpenchant and @screaminginternallyalleternity

[gwenie-creates]

It's The End Of The World, But All I See Is You

A Zombie Apocalypse Au

read on ao3 here!

Chapter Three

Max stomped into the office, angrily pushing open the door. “What the hell do you think you’re doing making Oscar sleep in Lando’s room!?” he shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Lewis’ chest. Lewis stood up from where he had been leaning against the big wooden desk and knocked Max’s hand away. The others held their breaths, eyes nervously flickering between the two. 

“Max,” Charles warned, grabbing Max’s shoulder and trying to pull him back. Max shrugged off his hand, stepping closer and getting in Lewis’ face. “I told you I didn’t want Lando around Oscar, and what do you do? You go and make them room together!” 

“Max,” Lewis started, voice dangerously calm. “Get your hand out of my face.” The room had gone deathly silent. Everyone held their breaths, eyes locked on the two, waiting to see what they would do. Max‘s face twitched, his other hand curled into a fist but he stepped back. Everyone let out sighs of relief.

“Thank god we sent the younger ones to bed already,” Carlos whispered, shaking his head. 

Daniel nodded, “That would have scared the shit out of Lando.” 

“Enough,” Lewis said, turning to look at Carlos and Daniel. Their mouths snapped shut and the rest of the room went silent once again. “Now,” Lewis said, turning back towards Max. “Lando is the only person in this house who doesn’t share a room,” Max opened his mouth to interrupt but Lewis held his hand up, silencing him. “As I was saying, Lando is the only one who doesn’t share a room so he has space while the rest of us don’t. And yes, he doesn’t share his room for good reason but we are running low on space Max. There was nowhere else for Oscar to sleep with Logan in the living room so Seb has easy access and the rest of us already doubled up. Oscar’s around Lando’s age, it’s not like I just let some random fifty year old man sleep in the same room as you little brother.” 

Max stiffened, “Still, I don’t want Oscar around him.” 

“Well, Max, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they’re living here now so it’s gonna be pretty hard to keep them separated,” Daniel said. 

Nico elbowed him. “Don’t provoke him.” 

Kimi shook his head, annoyed. “I think we have bigger things to worry about than Lando sharing a room with Oscar.” 

Seb nodded, “Kimi’s right, Oscar told us about a group of scavengers who attacked them and burned down their village. I think that’s definitely more important than who’s sleeping with who.” 

“Wait, what!?” Max asked, expression changing from a scowl to a look of utter confusion. 

“Right, you were upstairs with Lando,” Lewis mumbled under his breath before turning towards Max. “Oscar was telling us how Logan got his injury. Apparently, they were attacked by this group of men– scavengers, who had burned down their village a couple of months earlier.”

“Do you think they’ll come for us?” Max asked. 

“I don’t know,” Lewis replied. “There’s no way to know but I think we need to start being more vigilant. Keep an eye out for anyone suspicious, up our defenses and security, and also keep a better eye on the younger ones. I don’t want them going anywhere alone where they could be found vulnerable.” Everyone nodded in agreement. The thought of any of the younger members of their little group– even the new additions– getting injured horrified them. 

Seb hummed in agreement, eye catching the clock on the desk. “We should head to bed. It’s late and we all need to be up early tomorrow.” The others didn’t need to be told twice, they all shuffled towards the door, save Max, Charles, and Lewis. Seb paused in the doorway, sending Lewis a questioning look, ‘do you want me to stay too?’. Lewis shook his head, motioning for Sebastian to continue towards his bedroom. 

Once the room was empty, Max spoke. “I don’t want Oscar in his room. I’m serious Lewis.” 

Lewis sighed heavily. “I mean if it bothers you that much, I can try to figure out some sort of arrangement. But someone is going to have to room with him and the others aren’t going to want to change up their rooming situations. They’ve been the same since we first got here.” 

“Just let it be, Max,” Charles tried, voice tired and eyes longingly looking towards the door, begging to escape to their room and finally lie down. 

“No, I told you I don’t want him corrupting Lando’s innocence,” Max said, stubbornly crossing his arms. 

Lewis sighed even louder. “Is that what this is seriously about? Max, they’ve barely known each other, they aren’t going to do anything.” 

Charles threw his hands up, “Thank youuu.” he said, dragging out the end of the ‘you’. “I said the exact same thing but he was all–” 

“You guys didn’t see how Oscar was looking at him. I just know he’s going to try something.” Max interrupted. 

“–That,” Charles motioned towards Max. “He’s being ridiculous with these conspiracies.” 

“They aren’t conspiracies!” 

“Ehhh, they kind of are,” Lewis said, shaking his head. “Max, I’m sure Lando doesn’t even know what sex is. Have you had that talk with him yet?” 

Max shook his head. “No, I’ve never had a reason to.” 

“Reason to!? Max, he's a teenage boy!” Charles said incredulously. 

Max shrugged, “He doesn’t need to know about that kind of stuff. He’s doing just fine without that knowledge and I’d like it to stay that way.” 

Lewis rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous. Max, if he doesn’t even know anything about that kind of stuff why are you worried?” 

“Because!” He paused, moving his hands around angrily. “He’s more susceptible to being corrupted! Oscar might try something with him while they’re alone we don’t know!” Max’s voice rose in volume the more he spoke. 

Charles smacked his chest, “Shut up!” he hissed. “You’re going to wake the whole damn house with your ridiculousness.”

“Max,” Lewis started, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but if it bothers you this much we can figure something out tomorrow. It’s late and I would actually like to get some sleep tonight. God knows tomorrow is going to be a disaster.” 

Max nodded, happy that Lewis was giving in. “Ok, fine.” 

Charles rolled his eyes. “Let’s go to bed,” he didn’t let Max reply, grabbing his arm and pulling them towards his bedroom. “I don’t know why you’re so worried, Lando sleeps in here with us ninety percent of the time anyways.” Charles opened their bedroom door, dragged them inside, and walked over to the bed. 

“I just don’t want anything to happen to him. He doesn’t need to lose his innocence. He’s too young.” 

Charles shook his head tiredly, “Max, you're going to have to have some kind of conversation about these kinds of things with him soon. I’m sure he’s got questions, I mean he’s a sixteen year old boy. Sure, he’s kind of a late bloomer but there’s no way he hasn’t noticed… things,” Charles paused, motioning towards his body before continuing, “changing.” 

Max groaned, sitting down on the bed and dropping his face into his hands. “Oh. My. God.” 

Charles continued, ignoring Max. “I’m sure someone else could do it if you really didn’t want to but Lando would probably prefer it to be you. It’ll still be awkward as hell either way, but can you imagine Lewis giving you the sex talk?” Max shuddered. “Or Kimi?” 

“Stop. Please stop,” Max begged. 

Charles fixed him with a look. “I will if you stop being weird about Oscar. Either have that talk with Lando or let them be. Oscar’s here now, whether you like it or not, and he’s the closest one to Lando’s age. Well, both him and Logan are, so look at this like it’s a good thing. Lando will finally have someone his age to just be kids with.” 

Max sighed nodding. “Ok, I guess.” 

“I would still have that talk though.” 

“Oh my god, stop, I’m begging you!” Max shoved Charles’ arm. 

Charles moved away, crossing his arms across his chest. “I don’t care how much I love you or your brother. I’m not giving him the ‘your bodies changing’ and the ‘birds and the bees’ talk just because you're too scared. I may help raise that little gremlin, but this is one thing I will definitely be missing out on.” 

Max gave him a look and Charles knew then and there that he was fucked. Fuck, I’m going to have to give him the sex talk. Goddammit! 

***

Oscar awoke to the harsh sound of coughing. He quickly sat up, eyes scanning the dark room, trying to remember where he was. That’s when he remembered. Remembered being attacked by the scavengers, then the Walkers, then running into Max, Lando, and Charles, and being brought back to their house. Ok, but where am I no– another harsh cough penetrated the silence. Oscar startled, who? Oh shit, Lando! 

Oscar quickly got up from his bed, crossing the room so he stood by Lando’s bed. Lando was sitting up, sheets pooled low around his waist, and coughing harshly into his fist. “Shit, are you ok?” Oscar asked, awkwardly placing his hand on Lando’s shoulder. 

Lando didn’t respond, his body being wracked with another crippling cough, shaking his entire frame. The coughing fit lasted for around twenty seconds before it finally stopped. Lando sat back, looking up at Oscar with watery eyes. 

“It–it hurts,” His voice sounded wrecked, and his body shook. 

“What? What hurts, Lando?” Oscar asked, frantic. 

“My-my–” he paused, another rasping cough leaving his lips. “My throat and chest,” His voice broke and he moved a hand to rub at his aching chest. 

“Ok, ok, umm” Oscar looked around the room unsure what to do. He looked for a bottle of water but came up empty. “Umm, do you want me to go get Max?” 

Lando nodded, breaking into another coughing fit, causing more tears to stream down his cheeks from the force. “Ok, I’ll be right back, alright?” Oscar asked, waiting for Lando to nod before he exited the room, taking two stairs at a time. Sure, he’d seen plenty of people sick before, but Lando seemed to be in so much pain. His face would screw up painfully with each cough. Even his breathing had started to sound painful. His chest wheezing with every breath. 

When Oscar made it to the bottom of the stairs he stood there lost. Shit, I don’t know where anyone’s room is. He didn’t want to go banging on every door until he found Max, but if that’s what he had to do to make sure Lando was alright he would. Just as Oscar moved to go down the left hallway a voice broke the silence, making him jump. 

“Oscar?” 

Oscar spun around, nearly giving himself whiplash. Seb stood there, wet rag in hand and a confused look on his face. “What are you doing down here? You should be sleeping.” 

Oscar stood there, all words escaping him before a harsh cough flooded down the stairs. 

“Wha–” 

“It’s Lando,” Oscar rushed out. “He-he’s sick. Or, I don’t know but he won’t stop coughing. He said it hurts so I told him I’d go get Max for him but…” Oscar trailed off. Seb seemed to understand that he didn’t know his way around yet so he wasn’t sure where Max’s room was. 

“That’s sweet of you Oscar, but let’s not worry about Max.” Seb moved around him, already halfway up the stairs before what he said had registered in Oscar’s brain. 

“What? But Lando wanted–” 

“I know, but he always wants Max. Never met clingier siblings than those two.” Seb had made it to the top of the stairs. He entered the room, eyes immediately landing on Lando who was still sitting in the middle of his bed. “Oh, you poor thing.” Seb walked over to him, pressing the back of his hand to Lando’s forehead. “Shit, he’s really warm.” Oscar stood by the door, lost and unsure how to help. 

“But you can fix him, right? Like you fixed Logan.” 

 Seb glanced at him. “Well, one, these are completely different circumstances, and two, Logan doesn’t have an autoimmune disease.” 

“What does that–” 

“It basically means he gets sick much easier and much worse than the rest of us.” He paused, using his hand to wipe away the tears clinging to Lando’s cheeks. “Oscar said that you said ‘it hurts’, where does it hurt?” 

Lando pointed to his chest, and then his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by another coughing fit. 

Seb pursed his lips together. “Ok, ok shit.” 

“What? What is it?” Oscar asked, getting increasingly more worried as the minutes passed. 

Seb sighed, “It might be pneumonia.” 

“Is-is that bad? I don’t know what that is.” Oscar’s voice was becoming more panicked, mind racing.

“Well, it’s not great. He’ll take much longer to recover. Depends on how bad, but could be a few weeks to even a few months. We don’t have any more antibiotics so we’ll have to treat it without meds.” 

“Can’t you go get more?” 

Seb shook his head, “That’s why they were in the woods today. They were supposed to go to the local apothecary and stock up on meds but apparently they weren't home.” Seb sighed, eyes moving from Oscar back to Lando who was half leaning into his hand, nearly asleep. “He wasn’t even supposed to be out there today. It was just supposed to be Max and Charles, but he had begged and begged, said he’d be fine, and was completely recovered from his last illness. I should have listened to Max.” 

Oscar stood there, unsure what to say. He anxiously fiddled with the drawstrings of his borrowed sweatpants. “Should we wake Max?” As if Lando had heard him, he startled out of his half-asleep state and started aggressively coughing. His chest heaved as cough after cough ripped from his lips. 

Seb quickly moved, using one hand to rub Lando’s back and the other to feel his temperature again. “Fuck, I think he’s getting warmer. Shit, ok yeah, we need to get Max.” 

“Should…” Oscar motioned towards the door. 

“No,” Seb shook his head. “You don’t know where any of their rooms are. Here, just stay with Lando and make sure he keeps breathing, ok?” Oscar nodded and traded spots with Seb who quickly exited the room, nearly running down the stairs. Oscar stood next to Lando who drowsily leaned into him. His eyes had started to water again from the harsh coughing. Oscar stood there silently, listening to Lando’s ragged breathing and harsh coughs. 

Soon the sound of frantic footsteps broke the silence. The whole house seemed to be awake. Seb’s voice throwing orders around and the sound of heavy footsteps running up the stairs filled the air. Max skidded to a stop at the door, having run up the stairs with Charles close on his heels. When he spotted Oscar his frown deepened. He made a shooing motion and replaced Oscar, sitting down on the bed instead of just standing by it. 

Charles glanced at Oscar, giving him a small smile before joining Max. He mumbled softly in French, reaching out to card his hand through Lando’s sweaty curls. Lando leaned into it, blinking open his watery eyes and shivering. 

“Are you cold?” Max asked, “Do you want me to go get you one of my sweatshirts?” Lando shook his head, grabbing Max’s hand, silently begging him not to leave. 

The sound of more footsteps broke the silence. Lewis and Seb entered the room, hushed whispers coming to a stop when their eyes landed on Lando. 

“Hey buddy,” Lewis said, stepping closer and ruffling Lando’s sweat-damped curls. Seb held out the glass of water towards Max. 

“He needs to drink this. If he gets dehydrated we’ll have ourselves a whole other set of problems.” Max nodded, accepting it with a small ‘thank you’ before turning back towards Lando. 

Lewis turned towards Oscar, expression sympathetic. “Do you want to go sleep in one of our rooms? It won’t be very quiet in here for a while so you could go sleep in one of our beds or the living room with Logan. Kimi’s starting a fire so it’s pretty warm down there.” 

Oscar took a moment to respond, unsure. “Ummm,” 

“Most of the house will be awake now, but the younger ones like Alex and George are going to go back to bed since they can’t really help out, you’re welcome to do the same thing. You must be exhausted after yesterday and hardly getting any sleep.” Seb said.

Oscar’s eyes flickered towards where Lando was surrounded by Max and Charles. Charles was rubbing his back while Max was trying to convince him to drink some of the water. Seb was right, there wasn’t anything for him to do here. He’d only be in the way, and Logan probably needed him. 

“Ok,” Oscar said. 

“Ok?” Seb asked, eyebrows raised as if he had expected Oscar to put up more of a fight. Oscar nodded, Lewis moved towards him offering to help him get set up in the living room and saying that he would see what they had left for medicines. 

Oscar gave Lando one last glance, an odd ache in his chest. He’d only just met Lando, but for some reason, he’d felt the need to bundle him up in a blanket and protect him from all the bad things the world had to offer. If only he could protect him from this sickness.

If only. 

[ink-the-artist]

i am not an animator but the few animations i have made it really does feel like magic when it comes together. i used to think the way disney (especially older disney) talked about their animation as magical that they were being cheesy and sentimental but after actually trying it myself i totally get it. seeing all the pictures you drew come to life at the end it feels like it has its own soul or something

[xxplastic-cubexx]

this cliff took more lives than i could on my own im losing it

[pennaraptor]

using VERY exaggerated motions currently and taking a lot of patience on my part, but very gradually his rate of correct to incorrect/random frustrated attempts is shifting. he caught onto spinning very quickly but (largely due to my ineptness at training) its been a lot more confusing for him to grasp the difference between being cued for a certain direction. but i managed to get him on video when he was having a good session

[sirfrogsworth]

How do you take a photo of time?

I've been watching the track events at the Olympics since I was a wee lad. It was a tradition in our family. We'd gather around our ancient low-definition 19 inch CRT television and watch tiny blobs compete against other tiny blobs and root for our country.

It was a bit like watching YouTube on your phone in 144p.

Several heroes emerged.

Jackie Joyner-Kersee was amazing.

You can't forget about Flo-Jo.

And then the Olympics decided NBA players were allowed in the competition.

Which formed... The Dream Team.

Was this fair?

Well... they won each game by an average of 44 points.

So... no. It was not fair.

Though it became more fair as time went on.

But, umm... yeah. The other teams looked like the Washington Generals and the US looked like the Harlem Globetrotters if they stopped screwing around half of the game.

But my absolute favorite Olympian was a runner named Michael Johnson.

He was cool as heck.

For one thing... gold shoes.

But he also had this crazy, upright, Tom Cruise-ish sprinting style that just made him look like a running robot on the track.

And in the 1996 Atlanta games he just trounced EVERYONE. I mean, it wasn't even close.

Yikes. Those losing blobs are probably really embarrassed.

Last night I decided to invigorate my nostalgia and watch the track events again. And I got to see one of the wildest races in history.

It didn't even last 10 seconds but it was one of the most exciting sporting events I've ever witnessed. Almost every runner won the race.

After I saw that initially, I was like... who the heck won???

Even in slow motion I wasn't sure.

This was one of the closest finishes in history. There has never been a race where all 8 runners were within this margin.

The arena was silent as the winner was being confirmed. The runners just kind of paced around waiting for official word. My best guess was the Jamaican runner, Kishane Thompson. But then the loudspeaker announced Noah Lyles.

The last tiny morsel of American pride burst out of me with a big "Wooooo!"

I forgot what it was like to be proud of my country. I wish it happened more often. But this young man, despite being last place in the first 3rd of the race, turned on the afterburners and won in a photo finish.

And that's when my inner nerd took over.

Because when they showed the photo finish image, it looked super weird.

Why is the track white?

Why do all of the runners look all warpy like that QWOP game?

So I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out.

Photo finishes are actually fascinating. The first photo finish captured the end of a horse race in 1890. But that was mostly luck and timing. The actual photo finish mechanisms weren't used until 1937.

Originally they would film the finish line through a physical slit.

And the first horsie head that appeared in that slit would be the winner. This technology ended a huge aspect of corruption in horse race fixing almost overnight.

But we have come a long way since then. And I'd like to introduce you to the Omega Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate.

This slow motion camera sits fixed on the finish line of every race. The concept of the photo finish has remained remarkably similar to the 1930s approach. The camera sensor is specially designed to only record a vertical slit.

Only the finish line itself is actually captured.

And because it limits what it records to only that slit, it can capture 40,000 frames per second to get amazing temporal resolution.

So why don't the photo finishes just look like, well... this?

That is because the camera takes a picture of time more-so than dimensional space. I guess it would be more accurate to say it *assembles* a picture of time.

As the runners cross the finish line, the camera combines all of the little strips of pictures into a single image.

It's almost like if you tried to reassemble a piece of paper after it had been shredded.

Imagine each strip of paper is a picture of ONLY the finish line, just at a slightly different point in time.

What if someone stopped on the finish line and didn't move... what would that look like?

Once they got there, the same part of their body would just be repeated.

So the right side of the photo finish picture represents earlier in time and it just assembles the image strip by strip as time passes and you literally get a picture of time itself.

NEAT!

Okay, but how do they determine the winner from the photo finish?

I mean, that shoe looks like it is ahead of Noah Lyles!

Clavicles!

The IAFF rules state the foremost part of the torso must cross the finish line first. And the endpoint of the torso is the outer end of the clavicle.

So if you get this bone across the finish line first, you win the race.

Two more fun facts!

The start of the race is actually just as carefully timed as the end of the race. There are sensors in the starting blocks of each runner.

The starting gun also has an electronic sensor.

They have determined the fastest a human can react to the sound of a gun is roughly 100 milliseconds. So if you start running before 100 milliseconds they know you didn't actually hear the gun, you just got antsy and started running too early.

And the final fun fact...

Did you notice the Omega logo at the top of the photo finish?

That isn't superimposed or added after the fact. That is captured by the camera.

But if this image is composed only of tiny little slivers, how did they get the Omega logo to show up?

That is a little display. And it is synchronized with the Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate to show a little sliver of the Omega logo for each frame captured.

So when the final image is stitched together, it looks like a cohesive logo at the top of the photo.

Pretty clever, Omega!

[daemonbrain]

Part 2

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone. 

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter. 

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty. 

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job? 

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.