#because they are either lazy or have never been expected to do something they don't want to do

[inmh01]

I’ve worked retail and food service for a decade, and so I say this with both love and experience:

For every retail/service worker that’s come by their “fuck it, these places don’t pay me enough to be loyal” attitude honestly, there’s ten lazy, spoiled assholes who sign up for a job and then act like they’re being persecuted when they’re expected to do that job.

And I feel like people should remember that before they blindly believe every one-sided TikTok of a worker complaining about their workplace. Because I’ve known Fuck-Ups with zero self-awareness or accountability that would gladly tell everyone that our workplace was the worst ever.

Our workplace was not the worst ever, sweetheart, you’re just an irresponsible twenty-something that made a choice to get ass-blasted drunk the night before an 8:00AM opening and then whined when no one sympathized with you.

[stvrnzcherries]

WHEELS ON THE BUS

m. sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: You and Matt have always been best friends, you never felt something else but an incident while you both were in a road trip together might change that.

warnings: soft dom!matt, smut, pet names, use of y/n, foreplay, p in v, degrading kink, sort of breeding kink, edging, bulging, swearing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (don't).

a/n: After MONTHS of being a lazy ass and also after a TIGHTT week of anxiety, I’m back and better than ever 🤍 expect more coming soon, I appreciate y’all.

Based on this request!

not proofread!

౨ৎ

The cold breeze tingled Matt’s skin, sending shivers down his spine as he kept piling up everyone’s bags inside the car truck, the blue hour of the sky created this dark yet comforting panoramic view of it.

A voice in the distance caught his attention “Wait up!” You taunt, running down to your best friend as a heavy bag carried behind you. You agreed a few days ago to go on this trip with Matt and his family since he was practically begging you to spend an entire week with him; even though he knew you hated the beach, you hated feeling sticky or feeling a singular drop of sweat on your skin, being in heated places was a thing that always drove you to the edge and you would get in a bad mood the whole day because of it.

It was just too excruciating, but you accepted just because your best friend didn't want to spend an entire week without you yet he liked seeing you suffer since he had always known your hatred towards the beach.

“Here ya go,” You said as you lifted the bag with all the strength you had and handed it to Matt, he just looked at you, a cocky smile forming on his lips as he placed your bag on the last spot in the trunk. “You excited?” Matt asked, closing the trunk before his eyes returned to bore into yours waiting for an answer, “If you mean I'm excited about torturing myself an entire week on the beach, then yeah.” You replied sarcastically gaining a chuckle from him, “It’ll be fun, I promise.” He said, patting your head gently.

“I highly doubt that being in the hottest weather ever is fun, Matthew.” You said, sticking your tongue out, he just chuckled and messed your hair a bit, his hand gently moving to cup your cheek as he pinched it delicately, “Thank you for coming either way.” He smiled gently and you returned it.

The eye contact lasted for a few seconds before the lousy voice of Chris caught each other’s attention, you both turned around to see him walking towards you “Time to hit the road!” He says with a big smile as he places his arm around you, he looks at Matt and then at me, “Are you guys ready?” He asked to which you replied with, “Heck yeah! Let’s hit the road!” A bright smile smeared your face as you, Matt, and Chris made your way to the backseats.

When Chris stopped taking hold of you to go to the other side of the car you were left with Matt inside the car and his face giving slight concern. “What’s wrong?” You ask furrowing your brows slightly.

That is when you realize what it was, the backseat had no space left for you, and neither Matt nor you knew what to do, “Fuck.” He muttered to himself looking back to where his brothers were situated and back to you with an awkward face.

Matt thinks for a second before parting his lips to let out the sentence, “You could sit on my lap.” His palm softly patted his lap as he looked at you with a sly smile.

Your lips pursed into a thin line, the awkwardness getting the best of you as you got into the car and carefully down your weight on your best friend’s lap. To which he just placed his hands around your waist and gently sat you down on his lap. “Relax, you’re not heavy at all.” He whispers in your ear as the car door closes.

You looked back at him and smiled shyly, trying to hide the fact that he was caressing the sides of your hips with his thumbs.

The first two hours of the road were completely normal, you and the triplets had a karaoke session for half an hour, and the rest was to talk about what you guys wanted to do as soon as you arrived and enjoy some snacks. But now you guys were only an hour away from the beach house that the triplet's parents rented.

Nick and Chris had fallen asleep for a few minutes and you could also feel your eyes heaving from the energy you wasted the first two hours throughout the way, also the fact that you didn’t sleep that well last night. Matt on the other hand was with his headphones on the minute Chris and Nick closed their eyes.

You patted Matt’s lap to get his attention, you looked back at him as soon as you did that he took his headphones off “You okay? Need something?” He asked with slight concern.

“No, I’m fine, I was just wondering if I could get comfortable so I can sleep while we get there.” You said with a little smile plastered on your face as he nodded.

Matt spread his legs slightly so you could have more space to get as comfortable as possible, you rocked your hips a little to the sides so your lower back could be resting on Matt’s chest level or closer to it, and you rested your head on his shoulder as he put his headphones back on.

Your eyes closed so easily, and your mind drifted to your dreams so swiftly that you couldn’t even imagine.

Thirty minutes left inside the car, you were still in the embrace of Matt’s arms, your position shifting once in a while.

And how clueless of Matt for not thinking how touch-deprived he is, every time you switched your position while your slept you would move your hips or straddle his lap, making his dick twitch against his pants.

His breathing getting heavier, and his body was shaking trying to contain the pure excitement that just the smallest friction could do to him. He felt so guilty for his body reacting and finding pleasure in something meaningless; something completely common and normal.

He closed his eyes, trying to contain these feelings towards you, towards your body to stop the erection that he sooner or later would have to fix all by himself.

And also wish he could arrive as fast as he could to the fucking beach house.

After what seemed like a good twenty minutes of sleep, you finally opened your eyes carefully, trying not to get blinded by the rays of sun that were passing through the window, the change of scenery makes your stomach flutter with joy as you see the ocean peek through the reliefs of the street.

You turned your head to peek at your best friend who seemed to be sleeping, his dark circles showing off a little bit more with this new change of lighting that the car has. You smiled to yourself as you saw your best friend opening his eyes quickly when he felt your gaze on him. “Did you get to sleep for a bit?” You asked, your throat was dry and raspy, nonetheless, a good cup of water could fix it as soon as you guys arrived at the beach house you were staying in.

Matt nodded, his eyes looking away from yours as he changed his position a little, making your weight lift a little, a small poking sensation in your inner thigh as he did this action. Something felt off in your surface.

You looked down, scanning Matt’s lap to check if he had something in his pockets that could make this sudden change in position make you slightly uncomfortable.

Your eyes widened as you took a glance of what was the strange object poking your inner thigh, it wasn’t just an object it was more of a certain body part. You looked away in shame, forcing yourself to stare at the blankly looking headrest in front of you, your stomach feeling fluttered as you tried to stop thinking about what you just witnessed.

The beach house was beautiful outside, it was a two-story victorian summer house, with a small front porch with two wooden chairs and a tiny round wooden coffee table, the breeze hugging your skin nicely, everything seemed to be perfect, the weather in Long Island was just the perfect balance of not too warm and not too cold, it definitely felt like the summer vibes were there.

As you entered the house, your eyes were amazed by the interior, the walls were covered in this beautiful blueish floral wallpaper, the couches looked like they some sort of English sofas, and a small chimney facing a large path to the back porch of the house, the stairs that lead to the way to the different rooms where you would be staying in for the next week.

Matt steps beside you, glancing around the place, “Wanna share a room?” He asked nonchalantly as he looked at you, taking in all of your factions, you looked back at him “I thought you and Chris agreed on sharing the same room, though?” You retorted.

Matt brushed the strands of hair blocking his view, “Yeah, I thought so too until he decided that he now wants to share a room with Nick.” He sighed, “I think I’m going to go upstairs and shower and then take a nap, I feel like I haven’t slept in years.”

You nodded “Alright, I’ll catch you later.” You replied, giving a sly smile to him as he walked upstairs and disappeared out of your sight. Things have gotten awkward since you discovered the hard-rock erection he had back in the entirety of the ride. You didn’t say a word but interacting with him or even just looking at Matt made you nervous somehow.

Your mind kept racing with the thought of seeing his body react that way to you, does this mean he feels turned on by you? Should you do something about it?

A few minutes had passed and you explored the rest of the house already, you carried your bag in your left hand as you went upstairs, a room door slightly opened and a dim light reflected on the inside of it. You pushed the door gently, and the first thing you heard was the shower running down, Matt’s bag half-opened in the bed, you tossed yours to the other side, sitting down beside it, your head had a pounding headache that you couldn’t make it stop.

Scanning the room, you see the bathroom door halfway opened, the fog from the steaming water escaping through it, you could see Matt, his silhouette revealing the way his forehead was resting on the tiled wall of the shower, the water running down his back and cascading through his hair, his hands rubbing his face exhaustingly as he sighed in pure relief.

The way his muscles flexed each time he brushed his hair back was enough to make you soaking wet in your panties. You stood up, your steps closer and carefully just to get a better view of his silhouette.

You were there, your hand opening the door more, the squeaking sound blowing your cover because Matt looked right at you in the eye, the eye contact holding on for what seemed like an eternity. You shut the door and ran down to sit back on the bed.

Would it be worth it to risk it all?

Dawn arrives, you've been playing with Nick and Chris UNO matches for what seems like an hour now on the back porch of the residence, every match Nick either complained or Chris would make a mess and you guys would have to play all over again, that was until Nick threw a tantrum over him and they both went to their separate ways inside the house.

You were lying now on the couch of the living room, bored filling your senses, your phone not even making an effort to entertain you at all. You heard steps coming from the staircase, as you looked up you saw Matt, his hair was still a little wet and he looked like a brand new person in comparison to how he looked a couple of hours ago. “Hey, I’m going to drive around town, I was wondering if you would like to come with me?”

You stood up from the couch, “Sure! I was getting bored, so.” You both walked towards the front door, Matt opening it for you.

The town was almost like a sort of ghost town, with a few people walking down the sidewalk, and making their way to Amangasett beach. The lamp posts illuminated around with a tenuous yellowish light, the night sky revealing a pale moonlight. “Wanna go for a swim?” Matt’s voice takes you out of your trance.

“Yeah, I don't see why not.” You replied with a small smile as you moved to his seat and gave him a side hug, to which he just chuckled and kept his eyes on the road.

Matt parked the car in an almost empty zone at the beach, the place seemed clear of big crowds, just a few couples sitting by the edge of the ocean but no one else. As you got out of the car you took off your shirt and shorts quickly, running down to the ocean as Matt followed your pace, the both of you giggling.

Your body trembled when your toes grazed lightly on the water, the adrenaline and tingling sensation making your heart flutter anxiously, you kept sinking your body until half of your abdomen was fully covered by the ocean, you looked at the moon taking in the sight of it until you felt cold fingertips touch your lower back. “I’m glad you came with us,” Matt said, his voice sounding so distant yet it had a hint of something else you couldn't fully recognize.

He spins you around by grabbing your waist, your eyes meeting his as he pulls you closer, your breaths mixing with each other’s as he takes the sight of your face, his hands still positioned on your lower back. His eyes shone brighter than ever before. “I mean, that’s what friends are for, right?” You looked for a split second at Matt’s lips, his tongue sticking out to lick the inner corners of his lips before parting them.

“Yeah, friends…” He breathed out, his words laced with that unknown feeling you can’t recognize, his eyes giving a glint of lust as he looked at your lips.

Your mind drifts to the moment you both are in the car, his hard rock erection making you question whether it’s worth it to risk the friendship or pretend like it was a little accident, even though it wasn't little at all.

Or the shower incident, nothing of what happened today was by accident, there was not even a chance that it was.

Your attention gets drawn by his breath getting closer to your ear, his voice carefully whispering his words “What you thinking ‘bout?”

You licked your lips, your voice trembling and your words slipping out of your mouth sloppily “Nothing…w-why?” your lips pressing together as his breath reached down your jawline, his lips grazing the fine line of it teasingly, a low dark chuckle getting out of his mouth when he saw you shiver by the smallest contact.

“Remembering what you saw in the bathroom, hm?” His lips pressed tentatively, traveling from your jawline to your neck, you titled your head to the side to grant him more access, his hand sneaking down to grab your throat delicately as he kept abusing your sweet spots. His other hand caresses your waist.

“I don’t have a clue of what you’re talking about…” You breathed out, breathless whimpers coming out of your mouth as Matt kept doing his attack all over your throat, leaving hickeys and wet kisses all over. He hums, Matt’s vibrant voice coursing through your body “Really? How funny, considering you even tried to be sneaky about it.” He says as he returns to kissing your jawline, then your chin, and then he gets to your lips, tempting you to make the move, his teeth biting your lower lip gently.

“Don’t act so innocent now, you were sneaky about your little accident back in the car too.” Your words shut out with such confidence, you looked at him, your eyes piercing his as you took in his reaction of pure shock; his lips parted and that was the chance you decided to get to kiss him. The both of you synchronized perfectly as if your lips were meant to be for his.

Your hands went directly to his chest, your fingertips doing small circles around his collarbone as he pulled you closer by your waist. Your noses were touching at this point and the kiss got more intense, the both of you roaming your hands all over each other’s bodies.

You were now lying down on the backseat of the car, your hand gripping Matt’s hand as he sucked your right nipple, his other hand playing with the left one, your back arched off the seat and your legs were wide open, fully unclothed now in the secluded space that he decided to take you to. Your eyes closed as you let the overwhelming pleasure take control of your body, his tongue swirling around your nipple, your breathless whimpers making Matt get harder beneath you with each passing second.

His kisses trailed to your belly, kissing it intently “I’m going to stuff this beautiful body of yours with my babies” A dark glint on his eyes as he ascended back to your face to kiss you. His hand traveled down to where your folds were, his fingertips adding pressure as he moved them in circles, causing you to gasp at the sudden wave of pleasure you were experiencing. Your hands flew to Matt’s biceps, your nails burying deep inside his skin as he kept getting you all worked up.

His lips rushed to kiss yours, this time more desperate and sloppier than ever as he kept adding more pressure on your sensitive nub, your moans getting louder as the knot in your stomach gets stronger. “m’ god” You babbled between kisses, your eyes closed as you take in all of the ecstasy.

“So close…” You breathed out, the knot snapping any second.

Then suddenly, the feeling stopped, completely gone.

You opened your eyes, Matt’s looking at you with a devious expression as he untied the lace from his shorts, the bulge of his dick very visible even though you are in an almost dark place. “What?” He asked, his head tilting to the side, a low chuckle as he spoke, “Wanted to finish?” You nodded, the desperation clear.

“Why would I let you finish if we haven’t even started? Hm?” He crawled back to be face to face with you, you felt his tip grazing your folds unintentionally, “Spread those legs wider for me, m’kay?” He said in a low voice, almost a whisper.

The desperation and adrenaline fuels your body, your legs spread wider enough to give him space between you, he positioned his tip in your entrance, edging you out even more until you had to practically beg to him. “Matt, please—“ you huff out at the undying desperation that your body was craving.

“Aw, look who’s getting frustrated now…” He coos, his left hand pumping his dick slightly before he slammed into you without warning, his movements frantic and hard, your head hitting the door slightly each time he pounded back inside you.

Your hands flew back to his biceps, gripping onto them for dear life as erratic moans emitted out of your mouth, his pace was nowhere close to being steady, it was sloppier as if he was already on the verge of getting on his own high too.

The tip of his cock was hitting that sweet spot of yours perfectly, making you salivate due to the incredible amount of intoxicating pleasure you were given in twenty minutes. Your mind felt fuzzy, this kind of pleasure was something that you’d stopped experiencing a long ago, your eyes crossing and shutting as you felt that sweet sensation of being closer, Matt abusing that spot deep inside you over and over again.

You couldn't even remember the last time sex felt this good, and never in a million years, you would’ve thought that your best friend would be the one to achieve that with you. Your thoughts stopped as soon as you felt his thumb on your tongue, indicating for you to suck it which you didn’t hesitate to be asked twice.

Your tongue swirled all over his thumb like a lollipop, getting it all wet as you felt the grunts and whines from Matt, the grip his other hand had on your hip getting tighter within two minutes. His pace not slowing down but getting ten times faster than it already was, the car shaking and your hands gripping the door to hold onto dear life.

Pornographic moans emitted out of your mouth as you felt that tight knot forming once again and getting closer and closer to snapping ferociously, your hand gripping tightly onto the seat as your eyes closed.

Matt’s placed his hand to grasp your chin, forcing you to look at him. “All that teasing to get dumb fucked by me?” He said, his voice losing power from time to time.

snap.

Your juices spurt all over the seat and coated Matt’s dick in a thin, sheer coat of hot cum. Moans emitted out of your mouth as your grip on the headrests of the car loosened up due to the lack of strength that your body was capable of holding up. Your legs are all wobbly and your muscles are sore from all the containment that they did.

At this point your mind was fuzzy, too dumb fucked to acknowledge that the well-known knot snapped already, your body too weak to keep upholding Matt’s pace as he kept pumping in and out constantly.

Not too long after, Matt came to his release too. Your juices and his combined deep inside you, he pulled out of you as he admired the conjoined trail of juices coating his shaft. His left hand immediately went deep inside you, making sure his hot seed was ‘secured’. He pulled his fingers out, a popping sound as he did so, and cleaned them off easily, admiring the rest of your body, a gleam on his eyes reflecting the lustful expression of being satisfied enough.

He pulled you close to his body, sitting you straight up as you both recovered, Matt trailing kisses all over your face and repeatedly saying “M’ love you” as he caressed your hair with ease.

Both of your chests were going up and down irregularly, trying to stabilize each other’s breathing back to normality.

Matt’s eyes shifted around the car, taking a look at the foggy windows, a sly smile smearing all over his face as he traced with one of his fingers the foggy window in front of both of you, tracing the words.

‘We just fucked :)’

You finished reading what he traced on the window and chuckled weakly as Matt looked proudly at his ‘work of art’.

౨ৎ

a/n: tysm for 600 followers, wtf I can’t believe we’re already 600 (Nick fic coming real soon as a 600 followers special). It’s funny how I can easily write shit about Chris or Nick but when it comes to Matt, this mf is the hardest person to ever write off 😭 love y’all

tag list: @sturniolossss @tillies33ssss @chrisloyalgf @alorsxsturn @sturnioloslurps @cindylcuwho @3mm4yung @chrissfavwh3re @blahbel668 @lov3bug @starsturns234 @junnniiieee07 @mstarniolo @sara2233445 @teenagetrash00 @mattsturnioloisbae @mbbsgf @thecynthh @braindead4l @freshsturns @lexisecretaccx @wh0resstuff @jnkvivi

[eufezco]

SUPER SHY - JOEL MILLER x FEM!READER

SUMMARY – when Joel's keeping you company while you're showering, he sees something he wasn't supposed to.

english isn't my first language <3 // this is pure SMUT

A/N – omg it's been so long but i literally have no inspiration so if anyone has any request... also, i've been writing for the walking dead, especially daryl, but that's still in my drafts because i don't know if there's anyone interested in that. ANYWAYS, i hope this isn't so bad

He didn't mind. He truly didn't care. He was sitting on the toilet, bent forward, with his elbows on his knees and one of his legs shaking out of impatience. It was true that he'd rather be doing other things but with a bit of luck you'd be done soon and he'd leave. Although he didn't have much to do either, he was sure they needed some last-minute people to patrol.

He had been sitting on that toilet every night for at least thirty minutes every time you took a shower. Since you lacked music, you needed some other type of distraction and Joel wasn't the best for it but it was your only option.

"What was the last movie you saw?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

"I'm sure you do remember, you are just too lazy to think. For me, it was Spiderman, my brother took me to the movies but I don't remember enjoying it. What was yours?"

"I think it was Catch Me If You Can."

"Never heard of that."

Of course not, he said to himself. The sound of falling water made your voice sound fainter so he had to readjust his position to hear you better. His back was now against the toilet, he ran his hands over his face. It was starting to get a little hot inside the bathroom as well. Joel looked in your direction, trying to understand what you were saying but quickly looked away. Joel closed his eyes tightly and then opened them wide again without knowing what to do. When he leaned back and looked in your direction, he expected nothing, only the curtain that was hiding you, but instead, he found a perfect view of your round and wet ass.

Joel swallowed nervously and shook his head, trying to erase that image from his mind, but it was so perfect and the water slid so easily down it. No, no, no, fuck he mumbled, massaging his temples. The way his teeth would sink into your skin there, and they would mark your soft skin just right.

"Are you okay?" You peeked your head through the curtain. Your brow furrowed as you saw him looking away.

He nodded.

"Can you pass me the bathrobe, then?"

Fuck, you were doing this on purpose, he thought. He stood from the toilet and you waited behind the curtains. You went out of the shower wrapped in the robe.

"I'll leave so you can change." He announced. His eyes briefly looked away and moved down to your breasts covered by your bathrobe, he could see how hard your nipples were and how the drops of water slid down your cleavage. You raised your eyebrows and Joel never looked you in the face again. He tried to get out of the bathroom, ashamed enough already, when you blocked his way with your body.

"I saw you looking at me, Joel. You won't get away so easily."

He didn't know what to say. Should he apologize? Should he leave anyway? He'd been looking after you practically since this started, since you two met in the woods, the least he could do was apologize for looking at you in such an inappropriate way.

"When was the last time you saw a naked woman?"

Your question caught him off guard. Joel shook his head and took his eyes off you, knowing beforehand what you were about to do. The bathrobe slipped off your shoulders and Joel closed his eyes, not even daring to look at your reflection in the mirror. You couldn't be doing this to him, he was not like the boys you'd been hanging out in Jackson.

"Look at me."

He shook his head. You told him again and this time his eyes laid on yours. You flashed him a smile, how innocent sweet Joel.

"I want you to look at my body, Joel."

Joel called your name, shaking his head again and swallowing nervously.

"I know you want to do it, I saw how you looked at me before. I want you too, but this isn't going to work if you can't even look at me."

His eyes shyly moved from yours to your breasts. He took a glance and closed his eyes. You smiled victorious. You guided one of his hands to caress one side of your body. Joel dared to look at the path his hand was making through your body, how soft the skin of your waist felt against his rough fingers.

You led his hand to cup one of your tits. Your nipple immediately became hard on contact with his palm and your pussy was already clenching around nothing. You'd dreamed so many times about how would his touch feel, and he was barely applying any pressure, nor squeezing it or pinching your nipple, he was just holding your tit in his hand.

Your hand pinched his chin and made him look up at you. His eyes were bright, darker than you'd ever seen them before, and his pupils were big. You fluttered your lashes, inocently and your thumb caressed his lips. You came close enough to his mouth for your breaths to become one, you could feel his beard tickling your lips. You ran your tongue over his lips and he leaned in for a kiss, his lips were so soft and gentle against yours compared to the thick hair of his beard.

You pushed his shoulders and made him sit on the toilet again. His cock was so hard and ready for you, already leaking precum against the fabric of his underwear. He was still unsure about this, not because he didn't want to do it but because you were so beautiful and he was an old man that doubled your age, and his cock was so hard and already throbbing against his stomach, it was almost embarrassing.

Joel put both of his hands on your hips when you placed one of your legs on each side of his body. You wrapped your fingers around his hard cock, giving it a couple of strokes and getting multiple groans from him. You could feel him twitching between your fingers. He was big, some black hairs like the ones on his head decorated the base of his cock and a prominent vein ran down its length, but the most important thing was, that he was thick. You could barely take it all in one hand, and you knew the stretch was going to be perfect.

You lined up his cock at your entrance, allowing only his tip to go inside you, and then you gently lowered yourself. One of your hands moved down to your clit and rub it to get used to the sensation of Joel filling you. He gave you all the time you needed but you were tight and he could feel his cock jumping inside you. Every time your fingers rubbed your clit your cunt clenched and squeezed him even harder.

"You good?" Joel asked, caressing one of your cheeks with the back of his hand. You nodded. "You sure? Oh, fuck-" He moaned when you started rolling your hips against his. Your movements were very delicate as your fingers continued working on your bundle of nerves, helping you to get even wetter and making it easy for you to take him. Joel could feel you dripping down the inside of his legs.

"Yeah, that's a good girl, fuck-" His eyes were locked on where you two connected although he could only see how his cock had completely disappeared inside your pussy. He was enjoying the way your tiny fingers played with your clit.

"Still good?" He asked again and you nodded. You suddenly stopped the movement of your hips against his and he was afraid that you'd hurt yourself. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders, getting a firm grip there to help you lift your hips from his lap. You pulled him out of you, his cock glistening with your juices, and then you dropped yourself back down onto his cock.

A sharp moan came out of Joel's throat and his fingers sank into the flesh of your ass. You repeated that again and again, finally getting used to Joel's width and to the sting of him going inside you deeper and deeper each time. Your hands moved from his shoulder to his face, cupping both of his cheeks and guiding his lips to yours, the sounds that escaped your mouths became one. His hands massaged your breasts shamelessly this time, his palms rubbed your nipples while you leaned your head back, giving him perfect access to your neck.

"I can't- I can't anymore." You cried out, your movements becoming more and more sloppy.

"It's okay. You did well." He gasped, his hands on your hips slowly guiding your movements, giving you enough time to recompose. Joel helped you to wrap your legs around his body, so that when he stood up from the toilet, he could move you with him, his dick still balls deep inside you.

Joel sat you on the sink and he splayed your legs completely open. You sat up on your elbows, looking through your eyelashes as he was admiring how your pussy sucked him. His dick slid inside you easily, his thrusts were stronger than you thought they would be and they made your whole body shake with them. Your throat felt dry and the burn in the pit of your stomach felt warmer and warmer. You dug your nails into his shoulders and pulled him to you, chest to chest.

Your hips rolled involuntarily against his, and you nodded to everything he muttered at you through gritted teeth. Yes, you were a good girl. Yes, you were his good girl. Yes, your pussy belonged to him. Yes, you were about to cum. Yes, you wanted his cum, and yes, you wanted it inside. And who was he to deny you your wishes? With a groan coming straight from his chest and your legs shaking and closing around his body, you both came seconds apart.

Joel stayed inside you, his head resting on your shoulder as you played with the hair on the back of his neck. You giggled. "Look at the shy one."

[icepip]

mdni/18+. satoru x male reader. mutual masturbation. oral (reader rec.) not proofread and typed on the app so there's probably a lot of mistakes lol.

best friend satoru who insists on watching porn together, says it'll be a bonding experience or some bullshit. you deny, deflect, and distract as much as you can but it's only a matter of time before you run out of excuses. for better or for worse, satoru is persistent.

he's excited when you finally agree, bright blue eyes sparkling with an unfamiliar glow. it's captivating and despite all logic pointing to the weirdness of this, you find yourself unable to resist satoru.

you're sitting on his bed next to him, just enough space between you so you're not touching. that would be too much, surely. that would be crossing a line that you wouldn't be able to uncross.

your palms feel sweaty as satoru types on his laptop, the soft light reflecting off his eyes as he searches for a video. something simple and hot, he told you. you had no idea what he would categorize as that, considering his concept of normalcy seemed skewed. most friends don't do this. but satoru, apparently, does.

the doubt in the back of your mind seems to grow, but before you can say anything, satoru settles the computer back down on his bed.

"this is perfect." and you recognize that voice — he's planning something. he looks at you with that stupidly perfect smile and you feel your resolve crumble before you. "you ready?"

its awkward. it's so painfully awkward and you feel weird because here you are, sitting next to your best friend, watching some shitty porn (sorry, satoru, but you have horrible taste) and a bulge is forming in your pants. your stupid dick is reacting to the sounds that echo around the room, to the sight of that woman on her knees as she worships this man's cock. sucking and licking and slurping and kissing and you never knew there could be that much spit from one person.

you steal a glance at satoru. his eyes are wide, practically glued to the screen as he watches the video. his tongue darts out to lick at his lips and you hate that your gaze falls to his mouth because now you can't seem to look away. you always knew satoru was attractive, you could admit that. people practically threw themselves at his feet as soon as he walked in the room. (less people stuck around when he opened his mouth, but that's besides the point.)

he had the perfect pretty face, not too sharp but not too soft, either. striking features with his ocean blue eyes and bright white hair that had heads turning. satoru had the confidence, too. he seemed to wear anything effortlessly, never spending too much time on his appearance because he already looked good.

he moves his hand, squeezing at his crotch, hissing softly at the much needed relief. you feel your own cock twitch at the sight.

"fuck, that's hot," your best friend says, eyes still on the video and you realize you don't even know what he's referring to. you haven't been watching for a while.

satoru pulls at his zipper, freeing his dick and wrapping his hand around it. it's pretty, too, but what else did you expect?

"what are you doing?" stupid question. your face flushes with warmth as he laughs softly.

"what? don't tell me you thought we'd just sit here?" his long fingers stroke his shaft, up and down, up and down, in a lazy rhythm. "c'mon, man, it's fine."

it's far from fine but it'd be even worse to sit there and not masturbate, too. you try to focus on the porno playing, keep your eyes trained on the girl bouncing on the guy's dick, as you shimmy the band of your pants down enough to grab your cock. your skin is practically burning, heat flooding your body and all you want is some relief. you're embarrassed at the low moan that leaves your throat but satoru doesn't say anything so it must be okay.

it's quiet between the two of you, the occasional grunt or sound of spitting into a hand the only thing that indicates the other is there. ignoring satoru becomes easier the longer you watch the video, the longer your hand is stroking at your length. you're focused on you.

but every good thing must come to an end and the girl gets up and the guy finishes inside her mouth and on her face. you didn't cum yet but you think that it might be a blessing in disguise.

until satoru comments.

"shit, i wanna do that. can i suck you off?" he's still fisting his cock, the head an angry red when he pulls the foreskin back.

"what?"

"i wanna make you cum with my mouth." satoru says it like it's a normal thing to say, like he's telling you what he's craving for dinner. it drives you crazy.

his mouth is so wet and warm around you, his lips parting enough to take your tip in between them. white lashes flutter shut against pink cheeks, a low hum vibrating through him at the taste of your precum. your fingers twitch at your sides, the need to grip onto something overwhelming you as he slides down another inch.

you grunt when he hollows his cheeks and sucks, hips bucking up from the sensation. it feels so good. satoru pulls off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your cock to his smirk.

"you like this?" he presses kisses along your length, your precum smearing across his face and leaving a glistening trail.

"y-yeah," you swallow, your voice sounding wrecked already. "you're doing, uh, you're doing a good job."

he preens at the compliment and take you back in his mouth, copying what the woman did on the porno earlier. it's sloppy and he's obviously lacking the experience she did, but you certainly aren't complaining. satoru chokes a bit as he takes more of your cock, tears pricking at his eyes and you realize how pretty he looks like this.

before you can stop yourself, your fingers thread through his disheveled hair, pulling softly as he swallows around your aching cock. satoru moans, his hips rutting against his bed.

"satoru," you warn, your orgasm building as he starts to move faster and faster. "i'm gonna — gonna cum."

it doesn't take long before you do and satoru sputters as your release floods his mouth, sticky white dripping from your cock as he pulls off. he coughs, not used to the feeling, but he recovers quickly, smiling at you with your cum still on his lips.

"we should have bonding time more often."

[watercurtaincave]

Sun wukong dating headcanons? ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

𖤓 !! — I [love] you like the sun! Sun Wukong (LMK) / reader

𖤓 !! — For as long as you knew Wukong, there has been this odd constant about him; and it wasn't the fact that he took everything, seemingly, at face value and joked about a lot of what he was doing (whether he knew what he was doing or not). No, that was just something you come to accept of Wukong, it was the fact that he hated to be alone. For as much as he puts up a front, deeming he is okay alone and he doesn't need anyone by his side, you knew the opposite was true. It always had been; Wukong just wasn't one who could talk about his emotions in a proper manner, and you guessed it was due to the fact he had so many apologies he could not give.

𖤓 !! — Or maybe they were apologies he just can't give due to his own stubbornness and pride, either way for as much as he hated being alone you also knew Wukong hated hurting his friends. Despite the fact that he tends to do it a lot without realizing it. Time and time again he will just get so absorbed within himself, within trying to correct a problem (he most likely caused) and trying to protect his friends that he ends up hurting everyone else instead. From the brotherhood to his student, Wukong has never learnt how to talk to people. Nevertheless, you would suspect he has a habit of thinking if he where to tell people how he was actually feeling they would think different of him; possibly less, possibly weaker.

𖤓 !! — Oh, for how much you love Wukong he always seemed to burn everyone next to him. That's why you have to take a little extra care of his heart, and of him. For despite how long you know him, it'll take a hot minute before he realizes that he's as stuck with you and you're stuck with him.

𖤓 !! — No literally, you're both stuck with each other and there's no getting out of it.

𖤓 !! — You were first introduced to Wukong through the whole godly latter, that and by what MK, Mei, Tang, Chang'e and Ne Zha has told you about the proclaimed Great Sage, Equal to Heaven. You may or may not have spoken to Macaque once or twice as well before you ever met MK's mentor, which really stuck wrong with you at first. If you were meeting one of this "Great Sage's" enemies before you met the "Great Sage" himself, then what did that say about the "Equal to Heaven", huh? That he couldn't be bothered to be around to protect MK? That he's too lazy sleeping somewhere on a fluffy cloud to get up and kick his emo cousin's ass? Yeah, you had been really bitter towards Wukong at first. Even stand-offish when you first met him.

𖤓 !! — Even more creeped out when he used to stare at you for no reason, holding this odd look in his eyes. You had a feeling he wanted to say something, something that seemed to really bug him because even MK pointed out how weird his staring habit was. But he never did. He always kind of bit his tongue and tried to stay his distance from you.

𖤓 !! — You kind of noticed that rather quickly. I mean, how could you not notice when Sun Wukong would dance around MK and Mei to get away from you whenever you walked over. Or how he suddenly went quiet, like he was trying to disappear, when you pipped in on a conversation. Or the way he would actually disappear whenever when you came by and make up some awkward excuse like he left the stove on at home or he needed to feed his pet bird.

𖤓 !! — "I don't even think he has a pet bird.." MK mumbled at that one, not having noticed that you had just walked into Pigsy's until you sat down next to Tang; Who greeted you accordingly with a smile. You simply smiled and nodded back. "Yeah, well what do you expect from a two-timin' schemer who always just happens to disappear when someone comes in." Pigsy commented, shooting his eyes towards you with a cock of his eyebrow. You couldn't help but give in an unamused look, MK and Mei quickly giving you very esthetic hellos. Yet they soon hushed as you shook your head, "If you're saying I had anything to do with the 'Great Sage' suddenly getting cold feet whenever I come by, I don't know what that's about-" "Yeah!" MK suddenly appeared at your side, Mei in tow, "Before we introduced them, the Monkey King said he never has met them before. I just think it's some weird god stuff, that or maybe he's always just conveniently busy when you come around." And with that MK shrugged, giving the group a small smile. "Yeah, no, I think there's more to it." Tang mumbled between slurping his noodles.

𖤓 !! — Yeah, no, I think there's more to it. Why did those words stick in your head? Yeah, no, I think there's more to it. What more could be to Monkey King, Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, have to avoiding you like you were a plague other than him just not liking you for whatever reason? I mean, you've heard all the stories that MK and Tang have dug up about the Monkey King and nothing really ever struck a cord in you. You've listened to them gush about this great hero, a powerful demon that has revealed and bested so many, and none of that gave off the energy that Wukong did when he was around you. So what is his deal?

𖤓 !! — Later that week, after a tired shift of serving costumers, you didn't have the energy to do much other than slug your way back to Pigsy's; And you couldn't help but half-pray to anyone that Wukong was there. "And then I was like!-" And yet you instantly knew the gods were not on your side that day when you heard the Monkey King himself boosting about another fight he conquered. Yet, by the sounds of it, this was an older fight. Not that you were surprised in any way, that was just how the Monkey king seemed to be. He would use voice-sound effects, as well as big dramatic motions, to show how he defeated whichever enemy he was fighting in his tale. All the while, you managed to slip into the shop and quietly sit next to an overly excited Tang (as MK and Mei were sitting front row to hear the story). Yet, just as Wukong was about to get to the climax his eyes met yours and he faltered; His mouth went dry as his whole dramatic disposition came to an abrupt halt. You swore it he looked at you like he saw a ghost, and something about this surely ticked you off. After a day of serving rude costumers and frantic mothers with missing kids, you were about two seconds from smashing Wukong's face into the table.

𖤓 !! — "What? Why do you always look at me like that?" You would retort to the Monkey King with a scrunch of your nose, folding your arms firmly across your chest. Despite the disappointment from Mei and MK seconds before, as Wukong had stopped his dramatic retelling, they paused upon hearing your voice and turned around. You were sure they now understood why Wukong had stopped so suddenly. "I don't look at you like anything," Wukong instantly tried to deny, throwing out a 'pshh' from his mouth and a dismissive wave to drive his claim. Though he turned his back towards you to check the fake watch on his wrist, "Oh, well you look at the time! My cat must be so lonely-" You were tired of his dodging act, "I thought it was a bird." "Well a king can't have too many animals!- pets?" Wukong shot back almost instantly and you swore you could see some sweat rolling down his hidden face. He rubbed the back of his head, keeping his eyes on everything but you. "Yeah, uh-huh, because all your pets looks so real when I went to your little cave of a home with MK that one day to babysit." You would cock an eyebrow up at Wukong, watching as he stiffened in place. You were sure he was glaring daggers at the ground, maybe even thinking of escaping with his fancy god-like magic, "Yeah, uh-huh, as I thought. You have no pets do you, Great Sage? So, do you mind telling me why you've been avoiding me?"

𖤓 !! — For as long as you knew Wukong, you never realized how long you had actually known him for. Centuries of memories you could no longer recall, countless lives that you never knew you experienced, and it all seemed such an artificial answer when it came from Wukong. It felt like another outlandish tale of half-truths he was feeding to you to keep some sort of peace. But it wasn't:

𖤓 !! — At the start of it all, you had been a goddess (immortal like the rest). You hadn't been anyone important, no one that the mortals would remember anyways, you were simply one of the maidens that picked the immortality peaches in the orchard. You had been one of the few immortals who caught Wukong as he stole a peach, and oddly enough (from his recounting) you had let him go. Which made him curious about you. All too curious for his own good. You both would spend evenings and nights in each other's company upon any private setting you could find. In the orchard, in a garden that was rarely occupied, in your own room even. You both talked about everything and nothing, spent evenings somethings just laying and enjoying each other's company. Yet you could not leave the Celestial Realm, you were not on the approved list to do so. And yet when Wukong had left his post to return to his kingdom he still made the dangerous journey to come see you. He tried to convince you to come down with him many times, to come see the mountain of flower and fruits with your own eyes. Even when you told him no, he continued to come back. Until one day he just decided to kidnap you entirely.

𖤓 !! — It wasn't a bad kidnapping, one more like you were about to face sever punishment for associating with the Monkey King despite the status you held among the immortals. He proclaimed he was your hero as Wukong explained how he busted into the room, sweeping you off your feet and escaping the guards that had been sent to capture the two of you. Though it had been the worst mistake of his life.

𖤓 !! — What he hadn't known at the time, what you hadn't know either, was that the Jade Emperor had cursed you upon your assignment to the Peach orchard. If you were ever to escape the confines of the Celestial Realm, if you were to ever eat any of the peaches unauthorized, your divinity would be stripped away as punishment. You would have basically fell from heaven, becoming a mortal, if Wukong hadn't been holding (kidnapped) you during the decent down. And the way he described the anguish you had gone through while losing your divinity, despite having explaining this while sitting on a wooden table in a small and cramp noodle shop, made some sort of shiver rush up your spine. He couldn't even look up at you, this time out of pure guilt, as he explained it all; "I watched as your divinity was stripped from you, balled up at your chest before shooting up towards the Celestial Realm. I heard the Jade Emperor's laughter, his maniatic laughter and dammit-" Wukong punched the table, and you were surprised he didn't break it with the force he had used, "-All I wanted to do was go up there and beat his ass for being so cruel to you; for making you endure so much pain..." And something inside of you told you, like it was some sort of faint whisper, that Wukong was tormented by the thoughts of your screams until this day. That no matter what he has gone through or what he will go through, your screams will be the one thing that truly shakes him to his core.

𖤓 !! — "Ever since that day everything felt like some corny mortal and immortal love story that's written about now-a-days." Wukong would explain as his eyebrows frowned together, "When you first died it hurt so much, I was tempted to go up to the Jade Emperor himself and force him to take my immortality to be with you. "I debated on that for years actually, yet none of my old friends would let me near the Celestial Realm. And so I kind of sat and waited, I didn't know what to do with myself and it felt like I was always going to miss a part of me forever. Corny for the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, I know!" Wukong smiled, trying to lighten the mood with his usual antics. Yet he flattened, "But.. it really felt like it. "Until I was on a mission one day and I saw you again and you didn't know me, and I knew you didn't, but you drew me in all the same and well I fell in love with you all over again. And you fell in love with me and that cycle kind of repeated itself..."

𖤓 !! — Wukong paused, a small frown grew on his lips. He seemed hesitant to continue his train of thought yet he took in a deep breath and let it go. "Well, until you told me to stop with this mad chase. You had found all of past life you's memorabilia and pictures in that big closet of important things I own... and you told me to move on. "And you told me if I ever find you again in the future to not pursue a relationship with you because. . . well you didn't want to see me hurt."

𖤓 !! — But after all these lives, after all the time you have known Wukong, you should have known better that he couldn't keep his mind from you no matter how hard he tried. He hated being alone as much as he hated this horrible cycle he's put you through, yet still in every life he has chosen you above everyone else. He continued to choose you and you continued to choose him.

𖤓 !! — And, hey, that has to mean something. . . right?

Home | Masterlist | Series Master list 𖤓 !! — all writing in this page belongs to @watercurtaincaves, please do not repost on other sites, plagiarize, or steal. Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[scary-grace]

Radio Silence - a Shigaraki x Reader oneshot

For the last year, your best friend has been somebody you've never met. When Tenko suddenly stops answering your messages, you don't know what to do. Canon, reader has self-esteem issues, 2.1k.

You’ve been avoiding your phone for what feels like days, but you know it’s been hours, or less. You hid it under a pile of clean clothes in your closet so you wouldn’t check it every five seconds. You muted all your alert sounds, except one. You gave yourself a long list of other things to do, hoping the tasks would distract you. But your mind always wanders, somehow, and it always wanders right back to what’s not happening. Every day for the last year you’ve been able to count on at least a message or two – and usually more – from a person you’ve never met face to face. And for the last three days, you haven’t heard from him once.

Tenko keeps weird hours. You know that. You know he goes dark for half the day or more at a time, and the one time you asked if he was okay, he went off on you for fifteen messages in a row. At first you thought it was because you’d gotten too familiar, made a conversation struck up in a Discord server into more than it was, but a week of shallow conversation later, you got a way-too-pissed message asking why you never asked how he was doing anymore. Tenko’s the king of mixed signals. You know that, too.

And at the same time, you know from the details he’s shared that he’s as far from okay as it’s possible to be. He’s sick a lot. He gets hurt a lot, and he won’t tell you how. Sometimes the anger pouring out of his messages scares you a little. And sometimes it’s validating, because you’re not okay, either. You’re angry, too. Sometimes the only thing that makes you feel better is knowing that you’re not alone in feeling that way.

You have been alone, though. The last three days, you’ve had nobody to talk to, and you’re angry at him for leaving you in the dark, for not just telling you that he was done with you. If he’d told you that, you could have gotten angry back, and maybe gotten a reason why he didn’t want to talk to you anymore. Instead you’re sitting here wondering what you did. Worrying that something happened to him. And then reminding yourself that nothing needs to happen to someone for them to want you gone. Everybody does, eventually. You aren’t worth sticking around for.

You knew that. You expected it. You just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

You can’t avoid your phone forever. Eventually you need it for something, so you dig it out, and you switch on all the alert sounds again. You’ve been through this before, and no matter how much it hurts that the person you’re closest to has ghosted you, the world’s not going to stop so you can collapse in a miserable, self-loathing heap. Life keeps moving, even when you don’t want to be part of it. You have enough shame left to prefer walking rather than being dragged along.

The days begin to add up, and you try to force Tenko out of your mind. It’s hard to do, because you used to tell him everything. You stop taking pictures of things, because you know there’s no one to send them to any longer, and every time you open up your messaging app, you see the last message you sent him, hovering like a bad dream at the top of the list. It seemed innocuous when you sent it, but when you look at it now, all you can think about is how stupid it is. No wonder he stopped talking to you. You’re useless.

Your quirk is boring. Most people’s quirks are, but you’re also lazy, so you didn’t try hard enough in school to make up for being useless that way, and you’re not pretty, either – not that it matters, he’s never seen what you look like – so there’s nothing redeemable about you. Maybe he made better friends. You were probably only a placeholder for him. You just wish he’d had the grace to tell you that ahead of time.

A week becomes two weeks. A month. A little more than that, and although other messages have pushed your thread with Tenko out of sight, he’s still on your mind. You haven’t blocked him yet, even though you should. One night after work, you sit down with a bottle of vodka and a shot glass, swearing you’ll drink until you work up the courage. But before you work up the courage to do that, you work up the courage for something else. There was a while where Tenko was sending you voice memos instead of messages, because he’d gotten hurt and he couldn’t type. You’ve heard his voice, but he’s never heard yours. You’re going to make him listen to it. At least once.

You press the voice call button and listen to it ring three times before it abruptly disconnects. Screw him. You call back again, and this time, it rings all the way through and invites you to leave a message. Yeah, you’ll leave a message. Your message to Tenko is “fuck you”.

But when the voicemail starts to record, the words come to a hard stop in your throat. “Hi,” you start. “It’s – um –”

You forget your own name, like a clown. You didn’t think you were that drunk. “It’s me,” you say finally. The call log will show your name. He’ll know who it is. “I haven’t heard from you in, like, a month and a half, and I miss talking to you. I really miss it. And maybe I talked to you too much, or something, and that’s why you left.”

Your throat starts to close. “I know it might not be that you left, but it’s easier for me to think that than to think that something bad happened to you. I don’t want something bad to have happened to you. So it makes more sense that it’s my fault. I wish you had told me what I did, so I could fix it for the next person I talk to. If there’s a next person. I’m running out of lives on this friendship thing. Or whatever this was. Sometimes I thought –”

Sometimes you thought what? Even drunk and teary and pathetic, you can’t get the words out of your mouth. It’s too embarrassing. The only thing worse than wanting something is getting caught doing it, especially something that you should have known better than to think you’d get. “It doesn’t matter,” you say instead, and then you sniffle audibly, because your nose is running. Gross. “Anyway. You’re probably not even going to listen to this when you get it, and that’s fine. I wanted to let you have it about what a dick you are for ghosting me, but I couldn’t even do that. I guess I just – I don’t know. I hope nothing bad happened to you and you’re just done with me. I hope it’s nice, wherever you are.”

That’s a good sentiment to end things on. But of course you have to fuck it up, because you’re you. “I really miss you,” you say, and you know the voicemail recording is going to capture exactly how choked up you are. “I wish you had just told me, Tenko –”

The answering machine cuts off. You’ve been babbling so long that you ran out of tape, and somehow that’s the thing that makes it all too difficult to bear. You burst into big, stupid tears, your face in your hands, and instead of drinking more or lying down or doing anything that makes sense, you put your down on the table next to the vodka and shot glass and cry yourself to sleep, like you’re in high school all over again, learning a lesson you should have learned the first time. You’re never going to be someone’s first choice. You aren’t even worth a real goodbye.

When you wake up again, you’ve cried yourself out, and you’ve got a splitting headache to go with a mouth that tastes like vodka and death. You should also have a crick in your neck from sleeping on your kitchen table, but you’re not on the kitchen table. You’re not on the floor, either, or on your couch. Your head is on a pillow that’s a lot nicer than the pillows on your bed, and there’s a blanket pulled awkwardly over you. The air smells different, too. The mold-flavored air in your apartment is usually enough to send you sprinting to the bathroom when you wake up with a hangover, but this air is clean.

Are you even in your apartment anymore? You sit up slowly and get the answer – nope, absolutely not, because the room you’re in is a bedroom that’s bigger than your entire apartment. It’s probably the nicest room you’ve ever been in, if you’re being totally honest. Did someone kidnap you? Did you die? The latter feels way more plausible to you. You’re not interesting enough to kidnap. But if you’re dead, it feels kind of unfair to have a hangover on top of it.

“Finally,” a familiar voice says, from somewhere nearby. “I thought you were never going to snap out of it.”

You whip around fast enough to make yourself dizzy. The bed you’re sprawled out on is big enough that you could fit another bed between you and the person on the other side of it. The person over there is in a leg cast, with bandaged hands and bandages on his face. You couldn’t recognize his face even if you could see it. But you do recognize his voice. You can’t believe your ears. “Tenko?”

“Yeah,” Tenko says, like any of this is normal. “I was wondering if you were going to call.”

“If I was going to?” you manage.

“Yeah. You ghosted me.” Tenko looks at you. You didn’t have a clear picture in your head of what he looked like, but this definitely wasn’t it – white hair, red eyes, a face completely covered in bandages. “That was kind of shitty.”

“You didn’t answer my message for months,” you protest. “That’s what ghosting is. Not me not calling you after you didn’t message me back.”

“Whatever,” Tenko says. You know it’s him. It’s his voice. But you can’t get over everything else that’s weird about the situation – the way-too-opulent room, the fact that Tenko’s clearly been beat to shit, the fact that you fell asleep at the kitchen table and woke up here. Wherever here is. “If you called earlier I’d have come to get you earlier.”

He was waiting for you to talk to him? You’re tempted to look up ghosting on your phone and make him read the actual dictionary definition, but whoever brought you here left your phone behind. And there’s a bigger question you need answered. “Where am I?”

“This is headquarters.” Tenko shrugs, then winces. Is his arm in a sling, too? “For the League of Villains.”

You cough. “Or maybe it’s not the League anymore. They’re changing the name,” Tenko continues. The League of Villains? “Anyway, it’s a lot nicer than our last place. Makes your apartment look like a hole in the ground.”

“How do you know what my apartment looks like?”

“How do you think I knew where to get you?” Tenko gives you a weird look. “You’re here now. I’ll take you to meet everybody once you’re sober.”

He settles down on his side of the bed, grimacing as he tries to get comfortable. It looks like he’s ready to take a nap. He has to be joking. He just kidnapped you, or had you kidnapped, and he’s with the League of Villains. He thought you were ghosting him the whole time instead of him ghosting you, and instead of explaining anything at all, he’s going to take a nap. The anger you should have expressed on the phone call comes up. “Who are you, Tenko?”

“That’s not my name,” he says. “I couldn’t tell you my real one before. But I guess –”

He reaches over to a nightstand and picks something up, and your heart skips six or seven beats in a row. Not in the good way. The way where you’ve missed a step on the stairs and you’re not sure you can catch yourself before it’s too late. Your online friend settles the hand over his face and glances towards you. “Shigaraki Tomura,” he says, a crooked smile showing through the bandages. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”

He closes his eyes and falls asleep without removing the hand. You’ve spent the last month and a half tearing yourself up over being ghosted. It never occurred to you that there might be worse things. Depending on what happens when Shigaraki Tomura wakes up, this could all too easily be one of them.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[willowser]

you don't know how much comfort your dragon king bkg drabble has given me ever since you posted it!! i keep reading it i love it sm 🥹

as it turns out, the man bakugou is — a bit harder to handle.

he sleeps like a heathen; you once thought the dragon bakugou to be a bit lazy, with how often he tended to curl up in the fields of grass, warm under the sun, but now — it would seem his little human form needs significantly less rest.

almost up all hours of the day, and when he does finally lay down, he's everywhere. a mess of limbs: one thrown carelessly out to the side and the other bent at an angle you can't believe doesn't hurt his joints. his head stays tucked into you somehow, either buried in your neck or pressed against your ribs — or you'll wake to find him nose-to-nose with you. he still snores like a dragon, however.

you're also beginning to wonder if there is a bottom to the pit of his stomach. he ate much before, whole fields of things, but you expected that appetite to dwindle, at least a little, now that his stomach has decreased considerably in size. and in number ? you're not even sure how many stomachs a dragon has; that's not something that was mentioned in the fairytales.

it burns through him quickly, gives him more energy than he needs, and it doesn't ever seem to affect his weight much. already, he's huge and thick with muscle and eating as much as he does never dulls the severity of his cut abdomen. not that you're looking all that much.

— not that you have a choice not to, as he seems to have little-to-no understanding of —

the door to the bathhouse kicks open, with enough force that you already know who it is without ever turning to look. you try not to shriek when you see him, because he seems to like that in some evil, impish way.

you've been alone to wash so far, thankfully, as the inn you'd managed to find was small and far enough out from the nearest kingdom that the occupancy was low — enough for you and your little brute.

the man bakugou comes to stand in front of the bath, blinking and huffing against the steam. finding clothes for him was — nearly impossible, and so the trousers you'd found hanging on someone's line outside fit above his ankles, a bit too tight around his waist. instead of a shirt, you've wrapped him in a scratchy linen, swaddled him up like a baby to cover the small smattering of scales that decorate his body, almost like freckles from the sun, though they gleam just as bright and red as they ever have. no matter his form.

a horn has started to sprout, on the right side of his forehead, and you've done your best to cover that, too.

you have no idea how long this man thing will last. if it's permanent or if he even has control over it. the last thing you need is for him to switch back, somehow, while you're in the middle of feeding him, absolutely demolishing whatever tavern you're in and calling all of king todoroki's guards to attention.

bakugou grunts, almost sleepy, and tosses a fat, weighty sack onto the edge of the bath. it jingles a certain jingle that makes your heart stop.

"oh, allfather—" you move for the edge, awkwardly keeping one arm against your chest despite the fact that he's seen it all by now. when you peek inside and confirm your fears, you lob it back to him furiously, as if it were a steaming potato. "where do you keep getting this stuff?"

things have started to turn up, miraculously. shiny things — like coins and rings and gems. things he could not have simply found rolling around in the dirt.

"go put it back!" you hiss at him, and the tone of your voice makes his frown deepen. you never realized how pouty he was, when he was still a dragon.

you think he understands you, and you're pretty certain he just chooses not to listen; instead of doing what you've told him in the slightest, he simply dumps the coin-purse to the floor, and then lets his linen and stolen trousers cover it as he unceremoniously undresses.

the biggest issue that you would say the man bakugou poses is — his complete lack of understanding of personal space.

"bakugou!" your voice wavers, shocked again by his nakedness. as if you haven't seen it all by now. "no, you — get out!"

but he does the exact opposite, which is hop into the steaming water, ignoring the arm you hold out to keep him away as he saddles up beside you. skin against scales, pressing a nose into your hair to huff out his annoyance, to make it something you can feel.

if anyone were to walk in right now, they would — probably think the lie you'd told the innkeeper was true. that you are a simple traveler and this is your mute, over-sized husband.

regardless, you think this behavior isn't polite. especially in a public bathhouse.

"bakugou," you try again, turning your face away as you speak to the wood-paneled wall. "i'm taking a bath, you have to wait your turn."

all you receive in response is another huff against your ear and a low rumble of disagreement from his chest.

he has yet to speak back, and has only used inhuman sounds as his points of conversation. the only word you've ever heard him utter is oi, which he does when he really thinks he needs your attention. you're starting to wonder if he's named you that in his head. oi.

curiously, you turn back to him and the movement has him pulling his face from your hair, just enough that he can look down at you, too. watch you, with the red-rippled sea in his eyes.

they're — amazing, you will admit. just as bright and detailed as they always have been. fit for a fairytale told by the fire, veiled by the soft-ash of his lashes. he watches you through them, half-lidded, and you wonder if it's something other than fatigue that has them so heavy.

"do you know what i'm saying?" you ask quietly, voice lacking the firm heat you want it to. instead it's heavy, too, weighted by something soft and unfamiliar and frightening. "can you even understand me?"

bakugou doesn't respond, not with a huff or a rumble or ever a purr, like the one he let out on the night he lay over you by the lake. you've only heard it sparingly since then, oftentimes in his sleep when his face is pressed into you.

you try not to frown at his silence, try not to let it disappoint you because it shouldn't; he's a dragon afterall, and you're not sure what it matters. the little horn protruding from his forehead catches your eye and you reach up to touch it gently, watching him blink away the water that drips from your wrist — and then he's turning into you again, too close.

beneath the water, you feel his hands skate up your bare thighs, wrap around your waist until your chest is pulled flush against his. you feel his huff, again, against the damp skin of your neck but it's slower, lighter. not laced with his frustration. some unknown thing you feel guilty for liking.

you drop your hand to his hair, rushing full force into all the damned things you've thought about doing but have been too afraid to. he's soft between your fingers, and you trace your nails lightly against his scalp until he groans quietly; a new noise, one you don't know how to translate.

your fingers stop when they brush upon little spines that have grown at the base of his skull, that have started to trail down the center of his back.

suddenly, tangled up in the bath with him, you wonder how much time you have left.

bakugou huffs again into your skin, a little fiercer this time, and it's because of his light jostling that you realize how rigid you've gone. you try to relax so that he will, too, though you must not do a convincing job, because a sharp nip comes to your earlobe.

"ow!" you squeal, but he doesn't let you go far, not even as you try to jerk away from him. in fact, the harder you try the more his teeth show: into your cheek and the point of your jaw and then dangerously low on your neck.

it's not until you finally freeze that he stops, huffing again, with a warmth that burns more than the steaming water.

and then, very quietly, he grumbles, "shitty wife," into your collarbone, just before biting you again.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Past the Wit of Man (or, Bottom's Dream)

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 3657 Tags: comedy, attempted comedy, comedy devolving into feels, identity reveal, sex worker Hob Gadling, advancing my Men In Lingerie agenda, long-haired Hob Gadling agenda, stretching timelines like taffy, Desire and Dream get along AU, but Desire is not actively in this, Dead Boy Detectives comic spoilers mentioned, miscommunication, Dream of the Endless finally uses his words, happy ending

Notes: Kudos props and huge thanks to everyone in the Mr Sadman discord who creatively interpreted a snippet I posted of something else and launched the whole idea of Hob working for a supernatural escort service; this would not exist without y'all and your beautiful brainstorming. ❤️

This fills the August monthly @dreamlingbingo prompt Identity Reveal, replacing square A2 (creature: Veela) on my bingo card

Summary: Hob is nicely settled in a new career and a new identity and does not expect to see his Stranger until 2089. The universe, apparently, has other ideas.

On AO3

~ "Your client is Dream of the Endless. He is extremely ancient and extremely powerful, an underpinning concept of the universe. Absolutely terrible about loosening up and letting himself relax."

"Don't think I'd be much good at relaxing if I was an underpinning concept of the universe either," Hob jokes, opening the profile that the Agency rep has just airdropped to his phone and thumbing through it.

The rep, a foppish vampire with curly white hair and impeccable fashion sense, arches one elegant eyebrow at him. "Apparently his most recent girlfriend dumped him quite harshly and his sibling has arranged this booking on his behalf; he's—and I am quoting here—'absolutely incompetent at managing his own happiness'."

"He knows he's been booked though, right? I'm not gonna catch the fallout because no one told him what kind of appointment this is?" It's only happened once, a prank played on a shy ace nixie by her well-meaning but ill-informed friends; all the same, Hob does not care to repeat the experience—particularly with someone potentially more dangerous.

"He is very much aware and in agreement, yes. We promised him our top companion." The rep dimples at Hob, a smile of saccharine sincerity that shows only the barest hint of fang. "And that's you, sweet Nick."

"And that's me," Hob agrees matter-of-factly, frowning at his phone, then turning it to show his guest. "No photo?"

The rep glances at the screen and makes a commiserative noise. "Oh, yes. Unfortunate, that. Cameras have a very hard time with this fellow, something to do with his general relationship to reality." His tone takes on a simpering air of great melodrama. "We were forced to use an artist's rendition instead! Tragic, really; it doesn't do him justice."

"Huh," Hob says, turning his phone back and studying the cartoony hand-drawn image. Guy looks like he's got some sort of steampunk insect for a head, dark and bolt-laden and bug-eyed, with a trunk that's strongly reminiscent of a disembodied spine. "Dream of the Endless, you said? Looks more like a bloody nightmare."

The rep gives an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, as if shrugging off his delivery duty now that it's done, and turns to leave. "Well whatever the case, an Endless is far above the average client, darling. Give him your best."

"'Course." Hob grins. "That's why you brought the assignment to me, after all."

"Just so." The Agency rep gives a lazy wave in parting and Hob closes the door, still scrolling through the profile as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Dozens of titles and names", he murmurs, glancing through the list of them. "King of Dreams and Nightmares, alright. Contains the entire collective unconscious of every living being in. Every…universe…?" He shakes his head. "Has never taken a vacation ever. Bested Lucifer Morningstar and oversaw the reassignment of Hell—okay, wow. Billions of years old." He whistles, a long sound of awed disbelief. "Maybe I throw in a free massage for this guy; sounds like he could use it."

He shakes his head again, pockets his phone, carries on with getting breakfast together.

Bug-headed workaholic foundational concept of the universe. Won't be the weirdest client he's ever serviced.

~

It's been ten years since his stranger showed up late for their meeting and smiled so openly and named him friend. That had been their longest meeting yet, lasting all afternoon and on into the evening and it wasn't until the Inn had started closing up for the night that they wound down. His stranger had spoken briefly of the missed appointment in 1989, making clear that something at least mildly traumatic had kept him away and also that he did not wish to elaborate, and Hob had let it go. There was so much to tell of his own century past, his friend remarking with interest on a great many of his stories, and it was enough. His stranger, his friend, had come back, and they'd had a lovely long meeting. Perhaps in 2089 he would be comfortable sharing more of his own story, but even if not, Hob didn't mind. He was confident once more in the friendship he'd declared back in 1889 and willing to coax it out bit by bit, meeting by meeting. He had all the time in the world, after all.

Within a year of that meeting he'd wrapped up his teaching career, arranged for ownership of the New Inn to transfer to a 'relative' in the States who'd keep it running the next few decades, and started searching for a new career for his next identity.

He stumbled quite by accident into the broader supernatural world after being stalked by two dead teenagers helping that de Rais creep who wanted to steal his immortality. It all turned out fine in the end but opened Hob's eyes to exactly how much the supernatural had integrated into the modern world around him. And once old Hettie clued him in to the existence of a certain Service Agency catering to supernatural clients, his next career path was all but decided. What was he going to do, not seize the opportunity for fantastical sexual exploration when presented with it? Life was for living! Werewolves, vampires, sirens and fae and merfolk, the occasional ghost and even an extra-terrestrial or two; scales, feathers, tentacles, knots—Hob's shown them all a good time and earned a stellar reputation among the Agency's clientele. He doesn't plan to do it forever, but he enjoys exploring new avenues and stretching his limits and 'Nick Bottom' is the perfect persona to let him do so.

And now sweet high-priced in-demand Nick has been booked to rebound-fuck an uptight concept in humanoid form who looks like something straight out of a nightmare.

Hob can't wait to completely take this guy apart one orgasm at a time until he's a boneless puddle of satiation and send him home afterwards a brand new man.

Concept. Entity. Whatever.

~

The booking is scheduled for the following day and when the time comes, Hob is fresh and clean and set up in the Agency's most lavish suite. He's let his hair grow the last few years, sports a proper Hozier-like mane at this point, is wearing it down for this appointment. His beard is several weeks old, trimmed to artfully-scruffy perfection and well-groomed. He's lounging on the bed in a short open silk robe and a pair of lace panties that hug his hips and leave most of both arse cheeks exposed, a popular outfit in his repertoire sure to please the classiest of clients with the most discerning taste. Both pieces are a matching vibrant cobalt blue that complements his skin tone beautifully. He's wondering what fucking a concept is like, idly massaging his dick now and then to keep it primed, when finally there's a peculiar displacement of air and then a figure in dark robes with a weird spine-trunked bug-eyed head is standing in the middle of the suite. He's taller than Hob and inhumanly rail-thin; the robes plunge deep from the neckline, displaying milk-white skin without a hint of chest hair and clavicles that beg to be nibbled on. He's in profile, angled slightly away, and Hob has the distinct sense that this is a deliberate pose meant to make an impression, to instill awe and possibly fear in him.

So Dream of the Endless has a flair for drama, got it.

"Hello," Hob greets in his best breathless-and-sultry tone, rising from the bed to approach his client. He layers in a suitable amount of awe, pitching his voice toward 'smitten' with a subtle ring of sincerity to support it. "Oh, wow. You must be Dream of the Endless; I'm so delighted to get to meet you! I'll be taking care of you today; you can call me Nick."

The guy, the concept, Dream of the Endless, he goes stock-still as Hob speaks, and it's like the air in the room pauses with him. He turns, slowly, until Hob is face to face with his…oh, possibly that's a mask, then; the bug-eyed lenses are somewhat translucent in the light though Hob still can't see beneath them.

"There has been some mistake." The voice is deep and distorted through the helmet-mask, bone-rattling in an almost-pleasant way and, somehow, somewhat…familiar? "I was meant to be meeting with 'Nick Bottom'." The quotes around the name are audible.

"That's me!" Hob says, raking a hand back through his hair and shaking it to settle around his shoulders attractively, flashing his most charming smile. "At your service, love, whatever you need. I'm here to make sure you have a very good time, and—"

"Hob Gadling."

That draws him up short. He's currently Robyn Gadrin for tax-paying purposes in the outside world, but the Agency wouldn't give out his current identity let alone his true name, so how—

Hob's brain is babbling insistently about the note of familiarity in that voice and he finally lights on why as Dream of the Endless reaches up to remove his helmet.

Hob finds himself staring at the slightly-more-than-human-but-still-very-familiar face of his Stranger, his centennial touchstone, his friend.

Everything about his reality tips a little bit sideways, dominoes crashing one after the other in his brain until all that's left is that awful ringing alarm tone that features in emergency broadcast alerts on American telly.

Between them, the silence stretches awkwardly, until finally Hob breaks it, the first thing that comes to his tongue spilling out while his poor brain is still rebooting.

"Six-hundred some-odd bloody years, and this is how I learn your name?!"

~

It is five minutes later. Hob is sitting on the side of the plush bed in his short silk robe and lace panties, clutching a bottled water and seriously considering availing himself of the bar in the next room because his emotions are all over the place. His Stranger—Dream of the Endless, apparently—is seated next to him. His eyes are not the blue that Hob is used to, are fully black with actual stars winking in and out of them; it's gorgeous but uncanny. He's currently not looking at Hob, has got the weird bug-spine helmet gripped tightly in both hands. Which are still so pretty, Hob can't help noticing, his fingers longer and more spindly than normal, splayed wide around the curve of the helm, nails painted black. Or maybe not painted, maybe they just are black.

Pretty, regardless.

Not a helpful thought at this juncture.

It's not like he'd thought his Stranger was actually human, obviously, and okay yes the possibility of meeting up with him via this particular career choice had crossed his mind once or twice, might've featured in a private fantasy or two; but also he'd never seriously imagined it because it felt so entirely implausible that his prim and lofty Stranger would ever engage in something so mundane. So casual.

Apparently, Hob was wrong about that.

He's not sure how to feel about it, either.

The smooth inhumanly-pale chest on display in the plunging vee of those artfully-draped robes is also not helping anything.

His Stranger—Dream— moves slightly, glances at him with those starry eyes, flexes those pretty fingers on the helmet. "I will. Arrange. For another. To take your place, Hob, you need not—"

"Now hold on a minute," Hob interrupts, sudden direction presenting itself for his floundering emotions to flow. "What do you mean, 'arrange for another'? What's wrong with me?"

Dream, his name is Dream of the Endless, Dream looks perplexed. "Our. History—"

"Oh yes, our illustrious storied history wherein we have met all of seven times before now and, may I remind you, you took offense to my suggestion that we might be friends until you'd had time to digest it properly, yes."

"Eight."

"Eight?"

"I visited your dream, before undertaking a daunting journey from my realm to another. We shared wine. You gave a most thoughtful toast."

"I. Okay." He remembers that dream, yes; he remembers the wine that followed him out of it, and now with the knowledge that his Stranger is apparently King of all dreams and nightmares suddenly it all makes brand new sense. But he will process that later. "Eight. Still not a factor in my ability to do my job."

Mostly. It is his Stranger, after all, and it's not like he hasn't ever wanted—

"Sex would be. Awkward," Dream insists, and Hob loses it, never mind he'd half-thought the same thing until a second ago; Dream saying it makes him refute the assertion with everything he's got.

"You dare," he says, setting aside his water.

Dream boggles at him, cosmic eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.

"You. DARE. To disdain my professional services just because we know each other?!"

"Hob— "

"No. No, your booking was very clear that you were to have the very best, and that. Is. Me. So you will not be re-booking with another companion on the grounds that our acquaintance makes it 'awkward'; if you mean to partake of the services you've hired you will partake of them with me."

"My sibling."

"What."

"My sibling hired your services. Did they know—" He's half talking to himself and Hob sighs, forcefully pulling the conversation back on track.

"Yes, right; your sibling booked you and here you are. Did you want to get laid today?"

"You need not be so crude about it."

"Forgive me. Of course. Did you come here hoping to have a sensual skillful sexual experience with a stranger intent on your pleasure with no judgments or expectations placed upon you in return?" He makes a valiant effort to rein in his sarcasm. "Because I can still provide that. Minus the bit where we're not strangers."

Dream looks positively miserable, a sodden wet cat of a man in sex-appeal robes hunched on the edge of the decadently-plush bed, and there is certainly an understandable element of embarrassment to the situation but Dream is taking it so seriously. Hob is not surprised, exactly, but christ—he's more than willing to follow through never mind any feelings he may or may not want to admit to, and Dream is the one who'd agreed to the booking in the first place. You'd think he could handle this hiccup with a little more grace.

"It was my intent to. Do, as you say," Dream says at last, and Hob sighs.

"Is that still what you want, then? I promise I'll take good care of you." He's actually really warming up to the idea, not that he was cold to it to begin with. It's his Stranger after all. He's been willing to say yes for centuries. "They really did book you the best, and I would love to show you how well-earned my reputation is—"

"Hob—" Dream sounds pained, gives an artfully-dramatic shake of his head. "My wants are. Manageable. If no one else is available. I cannot simply engage with you so frivolously—"

Hob leaps up from the bed, stalks a frustrated few steps away and whirls back, spreads his arms. "Am I not appealing to you, Dream of the Endless?" He tosses his head, shakes his hair back, gestures at the blue silk and lace that he knows looks absolutely spectacular on him. "Would you like me to change clothes? I have a dozen more ensembles I'd be happy to put on if you'd rather peel me out of one of those. Would the Prince of Stories prefer roleplay? Golden-age pirate, biker bad boy, Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth, cowboy, librarian, Starfleet officer—I'll dress however you like." He's fired up, he's…it feels like anger but it's more like alarm; he is absolutely not about to let a colleague fuck HIS Stranger if Dream's looking to unwind. Not with all the thoughts he's entertained the last couple centuries, not when Dream is looking so entirely miserable about the whole experience. Hob wiggles his bare toes in the plush carpet, forcing a deep breath; he is jealous and possessive and protective all at once and has no idea how to safely navigate this storm to get Dream what he wants without pissing him off.

"Your…clothing becomes you greatly, Hob." He's sneaking a glance as he says it, like he's not allowed to look but can't help it. "Your clothing is not at issue."

"Then what is?" Hob rakes a hand back through his hair, frustration fizzling, careening toward concern. "If you're truly that put off by me, I'll let it go. But you're here, for sex, which you did say you wanted; this is my job and I'm good at it and you clearly need—" Someone to take care of you, he'd nearly said, and while Dream has been giving him so much leeway in this conversation he thinks that might be one straw too much for this particular camel's back.

Nice to know he appreciates Hob's hairy chest and his dick in blue lace, though.

Dream levels him with a look that almost puts him right back to 1889, and Hob has half a second to start panicking before Dream closes his eyes, draws himself up, sets his bloody weird helmet on the bedside table with a soft leathery clunk. When he opens his eyes again, they are resolute, resigned, the eyes of a man headed for the gallows despite the stars winking hopelessly in their depths.

"I do not wish to be intimate with you. When you view it as simply a job. I. Would like—but not. If it is a transaction. If I am merely a client."

Oh. Oh.

Oh shit, really?

Impossible.

Really?

"You want. You want it to mean something?" Hob is embarassed at how small his voice comes out.

Dream closes his eyes, something like shame written all over his beautiful otherworldly-pale face. "I had thought. At our fifth meeting. That perhaps there was the possibility of. Attraction, between us." He opens his night-sky eyes again, meets Hob's resolutely. "Had we not been interrupted…" He shakes his head. "I pondered the idea until next we met, anticipating the possibility of. Seeing, where we might have come to. But you named what was between us friendship, you named me lonely; I perceived your words as mockery and acted accordingly. I spent the next century with a surplus of time to wander my own thoughts. They turned to you, Hob Gadling, with regularity. As I expressed when last we met, I regret leaving our previous meeting so abruptly, so harshly. Your friendship is of great value to me. I am content to let it remain friendship, in the interest of keeping it. But I am unwilling to engage with you, who named me 'friend', as I would a lover when I have yet to fully bury the wish. That you might have been my lover in truth."

Hob is desperately trying to keep from bluescreening again and while he's focused on that, his mouth runs along without him. "You never even gave me a name, but you wanted us to be lovers?"

"I am. Aware, of how foolish my wishes—"

"No, oh no. Dream. Love." He absolutely cannot let him think that. "All you ever had to do was ask."

Dream looks at him, starry eyes full of misery with the faintest spark of hope underneath, glimmering with unshed tears. "I. Could not—"

"That was then. Water under the bridge. What about now."

Dream shivers, his more-than-human face wary and pleading and resigned all at once and the last of the fight drains out of Hob. He approaches gently, until he is directly in front of Dream on the edge of the bed again; he half straddles Dream's lap with one foot still on the floor and a bare knee sunk on the mattress beside him, threads both hands into Dream's hair behind his lovely ears, tips his pale face up.

"Ask me now. Please."

Dream's hand settles above his bent knee, a gentle, tentative touch; his eyelashes flutter, and the sound that leaves him steals Hob's breath. That hand travels softly around to grip the back of Hob's thigh, slides hesitantly higher, and then it's Hob making the helpless noise as Dream's fingertips card beautifully through his leg hair, run up beneath the short robe. Dream's spindly black-nailed hand caresses up over his exposed arse cheek, squeezes, and all the while Dream's beguiling uncanny eyes are fixed on him, wet and wondering, full of blossoming hope.

"Hob Gadling." His voice is hushed, almost reverent. "I should like to have you, as my lover. If you are amenable." His face is tipped up, so close between Hob's hands, and Hob.

Hob's shaking. He's actually trembling, pent up, a little scared; daring, as he leans down and his hair falls around them both, hoping—

He brushes his lips to Dream's.

He kisses his Stranger, his friend, his touchstone.

And Dream of the Endless, who is all of those things, kisses him back.

It's nothing like he might have imagined, and ten times as wonderful, and over before he realizes he's ended it.

"Do you mean it." His voice is breathless, the words spoken directly against Dream's mouth. It's a stupid question, in light of the entire conversation gone before and the hand still on his arse, but he can't help asking. This entire turn of events is just too good to be true.

"Yes."

But true it is, apparently, and Hob's heart soars.

"Then. Dream of the Endless. My Stranger. My friend." He presses soft kisses to those plush pink lips between each moniker, dizzy that he's allowed. "Let me add another title to the list, darling. Take me to bed; the suite is ours 'til tomorrow. Let me learn how you would have me. Let me show you how I would treat you. And let me, at long last, name you mine."

= Started: 8/21/24 Drafted: 8/27/24 Posted: 8/30/24

If you're looking for a spicier take on this concept, @delta-pavonis has you covered: Dossier 54392 - please, give it a read, it's delicious.

(and here, have a post-script-y epilogue-exchange of sorts that did not quite fit:)

= "You chose to name yourself Nick Bottom?"

"What better name for a callboy to the supernatural than the bloke who got unwittingly embroiled in a fae lovers' spat and ultimately survived the entire encounter unscathed? Feels pretty relevant to me. Empowering, a bit?"

"Nick Bottom was less 'empowered' than simply lucky, perhaps."

"Perhaps. I'll not turn my nose up at good luck, either. But a name like Bottom in this business is also too good a pun to pass up, and I figure old Shaxberd would approve."

"I believe he would, indeed."

"The irony being that fully half of my clients want me to top them, heh."

"I do not wish to speak of your clients while you are in bed with me."

"Got better uses for my mouth, have you?"

"Other sounds I would prefer to hear from it, yes."

"Fair enough. Why don't you tell me what you want, Mr. Sandman, and see if I can make your dreams come true."

"Must you be so cliché?"

"You love my clich—mmph—"

"Stop. Talking."

"Yes love."

(Dream will tell him about commissioning A Midsummer Night's Dream at some other time 💖)

= Nick Bottom's lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream that lent themselves to the title: I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was and also The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream

[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

You Can't Swim??

SUMMARY: The Octotrio don't know that you have never learned to swim. And you went to a beach. What could go wrong? WORD COUNT: 1.9k (I need to sleep)

WARNINGS: Floyd almost let you drown, reader kind of gets panic attacks? Idk (I'm the writer I should know, someone hit me), reader thinks about whacking Floyd, Azul is genuinely in love, Azul is also very traumatized I think, Azul overthinks A/N: Gotta love how I have no warnings about Jade I- Gotta love getting a fic idea about me being unable to swim- And I've had this thought swimming (lol) in my thoughts for a couple of days?? Idk if reader is the significant other of these guys or just besties. I think it leans toward s/o though This reads like a crack fic to me but honestly make sure you know how to swim so you don't die (i don't but that's not the point here) Maybe OOC Jade because he hides himself too well for me to get an accurate read on personality lmfao When Jade is genuinely sweet but the others are unhinged so naturally the unhinged ones are longer- I'm sorry I get no decent ideas for Jade </3 Another late late night post (it's 1:50 AM)

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

You had never learned to swim. It wasn't that you were afraid, really. It was just that you had passed the age where people normally learned, and now you were too lazy to and/or didn't have enough time. Whatever excuse to stop a nagging person.

Now, this wouldn't have been a problem if you never went anywhere near bodies of water. Which you mostly didn't. However, knowing merfolk was not the best idea if you didn't know how to swim.

Now you have gone to the beach with him, and that probably wasn't the best idea for either of you.

Floyd Leech

You had been sitting on the beach near the water, absently looking over some shells as Floyd splashed around deeper in the ocean. The shells really were interesting - nothing like the ones where you had come from (although they had some similarities) and were colorful. So many shapes and varieties, although most were not intact.

You had been so engrossed in this, in fact, that you hadn't realized Floyd had been sneaking up on you. Before you could say another word, he playfully dragged you into the water. While you were fully clothed.

You weren't expecting to go into the water, but you should've known better with Floyd. He was playful and loved to do stuff like this. Usually if Azul was around, he'd have done something… But he wasn't here.

Before you knew it, you were deeper in the ocean than you ever had been before, courtesy to the teal-haired boy swimming and dragging you along. You flailed around a bit, eyes wide in panic. You were, quite honestly, terrified. And it obviously didn't help when Floyd just immediately let you go.

Was he an idiot or was he an idiot?

"Floyd-" You got out before coughing as water shot up your nose, still flailing miserably. It didn't work. You didn't know what to do. Surely, Floyd would help… If he realized what was going on. No matter what you thought, he was bright, wasn't he?

Not bright enough, it seemed, as he was still laughing and not realizing how actually panicked you were.

"Koebi-chan, you look so ridiculous like that," he laughed, almost in hysterics, and you would've smacked him if you weren't so close to actually dying.

And then you sunk.

Your desperate attempts to go to the surface were pointless as you didn't even know how to float or move around in the water.

After a few seconds, Floyd finally noticed you were gone and quickly dove under the surface. Maybe you were trying to get him back?

But his gaze immediately widened as he saw you literally sinking to the ocean floor. His eel tail moved quickly, almost without thinking as he shot to grab you and take you up, up, up so you could actually breathe.

When you came to, you were on the sandy beach again, Floyd leaning over you. His eyes, normally filled with a joking light, were unusually subdued.

"Koebi-chan, why didn't you tell me you couldn't swim?" A pout grew on Floyd's face. "If I knew, I wouldn't have-"

"Yes you would have. We would still be here, just having a different conversation."

"But-"

"No buts."

"I would've made it more fun-"

"Drowning in the ocean is the opposite of fun, Floyd-"

~Bonus because I don't know how to fit one into the story~ "I can teach you how to swim. You just go whoo and let your body move. Y'know. Like dancing." "No, I don't know, Floyd, and this is not going to help me with anything-"

Jade Leech

Jade had been spending his time on the beach with you, but you were almost certain that he wanted to be swimming in the ocean. It was his natural element, after all.

"Jade, you sure you don't want to go in the water?"

"I'm fine staying here with you, [Y/N]." He gave you a soft smile.

You shook your head. "We've come all the way here, you might as well go swim." You gave him a gentle nudge.

"Well, I'd like you to come with me, if that is possible?" He watched you quietly. "You never go swimming with me."

You paused. Although it was sweet that he wanted you to go with him… "No, I don't think so…" You trailed off. You never liked telling people that you couldn't swim. At this point, it was embarrassing.

The pair of heterochromia eyes staring at you only left you feeling more jittery. "…I, er… I can't swim. So going into the ocean with you sounds kind of like… A bad idea." You froze. "Did you use your Signature Spell on me?"

"Of course not, [Y/N]." Jade stared at you with eyes of hurt, one that looked almost identical to that of his twin's. Only, it was almost obvious that Jade didn't mean the hurt in his eyes. "You just trust me enough to say things to me."

You couldn't deny the truth there. You trusted Jade. "And you wouldn't use your Signature Spell on something so trivial, would you?"

"No, I would not." He shrugged. "On a different note, I can help you learn how to swim."

"I really don't need it-"

"What if someone tries to hurt you one day and they know your weakness?"

"Why would-"

"It's an example, [Y/N]. But if that person decides to do that, you wouldn't be able to do anything. So I should help you in case that scenario occurs."

You sighed softly. "Fine, I guess I can take lessons from you… If it's not too much of a hassle."

"Of course it would not be a hassle or anything of the sort." Jade inclined his head. "All to help you stay safe."

The day went on with Jade helping you learn the basics of swimming - he was a good teacher, which you were happy about. He was patient, and always was there if you ever started to panic.

"We wouldn't want you getting scared of the ocean now, would we?"

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had gotten used to you after a couple months. Sure, he hadn't opened up to many people in a while (only Floyd and Jade, but they also teased him constantly about everything, so), but you were soothing and nice. Sure, you teased him sometimes, but it was different. It didn't feel mean, you stopped as soon as you noticed him looking a little uncomfortable, and… He honestly felt like he could open up about anything.

So when it was decided that you two were going to the beach - together - alone? It kind of made him very messed up.

Would you like being at the beach with him? He wasn't completely against showing his octopus form… Would you want him to swim with you? Was he even ready for that?

Those thoughts led him down a spiral, and the day you two were to go, he had bags under his eyes and looked like he was half-dead.

You gently nudged him, murmuring how he should've tried to get more sleep for this day supposedly filled with fun, but he just shrugged.

Soon, you were at the beach, and as Azul saw your smiling face, his gaze softened a little. He loved seeing your happy face.

"C'mon!" You grabbed Azul's hand as you started to run to the water, ignoring his surprised stumbling as he was dragged along. He had a light flush on his cheeks that he was glad you couldn't see.

Soon, you had reached the edge of the water, splashing around in your sandals. It was really fun, even though you knew that you were going to be getting sand in your toes later on.

Azul just kind of watched on, a relaxed expression on his face. This really was soothing… Although he was still thinking about if the Mostro Lounge would be okay with him gone. Surely Jade would do something if Floyd got into trouble… Hopefully. And hopefully, no more dishes would break.

"What are you looking so glum for?" Your voice brought him back to his senses.

"Nothing, just hoping that Jade and Floyd can take care of things at the Mostro Lounge." He sighed softly.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be fine. Jade's there, right?"

"He can cause as much trouble as Floyd, you know. Although he won't be outright about it." Azul shook his head, a small frown on his face.

"C'mon, turn that frown upside down." You moved closer to him, gently squishing his cheeks. "Today is for having fun, Azul."

"Yes, yes, I know." Azul couldn't help himself; he let out a soft laugh. A genuine one.

You smiled brightly. "You aren't charging me for hearing your little cute laugh?"

"I will charge you if you call it cute."

"Of course you will." You rolled your eyes before abruptly changing the subject. "So are you not going to swim?"

Azul paused. Did you want him to swim? To see his true form? There was an even chance. What should his answer be? "Er… I don't know?"

"Of course you don't have to, Azul, I just thought… I mean, there's no one around." You shrugged a little.

And now more pressure on Azul. Great. He was used to dealing with pressure, yes. Just not this kind from you. "Er… Would you come swim with me?" If you were with him, then maybe…

"No." Your lips parted, maybe to offer an explanation, but it was too late.

Azul was in a downward spiral. Why had you said no? Perhaps octopi merfolk were really too much. Perhaps you would rather be with someone with a pretty tailfin than tentacles. Or maybe a human, one of your own kind. Who said that you even liked him at all? Perhaps you were only with him out of pity, because he was that useless, chubby, good-for-nothing-

"Azul? Azul, are you listening to me?"

He snapped back to attention.

"Seriously, are you okay? Did you seriously get enough sleep last night?" You sighed.

"That's none of your-"

"It is if you're literally zoning out every five seconds." You rolled your eyes. "And anyway, I was just saying that I kind of can't go deeper into the ocean where you probably feel comfortable swimming. Because I can't swim." You shrugged nonchalantly.

But for Azul, it felt like a figurative bomb had been dropped.

You? Couldn't swim? Now that he thought about it, it did make sense… How you always looked so awkward and uncomfortable with water, especially when you came to the Octavinelle dorm. But seriously? How could you not know how to swim?

"Is not knowing how to swim… Normal?"

"Definitely not." You rolled your eyes. "But I'm just too lazy to learn now. And I have no time."

"You do if you have time to scroll on Magicam." Finally, Azul felt a bit better. At least you didn't hate him.

"And this time, I'll teach you how to swim. I'll even do it free of charge." Azul shook his head. "Seeing as I'm so generous."

"You sound like headmage Crowley."

"Do be quiet."

Azul was a pretty good teacher. He ended up not turning into his octopus form until nearly the end of the day, you were practicing your swimming and then just playing around on the sand, building sand castles, anything that you might do at a normal beach outing.

His octopus form was beautiful (as expected), and although you couldn't go to deeper waters, you enjoyed seeing him swim around, always eventually coming back to you.

"Today was truly relaxing, [Y/N]. We should do this again another time."

As always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ♡ Send your thoughts grr

Feel free to send requests! Check out this post for info ^^

[myosotisa]

Take a Seat: Extended Edition - s.h.

ǁ  summary: What exactly did you think was going to happen when you let King Steve into your bedroom? (Now with full smut!)

ǁ  tags: smut. not plot just dirt. mean!dom Steve with demeaning praise, pinching, dirty talk, fingering f receiving, implied size kink (i know his dick is big), protected p in v, spanking. dubcon photo taken at the end. afab!reader, no y/n, nicknames are sweetheart, baby, good girl, dirty slut. King Steve is the King Tease. And a perv. not a happy ending but not a bad ending? about what you'd expect, really.

ǁ  a/n: the girlies ask and i answer. tagged everyone who interacted with the first blurb at the bottom. the first 900 words are the same. never ask me for anything ever again /s

ǁ  word count: 4k

"Hey sweetheart?"

You barely look up from where you're pouring over the textbook on your desk. "Hmm?"

There's a small shuffle from your friend Steve adjusting on your bed, most likely to face you. "Can I ask you something?"

Glancing back at him with your eyebrows drawn together, you catch a glimpse of his impish smile that he's attempted to make look sweet before you return to your book. "Sure?"

"Can I fuck you into your mattress?"

The world spins from how fast you twist toward him, hand gripping the back of your chair tightly as all the blood rushes to your head. "Excuse me?!"

A lazy smile tilts his mouth, eyes shining with mischief as he repeats with slow pauses for effect, "Can I… fuck you… into your mattress?"

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you struggle to force out words. "I heard you the first time, I was just giving you a chance to say something else."

"Come on," he leans back onto his palms, thighs spreading with his socks firmly on the floor. The traitorous part of your brain he's awakened looks at the space between his thighs, at the empty seat of his denim covered lap and thinks that's a perfect spot for me. "Like you've never thought about it?"

"I…" Eyes drying from staring at him in shock, you manually force a few blinks as you swallow hard. "This feels like a trick question."

"I bet you have," he says in a sigh, adjusting on the bed with what seems like a very intentional thrust of his hips upward. He adjusts to hold most of his weight on one hand, the other making a little walk up toward where your blanket meets your pillow. "I bet you've laid right here on these sheets… Hand tucked into your pretty little panties and whimpered my name."

The visual has your gut twisting, warmth spreading from between your thighs and outwards. Your face is burning hot as your eyes flick from his hand to his face to his lap and back again. "I don't – I don't understand what's happening right now."

Steve has never, ever shown any interest in you. While you've only been friends for a little while, he was known for his conquests around school. Everyone knew how they went. When he approached you, entirely friendly, asking for a study partner, you'd known it didn't fit his pattern. This wasn't how he came onto the other girls at school.

"What's not to get?" He asks teasingly, the tips of his thick fingers hooking on the top of your blanket just to shift it down a few inches. "It'd be fun."

And while the visual part of your brain talks directly to the throb of feeling in your clit explaining just how fun it would be, your thinking brain is still fighting tooth and nail against something you hadn't considered a possibility anymore.

"Why are you doing this, Steve?" I'm not your type, your mind tacks on. This feels like some kind of cruel joke, it warns.

"Because, baby," he's shifting again, upper body pressing forward as he rests either palm on his spread knees, "I like to play with my food before I eat it."

Brain coming to a grinding halt from its anxious frenzy, all that remains is a cycling repeat of his statement and the reactionary shiver it sent down your spine. “Your… food?” 

This seems to make him huff a laugh, shaking his head. For such a smart girl, it made his dick twitch in his pants at how easy it is to throw you off balance, how quick you're going dumb for him. “Yes, sweetheart. Now are you going to let me keep playing? Or should I leave you alone with that wet spot that’s already on your panties?”

Your head ducks down in alarm, thinking you’re exposed to him in some way, only to see your pants still perfectly in place. When you look back up to retort, the cheeky grin on his face informs you that your reaction told him everything he needed to know. “You– I’m not!”

Taking a deep breath, shoulders rising and then falling lower than they were before as you try to release some of the sudden tension in your body. "How would we even...?"

The sudden shyness, your nervous hesitation, makes his cock throb again, one of his hands instinctively pressing down on the growing tent in his tight jeans. It nearly makes him groan at how heavily your eyes track the movement before quickly looking away with an almost inaudible squeak. “Don’t worry your big brain about it. Just come over here and let me show you.”

The way you stare at him for just a little too long, looking like a deer in headlights, makes him think maybe he came about this the wrong way. Maybe you’ll bolt like a scared rabbit. But then you silently push yourself to stand and take a few hesitant steps toward him, not quite entering the space between his spread thighs.

That Harrington charm comes through his encouraging smile, his voice a cooing murmur when he says, “Good girl.” Your thighs press together subconsciously and he delights in the new reaction. “Now take a seat,” he insists with a pat to the inside of one of his thighs. “I’ve got a spot right here with your name on it.”

It is with less grace than you had hoped when you bring your knees to either side of his hips, sitting down closer to his knees and lightly placing your hands on his shoulders. Keeping a small distance between your chests, a bit of safety. He tsks softly, tongue clicking behind his teeth as he shakes his head like he's disappointed.

Burning hot palms land on your waist and yank you forward without warning – pulling you flush against him, tits to chest and the continuously hardening bump in his lap pressing against you. You gasp at the sudden movement and the press of something solid between your legs, hands turning to a death grip on his shoulders. "There, that's better. Isn't that better?"

The way he asks is condescending and you hate that it just makes you drip more onto your underwear. Feeling like your tongue is caught in your mouth, you answer with a nod. His eyes narrow slightly right before he gives you a sharp pinch on your side, his other hand holding you in place when you instinctually try to jerk away from it. "Words, sweetheart. Need to hear you."

"Yes!" The answer comes out embarrassingly quickly, making your face grow even hotter and his grin grow even bigger. "Yes, that's better."

"Good," his voice drops in pitch as his hands skate down from your waist to your knees, just to start to slowly drag up your covered thighs. What I wouldn't give to be in a skirt right now. "Where was I?" Fingers press firmly into your skin, a shiver rocking you as your thighs try to twitch together, unable to in his lap. 

"Oh, right," if you didn't know any better, you'd say his smile is malicious. "I was playing with my new toy."

New toy. Another shudder rolls down your spine as your clit starts to throb between your legs. You shouldn't be turned on by this, you should be telling him off, kicking him out. But it's like his eyes and words have you hypnotized – completely pliable in his big hands. Ready and wanting to do whatever he might ask of you.

And he knows it too. Is relishing in it, even. How he lets his tongue sneak out to lick at his lower lip and then you're staring at his mouth, not even aware of it. How your eyes are wide as saucers when he starts to lean in, closer and closer, until the tip of his strong nose nudges yours.

Your breath catches in your chest, holding and holding as you wait, eyes begging. He just smiles again, eyelids heavy as he nudges your nose one more time with his before veering off without warning and pressing his plush lips to your jaw. Once, twice, and down until he reaches a spot below your ear and nips with his teeth to hear you gasp again.

Just like the other girls told you. King Steve doesn't kiss on the mouth.

"So sensitive, baby." He parts his lips in a wet kiss along your jugular, sucking softly before pulling off – blowing cool air across the wet skin to make you tremble on his lap again. "Anybody ever touch you like this?"

"O–once or twice," you reply as you tip your chin up and to the left to give him more space to work with. He hums in approval and gives you a few more kisses and nips in reward.

You hadn't even realized you had started a slow roll to rub your cunt along the zipper of his jeans until his hands grip your hips to pull you down harder. A small moan tumbles out before you can stop it and he huffs a laugh against your skin.

"Now that's just precious." Blood parts in the middle – half rushing up to your face and the other half sinking down to the increasingly present throbbing below. He presses your hips down at the same time his twitch up, the hard length of him beneath denim catching on your clit deliciously, triggering another embarrassing noise. "Fuck, sweetheart. I bet I could make you cum just like this."

It is with great shame you admit to yourself that he probably could.

"But I made you a promise, didn't I?" He pulls back so he can see your dilated pupils. "What was it again?" He pretends to think while encouraging you in your drag against him, making it hard for you to answer.

"You… you asked if you could fuck me," you inhale a sharp breath at a particularly good nudge against your clit. "Into my mattress."

"That's right, good girl." A whimper sounds behind your closed lips and his face gets even more smug. "I don't remember you giving me an answer to that question, sweetheart."

"Is, uh… is me climbing into your lap not answer enough?"

Another mean pinch, to your outer thigh this time. "Don't get smart. Ask me nicely or I'll leave you wet and empty right now."

"No!" It comes out a bit panicked, not putting it past him to do just that. "Please don't go."

He hums again, a placated noise, and goes back to manipulating the flesh of your thighs while he looks at you expectantly.

"Will you…" It feels like acid on your tongue but you're growing more desperate by the minute. "Will you please fuck me?"

"Aww," he coos, smiling syrupy sweet. "That's cute, but I think you can do better than that."

Bastard.

More acid burns your throat as you swallow what remains of your pride, squeezing your eyes closed tight for a few moments as you prepare yourself. “Steve,” it comes out with a little bit of a whine, eyes opening wide and wet to look into his. “Please, will you… Will you fuck me? Want you so bad – want you to stretch me out, please.”

A sound rumbles in his chest that sounds somewhere between a groan and a growl, his hands tightening to an almost uncomfortable stretch on your thighs. “Still could be better, but I’m feeling in a giving mood.” A sharp tap to the side of your ass makes you squeak in surprise, “Up, up. On your feet.”

You do as he asks without question, climbing off his lap and back to the mercy of your nervous knees. “Strip down, then hands and knees on the bed.”

“What?!” Your arms come up to cross over your chest, already feeling exposed just by the order.

He’s pulling his shirt off, giving you an eyefull of his wide shoulders and chest as he tosses it back towards your desk. “Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart. You won’t like the consequences.”

So you rapidly strip off your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the ground below you until you’re naked as the day you were born, weight shifting from one foot to the other in an attempt to calm your nerves.

Steve’s jeans and underwear hit his ankles – long, thick cock bobbing free, heavy enough to hang down even with how hard he is. He wraps his fist around the base, only making the size of it seem more intimidating in comparison, and strokes it lazily when he catches you looking. Sounding annoyed and tipping his head toward your bed, he says, “Knees, bed, go.”

Scrambling onto the bed to his amusement, you perch yourself on your hands and knees, ass facing him with your hot, wet pussy on full display. “Now that’s a pretty picture,” his voice is low again, almost pleased as the bed dips behind you with his weight. You keep your eyes forward on your pillows, so much blood rushing to your face that it’s making you dizzy. A firm hand grips your hip at the same time a pair of fingers parts your lips – a strangled and surprised moan leaving you as you try to jerk away from the sudden stimulation, his hold on your hip keeping you against his fingers. “Surprised, baby? What, did you think I wasn’t going to touch you?”

His amused mocking has you burning with embarrassment, the fact that you can feel each cruel word directly in your clit only making you hotter. “N–no, I was hoping you w–would.”

“Hoping? Oh, you poor thing,” he coos again, thick fingers skating up and down your slit, just barely brushing your clit on each pass. “You have no idea what you’re in for, do you?”

And he pushes his middle finger inside you without warning, pressing into the knuckle as you squeak out and tense up. “Nuh-uh, gotta relax,” his hand leaves your hip to tap at your presented ass again. “Your only job right now is to sit there and take what I give you, understand?”

You nod with a whimper caught in your throat, allowing your head to hang down. Another sharp pinch on the stretch of skin between your ass and thigh, hard enough on a sensitive place to make you cry out. “I said, do you understand?”

“Yes! Yes, I u–understand. All I do is…” Something between a sigh and a moan interrupts you as he starts to drag his finger in and out of your tight heat. “Take what you give me.”

“Mmm, good girl. Gotta stretch you out. So tight – I think my cock might rip you right in half, baby.”

I wish you would, the traitorous part of your brain supplies.

Steve takes his time – paying very little attention to your needy clit as he adds a second finger and then a third. Withdrawing slightly whenever you press back for more, making sure you know that he is the one setting the pace and you do not get to change that. Three fingers knuckle deep in your tight hole is a stretch, bordering on painful, but it quickly turns to pleasure when he starts to hook his fingers down to rub against the spot inside you that has your toes curling and noises pouring out of you.

“Is this what you thought about, baby?” His voice pulls you out of it again, brain struggling to catch up and understand what he’s asking. “When you touched your pretty pussy and thought of me? Did you picture it like this?” Right now, you can’t remember, but you can’t imagine this being your fantasy, so you shake your head, thighs starting to tremble slightly.

“No, course not. Sweet thing like you probably dreamed about doing it missionary – looking into each other's eyes.” His thumb finally makes contact with your clit, your back arching and voice rising in pitch as you moan. “That what you want? Want me to make love to you?”

“N–no,” you stutter, struggling to get the words out over the way your body starts to tense, wanting to cum more than anything. “Wanted… Wanted you to fuck me, use me.”

A moan leaves him this time, shifting forward to grind his throbbing cock against your ass. “Really? You want to be my fucktoy, sweetheart? A little warm, wet fleshlight for my cock?”

The pressure in you mounts, higher and higher, almost there as you cry out, “Yes! Yes, want that, please!”

“Jesus Christ,” his fingers promptly leave you, taking you off the edge with them so abruptly it has tears coming to your eyes as you whine. You look back at him for the first time since you mounted the bed, eyebrows tipped up in pained pleasure, as you try to figure out why he stopped.

He’s propped on his knees behind you, hair ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it, eyes trained between your legs as he rolls a condom onto his painfully red cock. Feeling a burst of confidence, you lower down onto your elbows, arching your back further and presenting yourself to him more. He groans like you’re hurting him, eyes widening as he looks from your face to your swollen pussy.

“Keep doing shit like that,” he laughs out, nudging your knees further apart as he starts to run the tip of cock through your folds, “and I might have to keep you.”

Keep you, keep you, keep you, plays on a loop inside your head as he inches inside, muscles protesting against the size of him even after all the time spent stretching you out. He presses about a quarter of the way in before pausing, muttering a, “Shit,” under his breath as he paws at the curve of your ass. You try to breathe through the ache, focusing on the way he grips your flesh and not at how his cock feels like it’s tearing you up from the inside.

In a slow roll, he pulls out an inch and presses in two, being nicer and more deliberate with feeding you his length than you anticipated. You can feel your own slick dripping out each time he shifts, making a sticky mess of your inner thighs and the curly hair at the base of his cock. When he bottoms out, he pulls back a touch and pushes back in hard, another high pitched noise leaving your parted lips when he just stays there.

“You–you’re so deep, Steve, fuck…”

He laughs breathlessly, squeezing at your flesh harder. “And you’ve got a perfect pussy, baby. So tight and wet and taking me so well.” His hips grind against yours, a dirty roll that has his cock adjusting to sit even deeper. “Letting me rearrange your guts like a good girl.”

Your shame is long gone now, eyebrows tipping up in pleasure as you fist your fingers in the sheets and cry back, “Wanna be good, wanna be your good girl, Steve.”

His cock jumps inside you, making both of you groan, and he grips both of your hips hard when he starts to pull out before thrusting back in. You don’t stay surprised by his slow start for long, his pace rapidly increasing in strength and speed by the second until he's forcing your ass back against his hips with a dirty slap of skin on skin.

“This better?” He asks, breathless as he pounds into you over and over. “This what you wanted?”

“Yeah! Yes, yes,” you babble, fists twisting in the sheets as your muscles start to tense up again. “So good, so, so good.”

A sharp smack hits your ass, another cry leaving your throat as you clench down around him. “Oh fuck,” he groans, “you like that shit too?” You nod, hair mussing against the sheets as you press your ass back like you’re asking for more.

“I thought you were such a good girl, a sweet girl,” he coos. “Thought I was gonna corrupt you.” He laughs, slapping your ass hard again as your moan. “But here you are, begging to be my fleshlight and gushing around my cock when I spank you. That good girl act was to hide that you’re just a dirty little slut, huh?”

You’re lost in it, pressure mounting as you start to inch closer and closer to your previously ruined orgasm. He smacks you again, harder this time, as he orders, “Come on, can’t be that dumb on my cock yet, answer me.”

“Yes! I’m a dirty slut – just for you, just for your cock.”

He moans, louder than he has so far, and one of his hands reaches forward to your shoulders, pushing you down further into the mattress. You drop, tits and cheek pressed to the sheets as he starts to pick up his pace again. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

You whimper, cunt clenching down as your mouth hangs open. “Fuck yes, please, want you to cum, want to cum with you, please!”

“Yeah?” He leans further over you, happy trail rubbing against your lower back as he wraps his arm around to inch toward your clit underneath. “You gonna be a good girl and milk my cock?”

His fingertips are just too far, so close but still not there, and you’re so desperate, you’re begging, “Please, pleaseplease, gonna milk your cock, want every drop, please just let me cum.”

He laughs again, voice going hoarse, as he finally makes contact with your clit. Collects some of the slick that continues to coat you both and uses it to start making sharp and dirty figure 8’s across your throbbing clit. “Come on then, baby. Cum all over my cock.”

And it’s like your body responds directly to his command – back bowing and all your muscles clenching down as the pressure in your hips releases, hot white endorphins flooding your system as you moan and thank him and tremble. He’s not far behind, the hot grip of your cunt getting even tighter and sending him over the edge as he jerkily fucks into you a few more times, ropes of cum emptying into the end of the condom and soaking the head of his cock in warmth.

You’re still panting and shaking when he pulls out with a groan, a whine leaving your throat at the sudden emptiness while your knees slide out from under you to lay flat against the bed. Limp against the sheets, sweaty and boneless, completely blissed out to the point you don’t even know or care what Steve is doing.

A sudden flash brings you back to reality, pushing up on your palms and whipping your head around to see Steve, fully dressed, and holding a polaroid camera in his hands that is now slowly printing out a picture. You feel all the blood rushing to your face again, legs pressing together stickily as you come back into how exposed you currently are. “Did you just…?”

“A little souvenir,” he promises with a smirk, pulling it out of the camera and looking over the slowly developing photograph. Where did he even get the camera? “Just for me, no one will know.”

Fucked dumb and still trying to recover, you just nod, turning over slightly and pulling your blanket with you to cover yourself slightly. You watch as he slips the polaroid into his back pocket and steps over to pluck your soiled underwear out of your discarded jeans, tucking that into his pocket too. “Thanks for a good time, sweetheart. Much better than I thought it'd be.”

Your mouth opens to ask but closes quickly. King Steve has always been a one and done guy, but he said… he might keep you. Will he actually?

Before you can decide whether you want to ask or not, he flashes you a sharp grin and says, “I’ll make sure to let you know if I’m ever in need of a fleshlight to play with.” A pointed glance up and down your barely covered form and then he winks, wiggling his fingers in a little wave and leaving you alone in your room.

Your ever traitorous brain hopes that he’ll call you again soon even though you know that he probably, really won’t.

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thanks for reading! please reblog and leave a reaction if you liked it, they make my day <3

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[milffies]

Hiiuuu luv hru!? ❤️ you're LITERALLY my favourite writer who writes angel devil so well!! If you're well and still into csm, is it possible for u to write for him? Maybe more nsfw? (Feel free to ignore this if you don't feel like writing this!) MISSED U SM

hiii nonnie , i'm good , just real busy!!! i'm so glad u like my writing :3 i'm still into csm, just haven't seen the fandom that active but i love angel a whole lot so i enjoyed writing this sm . <33

— ౨ৎ : warnings angel devil x chubby! reader . basically a smutty character study, very tame.

to start things off, angel is terribly gullible !! either he doesn’t care enough, or hasn’t been exposed to people for that long to understand when he’s being 'played'. sweet boy is very, very mallible !! <3

with that said — getting him into a contract that’d allowed for you to freely touch him without risking your lifespan wasn’t all too difficult. once again, it’s between equally likely possibilities that angel let this happen because he admittedly craves touch, or simply didn’t expect himself to get tricked. if you’d ever ask him about the matter, all you’ll be met with is a lazy shrug and an ‘i’dunno’ on his end.

butbutbut!!, once you’ve introduced him to physical contact, and he see’s that it’s something enjoyable, angel very quickly becomes a lovey, mushy, needy puddle. calls you his ‘favorite human’ and all !! though, he is still a devil before all else, and combined with his already nonchalant personality, he’ll process emotions ‘n whatnot very differently. give the poor thing time, though — he’ll get better at this for you !!

the first time you touch angel’s hand — you note that it’s surprisingly soft. after a second of thought, though, you conclude it isn’t too shocking considering this is angel devil. the devil with big, expressive eyes and pretty pink lips. lips you often times find yourself imaging not being lethal.

he jerks his hand away from yours after you’d two had made a contract that’d give you free reign to touch him. you watch as he looks at his hand as if you were the one that could drain his very life essence away. the thought makes you wonder if devil’s even have the life force to even get sucked away.

those same doe-like eyes of his blinks in succession a few times before landing on you.

“soo,” you’d drawl, a small, knowing grin on your lips. “i feel fine. i’m guessing that didn’t take off any of my time?”

you’re met with a shaky nod from the smaller figure. he licks a stripe over the thin expanse of his lips your eyes still haven’t fully moved from.

“can….can you touch me again?”

the only, truly proper way to describe an early ‘relationship’ angel is as a needy kitten. the ones that very and visibly clearly want affection and attention — but never initiate physical contact first. at times, he’ll reluctantly sprawl himself on you, a guiding hand on your wrist being led to his head. nono — of course he doesn’t need your attention !! you just happen to be a convient source of it (he convinced himself this to be the reason why he likes being around you.)

as angel is exposed to more affection and touch — and you bring him to the revelation that it can be sexual — a noticable spike in his clinginess is very obvious. constantly seeking out reassurance when nestled into you — a shy, reluctant: “we can uhm…cuddle…right?”, an unsure: “work was soo tiring today, can we hug ‘n stuff…?” to the suprise of none; he didn’t really do any devil hunting — but that’s an afterthought to him when you coddle him as if he’s some little, helpless thing. he’s too precious like this, how can you not take advantage of the moment !! <3

if you’re chubby: angel is all over you even more !! so soft, so warm — you’re pratically his own heated, weighted blanket. angel knows he’s more petite and lithe, by human standards, and clearly by devil standards. loves how nice his smaller frame slots so perfectly against your own larger body though, constantly nuzzling up against the softest parts of you.

“stop movin’ s’much,” a muffled voice murmurs, the owner of the voice’s head comfortably buried in your chest.

“tryin’ to get comfy.” angel lazily says, gazing up at you, his pretty long lashes obscuring parts of his irises. he’d been that close to probably having the greatest nap in his life, but he couldn’t find himself fully drifting off because of you shifting around. truly, you were a blessing and a curse. cozy and soft to the touch, but always moving — interrupting his plans to laze around. </3

with a small smile and a hand to his scalp, a muttered apology is given to him. how can you not adore him like this?; pressed so close to you as if he’s trying to melt into you, breathes shallow and not completely taken with the bratty front he usually puts up.

angel feels your own rising chest even out, letting out a content sigh. finally, it’s hard trying to get proper shut-eye when your human pillow can’t stop moving.

“thas’ better…” the devil murmurs, pretty eyelashes fluttering, before closing.

like i wrote about in this post, angel, like everything else, is very lazy when it comes to him and sexual encounters. this doesn’t in specific mean that he’s not a good partner, or unattentive to your needs — he just doesn’t know. that, and, he never puts extra energy into anything he does, even if this, (to him) unknowingly jeopardizes his own pleasure. baby doesn’t just yet grasp the concept that, the thing that already makes him feel good and overwhelmed, could somehow be better !! </3

very, very sweet and absorbed in what makes the two of you feel the best. especially you. kissing this part of you makes you let out those pretty noises for him? noted. pressing, and rubbing his fingers in unsteady circles has you closing your doughy thighs around his hand? angel’s certainly keeping that tucked away in his head. will want you desperately to talk him through it, guiding him where to touch, suck, and kiss. actually puts in effort when you praise him, don’t acknowledge the fact he lives off this though — he pouts !!

angel’s hips rolls against your own softer ones at a languid pace, occasionally pistoning down to give a proper thrust.

“w—warm…” he lets out — the sound a mix between a murmur and a whine. he bites his bottom lip and hides his face in your neck to cut the sound off prematurely. feels too good for him; too squishy, too syrupy. god, how did he manage existence for so long without ever feeling this ?

“yeah?” you tease, a hand coming to comb through his slightly damp locks. at the touch, angel properly lets out a whine, his hips giving one, two, then three quick thrusts into your too-tight pussy. though his moves are uncoordinated, the shakey rocking of his pelvis against yours has your pussy rewarding his movements with tight clenches. and of course—

“yeah.” he echoes — he whimpers. "feels s’good — feels good f’you too…right?” how eager he is to please. though, he’d never admit it. but you can tell, especially with how he’s zeroing in on rolling his hips in tight circles — knows that gets you to tighten up around his pretty cock and let out hushed moans of your own.

“good boy, angel.” you sigh, head lolling back, prompting him to bury his face deeper into your sweaty flesh. needs to be close to you, needs to know this is real.

angel’s too precious like this — not fully understandant on how to please sexually. the small devil is unintentionally edging you, you’re so close to making a sticky mess over the petite man — if only he was a ‘lil bit more experienced.

though, that’s what you’re there for, right? <3

[krispycreamcake]

Diabolik Lovers x reader part 2

Hi everyone, so the votes have come in and the winner of the poll was *intense and epic drumroll*.......SHU! Sorry if the diaboy you voted for didn't get picked but the other chapters will center around each character so don't be too worried.

Your heartrate seemed to quicken as your palms grew clammy. Was it out of fear and trepidation? Or was it something much more complexed and inexplainable? In an instant you were swept up in a wave of his never ending ocean like eyes. They reminded you of forget me nots, engraving their existence into a crevice inside your brain, begging you to never let slip of their beauty. You heard an irritated sigh escape his plump lips, dragging you back to reality. He was obviously annoyed, but did he honestly have to be so rude about it? What was with these men and their blatant disrespect for others? It was already annoying but now it's a bit hurtful.

"I expect you to be on your best behaviour while we are away. That useless sloth over there can barely look after himself, but I've decided that he'd be the best choice considering the rest of us actually go to school to be productive and not lay around the entire day..." Reiji spoke with a firm and condescending voice. From what you remember, those two share the same mother. Why was he so disrespectful to him? Was he actually that lazy? You didn't doubt it based on his extremely unmotivated energy. But then again Reiji could've been exaggerating, he seemed like the type to do so.

Shu didn't even budge at the insult. He just leaned against a wall and closed his eyes. Maybe this was common behaviour for them? Either way it didn't matter too much right now, you just needed to focus on yourself and not these weird freaks. You were still recovering from the shock that Karlheinz had more than one son, let alone six of them. What else was he hiding from you?

"We'll be back in a couple of hours and by then I should have your schedule ready." Reiji spoke once more before turning his back to you. As they were all leaving, you noticed the girl seemed to be a bit jittery. She looked almost shaken up and she kept making eye contact with you. What was going on with her? Was she scared of you? That'd be a shock, there was no reason to be scared of you. But even so, she looked as if her body only pumped white blood cells, strange.

After they left, you turned around to perhaps talk to the guy that was to look after you and he was gone. When exactly did he leave? This place just kept getting creepier and creepier. Thunder exploded in the sky once more, causing a shock to run through your body. You quickly made it back up to your room to finish packing some smaller items. As you entered the room, something seemed off. Your clothes that you laid out on the bed was a mess, the drawers in your desk were all opened and your bags were scattered helter-skelter. Did an animal happen to get in? You gingerly took a couple steps forward in case it was maybe a rabid racoon or something of the sense. It wasn't a very solid possibility considering your room was on the second floor and all the windows were locked. You began to fold your clothes thinking about what it was that made a mess of your belongings. Then, it immediately hit you like a semi-truck. Someone was obviously here looking for something. It definitely wasn't a robber because only your personal items were disheveled, but who would do this? You were pretty sure everyone was downstairs by the time you made it there. You felt your pocket for your phone to check the time as you were growing tired, but you were met with nothing. Panic immediately seared through your body as adrenaline kicked in. You began tossing the sheets and looking under the bed, in your suitcase, in your wardrobe. Where was it? You felt your chest rise and fall as you realize your phone had been stolen. Everything made sense now, the scattered clothes and the luggage displacement. Someone was obviously looking for your phone and found it. Was it one of those Sakamaki brothers? Was it that girl? Was that why she was looking so pale?

You left the room after another quick search. "No no no no no no this can't actually be happening. Not now, not in a place like this. God...I just need to calm down and think, maybe I left it somewhere? No that doesn't make sense, that doesn't explain the messy room. Why God, why now and here of all places?" You spoke to yourself as you began to walk the halls, hoping and praying that you'd happen to find it laying around somewhere. In the midst of your rambling, you weren't quite watching where you were going- you didn't need to because it was only you in a huge hallway, or so you thought until you tripped and fell face first into the carpeted floor. You tried to break your fall with your elbows but that didn't help much. Luckily it wasn't that bad to draw blood, but it did leave your skin red and aching. You groaned as you turned your head to see what exactly you tripped on. Lo and behold, it was the eldest of the Sakamakis. He was just laying on the floor with his eyes closed and earbuds in. You were about to shout at him for his insolence when the gravity of the situation set in. He was laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious. Did the thief knock him out? You scrambled to your legs, getting to him as quick as possible. You observed his face for a while, praying he wasn't dead or anything.

"Are you okay? Uhm s-sir... Can you hear me?? Sir? Mister Sakamaki? Are you okay?" You began to panic once more as he was yet to respond. You gently rub his shoulders, hoping any form of sensation would somehow break him from his unconscious state and assure you he was ok. You leaned your face closer to his, fingertips still softly pressing against his shoulder, looking for any signs that he might've been attacked. "Sir...Sir please uhm if you can hear me please say something, are you hurt? Did something happen?" You kept asking him, hoping more and more he was ok. You brushed the golden threads out of his face just in case he might've endured a headwound. As you were inspecting him, you felt a rush of cold air blow past your cheek, you immediately looked down and saw that he was awake. You sighed in relief before bombarding him with questions. "Jesus you scared me, are you okay?? I thought something might've happened since there was a thief and-" Before you could finish your sentence, he pressed a cold palm against your mouth, refraining your speech.

"Jeez.....what a nuisance." His deep voice broke through your words like an icepick. "You keep running that mouth of yours, I couldn't even get a moment's rest with you talking so much." Shu continued, seeming highly annoyed. You tore your face away from his hand and felt fury rush through your bloodstream.

"I'm a nuisance?? You tripped me! And did you even hear what I said about there being a thief? I thought something bad happened to you- I was scared! You were just laying on the floor lifeless... What were you even doing on the floor?" You retorted. How could he possibly be upset with you after everything? "God just shut up already. I was taking a nap if that wasn't already obvious." He said even more annoyed. "No- That- Why would that ever be obvious? No human just lays around on the floor tripping people unless you're anemic or something." For some reason he smirked at your statement. Did he seriously think this was funny?? The gall of this guy honestly, what was his problem? In an instant, you were toppled over onto your back. His delicate hands gripped the both sides of your head, clenching your hair and pushing you off of him. He was now leaning over you, his knee between your legs. Your fight or flight kicked in as for the second time that day, you hit your head. The wind was completely knocked out your chest as you struggled to form words.

"How many times do I need to tell you to be quiet? First you assault me in my sleep, wake me up from my nap and then shout at me. Who do you honestly think you are woman? Are you really that arrogant?" His voice became sinister as he spoke, sending cold waves of fear up your spine. "I wasn't-" Before you could get another word in he slammed his hand over your mouth. "God you're so noisy. There was no thief, I was the one who took your phone. I was requested to do so. You have no idea the world of trouble you just walked yourself into little girl. Let me make this so that even a human like you could understand. I don't care whether you live or die, your life has no meaning to me and I find it insulting that you can walk in here acting like you have any right over me or where I sleep. I don't need another Reiji up my ass, understand?" His words were like a cold shower, making you extremely aware of the situation you were in. All you could do was nod your head in fear that things might escalate if you don't agree.

"Good. Now then..." He spoke as he lowered his head to take in your aroma. What was he doing? He released your mouth as he pinned both your hands above your head. In this position, it was hard to not notice his cologne. He smelt of jasmine and sandalwood and the personification of rain, almost making you get lost in his scent. He turned your face, exposing your neck before licking a freezing stripe up against it. "Shu- Stop! Stop this! I don't want to do this just fucking stop!" Your pleads met deaf ears as a dark chuckle emanated from his beastly throat. He leaned closer to your neck and you felt your flesh become pierced. Tears pricked your eyes and your heartrate sped up excessively. You yelped in pain as you felt his sharp fangs dig into your unmarked skin. He began draining your life force, that red coppery gold spewed out of you like a fountain. You felt faint as the metallic smell of your own blood hit your nose. You tried struggling to get away but every move just seemed to worsen your pain. His sucking became unbearable, feeling your blood drain from your ravaged flesh made your stomach churn. What was happening to you? Why was this happening to you? Your head was swarmed with thoughts but none of them could ease the stinging pain you felt in your neck. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he lifted his head. The feeling of his fangs being yanked out of your torn muscle made your entire body shiver.

He looked at you with hungry eyes, not yet satisfied. Blood trailed from his chin as he licked his lips. A glint in his orbs told you that this wasn't over. You felt your heart convulse as he leaned impossibly close to your ear, whispering words only you could hear. "Hah...Maybe I could get something out of this after all...You're not half bad." His words only seemed to darken the situation as he began to rip into you once more. God was this really it? Were you going to die by the hands of a vampire? As thoughts of death flooded your mind, you began to sob uncontrollably. "Tsk. No need to get so worked up. I won't suck you dry just yet, unless you're the kind of woman into that. Ha- You don't seem like the type, but I'm not one to pass up an offer. If anything, it's my idiot brothers you'll need to worry about. Now.....just be quiet and give yourself to me~"

[dxxtruction]

Thinking about Santiago.

How Armand was definitely appeasing Santiago to make up for killing his maker by colluding with him on the get go. Like Santiago definitely knew right when Armand knew about the two of them, and fair would only be fair. Santiago is someone who might act out frequently from all his resentment about his maker, and so Armand's probably thinking already that if he gives him this he'll finally cool his head about it. Stroke his ego a bit and give him a sense of power over something only Armand really has the power to do. But he doesn't follow through, as he'd caught feelings for Louis along the way. He's also realizing during this period of courting how much he really hates appeasing the coven all the time (he's notably bartered his body to them to solve arguments as this is 'how one endures'. and Coven life requires a 'letting of of the self'), let alone upholding all its laws with so much violence. He's not against either on principle, but is seriously questioning if this is who he wants to be at this period of time. Has honestly been disillusioned from the desire of coven life for the last century or so, because he's given the opportunity to see he can have other things. Like love.

With Claudia, Santiago's very much putting on a mask of innocence around her, scapegoating all the future blame onto Armand, anything that will happen will be Armand's fault. When really the only thing keeping this going is Santiago not backing down on needing the two of them dead so his ego is soothed. Santiago himself doesn't even care about all the laws. I'm not sure any of the coven or Armand do, let alone never indulging themselves in acting out in ways not tied solely to the group benefit. Which makes the fact they snitched on Claudia particularly interesting. They get to but she doesn't? Everyone hates Claudia to some degree and I think this just fuels Armand's hatred of her, because he's the one to always clean it up. And Claudia's going to act out, because, well she doesn't get along with anyone. I think the Baby Loulou play was a deliberate ploy to make the two of them buttheads, and what none of them, and their inflated egos, were expecting was for her to be a sweeping hit.

Armand knows if some coven members get to run rampant and some don't it leads to total chaos. So he can't just let Claudia have special privileges, but is technically letting her have them on a law the whole coven is in agreement on is something where a death sentence is entirely justified. (that of killing another vampire.) So this doubles over itself.

And to Armand, Santiago frequently emotionally degrades him, and publicly embarrasses him, in order to break him to a point where he has him where he wants him. He needs him broken so he can put him back together as he sees fit. Cause he can definitely easily coup and become the new maître, like he wants, but if Armand's all high and mighty, and feeling like he has any other choice, the whole plans a flop. Armand knows this sort of thing well enough to not see all this going on behind him (he does get lazy), even if he has a vague sense they'd probably get up to something, he's secure enough in Louis plan that they won't (which he calls love).

It's one of those things then where it has nothing to do with really wanting Claudia or Louis dead, at least for Santiago and Armand, but all about a clashing and contention between egos in a social contract that necessitates those bound to it be killed if they don't uphold, or fit into it well enough. Normally those who don't fit in are just prone to doing it themselves. It's a toxic work envoirment on steroids. Which Armand is in no small part apart of fostering the same as the rest of them. He does use a lot of their same tactics, and is normalized to them. (Such is a culture of toxicity). Then it's a little nation of vampires turning to fascism to get rid of the 'undesirables'. Which I think Armand does only come to sympathize with, because he felt he had no other choice (they'd broken him down), and it provided him with security. Much like Madeleine.

Moral of the story: never appease a fascist, and leave your toxic friend group at the soonest opportunity. Also leadership in relations where those who are in it do not have your best interest or values at heart, let alone if it's the group of the two of you, will likely want to undermine that leadership and relationship to serve their own interests (and visa-versa). This doubles as well for a larger community, or any person being against you, regardless of position. If they think they can get away with it, and desire to. And a lot of ways people think to do it is if it's already a normalized thought. I mean it's a big question when it comes to genocidal thinking, or really murder of any kind, how does an entire group of people, or person, become okay with the idea?

[nonranghaes]

heads up! mentions of a past abusive relationship (for reader). this should really go on wooahaes but i'm too lazy to format it rn and i need sleep so take this ig??? i might repost over there some other time....

there's things that are unfair about having a boyfriend like vernon. you think one of them is how pretty he can look when he's sleeping.

of course, he's still human. he ends up with messy hair, and sometimes he drools, and there's about a thousand other things you can list off about him when he sleeps... but he's still your boyfriend. and thus, every little 'flaw' he has is something you consider pretty on him. he would (and will, when he's in a sappy enough mood) say the exact same about you, to be fair. he shifts a little in his sleep, stretching and reaching for you.

you still remember overhearing him talk to his mom the morning after you slept in the same bed as him for the first time. it'd literally only been sleeping, but you heard him quietly say 'they trust me a lot,' to her while on the phone. he'd been unpacking breakfast. when she asked about it, he merely said "they fell asleep next to me. they've never done that before. i think... i think they trust me," in that pensive way, like he's thinking more than he's actually saying.

(i do, you told him later. trust you. i think i love you, too. and it'd been what made him say that he loves you for the first time--something he didn't expect to hear back without that 'i think' to protect yourself. you said it to him a few weeks later, and he teared up--although he'll always deny it when you bring it up now.)

"you're staring again." he pulls you out of your thoughts with ease, and his eyes meet yours in the low light. "what's wrong?"

you saw today's date. some birthdays never leave you, and that's true of the person who hurt you. the person you only told vernon about a few months ago in full, although he knew of the person's existence before then. you remember what that person said to you, too. that you didn't need anyone else aside from them...

"nothing," you say, and it's a half-lie. it'll bother you a little more, but you don't want to have this talk now. not when you're already starting to drift off, safe in his presence. vernon's good at protecting you from ugly feelings that settle into your bones like an unwanted guest. "we'll talk later, honey."

he gives you a uncertain look. "you only call me honey when you're upset."

(it's a mutual thing: he calls you either by your name or a casual dude any other time, and baby and babe and love of my life whenever he's trying to avoid a topic temporarily. the two of you communicate: vernon's good at making you feel safe in that, too.)

"right," you say. "we'll talk in the morning... homie."

it earns a crackling snort from him, and he smiles that cute gummy smile as he hides his face for a moment. "ah, really... god, you're such a dork sometimes, i swear."

"a dork who landed you," you always remind him. yet when his eyes meet yours a moment later, you feel something warm in your chest that washes away that ugly feeling all too easily. you reach out, holding his face. "i think... i won."

"you won?"

"you love me," you say. "my friends love me... i'm loved," you say quietly, and the feeling still feels a little foreign. you are loved, you repeat mentally for a moment: because they see you as you, not the broken mess you feel you are. "so i won."

vernon gets it soon enough, and he nods. "you won," he says quietly. "i'm glad you're here... homie."

you crack up, too, and he quietly laughs at his own little moment with you. his laugh and his smile always make you giggle, too, and he pulls you in to kiss you happily.

"i love you," he mumbles against your lips, "i love you, i love you, i love you--" and he keeps planting kisses against against and around your lips to punctuate every repeat of the phrase, before he draws back, satisfied after being struck with the need to be overly sappy. "alright?"

gone is that bitter feeling that once flashed through your veins and settled into your bones. all you feel now is love, soft and sweet, as you're so openly reminded that you're not alone. that the two of you shoulder these problems together. you won, you think, because you are alive and being loved and learning to love wholeheartedly again.

"yeah," you settle in to sleep, planning to keep to your promise of talking come morning. "i love you, too, you big sap."

[jiniret-writings]

Sweet Nothings

Inspired by Sweet Nothing by Taylor Swift

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: idol!Bangchan x idol!Reader

Warnings: Reader ruminates over how they're constantly criticized

Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are welcome and appreciated!

On the way home I wrote a poem You say, "What a mind" This happens all the time

They always wanted so much from you. It was like everyone had some expectation of you that you could never reach. Every lyric scrutinized, every dance move analyzed; even the way you walked was up for scrutiny. What once brought you joy started to feel like a chore. It felt like you weren't allowed to have fun with lyrics anymore unless you wanted articles written about how you had "lost your spark".

That was until Chan came along. The first time you met him you thought he would be like everyone else. Especially since he was a producer and songwriter, you were expecting him to give you feedback from the first meeting--as most producers you met did. Instead, he talked to you about your crocheting. It was a little hobby you had that you barely ever talked about, but he remembered it.

You two had a blossoming friendship that turned to more on a drive home from dance practice. You were playing around with a beat and wrote some lyrics that didn't mean much. It was just an in-the-moment type of thing. But when he heard it, he just smiled at you and added to your little bundle of nonsense.

Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more" To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it

He never judged you. That's one of the things you loved most about him. You were both idols who got extremely busy and each had your own bundle of problems, but at the end of the day when you two were airing it all out in the open and ranting about everything from a small inconvenience to huge scandals, there was never any judgement. Only understanding.

There were days when it seemed like nothing was ever enough. You'd go live and message on bubble and post on Instagram and weverse and even uploaded a vlog! But there was always something amiss. Some challenge you didn't do or some song you didn't talk about. Your captions were either lackluster or too cringe. You kept a brave face around the fans, and even started doing so in front of staff. It was only when you were with Chan that you could let the facade crumble and hide yourself in his embrace.

They said the end is coming Everyone's up to something I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

You were only 24 but were already reminded of how easy it would be for you to fade into nothingness. Every month a new artist debuted, and while you were secure where you were now, there was no guarantee for the future. One day, the world would deem you too old to be an idol and all you'd have left was your name.

But when you came home, it was like all your worries were silenced. There were no expectations between the two of you other than to just be.

"Be yourself, that's all I want from you", he'd said one day when you'd tried breaking up with him early in your relationship. Just be you.

Everything was something to be celebrated. Something as small as waking up was an accomplishment when you were with Chan. Lazy days in were rebranded to self care days. There was no such thing as a lazy meal because everything tasted better when you were together. Chan was your safe space and you were his. All there was between you two was pure love. You treasured each other as you were, not as you could be.

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

This has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for a while, but after Chan changed his Instagram caption I realized how I wanted to write this. I hope all of you have someone you can turn to who can just accept you as you are and not for what you can be. You deserve to be with someone/people who don't have expectations for what you need to be. As always, have a great morning, afternoon, evening, and night <3

-Jini