#i have grown lazy in my old age

[nouearth]

red right hand.

pairing. henry cavill x male reader.

word count. 7.3k.

summary. if there was one thing to give your dad credit for (other than helping create your very existence), it was that he has an insanely hot best friend. it was a universal admiration your neighborhood shared with one another. though, how many actively feasted upon their fantasies regarding that hunk of a man? probably only you, because mr. cavill was more than a crush, he was an addiction. and on one summer day, mr. cavill realized that so were you.

content warning. college!reader, dad's best friend!henry, neighbor!henry, age gap, blowjob (r!giving), degrading, throat-fucking, choking, gagging, spitting, kissing, humiliation, body and muscle worship, rough-play, size difference, dirty talk, verbal, praising, size kink.

The warm wind fanned the sweat off your forehead when you slid your window open. The ledge stained your fingers with particles of dust. Grimacing at the fuzz and simultaneous stickiness, it also provoked a storm of laziness as steel reminders from your dad got caught up in the commotion: CLEAN THE HOUSE.

CAR MAINTENANCE.

STOP ORDERING TAKE-OUT AND COOK.

SORT THE ATTIC.

TIDY GARAGE.

CHECK STOVE IGNITIONS BEFORE LEAVING THE HOUSE.

LOCK THE DOORS.

Ya-dah, ya-dah…

Honestly, how could you check-off any of these tasks with this heatwave currently going on? You were sweating bullets, been sweating enough to bathe in your own salt for days now—which you technically were already doing. It was summer, the long-awaited season after the agony of allergies. A temporary relief to your studies as well, until the humidity hit you like a truck and made you realize that living back in a dorm wasn’t so bad. 

At least the building had a functional air-conditioner. 

“Uh-huh, yep.” Your dad’s voice was going in one ear and out the other as you rummaged through your cabinets for a snack. Cereal; stale. Canned meat; too heavy. Potato chips; not heavy enough. “Dad, you know you’ve gone on business trips before, right? This isn’t the first time I’ve been alone.”

“I know, but I’m just making sure. It’s a new house, and I’ve been watching these true crime documentaries about men leaving clubs and—“

“Well, the first mistake was going to a sketchy club in the first place…” You muttered, peering into the fridge, and then lingering, because refrigerator air has never felt so cooling against your skin. You duck your head to puzzle yourself into the cold box, dumbfounded that the heat had gotten you irritated enough to claim a bag of deli meat as your bunkmate for the time being. The sound of your dad’s frustrated sigh on the other line curled your frown into a smile, and you laughed, “I’m a big boy. Stop worrying, and go enjoy—Ow!“ You bumped your head against the door on your way out.

“How can I not worry when you just referred to yourself as a ‘big boy?’ Not even a man?!” You never realized how theatric the man was. It was like his presence never left the house, exaggerated hand movements and all wafting the smell of his homemade meals whenever he would scold you in his favorite place: the kitchen. You smiled at the fond memories.

“Good point—“ Though they were made at your old house, you were sure that once he’d returned, your dad wouldn’t be opposed to creating new memories of scolding your ass off on whatever trouble you’d get into. If you do, that is. You’ve grown since then, finding yourself too tired to socialize.

“Remember, spare key’s in the birdhouse. There’s a compartment at the side of it. Hopefully birds haven’t evolved enough to pick it open.”

“If they have, they’d be picking at our locks right now to kidnap me and probably feast on my body.” Luckily, the fridge was stocked before your dad had left. You crucified him for being overly-prepared at times, but for this month, it was an exception. You picked at a slice of deli meat and cheese, and stuffed it down your mouth.

“Not funny, (M/N).”

“I’m kidding, Dad. Lighten up! I know you’re nervous about presenting, but they invited you to talk to an audience for a reason. They like you. Just be yourself, and remember not to speak so fast. Have some water on standby too.” And speaking of the devil, you gulped down a glass of iced water to cool down your body as your dad chuckled in your ear.

“I know, I know, thanks.” A muffled sound on the other end filled the silence, sounds of people passing and cars honking passing through your ear. “Alright, my ride’s here. I’ll call as soon as I get to the hotel, okay? You better answer—Oh! I forgot to tell you! Henry’s coming over later to look at the car.”

“Henry—Oh, Mr. Cavill? He’s in the neighborhood?” The name rattled a familiar feeling inside of your stomach. Something rather warm, suddenly ravenous when you thought about the last time you saw him.

“Actually, he was the one that told me about this house! He lives down the street. But tool’s in the garage if he asks for them, okay?” 

“Y-yeah, okay. Got it.” You hadn’t seen him many times. Only when you’d come home from semester breaks, yet the mere mention of his name had you flustered as if he was a long-lost friend or something. 

“Okay, gotta go. Love you, and remember, lock your doors! Bye!”

“I will! Bye…” Your phone blinked back to your previous app after ending the call.

You knew he was your dad’s best friend; a divorced father and a bachelor unsurprisngly made a match in heaven.

He was someone that shared your father’s interest in tabletop games and comic books. A replacement for yourself you thought earlier on, but he was way more knowledgeable about those interest than you ever were. You grew up on your dad’s nostalgia. For Mr. Cavill and your dad? These memories altered them who they would be in the future.

He was a friend that would help your dad out on building projects, like that birdhouse he had mentioned. He was a charming man that built the PC you currently use after hearing you complain about the previous laptop you had. And best of all, his looks were as abundant as his kindness. Standing over six feet tall, with a chiseled face that matched an equally sculpted body; he’d been a little crush since you first met him, being the only man who was capable of rendering you utterly speechless.

And in present, the only man who had the power to tighten your briefs and shorts with only a passing thought of his body; muscular and athletic in all the right places. If only your dad could somehow muster up a beach day before summer ended. Either way, the image of his bare body excited you, the blood flow immediately rushing south in agreement. Your dick kissed your shorts at the thought water cascading off his hulking body like meltwater over an ice shelf, freezing you in your place to not-so-subtly gawk.

“Jesus…” Your body couldn’t catch a break, could it? With the ramping heat and the constant sweating, your erection only added fuel to the bonfire that was the pores of your skin. Your cock pulsed madly within the constraint of your briefs, teasing yet begging to be released, to be sheathed from its slick, because it knew you had the key to its relief.

Or rather, Mr. Cavill did.

It was pathetic. You’d been at this for a year now. As much as you were unfamiliar with Mr. Cavill’s disposition, it was certainly the opposite regarding his physical appearance. Though it hadn’t exactly occur to you when this crush of yours had been tiptoeing along the lines of obsession. 

Wait, was it an obsession..? No, no, it was just a crush. 

You hadn’t done anything wrong. All you had done was browse through his social media—he did follow you, and you mutually pursued—and stalked—no—scrolled through his posts. Thank god, he was an avid poster. Pictures of his selfies, his knack for grilling, his love for his pet dogs, his pride over his geeky hobbies, his friendship with your dad and mutual buddies—all of these pieces attributed to allowing you to get to know him more as you were rotting away on campus, missing life back at home. Like clockwork, looking at his feed brought a sense of comfort, a hope that maybe you could be part of his life as well.

“God, what I’d do to ride that mustache…” You blurted out your thoughts, hyper-aware that you were alone in the house. You’d been waiting for this. You’d been surrounded by your roommates 24/7, and then once break started, your dad wanted to insert himself into your schedules as much as he could before the next semester starts. 

As much as you loved them, you needed space. A space bigger than the privacy of your own room. You deserved the whole house to yourself after enduring months of agony from overdue assignments; stress from bickering roommates that led to chaos within the dorm. You haven’t jerked off properly in months, often resorting to a quick session that comforted you on the occasions you’d have to pull multiple all-nighters to get a project done.

You needed relief.

You needed pleasure.

“Fuck,” Your eyes had been fixated on Mr. Cavill’s social media feed as you stripped yourself free of clothing. On one hand, it helped your body cool off from the heat building in the house. On the other, you felt vulnerable, like someone could walk in on you any second, and god, was that a turn-on. 

A grid of his life displayed happily before you, and your thumb scrolled aimlessly in pursuit of multiple pictures ingrained in your brain that had your cock throbbing in your palm. You laid flat on the couch, earbuds fit snug in the canals after briefly switching apps to play your favorite porn in the background of your search. Your stomach sunk deep when the man began moaning in your ears. Hot like the blistering sun outside; you can imagine Mr. Cavill breathing against you like that, as you took his cock in like the video you had playing. Your balls pulled when the man grunted, “Right there,” and you couldn’t help but pull at the ache of your cock, then at your balls to fondle at the loose stretch of skin.

“Right there,” you repeated when your thumb paused at the desired video of Mr. Cavill. Another major part of his lifestyle was working out. Strength training, cardio, marathons. You name it, Mr. Cavill did it all, exceptionally well, and the crème de la crème of it all was that he bared his torso for most of his videos. “Fuck, you’re so big… Fuck, fuck…” 

It was like watching a warrior prepare for battle. Sweat dripped off the holiest parts of his body as he pumped his muscles with heavy weights. Grunts, heavy and lewd sounds filled your ears while Mr. Cavill powered through his body’s resistance. You wondered to yourself if he could take you like that. Force you to take him with brute strength like the weights in his muscular, veiny hands. You were stroking yourself to him, every part of him, palm slick with sweat and spit. Two fingers would get the job done, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. Though, you knew deep down that it would take more than that. Three, or maybe even four, considering the hunk of a man was seemingly built from metal. The video replayed multiple times before you remembered that he had more than enough content for you to jerk off to. You were barely five minutes in, but this was already more pleasurable than whatever you had endured back at the dorms. Your cock felt pleased, spitting out dribbles of thick pre-cum that loosened the stick of your palm as donation to your generosity.

“Fuck, Henry…” You rarely referred to him by his first name. It felt unusual. You were much younger than him. Addressing someone closer to your dad’s age felt rude, like you were trying to assert your dominance despite your age difference. You were many things, but disobedient was not one of them. However, you couldn’t lie. His name felt polishing to your tongue, something that could improve the taste of dreadful meals if one were to whisper it before taking a spoonful.

His name felt like a miracle.

Your sexual appetite was nourished by the frames of Mr Cavill’s second video. He was completely unaware he was bulging, free-balling in his sweaty shorts while he pursued his vitality through jumping jacks, lunges, toe-touches—cardio galore that made his heavy cock bounce in rhythm. You could tell he was large, gifted with insane girth to the point where you could make out the shape of his cock just from him stretching. And the smell; sweat sticking on thick curly hairs on his chest, and a happy trail that seemed to promise a world of musk if you ever had an opportunity to endeavor upon your curiosities. You were practically salivating for him, saliva pooling where your tongue sank, while your cock leaked. You pumped yourself quicker and harder at the frustration that your desire to taste Mr. Cavill’s cock would remain a pipe dream.

All that left you was your imagination, and your own musk. Pulling up at your glans, you squeezed out thick loads of pre-cum before swiping it with your thumb and tasting it off with a suck. Salty, bitterly pleasant on your tongue, and satiated enough to not let your libido falter at the disappointment that it wasn’t Mr. Cavill’s pre-cum, but rather smolder.

“Oh, fuck my mouth… I need that cock, Mr. Cavill. Please—“ The frames of the third video showcased him flexing his arms and torso. His body bursted with pride, veins surging through every fiber of muscle like they were charging him and his very existence. It was veiny too, wasn’t it? His cock. Large and veiny, like how you’d like it. You would struggle fitting him inside of your mouth while his cock veins pulsed with great pleasure knowing that it was Mr. Cavill’s kink that you couldn’t take him. 

No one could.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ Your eyes rolled back. The slurping sounds from the porn increased by tenfold as you pumped the volume by a few decibels. Lewd, slick sounds you wished you could perform on Mr. Cavill himself violated your ear drums. Pleasure him. Thank him on your knees for being so kind to your father. For building your PC without compensation. For providing you temporarily relief while you were away on campus, and could only jerk off under the blanket. You were grateful for him. For Mr. Cavill. For his thick arms. For his veiny forearms. For his dashing good-looks. For his muscles. For his strong cock. You’d give yourself to him if you could. Worship every inch of his step, every inch of his body, and that still wouldn’t be enough to show your appreciation towards him. 

Your fist tightened. Your other hand had grown limp by now, dropping your phone to the floor by mistake, but you were too fixated on the pleasure your cock was receiving to retrieve it back. You could watch it from where you were laying, just like this, slickly twisting and pumping your cock to the sound of the porn, to the sound of Mr. Cavill grunting simultaneously as if his thick cock was being feasted on like a hungry beast. “Mr. Cavill, please—I’m going to—“

One earbud slipped from the sweat building on your body, but you were close. So fucking close to coming. And when you do, you’d come on your phone.

All over Mr Cavill’s pecs. His abs. His crotch. His face. Anywhere, as long as it was your friendly neighbor, because—

“Enjoying yourself, (M/N)?”

A voice from behind you alerted your body to jolt and whip around upon instinct to defend yourself. Naked or not, you weren’t going to die, not in the hands of a burglar.

Though, as soon as you did, you regretted it. You felt like stone. Cold, hard stone as all signs of life seemingly felt like it had been sucked dry out of your body, with your erection taking up most of the produce surprisingly as you confronted the intruder.

The six-feet, muscular, handsome, and familiar man of an intruder. 

“M-Mr. Cavill?! What—When did you—“ You were flustered. Radiant heat blooming like the season of Spring across several patches of your naked body. It also didn’t help that your porn could be heard from earbuds once you took the remaining one out, albeit a bit muffled. And your phone, it was facing the ceiling, looping the video of Mr. Cavill training over and over again. Right before him.

Your body was shaking, physically evident despite your efforts to conceal the tremors as the man stared you down, unfazed by the drama of it all. “Fuck—“ You didn’t know what to turn off first. The porn? The video of him working out? Or maybe dressing yourself should be a priority because—Mr. Cavill was still staring, blues lingering on your naked body, seemingly outlining every drop of sweat that followed the contours of your figure. There was movement that naturally caught your attention. 

It was his hand, large and muscular over the center of his shorts. Rubbing, squeezing, fondling at an evidently large mass that made you dry-swallow. You mustered up the courage to finally pause the porn, then clicked your phone off. “H-how long have you been watching?”

“Since the beginning.” He chuckled, stating matter-of-factly. “Your dad told me to come look at your car. Your garage was open. Thought you did that for me, but I guess you really just forgot about closing it considering…” He nodded towards your cock, licking his lips when it acknowledged him with a throb. “Was coming to get you, and I found you like this.”

“And you just watched?!” You sputtered out in distress, hastily dressing yourself back into your clothes, stumbling over your feet in the process. Sweat always made it more difficult to put on clothes.

“Well, I did call you for while I was coming in. You didn’t hear me over your video, and…me, I suppose.” It was smug. Amusing to him that you were in this state of embarrassment after being caught red-handed. You groaned, burying your head into your knees after sitting back down on the couch. The heat was unbearable, but to face Mr. Cavill after being caught jerking off to his videos, you were overcome with horror at the ghastly spectacle of the situation.

“Don’t tell my dad about this,” Your fingers scraped through your scalp out of frustration, but also to keep your head pressed to your knees as they interlaced around you. You refused to even spare one more glance at the man when you felt him practically hovering over you, a gentle smile riding along the coattails of his composure. “…please.”

“I won’t,” Mr. Cavill’s voice sounded clearer, closer than before. Right above you, but still, you maintained your position despite the pleasant scent of his cologne almost breaking away your focus. “Just as long as you suck me off.”

Those final words hit you like a truck. 

You were astounded, confused by the turn of the situation. It felt like a taunt, and it was treated as such because it worked. You whipped your head up upon Mr. Cavill’s demand, almost insulted because it was how guys on campus used to taunt you.

What you expected to grace your eyes with was his face; charming as ever with a mustache that was reliable in stirring immense feelings inside of you.

Instead, you were met with a face full of flesh, Mr Cavill’s heavy and large cock. It sported a strong curve, throbbing veins to prove its accelerating lust, with thick balls swinging low to entice you into a hypnotic state. If someone was to grade you upon your predictions, you’d score a perfect mark, because god damn, he was huge. Hairier than you’d expected, though just as arousing, if not more, because this was unexpected for Mr. Cavill as well. He would’ve cleaned himself a bit if he had a plan to meet you under these circumstances.

“I—You’re serious?” With the string of thick pre-cum dripping from the very slit of his head, it seemed like your question was answered. You could smell him. The musk of his pre-cum. It tingled your nostrils, enchanting you akin to what fresh pastries would’ve done for you on normal, non-libido provoking circumstances.

“Does it look like I’m kidding? Come on, I’m waiting. You didn’t even say ‘thank you’ to me in person when I built you that PC for Christmas. It’s the least you could do, right?” Without warning, he took ahold of his cock and tapped the center of your lips with it. Your orbs shook as you looked up at him, hesitant through the tremor of your lips as Mr. Cavill stared back, determined for you to accept his plea offer with some kind of answer—with your mouth preferably. “Been teasing me for so long… Think I didn’t notice the way you looked at me whenever I came over? How you kept massaging your cock under the table during dinner? Always in those shorts too… God, you were begging to be fucked with your thighs showing like that.”

“No—I-You’re my dad’s friend, I can’t—“ Your hand said otherwise with your fingers taking initiative on their own, wrapping over his large cock, right above Mr. Cavill’s fist. It was a two-hander, a fucking two-hander, yet your fingers struggled to close around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so…”

“Your dad doesn’t have to know, right? I won’t tell. You won’t either. We don’t want to hurt him, right?” One of his hands found its way to the back of your head while he took a step closer, bringing his cock closer to your face. Before you could pull away, there was true grit to the palm of Mr Cavill’s hand as he applied pressure to the back of your head, pressing your cheek flush to the underside of his cock. “Look at you, you don’t have the heart to say no, do you? You’re obsessed with my cock, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mr. Cavill…” You were under his control. Locks of your hair bundled under a grip while he ground his cock against your supple skin, making you smell him; his musky cock, the sweat buried in the deep hairs of his pubic area. It was a glorious scene that returned your cock back to its original state of arousal by tenfold. 

“You’re going to be a good boy and suck my cock off, right?” Almost in your mouth. You parted your lips open to trap his cock into your mouth with the way he maneuvered your head like a rag doll, a brute strength your nape now, pulling and pushing your head as his cock rubbed against your face, but Mr. Cavill pulled at the last minute, right when you were one lick away from tasting meaty flesh. “Close your mouth. You will open your mouth when I tell you so.”

“I—I—Yes, please...” You were pathetic. He held you still, head tilted upwards to face the ceiling and his towering body while his cock and balls laid over your face like a table runner, a perfect heater to warm his meat. A t-shirt remained on his body, and that was a true testament to his appeal, being able to get you off like this half-naked. You reached down, back to fondling at your sore cock, at the blue balls you’d given yourself earlier, sniffing, inhaling the heavy delightful scent of his sweaty cock. Guess his house was having air-conditioning difficulties too.

“I can use your mouth however I want?” He dragged his cock over your face, the head leaking out pre-cum in midst of its journey to introducing itself to every one of your facial features, saving your lips for last. 

“Yes,” You gulped at his rousing speech, breathing in the drying musky pre-cum on the perimeter of your skin. “Please fuck my mouth, please—“

“If you’re good, then this can be a regular occurrence, yeah?” You slipped your shorts and briefs off again, jerking yourself off to simply the teasing taunt of his cock, tapping at your skin, brushing over your eyelids, pushing up against your nose. You felt humiliated. You’d been marked by Mr. Cavill, pathetically as it only took his huge cock to make you submit to him. “You’d like that? Sucking your dad’s best friend off?”

“F-fuck, yes…” His cock was a wand to your body. Every time Mr. Cavill was seemingly about to push into your mouth, you willingly opened it to no avail, even if it was obvious that he’d pull away. You could only get off on his scent for so long. He’d draw your tongue out when he squeezed pre-cum out the tip of his cock, right above your pink flesh. It would sink, drip, slowly like syrup, in thick strings, until it wasn’t anymore with the sudden obstruction of Mr. Cavill’s finger swooping in to nick the sticky web, and letting it waste away on the carpet. “Please, Mr. Cavill… I-I’ll be good…”

It was amusing to him, watching you desperately try to taste and watch him in any way you can, to the point of going cross-eyed as he would center his cock in your vision. He waved his cock like a flag as if he had conquered you. Humiliated you with several heavy slaps to your face, thick smacks that you took in whimpering grace because Mr. Cavill had stolen the resources to your insanity.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Mr. Cavill didn’t waste a single second for you to prepare yourself. The pressure on your nape steeled, bruising to make you open your mouth and whimper, and maybe that was the point, because he seized the opportunity to charge his cock inside of your mouth without warning, making you gag on your own desperation. It was a forewarning. A brief prologue on how you should take his cock as he quickly pulled himself out to properly prepare yourself. In the meantime, he slapped your cheek multiple times with the spit you had already layered him with, cooing at how incredible hard and big he was against your dazed face.

“Fuck, your mouth is so warm. That’s it, you can take it. Good boy.” Saliva spilled out of your mouth like a popped water balloon when he pushed himself inside of your mouth again. You couldn’t control it. You couldn’t control what Mr. Cavill had stripped away from you with the strength he had on your neck. Not to mention, the mass of flesh gagging you into oblivion, leaving you completely incapable of stopping him, as if you wanted him to. “Come on, use your hands too. Don’t be lazy.”

“Mm-mmf…” A compliance that was muffled by a slur of slick sounds, but Mr. Cavill knew what you meant. Amusement played on the corner of his lips as you struggled to fit a hand around the base of his sticky cock, sloppily stroking what was left neglected by your mouth, or rather your inability to take in. You suckled on the head of his cock, plump and heavy on your tongue as it throbbed with every lick you provided him. Stroking its slit with the tip of your tongue, you then dug and slobbered over the salty taste of his pre-cum. “So big… Just like I’d imagined.”

You pulled away to marvel at the size of his cock, taking your time to lube his cock with your spit from tip to shaft before your fist flushed to his pelvis to slap his meaty cock on the pouch of your tongue, lewdly flinging your spit in the air. It was your favorite move, often reliable in coercing a reaction out of the men you’d sucked off previously. The roll of his eyes, the flex of his muscles, the grunt from his gut; you slobbered all over his cock, worshipping every inch with your mouth, polishing the cock knob clean with your tongue and stroking what you couldn’t with two deft hands. Mr. Cavill was no different, he was a man with needs like you, with needs like the rest of the men you’d given head to, and you exploited the hell out of it. You loved making them feel in power, making them feel like you were worth time out of their day, despite their original pleas to use your mouth.

He briefly pulled back to rest a kiss on your lips, one that you’d treasure for the rest of your life. Not only was it because it was your first kiss was him, but because of how delicate he was with you. Warm and inviting like he usually was, his large hands cupped at the end of your jaw, holding you as if you were made of porcelain. “Making me so proud right now, fuck. Take in more of my cock, would you? I like it when you gag.”

“Mm-hmm…” They always do. You mumbled against his lips, no longer needing his guidance to finish what you’d started. Your eyes were glued to Mr. Cavill, aroused by the look he was giving you. A famished stare that demanded to be satiated, by means of sheer persistence as you knew it was going to be difficult to down him with your throat.

Mr. Cavill drove a hand into your hair, cuffing the strands to keep you still, to keep you from pulling away, to dominate you. He watched you without an ounce of kindness, muscles flexing, cock and balls hanging obscenely as you found a better position on your knees with a throw pillow guarding you from bruising. “Want you to throat-fuck me, Mr. Cavill.”

“Fuck, who knew you had such a mouth on you…” He sturdied his stance, spreading his strong legs while manhandling your head between them. You licked a stripe over his balls, then the underside of his cock until your tongue reached the scorching skin of his precum-slicked tip. Approaching the end of the journey, your mouth opened wide to welcome Mr. Cavill back into your mouth, and like tugging on a loose knot, you drew out moans from within his gut, his body loosening in turn of your hot mouth. “Fuck, just like that…”

With a thundering heart, and a building pleasure so morbidly big, you sunk and lowered your head lower, taking in Mr. Cavill’s horse-cock like a fleshlight. Crimson rose to your cheeks, to your neck, as you strained to maintain him inside of your mouth. He was too big. You’ve utilized all the tactics you’ve learned on campus, on a few buddies, on your roommates. Breathe through your nose, relax your tongue and jaw, let your saliva drip out. Yet you’d barely taken a few inches more than you had done prior before a couple of gags alerted you to take a breather. Your head pulled back, but it was met with violent opposition as Mr. Cavill brought your head back down to further shove himself down your throat.

“Mmm—gggrgh!” Your body jolted in defense, stiffening your body into an upright position when you couldn’t refrain from gagging on his cock. Your hands braced on his strong thighs for balance, squeezing at the muscly flesh of skin to distract yourself from the uncomfortable stretch your mouth was receiving.

“Fuck, yeah. Fuck, fuck, just like that. You’re taking it like a good boy.” You were making him proud, so fucking proud. You coughed, gagging, almost choked on your own spit, but the stuffing of Mr. Cavill’s large cock simultaneously emptied your mouth of saliva as it all came flooding down your mouth in lewd webs. “Shit, look at that. I’m making your mouth water, aren’t I? Fuck, what a waste.”

He yanked your head back, pulling him out of your throat, and you had never felt such relief. Breathing, exhaling and inhaling deep to compensate for the prediction that Mr. Cavill wasn’t going to let you spare a second of abandoning his cock like that. Your eyes watered, reddened from straining your muscles to make him fit inside of your mouth. You knew there was a shift in the room when you looked up at him like that, glossy in the eyes, tremors involuntarily making your knees unsteady, coughing as you held onto his thighs. He towered over you, you were beneath him, beneath the ravenous gaze he simultaneously terrified and seduced you with. You couldn’t complain now. You did your job. You made him feel powerful like you’d wanted. Dominating, as his cock leaked in your spit, and spit your saliva back onto your face.

“You were fucking hungry for my cock, weren’t you? Look at you. You’re a bloody mess…” With one swipe, he gathered the layers of spit you had generously supplemented his cock with, and smeared it across your face. You took his humiliation with good grace, moaning at your loss of pride with every smear. It deducted the more he messily layered your face with your own spit, but as demeaning as it was, there was immense merit to the satisfaction on Mr. Cavill’s face. “Open up.”

“M-mm, ah—“ Your mouth opened with a vulgar sound. If Mr. Cavill had something to compare it to, it would be like sticking a spoon into a cup of jello, and then scooping its content out. Sweet and glorious to his ears, salty to your mouth as he bought your head forward again, and plunged his cock back down your throat, deeper, and further within the confines of your throat. You squeezed around him, eyes clenched tight while he brought your face flushed to his pelvis, the hairy bush of his public area gentle abrasive against your nose. He smelled as delectable as he tasted. A hint of spice, sweat, salt, you could lick at it if it was made into a popsicle, lap it up if it was in a bowl and you were on all fours, bowing to his feet.

Your cheeks bulged as your mouth churned internally to produce more slime to seemingly ease the slide of Mr. Cavill’s cock thrusting inside of you now. He was careless, half-bent over your head to lock you into a tight embrace while his spit-polished cock rubbed at either side of your cheeks, rut against the roof of your mouth, then thrust himself into the depth of your warm throat. You couldn’t have escaped if you had wanted to. He was too strong. Two hands unrelenting around your head while he packed his large cock deep into your mouth, pelting into your gags and whimpers with fast, sharp thrusts, the sound of his wet dick choking you mutually turning you and Mr. Cavill on. You want to quit, yet he was choking you too good. Water streamed down your cheeks. Whether it was your own spit, sweat, or tears, you couldn’t comprehend it because Mr. Cavill was uncompromising, refusing to yield for your comfort.

You were fucking grateful. That was what had been missing from your college experience. A man. Someone taking charge for once. Someone utilizing you like the whore you made yourself out to be. Mr. Cavill saw right through you, through your taunts from several breaks ago, and he was fucking furious for making him wait.

“Shit, I’m close,” Fucking your mouth furiously. You could get off like this. Fuck, no. You were getting off to this. Fucking your cock with your fist, doing your best to match the pace of Mr. Cavill’s hips. You wanted to look up, to watch his face morph from admiration to animalistic desire as he utilized your throat at his own disposal.

You blinked away your tears, even if they had stung, and gawked at how captivating Mr. Cavill was for being selfish, thrusting into your mouth with one hand keeping your face free of your hair from obstructing his view. A frown permanently framed his mustache, and his dark brows furrowed at the approaching climax. He wasn’t looking at you. Rather, he was scrutinizing your wet mouth as it was jam-packed with his cock. How could a mouth look so pretty while doing something absolutely obscene? How could a throat feel so tight, so addictive, even after piping his cock down its drain several times? How could you let him treat you like this, a complete stranger, completely violate and humiliate you on your knees, like a broken doll whose purpose was to fulfill a man’s deepest desires? Maybe he needed to have a talk with your father. Talk about how broken you were, and that you needed fixing. Spend a nights with him at his house, and he would help you rewire your brain. He’d fix you. Fix you with his cock. With his lips. With his hands. With his body. Your eyes rolled back at the thought, fisting your cock faster, twisting to his heavy grunts as he was nearing closer and closer to the edge of his insanity.

“Mfghm!” Your throat felt raw, the subtlest whimper scratching at your throat like claws on chalkboard. But you persisted, pumping your shaft vigorously, your ears lapping up Mr. Cavill’s constant appraisal for your performance. Good boy. That’s it. You’re taking my cock like how I want it. You want your reward? Fuck, sloppier. Spit on it. Spit on my dick. I like it sloppy. 

Sweat pebbled every inch of your skin. You couldn’t take it. It was coming. Your stomach sank and steeled upon the sudden rise of fulfillment, and you quickly released your grip after a final stroke before coming into the air. Thick ropes catapulted upwards, your cock throbbing with every pulse, and your balls emptying itself more and more with a bounce, a twitch, and a jolt. “F-fuck, ugh…”

“Fuck, yeah. Look at all of that cum. Fuck. You came that much just from my cock, look at that…“ Your body spasmed as the carpet soaked up your semen. His voice gruff yet gentle at the same time, making your cock twitch once more before softening. 

“Come on, not done yet. Suck me off.” He spat out, tugging your head forward after a quick breather.

Something in you clicked, and you began sucking his cock off like it was your job. Twisting, stroking at the slick shaft while nipping at the head while you caught up to your breath. Suddenly saltier on your tongue as some of your cum had landed on your hand before it was smeared across Mr. Cavill’s dick. You’ve never tasted yourself before, but it was a found contentment you didn’t expect to turn you on.

Then, you took one last breath, cleared your throat, and charged forward. Long, thick inches slid into your throat once more, and you’d hold yourself there upon his final warning, mouth agape, lips pressed into the fur of his pubic hair. Your tongue flattened at the underside of his veiny cock, and your nails dug into the back of his thighs as you felt a thick warmth rush down and coat the inside of your throat. His cock throbbed, and Mr. Cavill’s grunts emptied from his gut with every spill. You could feel every heavy pulse as Mr. Cavill came down your throat in heavy, creamy spurts. You didn’t want to swallow. Not yet. You wanted to savor him. Savor the taste of his cum. You’d pined for it for so long, for all you could know, this could be your last opportunity to properly taste him. Slowly, but surely, his loads rose and pooled in the back of your throat upon barricading it with a tighten of your trachea. The rest of his spurts emptied on your tongue as he pulled himself out, and milked himself to completion. 

“Don’t swallow yet.”

You nodded, panting, awaiting for his nuts to be emptied as he flung his cock a few times, hurling drips of cum and your spit over your tongue and face. When he was seemingly emptied out, his gaze fixated on his cum pooled in the back of your throat; semi-translucent and filthily swimming with your own spit, and then Mr. Cavill’s own saliva, as he then spat into your crowded mouth. 

“Now swallow.”

You whimpered at the vulgarity of this affair, yet you were highly-aroused by this shame you were feeling. Mr. Cavill’s gaze stilled, anticipating with calm amusement while petting at your cheek. With one clean gulp, you downed your guilt, scrunching your nose when the salty taste of his spunk throttled your tastebuds, and sighed in satisfaction.

“Does your throat hurt?” He was on his haunches, carefully examining your throat as if he had his hand around you from the outside. It was a surprising return to his normal self, at least, the man that you knew as your dad’s best friend. Caring and patient, as he tended to your neck with apologetic kisses, and a gentle massage around your nape, where he must’ve gripped too hard upon your jolted reaction.

“A little… Didn’t take you were one to be rough like that.” Your knees gave out, letting yourself fall back onto your butt knowing that the couch would catch your position.

“Not usually, no… You just… happen to rile me up for some reason.” He was smiling, joining you on the floor, and nuzzling his furry mustache into the crook of your neck as if he wasn’t choking you with his cock a few minutes ago. It was unusual, yet charming. “Seriously, don’t tell your dad, okay?” He whispered into your ear before turning your cheek to look deep in his eyes.

A meaningful stare, a beat of silence, before you spoke, “Only if you promise me something.”

“What’s that?” Mr. Cavill pressed a kiss to your swollen lips, another apology for stretching your mouth without much warning.

“You really meant it that this would be a regular thing if I did a good job?” Mr. Cavill scoffed at first. It was almost embarrassing. Were you being naive? Was this too good to be true? Your cheeks flushed red, and you solemnly casted your gaze downwards, defeated because that was that it felt like. The sound of rejection always came with a scoff, everyone knew that. 

“Well, it was going to be a regular thing even if you had accidentally bit my dick off.” He suddenly laughed at how susceptible you were by the smallest actions, and at this moment, you were surprised that maybe this crush wasn’t so one-sided after all. He teased at your frown, kissing the corner of your mouth until it was a smile, and then prodding at your sides when you resisted. “Come on, you couldn’t possibly think this was a one-time thing.” 

“Tempting…” You snuck a head in between his thighs, reaching for a certain tool that had brought in so much pleasure and pain to your body. “I don’t know… we don’t talk much. I don’t know you that well.” 

“Don’t.” Mr. Cavill teasingly warned, stopping you by taking ahold of your wrist. Though, one step too late, as you already cupped his flaccid cock, tormenting his balls with a few tugs and squeeze of your palm as an act of revenge for your throat. “Well… then let’s get to know each other. No problem doing that, right?”

“Mm-mm, guess not.” Pursing your lips, you nodded, feeling placated by his words.

He sighed into your mouth, kissing you again, licking at the inside of your mouth, tasting your tongue and then your cheek, to soothe his selfish stain on your body with the work of his mouth. 

“First, I want to hear you say ‘thank you’ for building that PC of yours before I promise you anything.”

“Jesus, we’re still on this?”

“Yes! Do you know how long that took me?”

“I didn’t ask you to build me one—“

“God, you’re an ungrateful brat.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[daeniradraconis]

High on Love - Jack H.

Hey lovelies! 💖 I know I promised to work on Age is Just a Number and my Auston Matthews fic, but an idea for a story about Jack being high on pain meds after surgery popped into my head, and I couldn’t resist writing it first! But don’t worry, the others are definitely coming soon!

I hope you enjoy reading it! ✨

For more fun: masterlist

---

Jack stirs, his lashes fluttering against pale skin. He looks exhausted, the painkillers keeping him soft and pliant, his limbs heavy against the hospital bed. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face when his bleary eyes land on you.

“Babe,” he sighs, his voice thick and warm, like honey. He reaches for your hand but completely misses, his fingers clumsily grasping at the air before falling back to the sheets.

You take his hand gently, threading your fingers through his. “I’m right here, love.”

Jack just stares at you, utterly smitten. His pupils are wide, his hair a mess, and there’s an almost childlike wonder in his expression. And yet, even like this, completely drugged out and ridiculous, he’s still stupidly handsome. It’s almost unfair.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. “My pretty little girlfriend.”

You giggle, rubbing soft circles against the back of his hand. Yep, he’s definitely still high as a kite. “Thank you, baby.”

Jack’s brows knit together suddenly. “Wait. Are you real? Or am I… dead?”

Ellen sighs from the chair on the other side of the bed, watching all of this unfold with thinly veiled amusement. “She’s real, Jack.”

Jack’s head lolls toward her, his sleepy eyes blinking in surprise. “Mom?”

“Yes, Jack,” Ellen says patiently. She looks tired, but there’s something else in her expression, too. A tenderness, a quiet fondness, like she’s looking at her baby boy rather than her fully grown 23-year-old son.

Jack stares at her for a long moment before his eyes suddenly widen. He turns back to you, gripping your hand with what little strength he has.

“Babe. We got caught.”

Your stomach drops slightly. He can’t mean—

“What?”

Jack swallows hard, looking genuinely panicked. “She knows about us.”

You exchange a glance with Ellen, whose lips are already twitching with laughter.

“Jack,” you say carefully, “we’ve been together for three years. And, sweetheart, your mom caught us five months in. She’s known for a long time.”

Jack shakes his head furiously. “No, no, no. We were in spy mode. No one was supposed to know.”

Ellen snorts. “Jack. I caught you a long time ago.”

Jack frowns. “No, you didn’t.”

Ellen exhales sharply, rubbing her forehead like she feels a migraine coming on. “I walked in on you two.”

Jack tilts his head, eyes clouded with confusion. He looks far too cute to be taken seriously.

Ellen’s voice grows exasperated. “In your kitchen, Jack. You were barely dressed. And your father was with me. We saw you.”

Jack looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “Mom. Be serious.”

“I AM SERIOUS.”

Jack just blinks at her, completely unconvinced. “Nah. Didn’t happen.”

Ellen groans, rubbing a hand down her face. “Oh, for the love of—” She turns to you, confused. “You remember, right?”

You bite your lip, your face heating at the memory. “I definitely remember. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. Jack, you didn’t have pants on. And I didn’t have anything on top.”

Jack squints at you, gaze searching. Then, suddenly, his expression softens, a slow, lazy grin tugging at his lips.

“I just remember how hot you look naked.”

Ellen groans again. “Jack, concentrate.”

You sigh, smoothing your fingers through Jack’s messy hair. “Baby, I think the pain meds are making you a little loopy.”

Jack hums, leaning into your touch like a lost puppy. “Love when you call me baby.” His lips quirk up at the corners. “Say it again.”

Ellen shakes her head, an incredulous but affectionate smile tugging at her lips. “And here I was, worrying that all those times you hit your head on the ice had done some real damage,” Ellen sighs. “Turns out, all you needed were painkillers to go completely off the rails.” She pushes herself up from the chair with a smirk. “I’m getting a coffee. You two lovebirds enjoy this little moment.”

She barely makes it two steps before Jack’s entire face lights up.

“WAIT.”

You both jump.

Jack gasps dramatically. “WHERE IS LUKE?!”

You and Ellen share a confused look. “Jack, you’re not at home, darling. You’re in the hospital. Luke’s with the team, playing.”

Ellen pinches the bridge of her nose. “These drugs are brutal, Y/N. He’s completely lost it.”

Jack squeezes your hand, looking so heartbreakingly lost that you almost feel bad for laughing. “But I want Luke! He’s the best roommate.” His voice is full of pure, unfiltered adoration. “And he’s so smart. Like, genius-level math smart. He knows how to do derivatives, baby. I don’t even know how to spell that. And his hair? So curly. So perfect. It’s—” He pauses, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s unfair.”

You and Ellen barely manage to hold back your laughter as Jack scowls, grumbling under his breath about “stupid, unfairly perfect genetics.”

“You’re really jealous, aren’t you, Jacky?” you tease.

Jack nods aggressively. “YES. And he’s taller than me. It’s messed up. I’m the older one. I should be the taller one.”

You smile softly. “But you love him, not right?”

Jack sighs. “So much.” His lip wobbles slightly. “He’s my best friend.”

Ellen tilts her head, amused. “Quinn’s not gonna like that, Jack.”

Jack gasps, eyes wide with panic. “Ohh, don’t tell Quinn that, Mom!” Then he turns to you. “Babe, Quinn is so cool.”

You bite back a laugh. “I know, sweetheart. I met him.”

Jack nods with absolute conviction. “No, no, you don’t understand. He’s not just smart—he’s brilliant. Emotional intelligence, problem-solving, all that deep, psychological stuff. And he can cook.” Jack’s eyes widen as if this is the most shocking revelation of all. “Like, really cook. Not just toast or eggs—actual meals. And don’t even get me started on his skating. He’s the smoothest, fastest, most effortless skater I’ve ever seen. It’s like he was born on the ice.”

Ellen arches her brow. “Best skater, huh?”

Jack looks deeply offended. “Mom. I’m serious. And you know he’s the best swimmer.”

You blink. “What?” You are seriously confused now.

Jack nods solemnly. “Like, if hockey wasn’t his thing? He’d go Olympic mode.”

Ellen sighs. “Jack, Quinn swims, like, twice a year.”

Jack gasps. “Lies! Mom, you don’t even know your own son. Shame!”

Ellen turns to you with an exaggerated sigh, giving you a knowing look. “You know, Y/N, with the way he keeps crashing all over the ice, it’s only a matter of time before he ends up permanently concussed. So… be prepared.”

Jack pouts. “Mom! I don’t even fall that much. That was so mean.”

Then, suddenly, he grips your hand tighter, eyes shining. “Babe, can we get a dog?”

Ellen groans. “Not this again.”

Jack gasps dramatically. “Mom, I don’t live with you anymore. I’m an adult. This is a decision between me and my partner.” He turns to you, nodding with conviction. “Two golden retrievers. And I’ll teach them to play hockey.”

Ellen pulls out her phone. “I cannot wait to tell Jim, Luke, and Quinn about all of this.”

Jack gasps. “Mom, no—”

“Oh, yes,” Ellen smirks.

Jack pouts, turning to you, desperate. “Babe, you won’t let them make fun of me, right?”

You just grin, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “I don’t know, Jacky. You did just deny our entire relationship.”

Jack’s face falls. “Oh my God. Are we still together?”

You burst into hysterical laughter.

Ellen sighs dramatically. “I’m so leaving,” she says, heading toward the door.

Jack lets out a contented sigh, sinking deeper into his pillow, his eyes locking with yours as he gazes at you with an overwhelming sense of love. "But this is amazing news," he says softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Because one day, I'm going to marry you."

Your heart melts. “Oh, baby…”

Ellen pauses at the door, looking back at the two of you. “You know what? You should have your wedding in Michigan. The lake house would be the perfect spot for it.”

Jack’s eyes light up, and he looks at you with excitement. “Yes! And Luke can be my best man. Quinn can be yours. So they won’t fight. He loves you like a little sister anyway. You’ll be beautiful in your dress. And I’ll cry at the altar the moment I see you.”

Ellen rolls her eyes dramatically, just like Jack usually does, but the smile on her lips betrays the amusement she’s trying to hide as she exits the room.

You groan, dropping your head onto Jack’s shoulder as your heart swells with happiness. "Just so you know, I’ll hold you to that promise once you’re finally clean from the drugs."

Jack just grins, his eyes fluttering closed, as he drifts back to sleep, completely at peace with the world.

[brrahbrrahcharacterimagines]

Old Man (Wolverine/Logan Howlett x Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Wolverine/Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3615

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Minors DNI!, Sexual themes, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), p in v penetration (wrap it before you tap it), cum, swearing, use of "Baby" as a pet name, small alcohol mention, Older man/younger woman, Reader has female genitalia

Summary: After moving in to the mansion, you have developed quite the crush on the older, grumpy Wolverine. After he finds you walking the grounds one evening, what could happen if you face the fact that you've been flirting with each other for months?

A/N: I have always had such a crush on Hugh Jackman's Wolverine so Deadpool and Wolverine is like a dream come true

You were thankful that the other mutants had found you when they did. You had just lost your job, behind on your rent, and the most recent Tinder date had ghosted you. When a group of likeminded individuals came to you with a promise of a free place to stay, how could you say no?

Once you had arrived and decorated your room, Professor Xavier revealed the place wasn't quite free. With a mutation allowing you to manipulate food at will, he thought you may be able to help provide for all of the children and teenagers living at the mansion. Despite feeling a bit slighted, you were glad to have been given a purpose.

Over time, the mansion began to truly feel like home. You felt at peace in the kitchens, putting together meals for the other occupants. Many of the residents saw you as a maternal figure despite you not being much older than them, only being in your twenties. No matter your age, they tended to enjoy talking through problems with you over some tea and your famous chocolate chip cookies.

Something else that had grown over time at the mansion, alongside others fondness of you, was your own fondness for a particularly grumpy mutant. You couldn't explain it, as it didn't seem like you had much in common. You were generally a pretty bubbly, happy person, eager to speak with the children to help them out. The Wolverine was, well, not exactly described the same.

Nonetheless, he began to consume more of your thoughts. At first more of a schoolgirl crush, thinking about how you found him attractive. Of course you had thought about the fact that he was much older than yourself, but you didn't pay that much mind as you expected the little crush to go away over time. Instead, the crush became stronger and stronger until it was something you knew would not go away soon. Laying in your bed at night, you couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to feel Logan laying in bed next to you. Or perhaps, on top of you.

Using your powers to conjure ingredients for the student's lunch, you let your mind wander again as you worked. You imagined what it would be like to feel the Wolverine's hands on you, walking up behind you while you were cooking to place his hands on your hips. Resting his chin on your shoulder as he relaxed into you, making you giggle as his beard tickled your neck.

"Do we have any beer?" Came a voice, startling you from your daydream. What startled you most was the fact that it was his voice, as you spun around to face Logan, hoping your face was not as flushed as it felt.

"Give me just a minute," you said with a smile at him. "You know Charles doesn't like to keep any on hand since there are so many kids here," you said slyly, "but lucky for you my powers can extend to food and drink."

He sat down at the table nearby with a sigh. You tried not to notice the picturesque way he seemed to pose as he sat, legs spread and chest puffed out. Stop being such a creep!

"Why couldn't he have found you sooner?" Spoke Logan. The lazy smile on his face as he said those words made your face hot, hoping he didn't notice as you got to work on his request.

Handing him the drink, your fingertips brushed his. As you moved to let go, you felt him linger.

"Thanks, bub," he said, looking up into your eyes as he took the drink from your hand. You turned away quickly, resuming your work in hopes he didn't notice the way that his stare made you heat up.

Thankfully, Logan chose not to stay long. Once he left the room, you felt you could finally catch your breath and focus on the task at hand.

-

This was a pattern that the two of you fell into. Simple conversations never lasted long, but they always seemed to end with a linger. Oftentimes you would find yourself trying to sneak a glance at the man, only to meet his own eyes before shifting your own away quickly.

You tried not to look too far into those moments, after all, there's no way that Logan would be looking deeper himself. Surely it was a coincidence, or perhaps it was merely a symptom of the social cues he tended to ignore in favor of brashness. He never seemed rude during conversation with yourself, but it may be correlated. At least, that's what you decided to believe. Allowing yourself to believe the alternative, that he was purposefully flirting with you, could never end well. You were not going to open yourself up into that kind of disappointment.

Walking the grounds of the mansion, you took in the cool autumn air. After a busy day, you thought a walk in the moonlight would be the perfect thing before making your way to your bedroom. It was a futile attempt to clear your mind before trying to fall asleep, even though you knew despite your efforts your mind would still drift to Logan before you did so.

With a sigh, you took a seat down on a nearby bench. Looking up at the sky, you were grateful Charles did not allow much light pollution nearby, allowing you to admire the stars.

"The hell are you doing out here?" Came a gruff voice from behind you, making you jump. Even though the suddenness of the voice breaking the silence making you jump, you knew who it was immediately.

"I could ask you the same thing, Logan." You said, turning to find the man coming up on the bench. He rounded the corner, motioning to the empty seat next to you as if to ask permission to sit down. You nodded, and he did just so.

The two of you sat in silence, taking in your surroundings. At least, that's what you assumed he was doing. The only surrounding you could take in now was him. He smelled good, like smoke and a cologne you couldn't place. Your thigh brushed against his seated so close, and as soon as your leg touched his it felt as if it could have caught fire, spreading through your body quickly. The power he had over you was undeniable, and you pled that he wouldn't notice.

Looking over at him, you saw him looking into the distance. You took the moment to observe the way he looked under the moonlight. His hair looked soft, as if begging to have hands run through it. The stars reflected within his eyes, giving them a subtle sparkle. Your eyes trailed down the slope of his nose, down to his lips. You were sure that if you were to kiss him, his facial hair would tickle your cheeks in the most delectable way. You felt your breathing deepen.

Logan turned towards you, a look that you couldn't quite place in his eyes.

"What are we doing?" He asked.

You felt your heart clench, unsure if you should be confused or nervous.

"What do you mean?"

He chuckled, "you know what I mean. As if you weren't checking me out a few seconds ago." You turned away in embarrassment, feeling your face heat. He continued, "we've been dancing around it for months. I should have put a stop to it a long time ago."

You felt your body heat in embarrassment even more. Not only had he noticed how you felt, but just as you assumed he did not reciprocate those feelings.

"I-I'm sorry," you said softly. Afraid that if you rose your voice any louder, you he would hear the wobble in your tone. You didn't want to cry in front of him, especially now.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," he said with a sad chuckle. "It's not your fault. When I said I should have put a stop to it, I mean an old man like me shouldn't be flirting with a young thing like you."

So he was flirting, you thought. Even though he seems regretful now, at least you know you weren't looking into something that wasn't really happening.

"It's not like I wasn't flirting back," you said with a sigh. "If I wanted you to stop I would have told you."

You could feel his eyes flip to you quickly, as if he was surprised.

"What did you just say?"

"I-I would have stopped you?"

A smirk made its way slowly onto his face.

"You wanted me to flirt with you?"

Your face scrunched in confusion at his words. "Was I not obvious?" There is no way he didn't pick up on your feelings. "Did you not just comment on me checking you out literally minutes ago?"

His smirk only grew, "maybe I just thought you were naive. Good to know there's more to it."

"You were flirting with me, thinking I was just naive?" You questioned, a slight burst of confidence making you reflect on what he had said previously. "A young thing like me?" He faltered at your words.

"What do you-"

"You said so yourself," you purred, confidence clouding your judgement, allowing you to reach toward him to place a hand gently on his outer thigh. You were sure to note his sharp intake of breath as you did so, only emboldening you further. "You liked flirting with me didn't you, Old Man?"

He nearly groaned at your words, sending a rush through your body. his eyes, previously glued to your hand placement, flicked back up to your eyes. They didn't stay there, and you noticed his heavier breathing as his eyes began to flip between your eyes and your mouth. Not wanting to wait for him any longer, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. You were right, his beard did tickle.

You kissed Logan softly, moving your lips with his as soon as he got over his shock. The softness of your lips on his, paired with the near-innocent way you kissed him drove him crazy. Logan's arms made their way around you, pulling you towards him so that you were sat on his lap. His strength was already known to you, but the ease of his action still made you squeak. If he can move you this easily while kissing you, your mind ran wild with what else he could be capable of.

He deepened the kiss, leaving you just about breathless. Your excitement, and ego, only grew as you felt Logan's own excitement growing under your lap. Hands frenzied across his chest, grabbing his shirt while he continued to use his arms to press you close to him. You didn't even register you had begun moving your hips against him until he pulled back, his head rolling back with a groan that was purely sinful.

"You're a little minx, you know that?" He grumbled, but made no move to stop your motions.

"Logan," you whimpered, batting your eyelashes at him with wide doe-eyes. His last thread of self-restraint snapped inside of him as he heard his name fall from your mouth. He had already let himself go much further with you than he had planned, but now that he's heard how you sound saying his name he needed to hear it, again and again and again.

He rose from the bench quickly, grabbing your hand in his much larger one.

"Come on," he grumbled, pulling you along with him. He moved hastily, but you kept up easily. His pace only made your growing sense of arousal quicken as well.

Before you knew it, he was pushing open the door to his room. The room matched the man, and you noticed how it smelled like him too.

"Sit," he commanded motioning to the bed. You had never thought yourself one to obey a man so easily, but something about his tone made you do as he said. Logan made sure the door was locked behind you both before returning to you quickly, taking your lips in his own again. His tongue darted out, running across your bottom lip. A moan escaped you involuntarily, and he relished in the noise. To have you here with him, so needy, so willing, so young. Even though he knew he should have blocked himself off from you as soon as he heard you were only in your twenties, he couldn't deny the fact that it only turned you on now that he had you in this position.

He held your thigh with one hand, using the other to snake under your shirt to cup one of your breasts over your bra. You moaned again at his touch, only encouraging him further.

"Take it off."

You pulled away from him just far enough to grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. You then reached behind you, unclasping your bra and throwing both articles of clothing to the floor.

Logan smiled, eyes not leaving your breasts as he spoke.

"Well damn, I just meant the shirt but I'm not complaining."

The blush that rose to your face spread down to your chest as well. The way you flushed at his words was gorgeous to him. He never wanted this vision of you to stop. There was a part of Logan that was still convinced he may be dreaming.

Wasting no more time, he laid you down. His bed was much softer than you would have guessed. One hand made it's way to one of your breasts as his mouth made its way to the other. You moaned as he squeezed one breast, using his tongue to flick over your nipple on the other. The heat pooling between your legs was nearing a point of becoming uncomfortable. From the rigidity of Logan pants where they pressed against you, you could assume the same was true for him.

You reached down, palming him through his jeans. Already, you could tell his size would break you. It's not a thought you minded. He groaned at the contact, the vibrations making their way from his mouth to your nipple. Every part of you felt on fire, overheated as each touch of his sent you deeper into arousal.

You gasped at the sudden loss of contact, Logan pulling away to pull his own shirt off his head. You made no attempt to look away from him, taking in his built chest and abdomen. You wanted to put your mouth all over him.

"Like what you see?"

He pulled his jeans off before crawling back on top of you, one hand fingering each of your nipples as he attached his mouth back to your own. He captured every moan of yours into his mouth, as if devouring them would mean he could hear another.

Your hips has a mind of their own, craning upward towards the bulge in his boxers. As your clothed heat came in contact with him, he reciprocated with a growl, grinding down into you. Your mind spun at the increased contact, heat continuing to grow in your belly.

Logan pulled away from you again, making you whimper. His mouth trailed down your body, stopping at your breasts before continuing further. His fingers looped under your waistband, and he looked up at you as if asking for permission.

"Please, Logan," you whined with a wiggle of your hips. With your confirmation, he nearly tore the bottoms from your body trying to take them off so fast. Revealing your panties to him, he groaned as he saw the way that they were clearly soaked through. He loved the effect he was having on you.

The panties didn't stay on you long though, tore from you as well as you felt his warm mouth find your cunt. His tongue licked slowly from your hole up to your clit, nearly making you scream. Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling your fingers in his tufts. The soft tug from your fingers make him moan into your pussy and you tucked that information away.

His speed increased, tongue flicking over your clit in sloppy circles. Your moans and whines only continued to spur him on, and you felt a finger prodding at your entrance. He pushed it in slowly, feeling your velvet walls clench around him.

If one finger feels this good, you thought, how the fuck am I going to take him?

He began to fuck you with his hand, adding a finger when you were ready and pushing slowly in and out of your soaking pussy. Combined with the movements of his tongue, you felt yourself reaching your peak quickly.

"Logan, I-" you whimpered.

"Come on baby," he said gruffly, only backing off your cunt long enough to get his words out before continuing his motions. "Cum for me baby. Show me how good you taste."

You moaned at his words, it being all you needed to push you over the edge. Your body shivered at the intensity of your orgasm, walls clenching around his fingers. Logan eagerly lapped up your juices as you came, only slowing down as your moans became breathier as you came down from your high.

" 'm gonna fuck you now baby," he growled. Despite having just orgasmed, his words sent a wave of tingles to your core. "That sound alright?"

You nodded, looking into his eyes as he made his way on top of you. He leaned down to kiss you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue.

"Use your words."

He took his length into his hand, mesmerizing you with the way he lazily jerked it in his hand.

"Please," you whispered.

"What was that?"

"Please, Logan, fuck me!" You cried.

"That's it," he said cockily as he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance. "Damn you're fucking soaking wet for me, aren't you?"

You could only moan in response, his cockhead stretching your walls as he entered you. It hurt as he stretched you in the best way, feeling more full than you ever have before you had even felt him bottom out. When he finally did, he used every ounce of restraint to stop himself from moving too much as he allowed you to adjust to his size. Before too long, you began to squirm under him. Your hands roamed his body, from his abs to his chest to his arms. With the way you whimpered under him, he was glad for your motions as he wasn't sure he could stay still much longer.

He began pulling out, before pushing back in tantalizingly slow. You moaned wantonly at the movement, feeling his dick twitch inside of you. You wiggled your hips, trying to push closer to him.

"Logan," you whined as if begging. Looking into his eyes, you could see how dark they were with lust. His pace increased, only making you louder as you kept your eye contact with him.

"Fuck baby," he grunted. "Not to bad for an old man, huh?" The way you moaned in response, mouth open in an 'O' shape as your eyes stayed locked to his told him he was correct. Your hands clawed your way down his chest, your eyes falling shut in your pleasure.

"Look at me," he demanded. You did as told, your big, lidded eyes filled with want nearing him towards his orgasm. All you could do was whine, whimper and moan, no hopes of formulating any real response. It was as if you were drunk on the way he felt inside you, pushing in deep and hitting all the right places.

"Are you gonna cum again for me baby? Let me feel you clench around my cock?" All his words did was make you moan louder, as if that were even still possible. You had never felt this level of pleasure before, and you knew you were going to be addicted. One of his hands made its way to one of your nipples, pinching it and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. You felt your tummy flutter, clenching as you reached your second orgasm.

Your vision filled with stars, nearly screaming as you reached your peak again. Your walls clenched around Logan's cock, prolonging your orgasm as he continued to pound it in and out of your cunt.

You felt his thrusts begin to falter, grunting and growling as his movements became even harder and deeper than before. He suddenly pulled out, making you miss that feeling of fullness as he jerked himself off with his hand, spilling his cum onto your stomach and breasts.

As you both began to relax again, he couldn't take his eyes off you. The way his seed looked across your body, your flushed face and the way your breasts moved as you huffed breathlessly.

"Take a picture," you joked, "it'll last longer."

"Can I?" He replied cockily, breathless himself as he cocked an eyebrow making you giggle.

After helping you clean yourself up, Logan laid down next to you with a deep huff, pulling the blanket over the both of you.

"We've got to start doing that more often," you whispered. His arm opened for you, letting you snuggle into his chest sleepily as he wrapped his arm around you. He placed a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

"Oh baby," he chuckled softly, "after all that, I don't think I ever want to stop."

You drifted off to sleep, feeling protected under Logan's grasp, happy you had decided to take that walk.

[bjlipss]

— some older bf!satoru things that i think about a lot <33

cw: suggestive, no explicit smut, just satoru being satoru at any age and fluff.

older bf!satoru is the kind of man who ages like fine wine and doesn’t even realize it. he still walks like he’s untouchable, with that same cocky strut, still wears those dumb dark sunglasses when he’s hungover or lazy, still teases like he’s twenty—but up close, where you’re allowed to be, he’s softened in a way no one else gets to see.

his hair? still obnoxiously white, still messy from his fingers running through it out of habit—but now, you can see the silver peeking through at the roots. subtle. not enough for people to point it out. just enough that when you run your fingers through it in the quiet moments, you pause, smile a little. he pretends not to notice. (but he does. he always does.)

and his eyes. they still sparkle, still play, still smirk. but there are laugh lines now. little crow’s feet that show themselves when he grins wide at something dumb you said, or when he squints at you teasingly across the room. like his body is learning how to hold joy more permanently.

he complains about his back sometimes. always with flair—dramatic groans when he gets up from the couch, flopping onto your lap like “baby i’m old, take care of me,” and you roll your eyes but still end up massaging his shoulders. (and if your hands linger? if he gets a little too relaxed and makes a soft noise into your neck? well. that’s between you and him.)

he’s gentle in ways he never used to be. not out of fragility, but out of choice. he doesn’t rush anymore. he lingers—over kisses, over breakfast, over the way your name sounds in the morning. like he’s learned how to stretch time just for you.

and even though he still gets looks when you’re out together (he’s always been pretty, even more so now), he only ever looks at you. and when people whisper or raise eyebrows about the age gap, he just smirks, pulls you closer, and says something like, “jealousy’s a disease. get well soon.”

older bf!satoru who keeps reading glasses on the bridge of his nose when he’s doing paperwork at home, even though he swears his eyesight is still “perfect, babe, don’t get it twisted.” and when you tease him about it? call him sir all flirty-like and giggle when he raises an eyebrow? he just sets the papers down slowly, deliberately, and says, “alright. you wanna play that game?”—voice low, smile dangerous. (you’re not walking straight the next day.)

older bf!satoru who gets a little possessive in a grown man kind of way—not insecure, not loud. just quiet, calculated. hand always on your lower back when you’re out, fingers brushing your thigh under the table. he’ll let you have your fun flirting across the room with your eyes, but the second someone else tries to flirt with you? he’s leaning down, lips brushing your ear, and murmurs something like, “go ahead, keep looking at him. just remember whose mouth is gonna be between your legs tonight.”

he’s unbothered until he isn’t. playful until someone tests his patience. older bf!satoru doesn’t do petty jealousy—but he does do ownership. and he’s not shy about reminding you, especially when he sees the way you squirm under his gaze.

he’s the type to spoil you in the dirtiest ways, too. buys you lingerie “for him,” and makes you model it before you’re even done adjusting the straps. he’ll lean back on the bed, hands behind his head, watching you like a king watching his prize and say, “c’mon, baby. give me a little spin. lemme see what I paid for.” (you never make it out of the room with that set intact.)

and afterward? he’s wiping you down with such gentle hands, murmuring soft praise between lazy kisses. “so good for me, baby… you’re all mine, yeah? always.” he kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your collarbone. “gonna take care of you ‘til we’re old and gray. well. grayer, in my case.” he laughs, breath warm against your skin, and you feel so full—of love, of him, of this life he’s building around you like armor.

[miniwheat77]

Dime. (Joel x Hairstylist!Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, hefty age gap, divorced!joel, mentions of violence, unprotected sex, NO MINORS!

The first time you cut Joel's hair, it was nothing short of a disaster. You were brand new out of cosmetology school, 19, and he was your first men's haircut ever out of school without the supervision of an instructor. His wife is who convinced him to try you out.

He didn't want to go back, but his wife begged him to give you another chance. She knew the potential you had. Joel wanted to make his lady happy, so he did. He kept going back to you and by the third time you had cut his hair, you were a master at it. Eventually, it only took you around 15 minutes to cut his hair, and he liked how short the appointments were. Of course, he always made jokes about the first time you cut his hair.  You always blushed and took the jokes like a good sport, making jokes back of course. Joel really liked you, he thought you were a nice young lady.

He liked that 15 minutes every month or so. It was peaceful being around.

One day, Joel was coming in for a haircut. He'd made his appointment a little later than usual, his hair was grown out a little too much. When he steps inside, the bell doesn't ring, and he notices it's gone from the top of the door. You're sweeping up shattered glass, and when you look up, noticing him finally. You've got tear stains on your cheeks. "Oh... hey Joel. You can come take a seat." You smile, gliding your hands down your apron. You were clearly distressed. There's a man at the front, he looks annoyed. "If you're only going to do half of the service, than I'm only going to pay for half of the service." He says. He's got an attitude. Joel takes one look at him, and realizes he's clearly who's made you so upset. "Is something wrong?" He asks. "Yeah, I wanted a haircut and a wax but this little bitch says she won't do it." He rolls his eyes. "Woah." Joel narrows his eyes. "I'm not certified to do waxing, only Hair." You mumble. The man roles his eyes. "Ah, there's your explanation." Joel nods. The man shakes his head. "She is too certified. She's just being lazy."

Joel crosses his arms. "Ah. Ya see that beautiful sign right there?" He points.

It's a black sign, in bright red letters it says 'WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE TO ANYONE.'

"Even if she was certified and didn't want to do it, she don't have to do it. So maybe you should just go." Joel is fuming. You're such a kind girl, and this guy is such a prick. "I still have to pay for my shitty haircut."

"It's on the house, get out. And don't come back either or I'll throw you out next time."

The man releases a huff, mumbling under his breath. He can see the weight leaving your shoulders. "Thank you, Joel." You look down. "It's okay, no worries. That guy is a real prick." He rolls his eyes. He sits down in your chair, and you tie the little neck strip around him. Throwing your cape around him. "Did he break that?" He asks. "Uh.. yeah. He was flailing his arms around and knocked it over."

Joel shakes his head. "Asshole." He mutters. "I mean he's not wrong, I am certified to do waxing, he just has a nasty track record." You roll your eyes. Joel nods his head as you start working on his hair. "What kinda track record?" He asks. "Being a complete pervert. Saying gross things to the girls waxing him." You roll your eyes. He lets out a scoff, agreeing with you without moving his head. "Gross. Last thing you girls wanna see in here is old man parts." He chuckles. "Just certain old men. Some of em aren't so bad." You send him a sly smile. He narrows his eyes, smiling. "What's that supposed to mean?" He laughs. "Ever seen Jeffrey Dean Morgan?" You smirk. Looking at him in the mirror. He rolls his eyes. "Isn't that guy my age?" His eyes widen. "He's 57 I believe." You laugh. "That's my exact age! Jesus Christ." He laughs. Trying not to move his head. "You naughty girl." He laughs.

You finish his hair up pretty quickly, and by the time Joel is getting ready to leave, you're already cheered up from the asshole before. He walks up to the counter to pay. "Uh.. it's on the house. For being pest control." You smile. "Ah, I can leave ya a tip than can't I?" He smiles. You spin the little screen around, letting him type in the custom amount he wishes. When he finishes your eyes catch sight of that same man waiting outside. "Oh shit." You mumble. Joel turns his head, seeing him. "Uh.. why don't you cash all of your stuff out, I'll walk you out." He nods. "Thanks Joel, I'll be quick." You mumble. You pull your apron off and Joel realizes the shirt you've got on is a little extra.

Tight tank top, showing off your tits. He has to look away quickly. You gather up all of your items, doing whatever else you needed to do.

"Joel!" You look at him wide eyed. "What?" He asks. "You left way too much for a tip." You roll your eyes. "I paid for his haircut too. I'm the one who told him to get lost. Plus now you can go buy a bottle of tequila to forget about today." He smiles. "I'd like that, but unfortunately I'm only 20." You laugh. He smiles. "Ah. Go get a Pepsi than. Meet halfway." He chuckles. Earning a smile from you. You tuck everything away into your purse, following him outside. "Thank you Joel. I appreciate it." You mumble. The man is still waiting outside, but he starts to leave upon seeing Joel by your side until you're inside of your car.

Joel stares him down as he leaves.

—

You're not one to talk about your life. You don't really talk about yourself or anything going on. Joel has noticed it, you always ask him about his fast paced life and have never once mentioned or have even brought up your own life. He always thought it was a little odd, but brushed it off. Assumed it was some kind of habit you'd picked up along the way in your industry.

The next time he came into the shop, about a month after the incident, he walks inside. He heard running water, but didn't see anyone. He heard you hiss out in one of the back rooms, letting out a "shit!" As something clearly hurt you. "Hello?" He calls. He hears the water shut off, and you emerge from the back room. "Oh, hi Joel." You smile. "This a bad time?" He asks. "No, no. Come on over." You pat your chair. You seem more stressed than usual. "Something going on?" He asks. "No, just busy today."

"Not one to talk about your life hm?" He smiles. "No, it's a shit show really," you laugh.

"You want me to wash your hair?" You ask.

"Yeah, sure." He nods.

He follows you back to the sink, and you wash his hair, styling it the way he likes it. It's a little messy, he doesn't do much with it.

"So where's Irene, I haven't seen her in ages." You ask him as he's checking out. He laughs, looking down. "I thought you knew." He mumbles. "Hm?" You look confused.

"I caught her with some other guy 'bout... 15 months or so ago. Little over a year. Nasty divorce and she moved across the country." Your eyes are wide. "Are you serious? I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

He laughs. "Ah, it's alright. It took me way too long to dodge that bullet." He shakes his head. "I think we all have one of those." You giggle. "Howcome you're the only one in here? I don't think I've ever seen anybody else." He asks. "Ah.. the old owner was an old lady, she passed away kind've unexpectedly. Her kids inherited it, sold the shop to me for little to nothing." You shrug. "Oh, so you own it?" He asks. "Yeah." You smile. "Holy shit. That's awesome." He laughs. "Yeah it is, it's not so bad. Although it consumes like all of my time." You giggle. "I turned 21 a couple weeks back and have yet to go do anything."

"No way..." he laughs. "You didn't go out with your friends?"

"Bold of you to assume I have friends when I work all of the time." You smile. "Alright, fine. Cmon. I'll take you."

"What?" You laugh. "Nah, you have no idea what you're missing out on. Cmon. I'll take ya." He laughs. "Right now?" You ask. "Mhm. Come on."

You laugh, looking down. "Okay okay. Let me clean up." You smile.

You clean up the mess you've made and step into the back for a minute to take your apron off. Thankful you wore decent clothes today. For some reason, excitement settles into your belly. You've always had a thing for Joel, but you knew he was married. You brush your black v-neck off and adjust your pants to sit a little higher on your waist. Folding the bottoms of your pants up and making them look even. Walking out of the bathroom. You notice his eyes lingering on your chest, licking his lips.

Maybe this night was going to end in your favor.

You finish locking up and he leads you out to his truck, opening up the passenger door for you. "You know Irene was fucking jealous of you." He laughs, saying it as he pulled out of the parking lot. "What? Why?" You ask. "Don't really know what started it to be honest. She's the one who made me come to you in the first place. But one day you touched my chest wrong. And she started accusing me after that. I imagine that's around the time she started seeing that other guy."

You laugh. "That's gold. Love intimidating other women." You smile. "Really?" He smiles. "Why?"

"Cause I'm the least threatening person ever." You shrug. Joel laughs, pulling into a bar parking lot. It's a small dive bar.

"This where you like to hang out?" You turn to him. "Yeah. Spent a lot of time here after everything happened. Only place in town they don't water their liquor down." He laughs. "Gotcha."

Joel leads you inside and the bartender smiles when he sees him. "Joel, little early ain't it?"

"Lil bit. But my friend here just turned 21."

You can feel blush rising to your cheeks as he looks you up down. "Friend huh?" He smirks. He picks up a bottle, pouring something into a shot glass. "First one's on the house." He slides it to you.

Joel can see how skeptical you are at first. "S'alright. Go on."

You pick up the shot glass, knocking it back and setting it down. Not even making a face.

He laughs.

"Yeah, just cause they turn 21 doesn't mean they don't got any experience." The bartender laughs.

"Pretty little thing aintcha?" He smiles. You smile, looking down. "She cuts hair down at the little shop by the canal."

"Really? I'll have to send my wife in. She's always bitchin' about her hair lady." He rolls his eyes. "Anyways, here's this, I gotta go swap out my kegs." He passes over a bottle of Jack and a couple glasses.

"You drank before?" He asks. "Nah I just didn't want to look like a pussy."

He laughs, maybe a little too hard.

You spend the next couple of hours chatting over the bottle of Jack you're sharing. You don't drink all that much and neither does Joel.

You excuse yourself to use the bathroom.

The dive bar is quiet because of how empty it is, and even in the bathroom you can still hear the two of them talking.

"She's kinda young for you ain't she? I mean I knew you'd move on from Irene at some point. She's a pretty young thing." He laughs. You stiffen up. "No, it ain't like that." Joel laughs. "She's a good girl, she's been cutting my hair since she was fresh outta school."

"Gotcha. She single?"

"Yeah right, I doubt she'd go for an old man like you."

"You're oblivious Joel."

"What?"

"She likes ya, can see it all over her face."

"Am I oblivious or are you just delusional?" Joel laughs. You know you shouldn't be eavesdropping. "You're telling me if that sexy little thing threw herself at you, you wouldn't fuck her? She's a dime."

"Jesus Christ..." Joel trails off. Shaking his head.

"She's young. Might even be a virgin."

"You're a nasty old man, you know that?"

"I'm just saying. You miss all the chances you don't take and if I were you, I'd be all over that unfucked pussy between her legs." He almost growls.

"Yeah, you're creeping me out right now. You're married." Joel shakes his head. He hadn't seen the man act like this before. "Ah, she ain't gonna go for a man like me. Maybe you though." He winks but you can't see it. You shake your head. "Jesus Christ.." he groans.

Unfucked pussy.

You step out of the bathroom and walk back to the bar. Seeming innocent.

"Let's get going yeah? Crowd about to spill in."

Joel throws a bunch of bills down on the counter. You wave goodbye to the creepy bartender. Just like that, you're outside.

Joel sighs. "He liked you." He shakes his head. "Yeah, I heard." You laugh. Joel cringes. He hoped you hadn't. "ah, I hoped you didn't." He groans. You're sat in his passenger seat. "Yeah, me n my "unfucked pussy" Will probably be on his mind tonight." You laugh. Joel hasn't heard words like that leave your lips before. "Jesus." He laughs.

"I mean in a way, he's not wrong." You laugh. "I'm no Virgin but I haven't been with anybody since I was like 17." You laugh. Joel runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "Yeah, I get you too. Just cause I was married don't mean shit. It's been years." He laughs.

You laugh. "You know.. I couldn't help but overhear." You turn to him. "Everytime he said something about fucking me, you never said no." He stiffens up. "I..." he shakes his head. He doesn't know what to say. "Y'know if you wanna fuck me Joel, you could just ask." You smirk. He shakes his head. "Don't tempt me sweetheart. I don't think you can take it." He laughs. "Yeah? What makes you say that?"

"I don't fuck like a stupid young boy. You ain't got a clue what I'd do to you." His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel.

"Never been into guys my age. But I think you should let me be the judge of that." You turn in your seat to get a good look at him and he bites his lip, pulling it between his teeth. He pulls into the parking lot of your salon. Turning to look at you. "You better be careful sweetheart. Don't go getting yourself into trouble." He leans back.

This side of Joel you've never seen before. He's dark. No emotion behind his darkened eyes.

"What, you gonna hurt me?"

"Nah. I ain't gonna hurt ya." He adjusts himself in his seat. "I'm rough as hell but I ain't gonna try to hurt ya." He gives you a sly side smile. "Than I think I'll be just fine."

He shakes his head. "Get your pants off." He nods. You listen immediately, and he likes that. You listen and that's what he needs. You tug them down your legs, completely off. Joel thanks himself for the tinted windows.

"Cmere baby. Get in my lap."

You move across the seat, straddling his legs. He takes a deep breath. "Fuck... Didn't think I'd get here." He laughs. sliding down into the seat further, until his cock presses against your bare entrance through his jeans. "Why's that?" You wiggle up slightly, until your face is even with his. "I don't know, just... thought you'd be against this." he rolls his eyes. "You're more laid back than I thought ya were, if only you knew the fights I got into over you." He smirks, gripping a handful of your ass.

You make Joel feel young again. Something he didn't think he'd ever feel again. He really thought that after his divorce was over, that his life was over. He felt so shocked and so taken off guard by her. He hadn't left his house outside of work and getting his hair cut. People told him to try to move on, have fun. But he thought he was too old. His life was already over, he couldn't be out going wild when he was almost 60.

He was dead wrong.

He frees his cock from his jeans and you take the next step by grasping his shaft and raising yourself up by your knees. Lowering onto him.

He hisses out, resting his head against the head rest. "Shit, you're tight baby." His hands shake a little as he reaches for your hips. He doesn't realize exactly how long it's been since he's been inside a woman. Not until he's two thrusts in feeling close already. He needed to get his head in the game before he made a fool of himself in front of you.

He grits his teeth, wrapping his arms around your hips, holding you still. He keeps you at a close distance, thrusting up into you at a brutal pace. You whine out, resting your head on his shoulder. He didn't lie. He was rough.

He wraps a hand into your hair, tugging on it slightly until you were looking at him. "Look at ya.. doing so good." He taunts. You whine out, closing your eyes. His thrusts are bruising, the tip of his cock driving into your cervix. You didn't know how much more you could take. Maybe he really was too rough for you.

He pushes your hair off of your shoulder, getting a good look at you.

"You look good like this darlin'. Been staring at these pretty tits all night." He smirks. He sees you smile even though your eyes are closed. "Keepin' up?" He taunts. "Tryin'" You giggle. He laughs. He can tell he's being a little too rough.

"That's all I can ask of ya. Get in the back." He groans.

You slide off of him, climbing over the center console and getting into the back. He tucks himself away for just a second to get out, sliding into the back seat. He closes the door and locks it. "Hands and knees."

You do it without any protest and he starts to realize it's his favorite thing about you, how willing you are to listen to him.

He grips his cock in his hand, pushing down onto the middle of your back to make you arch further for him. He lines himself up with you again, sliding in. You gasp, he feels even deeper than before.

He doesn't give you much time to adjust, thrusting in you. Your ass meet his hips with a clapping sound. He hisses again. "Fuck." He groans.

He switched positions to avoid finishing so fast but he's already close again. He feels pathetic.

"Move back on me." He breathes.

You do it, moving slightly back. He reaches forward, wrapping a hand in your hair and tugging on it slightly. You look fucking perfect. Shirt pulled down to your midsection, back arched. His cock in you. He shakes his head. Trying to put his mind anywhere else but it feels so good.

He leans over you slightly, meeting you as you push back into him.

He grips your hips and picks up his pace. He needed to get you there before he made a fool of himself. He starts a brutal pace. His hands are going to leave bruises with how hard he's gripping onto you. It's loud and his truck shakes with how hard he's fucking into you. Your moans get loud and unsteady. He's about to lose it. He's going to give in and cum. It feels so good he doesn't even care about what a fool he'll look like.

His moans are desperate and unsteady, but so are yours.

"Fuck Joel- I'm not gonna last." You whine, hand pushed underneath yourself. Rubbing circles into your clit as he abuses your cervix. "S'alright darlin. I knew you wouldn't be able to."

Joel smiles to himself, lying through his teeth.

When you let out a cry, signaling him that you've cum, he thrusts deep inside. Filling you to the hilt with his filth.

You're panting, eyes full of tears.

"Looks like you weren't gonna last long either, jerk." You punch his shoulder, hearing him laugh.

"Nah, I was hangin' on for dear life." He laughs.

Joel hasn't laughed like this in a long time. "Asshole." You roll your eyes. Smile playing on your lips. "You love it."

"Me n my fucked pussy will be on our way." You tease. "Nah I don't think so. I think you're gonna sit your pretty ass in that passenger seat and let me take you home."

"Really?" You laugh. "Really. Go on." He nods his head. You listen. Climbing over the seat again and getting dressed as he gets back out of the back seat and into the drivers seat.

"Not done with you yet." He breathes, throwing the truck in drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

[shuenkio]

LoserXLover | 희승 헨.하.이.픈. (⁠⇀⁠‸⁠↼⁠‶⁠)⁠ᕗ💨

Paring: Loser!seung X M!reader

Genre: Smut Synopsis: Being such a brat he is, you decided to punish your boyfriend in a very edgy way. Cw: pure smut, cum undone, edging, freaky af, cursing, dirty talk.

English is not my 1st | This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

A$N: from an anon request! This is probably my last update this month since next month who knows I'd be busy but I won't accept any requests sooner. Btw 'but' using alot here, ignore it 🥲 I'm having a mental breakdowns trying to make it perfect I'm suck still at writing smau.

Finished schedule for today's promotion is a relief that everything went smoothly yet there's something that has bothered you lately which you have bottled up for sometimes now. Despite being a sub-leader in the big group full of older boys at a young age, it is half bad and half good. The good parts were already doing great the nice ones while the bad part is they're grown boys.

You'd question your own self that it is worth it? In a frustrated good way of course. Not only are all of them a ball of chaotic energy but they're also clingy, teasing, if they'll tease you, all you need was a punching bag sand to Express your annoying. However it gets used to it till it becomes a habit and sort of like everyday shit. And that's not the case for nowadays. Heeseung the oldest hyung is getting on your nerves lately.

One was he accidentally made a small mistake during the finish part today on stage yeah that's forgiven but still driving you nuts as a perfectionist you are. Two, at the dorm, Heeseung would leave his ramen bowl without washing, dishes soaked in the sink for days unless you point it out. It's one of the hell rides having the same floor and dorm with him.

Not to mention Ni-ki says nothing about this as if he is not in the same dorm. Three, the gamer boy is getting out of hand. The nagging, the yelling, the reminding is just an air that went from one ear to another gosh how difficult can he become more. He's not a damn teenager but a 23 year old guy. Did he do all of these on purpose or is it just so unbelievable that you thought this was some kind of joke? Only god knows.

By doing all of the voices won't make him flinch anymore you'd have to come with some other punishment to make him won't repeat all of the childish behavior anymore that could leave him a bit traumatized, for some time in a very good~ way. What if he might love the idea more? Only to find out. Burst in his personal room, leaning against the door way as you are staring at the lazy guy who is on the bed, scrolling on his phone as if he didn't have a busy schedule the next day. Closing the door behind, as you make you way closer before sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Heeseung hyung? We need to talk!" Murmur in a serious tone yet so calmly, request for talking. But in return he just hums in response, rooting to the core as if his body is stuck on the bed which makes you have to control yourself from being violence.

"please sit up, before I change my mind" is another demand yet this time he did as he was told. Sitting up, resting his head on the headboard.

"yes? M/n What do you want to talk about?"

"about your behavior, not to be disrespectful but this is not how I wanted you to act hyung!, you're 23 not a toddler" You claim, explain in as calm a way as possible. However, it seems like it won't work on him ever.

"I am the way I am m/n what are you... Talking about? I know I'm the oldest but I don't act like a child you say, don't just come up like that" Heeseung response, his tone is slightly offensive to your words but that makes him look even more stubborn. How can he even let those slip out. Anger boil almost explodes, trying to maintain your compose while explaining how many things about him that bother you a lot as a sub/co leader that left Heeseung dumbfounded.

But that won't last long when he just ignores the fact, carry on acting like a brat once you finish talking. This is getting out of hand, you force yourself to give him one last chance before a disaster would occur.

"what are you gonna do about me then? I'll like how I am right now, leave my room you're such a headache for me m/n, hyung need alone time" Scoff is all what left your sweet mouth, this is so irritated it's like telling a siblings to go bed time but they denying. What's more irritated? The fact he was your loser boyfriend makes it worse. Heeseung turned away and sat on his desk, opening his computer to play some games. Would you let that happen? Not this time. Stroking away your hair in boil pointed before locking the door tight, making your way to your boyfriend.

This might be the first time you've had to punish your brat lover. Seeing the sock scatter on the floor, you come up with an idea, if you can't punish him emotionally, how about physically? Smirking, like the idea so much. Before Heeseung could wear his headphones on, his gamer chair turned around by your grips. Slightly starlet the next thing he knows, both of his hands are tied up by his own socks. A very lovely sight to see such submissiveness. Yelping, confused running through his head to your new side, he can't help but to be afraid one bit, asked.

"m/n?? What are you doing? Untied me now, this is not funny.." speak in a shaky voice, as he sees your unusual attitude. Meanwhile deep down inside of him, he knows what's going to come for him. Somehow he liked it? Or he just pretends to drive you nuts so he could get this attention of yours?

"You're never gonna like it, and I won't stop until you reflect your own shitty behavior, hyung!" Waste no more time, your body lean close to him as your naughty finger sneaking on his crotch. Fiddle on his pants, around in a circling, teasing to make it rocket hard as you planning to make him so hard, so dry until he begged oh wait, why don't you make him edge? Those feelings are the worst haha.Heeseung squirmed under your touch, in a trembling breath. he was expecting this but This just feels so different, the idea of you would stroking him only to make his soft dick hurt from the tight fabric. And the fact he didn't stop you makes sense that he was waiting for this. Biting on his lower lip he stays quiet, silently enjoying your touch on his meat. He wanted to please you so badly, to make you touch him even more than this, not only to play but to make use of it.

Realized Heeseung is actually enjoying this, making you angry even more, he can't enjoy this, you need to make it hard for him to ever even feel good. In another one swift move, you unzip his pant, let it spring free out a twitching, huge hard throbbing dick that is leaking already. Such a good start,a clean cut tip free is so arousing to look at, and abuse it.

"p- please i... It kinda hurts you have to finish it m/n, y.. you're the one who started this" pleasing, his hand are tied up, it reasonable that he wanted you to finished it up as he leaking so much already ehh those transparent sticky stuff on his head.

"No, let me hear something else. Where is the brat gone hmm? I don't see any"

"but—m/n I'm not in the wrong, I'm just being myself everyday like how my routine, what do you expect from me?" He fired back, getting real pain in the ass . How brave he is to spit those out. Snort out loudly that click heeseung in the head that, he did it for himself just now, he'll be in big trouble.

"you're getting brave for real now hyung I think I might pee myself from it, but I think hmm oh well, you seriously push my buttons" Before hee can react, you hand wrapped on his shaft tightly, stroking him so fast that makes his head spinning to the weirdly speed pace. He moaned shamelessly, filled in the small space with his vocal like he was on the edge to see heaven. His stretchy hairy balls jiggle each movement you jerk him off , making a raw plopping sound mixed with pain and pleasure without liquid. Your bf's chest becomes more hitching and breathless, he wanted to scream so bad in high pitch but he couldn't, afraid the other who was in the same dorm might hear.

He knows and you know he can't do anything but to beg for your mercy. Instead It's the opposite of what you expected, you thought you'd hear him begging, whining, for mercy to stop but he was actually asking for more, and he really wanted to release it off, so impatiently. Knowing his weak spot, what are you waiting for? Masturbating his dick harder, in another brutal speed that left his eye nothing but a white eyes ball. His brain malfunctioned, feeling senseless at the moment. A few more strokes later, Heeseung started to feel jolted as his body signal he'd cum at anytime unpredicted soon.

"H- holy motherfucking shit m/n— I...I'm about to cum please... please I wanted to cum c...can I?" Hearing him beg for mercy and being so submissive for the first time make your body goosebumps, thrilling wash over as you actually found him adorable in this state or did they call that a... Kink? A new discovery kink? No way, you need to see more of this. You want more whimpers from him, making him beg, and submissive ugh so fucking turn on.

Enough with the thinking, his body soon shaking in a sign of soon to explode and your plan was to edge him off, what would he react to if you did it? Isn't it going to be fun??

"Ah...ohh... Fuck m/n I'm cumming I'm cumming I'm CUMIN— NO" he yelled it out, to be come undone but before he can cum you quickly pull your hand away for a good seconds which make him going nut on the spot, finally his body shattered undone in a half satisfied, splashing all his hot sperms on his own sweatpants. His body odor perfume all over the room, the scent of his cum, smells like cow milk, that's crazy. And Nor did he be mad or sad, his expression is clearly he's not satisfied with your action. However at least he did cum.

"why... Why did you do that? For what for??M/N?"

"This is your first punishment, you should remember this from now on. If you continue to act so stubborn again, I bet there's more evil punishment for my loser boyfriend and not just edging you— do you get it?hm?"

"y...yes my.. love I'll be a good boy.. and your good boyfriend I...I'm sorry I'll be better" he was scared ...

"that's what I love about you— very demure very lovely very good boy"

[egophiliac]

Sorry, most likely my memory being poor, but I thought Malleus' mom (don't know how to spell her name and too lazy to check how to spell it) was already an adult when Lilia ""proposed""?? Like I was always under the assumption that it was like a one-sided child crush on somebody completely out of your league you tend to have as a kid 💀

I don't think they say how old she was? although it's entirely possible I just misunderstood; my Japanese is...shaky. :') the actual line is "幼い頃に私に求婚したのは偽りか?", which I read as "isn't it true that you proposed to me as a kid?", and took as her being older than him, but not necessarily an adult (like, I was thinking of Lilia as being not quite a preteen and Mel being preteen/young teen). although I don't know if there's a connotation or something I'm missing that implies a bigger age gap, if that makes sense!

(and of course, I might also just be forgetting some other line -- if someone else knows, then please correct me! I need to know which headcanons need adjusting 👀)

BUT YEAH in a canon-y sense, Malleus is 178 and around the third-years developmentally. which makes me think that even though dragons have a way longer lifespan, they go through childhood at about the same rate as most fae (or at least the kind that Lilia is) and just kinda...slow waaaaay down once they hit adulthood. so it makes sense in my brain that he and Meleanor could've basically grown up together!

...it makes it angstier that way, anyway. :)

[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. 

[msklassickilla]

Prada You 2 Chapter 4: Schism

Summary:

Three years have passed, but in city, the past never truly stays buried. The Prada Bois have grown stronger, their grip on the city unshaken. Old faces remain, new tensions rise, and the streets are more dangerous than ever.

Toya’s wedding should be a day of celebration, but for those who knew her, it’s something more—a gathering thick with whispers, with the weight of what was lost. Some wounds have scarred over, while others remain raw, unspoken.

Yet, the night brings a shift. A presence. A force that neither time nor distance could erase. The whispers start first, a low hum of disbelief that spreads like wildfire. Some things refuse to be forgotten. Some stories aren’t finished.

Because in this city, love, loyalty, and revenge all walk the same tightrope. And once the past steps forward, there’s no turning back.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye), Jacob Fatu x Kiyah, Sami Zayn x Natasha, Jimmy Uso x Nataya

Author’s Note: This story is set in a AU that takes place over summer in 2002. It has four original characters. If you come across this and haven’t read the first story, click here.  Again, I appreciate y’all for all the love and support. I hope I’m able to create something that’s worthy as Prada You.

Warnings: Some minor harsh language and age gap relationships. And some heavy conversations

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 4: Schism

May 29th 2002

I spent most of Wednesday over at Granny’s. It felt long overdue. Granny and Bernice still lived in the projects, though they’d moved into one of the bigger renovated units. The fresh paint on the walls and new fixtures couldn’t mask what it was, but something about being there felt good.

Even the lingering smell of cigarette smoke felt comforting in a strange way. Granny swore up and down she was cutting back, but she’d been saying that for years. Said she’d quit—one day.

I laid stretched out on the couch, my head resting in her lap as the soap operas played on the old TV. I didn’t know what was going on in this particular storyline—who was sleeping with who, or who was dying this week—but listening to Granny and Bernice give their running commentary made it worth watching.

They cracked jokes, cursed at the screen, and dissected every ridiculous plot twist like it was real life. I’d been laughing so hard my cheeks hurt.

During a commercial break, Granny smacked me lightly on the thigh, making me jump. “Girl, I missed you,” she said, her voice soft but full of that same bite she always had.

I smiled up at her. “I missed y’all too.” And I meant it. I missed everything about this—lazy afternoons, burnt-out soap operas, and the way Granny and Bernice made even the smallest moments feel important.

Once the stories went off, Granny stood with a grunt and shuffled toward the kitchen. I knew what time it was then. That was the real reason I’d been hanging around all day. Granny said she was frying white fish and making red beans and rice with some honey cornbread, and I wasn’t about to miss that. I’d sit there all night if I had to.

I followed her into the kitchen, drawn in like a kid, and took a seat at the table with Bernice. She already had her cup of tea, legs crossed, one arm draped over the chair like she ran the place.

“So, how was it up there with Darlene?” Bernice asked, fixing her eyes on me.

“It was… different,” I admitted. “People talk different. Act different. Barely drive anywhere. And the food?” I shook my head. “It wasn’t quite what I expected. Not bad but not like home.”

Bernice cackled, that signature raspy laugh of hers filling the room. “I went up there once with Gale. Never again. Cold as hell… snow started out of nowhere. I ain’t built for no shit like that.”

I laughed along with her, but there was comfort in it—talking, joking like no time had passed. For a while, it felt easy.

----

Granny, battering the fish, glanced over at me. Something shifted in her face, subtle but enough to make my stomach clench. I knew that look.

“You know… that boy you used to run around with? He came by after you left. Came here lookin’ for you.”

My mouth went dry. I didn’t have to ask who she meant. There was only one boy in her mind worth mentioning.

“I didn’t know he knew where y’all stayed…” My voice trailed off, but of course, it didn’t matter. It was Jey. If he wanted to find you, he did.

Granny shrugged like it wasn’t worth worrying about. “He came ‘round. I told his ass off good. Told him you was gone, and you wasn’t comin’ back no time soon.”

Bernice snorted. “Boy looked like a dog with his tail tucked. Could barely look me in the eye.”

Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. “Did he… say anything?”

Bernice nodded slowly, like she’d been waiting for me to ask. “He apologized. But it was too late. He was supposed to protect you. Keep you safe for all the bullshit. And he didn’t.”

I sat there, staring at the old table, tracing the worn grooves in the wood. I didn’t need to ask if they told him where I was. I knew they didn’t. Knew they couldn’t.

I stayed in that hospital for four weeks. Four long weeks where every beep, every white wall made me hate this city more. And when I got discharged? I lasted two days at home. Two days before I made the decision that saved my life.

I chose to leave. Mama put me on that plane, and I didn’t look back. Aunt Darlene took me in, gave me space, and for the first time in a long time I could breathe. I had no regrets about leaving. Not a one.

But sitting there, listening to Granny and Bernice, that ache crept in anyway—settling low in my chest, stubborn as ever. It stayed there all through dinner, no matter how good the food was. Even after I hugged them both, slid behind the wheel of my car, and drove home… it lingered.

And that scared me. Because something told me it wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

----

June 1st 2002

Saturday came quick, and with it… June. I hadn’t realized how fast time was moving until I looked at the calendar that morning. Marcy and Jacob’s son was born June 1st. A little June bug he was.

I spent my morning at the nail salon. Hot pink—bright and bold—coated both my nails and toes. The color felt like summer. My acrylics were just long enough to make typing nearly impossible, but that wasn’t my concern today. I wanted to feel pretty, and that’s exactly how I left out of there—nails done, toes shining, and feeling like myself again.

Back home, I lounged around the house, flipping through channels but not really watching anything. The party wasn’t starting ‘til three, and despite everything in me screaming to mind my business… curiosity won. I was going. Not just for Kiyah, not even for the petty need to see Marcy up close. If I was being real. Cake and ice cream sounded good as hell.

I was stretched out on the couch, robe on, bonnet sliding off the back of my head, when the front door opened. Michael walked in like he paid bills, glancing at me before that smirk I hated slid across his face.

He shook his head. “You need a job, bro. Laying there in that big ass robe and bonnet lookin’ forty-five with three kids and four baby daddies.”

I grabbed the remote and launched it at him without a second thought. He ducked it, laughing like the annoying little brother he’d always been.

“God, I dislike you,” I muttered, turning my attention back to the TV as he flopped into the chair across from me.

We sat like that for a while, comfortable in the silence only siblings could share. Every now and then, I’d peek over at him—how tall he was now, how different—but he was still Michael. Still my little brother.

And then, out of nowhere, Michael cleared his throat. “I ain’t gon’ front… I missed yo’ ass. Happy to have you back home.”

I turned my head, eyes settling on him. He rolled his eyes like he regretted saying it already, but I knew he meant it. Deep down.

Michael was distraught when I got shot. He was just a kid, but none of that mattered to him. He stayed by my side every single night in that hospital, refusing to go home. I remember waking up to find him curled up next to me, head resting right on my heart like he needed to hear it beating. I would never forget that. He loved me as much as I loved him—and back then, I made sure to tell him that.

I turned my head, eyes settling on him. He rolled his eyes like he regretted saying it already, but I knew he meant it. Deep down.

“I missed you too, bro. Jokes still corny, but you a dweeb, so that’s expected,” I teased, smiling softer than I meant to.

Michael grabbed a pillow and popped me upside the head. Just like that, we were back in motion. I tackled him, wrestling him down until I was on top. We were mid-fight—me trying to choke the life out of him—when Mama walked through the door.

She froze. “What in the world is happening here?”

I didn’t miss a beat. “Michael started it… I’m just finishing it.”

Michael shoved me off, gasping dramatically as hell. “Man, she attacked me, unprovoked!”

Mama tried to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t hold the laugh in. Watching us go back and forth, I could see it clear—she was just happy. Happy to have us both under her roof again, breathing, arguing, being us.

----

Around two, I finally peeled myself off the couch and went to get ready. I didn’t want to be early, but I also didn’t want to slide in too late. After showering and moisturizing, I kept my makeup simple—light eyeshadow, a little liner, and some lashes to set it off.

My outfit was calm—this was a kid’s party after all. A soft pink strapless maxi dress that hugged me just enough, paired with cute sandals that matched perfectly. My hair was laid just how I wanted it, and after one last look in the mirror, I grabbed my purse and keys.

Before heading out, I stopped by Mama, who was sitting in her chair, eyes tracking me like she was memorizing every move.

I leaned down, kissing her forehead gently. “I love you.”

She smiled, but it was tight. I saw it in her eyes—she was worried. Every time I stepped out that door, she wondered if I was coming back. And that… that cut me deep.

“I’ll be back, Ma,” I told her softly, though I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince more—her or me.

Then I walked out, trying not to carry that weight with me—but it followed anyway.

----

I pulled up to Chuck E. Cheese at about 3:45. The place was packed—cars everywhere, kids running in with excitement in their eyes. I sat there a second, fixing my face in the rearview, reapplying my clear gloss until my lips shined just right. Sliding my shades off, I took a deep breath before stepping out.

Soon as I hit the curb, I heard my name. “Nye!”

I turned, spotting Kiyah parked across the street, window down, blunt in hand like she ain’t have a care in the world. I shook my head and walked over, the smell of weed hitting me before I even made it to the car.

“Not you already smoking and the party just started forty-five minutes ago,” I teased, leaning on the door.

Kiyah took another long pull, eyes low. “Girl… Marcy already pissing me off.”

That didn’t take long. “What happened?” I asked, folding my arms, already knowing it was something that could’ve been avoided.

Kiyah sucked her teeth. “Called damn near fifteen times between last night and this morning… askin’ Jacob dumb shit. ‘What you wearin’? What time you gettin’ there?’ Whole lotta nothin’. She do that shit to start mess. Every time.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “That sound like a nightmare, Kiyah.”

“It is,” she muttered, flicking ashes out the window.

I reached over, tapped her arm. “Come on. I’m here now. I’ll help you keep the peace… best I can.”

Kiyah smirked, crushed the blunt out, and we walked in together, side by side. At the door, I got stamped, the ink barely visible on my wrist, and followed her through what felt like a maze of screaming kids, stressed parents, and the smell of pizza grease.

We weaved through it all until we landed at the party area—a section with two long tables full of kids… mostly Jacob’s. I don’t know why, but that tickled me. There they were like a whole soccer team—all his.

Around the kids, I spotted familiar faces—some I hadn’t seen in years. Prada Bois sprinkled here and there, women at their sides. Before I could settle, Bronson’s wife caught sight of me. She rushed over like she’d been waiting, pulling me into a hug that felt genuine.

“Girl! You look good,” she beamed.

I hugged her back just as tight. “You too.”

Bronson came next, smiling wide. “Damn, it’s good to see you, Nye.” He hugged me hard, patting my back like a big brother. I’d always liked Bronson. He was cool, laid back, and stayed out the bullshit.

Then came Jacob. He pulled me into a hug. When he let me go, I caught sight of her—Marcy.

There she stood—bout five-six, slim, sandy brown skin that glowed under the bad Chuck E. Cheese lighting. Her hair was short, curled into a neat pixie. She was cute. Very cute. But her face? That face told the whole story. Mugged up. Watchful. Tracking Jacob’s every move like she was waiting for him to do something she disliked.

I clocked it quickly how her eyes stayed on Kiyah every chance she got. Watching, calculating. Marcy wasn’t here for the kids, that was clear.

----

I found an empty booth and slid in, needing a minute to just observe. Not long after, Jimmy and Nataya showed up. Nataya looked off. She seemed somber, like being here took effort but when her eyes landed on me, she lit up just a little.

They made their rounds, speaking to everybody before sliding into the booth with me. Jimmy was in good spirits, cracking jokes, making it feel lighter. For a second, it felt normal.

Fifteen minutes later, Natasha and Sami showed. Soon as they walked in, I did a quick count in my head—Bronson, Jimmy, Sami. That was it. No extra Prada Bois. Just the three Kiyah said would be here.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Finally, I relaxed letting myself have a little fun. Bought some tokens, played a few games, laughed more than I expected. Even ended up at that basketball machine—talkin’ big shit.

And what do you know? I beat both Jimmy and Sami, easy. Jimmy stayed salty about it, swearing I cheated.

For the first time since I’d been back, I felt alright. Almost like old times. Almost.

----

I slipped away before the cake came out, needing a second to breathe. The bathroom wasn’t much—smelled like bleach and cheap soap—but it gave me space. I stared at myself in the mirror, touching up my lip gloss, trying to shake off the emotions creeping in.

The door creaked open, and Natasha popped her head in. The look on her face told me everything before she said a word.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, heart already sinking.

Tasha hesitated, chewing on her lip like she was trying to find the right words. “Jey just came in,” she finally said.

I stared at her for a second, then let out a bitter little laugh. “Of course he did. Because why wouldn’t life be one big joke?”

“Nye…” Natasha stepped in fully now, voice soft. “You wanna go? I get it if you do. Hell, everybody will understand.”

I stood there, thinking about it. For a split second, the old me—scared, fragile wanted to run. But no. Not this time. I’d made myself a promise. No more running.

“Nah. I’m staying,” I told her. My voice didn’t even shake. “It’s almost over anyway. I’ll stay long enough to sing Happy Birthday and get me a piece of cake… then I’m out.”

Tasha nodded, but there was something else in her eyes, something she wasn’t saying. I caught it quick.

“Come on,” I sighed, grabbing her hand.

Whatever she wasn’t saying, I’ll find out soon enough what it was.

We stepped back into the chaos with kids screaming, music blasting, people packed shoulder to shoulder. It felt like even more people had shown up. Natasha grabbed my hand tight as we weaved through the crowd, both of us holding on like letting go meant losing each other.

Nataya found us first, eyes wide as she spotted me. Tasha caught it too and cut her off before she could speak. “She knows. I told her Jey’s here.”

Nataya blinked, lips parting. “Did you tell her about—”

I never heard the rest. My eyes landed on him. Jey. And just like that, the whole room faded out.

But what really did it, what made my heart start beating fast, was the woman. His arm was wrapped around her like it belonged there. Pretty thing. Skin smooth, hair laid. Everything about her screamed intentional.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The twins followed my line of sight and saw exactly what I saw.

“You don’t have to stay, Nye,” Nataya whispered, voice laced with something that felt too much like pity.

I turned slow, gave her a look that shut all that down. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m getting that damn cake.”

Head high, shoulders squared, I made my way back to my seat, ignoring the noise in my head—the questions, the what-ifs, all of it. Jimmy and Sami glanced at me, then looked away just as quick. They didn’t say a word, didn’t have to. I got the message loud and clear.

----

Minutes later, the cake rolled out, and with it, that goofy mouse. Everyone gathered, voices lifting as we sang Happy Birthday. I stood on my tiptoes just to see over the crowd, smiling despite everything.

Jacob’s little boy Maleek was cute. A spitting image of both his mama and daddy. Kiyah stood right behind Jacob, grinning at the boy like he was hers. I caught that. How she smiled when Maleek closed his eyes tight to make his wish.

Once the candle was blown out, they cut the cake. It looked good too. I did a little shimmy in place, wondering if it was Walmart or Sam’s Club ‘cause it definitely looked like it was from one them places.

Kiyah brought me a big piece, along with a little container of vanilla Blue Bell. “Here, greedy,” she teased.

The place was packed now, giving standing room only. I couldn’t find a seat, so I plopped right in Nataya’s lap. That cake and ice cream? Yeah, it was getting ate especially after waiting so long.

When I finished, I cleaned up my trash and made my way around, saying my goodbyes. I didn’t see Jey or his guest. And honestly? That was fine by me. Not my business. It was time for me to bounce anyway.

Just as I was telling Bronson’s wife bye, loud voices cut through the air—sharper than everything else.

“I got yo’ bitch, Marcy. Stop playin’ with me before I beat yo’ ass, hoe.”

I spun around fast, heart racing. There was Kiyah right in Marcy’s face. Hell, I didn’t know what set it off that quick, but I was moving. Fast. Because whatever fuse got lit? It was about to explode.

----

I got over there just in time. Marcy was mid-swing, bout to hit Kiyah while Kiyah’s back was turned toward Jacob. I moved on instinct—caught Marcy’s arm mid-air. The way she spun around, confused, had me ready.

“Who the fuck is you?” she snapped, trying to snatch back but I wasn’t lettin’ up.

I stared dead at her, calm but cold. My grip tightened just enough to let her know I wasn’t one of them. Her eyes widened like she ain’t expect that.

“I’m the one stoppin’ you before we jump yo' ass,” I said low, leaning in a little. “Never hit nobody when they not looking.”

Then I threw her arm back at her. Marcy stumbled a step, looking real small now. She ain’t say not a word. Kiyah laughed loud enough for the whole party to hear.

That did it. Embarrassed the hell out of Marcy. She clamped her mouth shut and stayed put. Jacob gave me a look, a quiet thank you in his eyes. I nodded back, saying without words that I had it.

I grabbed Kiyah, pulling her out the middle of the drama. We found a little corner on the far side, away from everybody.

“Heifa, what’s the issue?” I asked, brows raised. “I turn my back for three seconds and you ready to scrap in front of the babies?”

Kiyah sighed, rolled her eyes like I was stressin’ her out. “Man… Marcy started that shit. Jacob wanted me in the picture. You know, him, his son, Marcy, and that damn Chuck E. Cheese. But Marcy caught an attitude talking about the picture for family only.” Kiyah shook her head. “Like I ain’t been here, holdin’ him down.”

I smirked a little, ‘cause yeah I understood. But still. “Look, I get it. But this? Not in front of these babies, bro. You can save that ass whoopin’ for another day.”

Kiyah chuckled then, reaching out to pull me into a hug, arms tight around my neck. “I’m glad you back, hoe. I see you on your Mister Rogers shit. I respect it,” she whispered, and we both busted out laughin’.

“Just lookin’ out for the kids,” I grinned, shaking my head.

As we walked back toward the crowd, I caught Marcy watching, eyes sharp, face twisted. I smirked right at her. Yeah, she knew now. She wasn’t gon’ bully nobody while I was around.

I made my rounds, said my goodbyes, and kept it moving. By the time I hit the parking lot, my head was clearer. I wasn’t thinking ‘bout Jey. I wasn’t thinking about Marcy. None of it mattered.

As long as they kept they distance, we would be good.

----

…later that night, over on the east side in a high-rise apartment

Jey sat slouched on the couch, elbows resting heavy on his knees, palms pressed against his temples like he could rub the headache clean out of his skull. But it wasn’t hurting his head, it was everything else.

He didn’t know how to process the way he felt when his eyes met hers. He hadn’t expected to see her… not today. Hell, not ever if he could help it. Jimmy could’ve given him a heads-up. Could’ve called him to warn him. Tell him she was there.

“Babe… you good?”

Her voice pulled him back soft and cautious. Jey glanced up, spotting Tutor leaning against the wall, arms crossed lightly over her chest. Big brown eyes staring at him, concern written all over her face.

Guilt crept in slow. Guilt for every thought that had crossed his mind since locking eyes with her.

Jey sat back, shaking it off. “Yeah… I just need a minute.”

Tutor didn’t press, and that was one thing he appreciated about her. Non-confrontational to a fault. She just nodded, pushing off the wall and disappearing into the other room, giving him the space he asked for.

He let his head fall back against the couch, eyes drifting toward the ceiling, but his mind? Stuck. Caught on one thing. One person. The same person he’d spent the last two of three years trying his hardest to forget.

And yet, one look, just one look, and it was like everything he buried clawed its way back up. Had his chest tight, head gone, heart on the line before he even realized it.

It messed him up so bad, he left the party early. Couldn’t stand to be in that space, not with her there. Not with her acting like she ain’t even see him. Like he ain’t exist.

“Babe?” Tutor’s voice drifted from down the hall, soft and sweet. “I ran your bath. Water’s hot. I added that lavender and chamomile oil you like so you can relax.”

Jey closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight. Tutor was solid. A good woman. Didn’t give him no trouble, stayed in her lane, made sure he was straight.

What the hell was he even doin’?

He had everything he needed right here. Tutor was now who he poured into. The woman he came home to. That’s where his focus needed to stay. Not on someone who left him like he wasn’t worth nothing. Someone who ignored him for years. Someone who didn’t know how to ride for him, to let him be the man.

And damn sure not someone who wasn’t for Prada. Prada was for life. That was the code. There was no leaving.

He was good on Nyeya. Had to be. Tutor was his now. His present. His future.

Settling that thought deep in his chest, Jey pushed up off the couch and headed toward the bathroom. He was gon' soak, breathe, and let all that other shit go.

But even as he sank into the hot water, steam rising around him… she was there.

Nyeya Noir Green

In his mind, in his chest, like she never left. Like she owned space he couldn’t evict her from. And maybe… maybe she did.

----

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 5.. (click here)

Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi @southernpree @tian-monique @levissslutt @emotionalhottiee @blkgirlsneedlove2 @fafomama @bigjuiciisushii

[laswells-ashtray]

Soooo because I can't write this properly, so I'm entrusting you with this.

Nik hurt Price comfort.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

Nikolai knows he isn't a young man anymore.

He hears men in their twenties make internet references that go over his head, they all sound like gibberish but apparently, they're humorous to surrounding 20-something year old men.

There are specks of grey starting to appear when he lets his stubble grow out and one stubborn steel strand behind his left ear that he can't seem to hide when he tucks his hair back.

But the excruciating sharp pain that spreads throughout his knee more often than not when he gets out of bed in the morning is a slap in the face to the man he once was.

Realistically he'd always known that the work he does would catch up with him but something about taking that extra minute in the morning just so that he can move without his right knee going out from under him is humiliating.

It isn't just his age, old injuries have a way of making themselves known but it would seem that the older he gets, the longer the list of pains that ail him.

Nikolai is a grown man, he can admit that it awakens an insecurity inside of him that he thought buried. Is he still good enough for John? He had proven himself many years ago but he no longer has the same vitality and agility that he had so often taken for granted.

John is a man in his prime. When did he pass his?

There are many things that a man can ponder whilst waiting to regain the full use of his right knee and yet Nikolai always seems to fall back into that swirling pool of shame and self-doubt. He has yet to find a way out of the water without letting himself drown, choking back into awareness.

One hand rests on the edge of his nightstand, holding him steady as he keeps his weight on his left leg. It's a practised routine by now.

Curling his toes into the carpeted floor beneath him acts as a source of amusement, it is one of few actions that can offer him a distraction as he waits out the aching.

John's string of curses as he batters his pinky off of the doorway is as close to a greeting as he'll receive, he believes that the phrase Sergeant MacTavish would use to describe his partner's ordeal is Fucked It.

The captain somehow manages to overcome his anguish as he approaches Nikolai, stopping in front of him and offering his knee a look of contempt as if the joint had assaulted him personally.

When will it become an inconvenience to him? A flaw that he just can't see past.

"Still playing up?"

He offers John a reluctant nod, there's no use in denying the obvious.

"Why not sit down? It's clearly worse than usual and you're only doing yourself more harm standing, give it a bit of time as you sit down then try to walk around again later."

John's suggestion is deliberately gentle and by the look on his face, Nikolai knows that he's expecting a fight. Maybe he expects the pilot to blow up at him like he has before on one of his worst days, a memory that causes guilt to hack away at what little parts he has that remain undamaged.

Instead, he lowers himself onto the edge of their bed and pretends to miss John's obvious relief.

The other man is quick to park himself beside Nikolai only to fall back until he's sprawled on top of the duvet, fingers hooked on the edge of the mattress as he stares up at their ceiling.

"Back's fucked today. Was thinking of staying in for a bit but if neither of us are up to it then we could go for a lazy day. Bed and Bond, best way to go."

He glances down at his partner, catching the faint grimace on his face as he tries to shift his weight off of the lower left side of his back.

"Okay."

For both of their sakes, he can succumb to his desire for laziness in the name of pain relief.

"C'mere, lie down with me. Can get a catnap in if I've got a good-looking man in my bed and he'll let me use him as a pillow."

The sincerity in John's tone is almost sickening, as is the warm look as he lifts his head just to admire Nikolai. There's an undeniable honesty about the devotion that the other man dedicates to him, his very existence even in its worst state is something that John cherishes. It almost makes him feel bad for doubting them both.

So, he nudges John's shoulder and waits for the other man to settle back onto the side of the bed that he had abandoned only an hour ago before he makes the move to lie down. The pain in his knee is no longer torturous, throbbing lessened to a mere irritation.

The pilot feigns exasperation almost as well as the captain often hides it. "Flattery will gain you nothing."

In lieu of responding, John just plants his face on one of his tits and nuzzles into his chest hair.

[causenessus]

happy birthday. | oikawa t.

oikawa x reader (female reader implied, one use of word girlfriend)

written in 2nd person

"i wanna see what makes my life and all the little things, i wanna see the mountains in view and the part when i meet you <3" from when i meet you by hollow bastion

word count: 2.5k words (headcannons & little fic <3)

happy birthday to the boy whose been with me for 4+ years <3 longer than anyone else <3 all sweet toothrotting fluff!! not edited bc i'm really tired goodnight :)

contrary to popular belief, tooru does not hype up his birthday

he never tells anyone it’s coming up and he doesn’t always do something big for his special day

he’s grown a *tiny* bit more mellow since high school, from when he did always make a big deal out of it

fans continue to send in heaps of mail but like the actual day itself, he doesn’t really pay any mind to it

there’s two reasons for this:

now that he has you, he doesn’t care much for others

as long as he gets to spend the day with you, even if no one else wished him a happy birthday or gave him something he’d be happy

second of all, he likes things to be genuine

with popularity has come a lot of shallowness from others, and he’s had to put up many of his own fronts

so he doesn’t want hundreds of people messaging him happy birthday, he only really cares to hear it from his close circle of friends

and it’s no problem if he doesn’t receive a message from one of those friends, he doesn’t expect people to know everything about him (a big change from high school, he’s very proud of it)

it’s just something that he realized after graduating high school. after his last year and the underwhelming end to his high school volleyball career after the spring high playoffs, he realized that life was not all about getting as far as you can on a straight path; sometimes you take turns that diverge you from the main path a little bit, but you still keep moving forward, and sometimes you end up finding something on that little path that makes it all worth it <3 (with age comes wisdom, right?? don’t tell him that, it makes him sound old 🤭)

after all, that’s how he found you <3

at the airport waiting to fly to argentina, he just couldn’t get enough of you, even after spending the entire flight at your side.

and you were just as interested in him

he realized after your first date that he was always meant to be here. he had a restless, adventurous soul that hadn’t been satisfied in japan, and it had been fate to meet you while he was taking the next big step in high life.

and don't mistake his acceptance of where he is in life for laziness, he’s just as hardworking as before if not more, but he’s realized he doesn’t need to aim for perfection

and once he became more lenient on himself, he ironically became the best version of himself he’d ever been

with your support and love easing him through this new mindset and the bad days, he began to win medal after medal <3

you’ve been with him for it all. he wholly believes you were made for him, and he loves you so much

so the only happy birthday he cares to hear is from you

and if other friends wish him a happy birthday? he will thank them. he will say that he appreciates them and he means it, but nothing is as important as you

if you insist that he can’t stay at home with you the whole day and that he should celebrate with some of his friends, he’ll eventually comply

he likes to keep things small. it feels nice to choose to have a quiet day on a date dedicated to him with a small group of people

tooru and you had started the day together in bed. a summer in brazil had seemed appealing to you both; it was the perfect time and place for him to play volleyball on the beach by the sea and you were there to relax and keep him company. he had reconciled with shoyo, who you both had planned to meet for lunch to celebrate the day.

you had decided on the place after receiving input from both of them. tooru had been complaining for days about wanting lemonade, and shoyo had suggested somewhere small, open, and simple as opposed to an overcrowded fancy restaurant. you could easily get that experience just by walking down the hot streets of brazil.

the three of you had spent the afternoon inside a conditioned cafe. it was a cozy place, with lots of greenery and wide window walls to let in lots of sunlight. you had sat there for several hours, people watching and chattering, tooru rubbing circles on your thigh the entire time as shoyo and him recounted their time and experiences in high school and how they had traveled around the world since then.

by around four in the afternoon or so, shoyo had perked up, suggesting that they play volleyball which had riled up tooru, a smirk on his face as he teased the ginger, “oh? you think you can beat me if we play one on one, shrimpy?”

shoyo had grinned back, sitting up proudly and flaunting his sun-bronzed skin. tooru had gotten a little dark, too, but not nearly to the extent that shoyo had.

“you guys have fun sweating and running around in the sun,” you sighed, placing your hand over the one tooru had on your leg, “i’m going to go home.”

when tooru whined you hushed him with a finger to his lip, “you enjoy your time with shoyo. today is about you. i'll still be here when you guys are done playing.”

he gave you a slight pout but you knew you had won him over. he was never one to fight much, especially because he knows you only want the best for him, and he'd be lying if he didn't say he was excited to play against the orange-haired boy sitting across from him.

you had waved the two boys off as you split up after exiting the cafe, stopping by a bakery before running home. little did tooru know, this had been your plan all along and everything was going smoothly so far. shoyo was in on it too and had been assigned the job of distracting tooru while you got home.

tooru woke up with messages from his family, but none of his three closest friends. you’d seen the disappointment in his eyes although he tried to hide it, saying that they’d probably just text him later due to the big time difference between japan and brazil.

but in reality, they hadn’t messaged him because they had just arrived in brazil. they'd come to help you with decorations and to celebrate tooru, of course. you met the three at your door, each of them holding a bag or box with decorations and gifts inside.

“thank you guys for agreeing to do this with me, he’s gonna love it,” you smiled, opening the door and holding it open for the four of them to walk in.

“of course he will, he's gonna let out the most dramatic gasp ever when he sees something set up for him,” hanamaki said with an amused smile, slipping off his shoes.

“he’s gonna love anything, he’s never satisfied,” iwaizumi added with a roll of his eyes. “and he’ll probably complain that none of us texted him.”

“times never change,” mattsun whistled, stepping through the door last. “remember when we surprised him in the gym with the entire team? he wasn’t even happy until makki finally arrvied with the cake like an hour later.” 

“you gave me the wrong address, that was not my fault! and he wasn’t happy until i got there because he was waiting for me, not the cake,” makki retorted and the rest of them had laughed.

you had met his old teammates from high school a few times before on visits back to japan, and tooru continued to keep in touch with them while he was overseas. most often, on late nights that neither of you could sleep, he would ramble to you about the national volleyball team iwaizumi had been putting together.

you had also exchanged phone numbers with the three boys after hitting it off with them, which had come in handy for planning this birthday. you all worked quickly to hang up decorations around the foyer and kitchen while the cake you'd bought earlier stayed neat and pretty in the chilled fridge.

all the while, shoyo kept you updated on tooru through texts. they were on the way back to the apartment now after shoyo had insisted on walking with him back home.

“he’s almost here,” you informed, unable to contain the excited smile on your face as you slipped your phone back into your pocket. “everyone ready? iwaizumi, will you get the lights, please?”

you all waited in the dark until you heard their footsteps approaching, the muffled sound of their voices through the wall of the apartment. you lit the candles on the birthday cake, the warm, flickering flames providing the tiniest bit of light in the dark room, illuminating the neatly iced cursive that read out "happy birthday tooru ♡ " 

you heard his noise of surprise as the door swung open into the pitch black apartment before you stood up from your hiding spot behind the counter, “happy birthday, my love.”

 “y/n? is this why you left early?” he asked, a smile full of love and adoration on his face, looking at the dimly lit cake on the table.

you hummed in response, wrapping your arms around his neck, giving him a kiss before you looked at shoyo and gave him a nod.

the lights came on overhead, making tooru squint at the sudden brightness before he nearly fell forward from a slap to his back.

“happy birthday, man,” mattsun grinned, stepping into his sight before he saw iwaizumi and hanamaki as well.

“you guys?—” he started, frozen in place in surprise at seeing the three boys in his apartment. “you guys came all the way here for me?”

“no," hanamaki replied sarcastically with a shrug before giving tooru a hug, "we just happened to be in the area, you know. i’m thinking of moving to brazil and decided to stop by.

tooru lets out an offended huff at the joke, crossing his arms as hanamaki steps back. “i can’t believe you guys are really here. and even more i can’t believe none of you guys texted me! i thought you all had forgotten, you could have at least sent a message so i wasn’t moping around all day.”

you and iwaizumi both roll your eyes at his dramatic complaint as matsukawa laughs, “aw, did you miss us?”

“and where’s the fun in that, dumbass? we thought a happy birthday in person would mean more to you, anyway,” iwaizumi speaks up, revealing the gift bag he’s been hiding from behind his back.

tooru gasps, practically melting at the sight as he steps closer to his best friend, “well, i guess you guys were right. this means the world to me, thank you so much for coming.” he takes the bag from iwaizumi before pulling him into a tight hug that lasts a few seconds, and says more between the two than hours of talking could. they haven’t seen each other in months, but they’re still just as close as they’ve always been.

“and,” tooru says, turning towards you with a smile, “thank you for setting this all up, y/n.”

the party lasts a few hours, with mellow music playing in the background as the six of you catch up over a few drinks before everyone decides it’s a good time to head out back to their homes, leaving the two of you to collapse into bed. 

tooru is hugging you close, face nestled into the top of your chest as you comb your fingers through his hair and draw circles onto his back.

“did you have a good birthday?” you ask him, eyes closed as you both find rest in each other’s arms.

his shoulders relax with a deep sigh as he gives you a small nod, his face rubbing against your shirt.

“anything i can do to make it even better next year?” you talk softly, twirling his brown curls around your finger.

he hums in thought for a second before he peeks up from your chest, innocent brown eyes staring into yours. “more time with you next time,” he answers, mouth still muffled from your shirt. 

“what?” you chuckle, rubbing the back of his head, “i was with you nearly the entire day, and we live together. you see me every day.”

“ ‘s not the same,” he whines, nuzzling his face into your body again, “and today didn't count, 'cause i didn’t get any alone time with you.”

you can’t help but smile at his sweet words, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head, “but today is your day, tooru. i want you to see as many friends as you can. because we all care about you, and sometimes you need to be reminded of that, mr. i-don’t-tell-anyone-when-my-birthday-is.”

his grip tightens on the back of your shirt, “yeah, but i don’t need any of that if i have you. you make me feel loved and cared for. your happy birthday is the only one i care about hearing.”

“is that so?’ you reply, returning to raking through his hair.

he gives you another nod before looking up, one of his hands trailing up your back and tangling into the back of your hair, pressing your head down to meet his lips. “mhm,” he hums against your mouth, “all i need is you.”

his lips trail down your jaw and then to your neck, making you laugh as he moves down your sternum before he returns to his original position, holding you close, his face buried into you. “well then, i’ll keep that in mind next year. i’ll make sure everyone texts you happy birthday whether or not they fly across the world and i promise we'll get some alone time, okay?”

he hums in acknowledgment of your words, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “what’re you thinking about?” you ask softly.

“nothing,” he mumbles, “i just feel really happy right now. i have the best girlfriend in the world that cares so much about me and plans out all my birthdays to make me feel loved. and we’re lying in bed right now and i’m just listening to her talk and i feel so comfortable. like next year we could just lie here all day and i’d be the happiest man ever.”

you laugh at his words and he likes the way he can feel it reverberate through your chest because of how close he is. “you’re sweet, tooru. i’ll keep talking until you fall asleep then, okay?”

“mmkay,” he responds happily, moving his legs around under the sheets to hook around yours, intertwining your bodies.

you press another kiss to his head, smiling the entire time, your heart full of love for the man, “and if it really means that much to you to hear it from me, i’ll say it again, too. happy birthday, tooru. and i love you so so much. you’re the best man i could ever have fallen in love with.”

[twiishaa]

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋‎♪ the house across the bridge kita x reader, wc 2.2k warnings not proofread, inspired by ghibli film ‘when marnie was there’, idk <3

when you moved to the country, you weren’t expecting to meet anyone your age— and you definitely weren’t expecting to fall in love with a boy who lived there. maybe this summer fling would last you forever… 

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 kita masterlist ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

—

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 THIS was the first summer you spent away from everything— the city, your parents, and, well, anything you knew. you’d come to spend the summer in the country with your aunt, which she so graciously offered after you told her about how much you wanted to do something new, something different. 

the train was long and uncomfortable, the seats stiff and the air stuffy. but outside, the view changed as you went from city to city, travelling further away. your aunt lived right on the outskirts of amagasaki, near the farms and green fields. as you began to enter the rural areas, the landscape shed its building skyline, and the concrete grounds were tenderly replaced with lazy fields bursting with crops and colourful flowers. it felt like an entire different world, leaving the city behind to enter the dream-like countryside. 

—

stretching your legs as you got off the train, you spotted your aunt almost immediately— she had a loving, maternal-like aura, always wearing a warm smile on her face. the city’s train station was small and slightly dirty, with only a few people populating it. 

before you could say hello, your aunt started squishing your cheeks. “my, [name], you’ve grown so much! the last time i saw you, you were tiny!” she said. 

you gave an awkward laugh. “thank you for letting me stay, auntie.” 

she shook her head. “no, the pleasure’s all mine. it’ll be nice having some company,” finishing her sentence, she gestured to a small, old-looking car. “should we get going?” smiling, you nodded. 

— 

“this was my old daughter’s room,” your aunt said while opening the door. “she moved out a while back, so it’s been free ever since. well, it’s yours for the summer now! feel free to make it feel like home,” looking around, you could tell it hadn’t been used recently— there was a small layer of dust on the furniture and the decorations were reminiscent of the trends from the last decade. 

this wasn’t too bad! flopping onto the bed, you decided to take a small rest before dinner, in a few hours.

—

the next few days had been uneventful. you helped your aunt around the house, then stayed in your room upstairs, spending most of the time admiring the stark contrast in landscape here. it wasn’t until one day, when you were cutting tomatoes for lunch, that something happened.

“have you been around the town yet? there are some nice places to see,” your aunt asked casually. stopping to look out the window at the midday sun, you replied,

“i haven’t yet. have you got any recommendations?” 

“oh, everywhere here’s nice!” she patted your shoulder as she passed you, carrying forks for the table. “tell you what. after lunch, you should walk around a bit! get some fresh air, it’ll be good for you too.” 

humming in agreement, you went back to cutting tomatoes. 

– 

after a few hours of getting to know the countryside town, you came across a small river, connected on either side by an aged wooden bridge. on the other side of the bridge, there was a house, surrounded by fields and fields of crops– you assumed it was a farm. 

but what was a farm doing in an isolated place like this? 

your curiosity got the best of you– taking a cautious look at your surroundings, you crossed the wooden bridge.

“hello?” a voice rang out from somewhere around you.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion; you must’ve been hearing things.

but the voice spoke again, this time closer to you. “are you lost? i usually don’t see anyone around here,” it said, tapping on your shoulder. letting out a sudden yelp, you stumbled backwards. 

“oh… sorry. i didn’t think anyone would be here,” you apologised, turning around to see who it was.

it was a boy– your age, probably, with straight white hair, but the tips were black– as if they were burnt, and his skin was just slightly tanned, probably from being in the sun. in some strange way, he felt like someone you’d known before, someone you knew very well. his face felt familiar, but you’d never seen him before. 

hm. how come you didn’t hear his footsteps? you brushed it off quickly. 

the boy laughed a little. “oh, no, don't worry about it. are you new around here?” 

you chuckled nervously. “yeah, could you tell? i live in tokyo, but i’m staying here for the summer.” 

“for the summer, huh..” he repeated, stepping back a little. “you’re from the city? that must be…”

“different?” you said at the same time as him. he looked a little surprised, but he dismissed it quickly. 

“it’s different, all right. not used to seeing fields and farmhouses like these around,” you commented, taking moments to gaze at the scenery around you. “do you live here?”

the boy laughed again. “yeah, i do.” walking towards the hose, he said, “hey, you’re interesting. i could show you around if you want?” following behind him, you replied, “that’d be great! i’m [name], by the way.” “oh, i’m kita. kita shinsuke– feel free to call me shinsuke or shin, i don’t mind.”

– 

one thing turned into another, and now you were helping kita harvest one of the rice fields. despite it being difficult, he somehow made it look effortless, like he was just lifting up a few feathers. it was attractive— in some strange way. as the sun hit its highest point in the sky, the heat poured down on you two, and the sun made kita’s figure glow. turning to look at you, he explained how to do it. “so, you grab it here, and then cut it as low as you can get to the roots.” hesitating a little, you took hold of a handful of rice plants from their middle and went to cut the roots. “like this?”

“yep– just,” kita put his hand over yours and moved it down a little. as he did, he moved a little closer to you subconsciously. he smelled like the rice fields– earthy, warm, and slightly sweet; you held your breath when you felt his breath fan on your shoulder. 

“-like that.” he finished. 

“okay, so now i,” you let out the breath you were holding earlier. “just… cut it? like that?” you asked, while cutting off the roots. 

kita took hold of the crops and beat them on the side of the basket before putting them in. “you’re a natural, [name], have you done this before?” 

watching what he did, you went to cut another bunch. “i haven’t, no. and im sure im not that good,” you replied, embarrassed. 

–

slowly, you got into a rhythm, and kita started conversing with you a little more.

“so, what’s it like? the city, i mean,” he looked at you. 

feeling his eyes on yours, you blushed a little. “different. really different. i mean here, there’s a lot more… green, whereas over there, everything is just buildings and buildings…” 

kita focused on the crops again. “oh. so what do you do over there?” 

“oh, usually i just go on my phone, or something– there’s not much to do,” you replied, finding it a little boring just talking about your life. “so, shin, what’s it like living here? is it not lonely?” 

after hearing his name, kita’s head perked up. “hm? oh,” he looked a little embarrassed. 

“oh, should i not call you that? sorry.” “no it’s fine! im just.. not used to hearing it much, thats all. it gets lonely here sometimes, but it’s alright.” kita replied, banging the plants on the basket again.

it had been a good few hours, and you were getting tired. you stepped back from the line of crops, and kita did soon after. 

“that’s so tiring! how do you do that all day?” exasperated, you asked. “doesn’t it get hot?” 

kita sighed, and wiped the sweat off his forehead– it was causing his bangs to stick. you thought it was cute.

“it does get tiring. hey– i know a place where there’s some shade,” running the first few steps, he looked back to see if you were following. “if you wanted?” 

–

the place kita was talking about was a flower field, not too far from the farms. in the corner was a tree, its branches big enough to span over the entire field. resting on the trunk, kita sat down– you flopped onto the grass next to him. 

“it’s nice having someone my age here, finally,” kita said. up until now, you didn’t realise how pretty his voice was. it was calming, and gentle; you could listen to it all day. 

“hmm? same here, i thought i was gonna be alone,” you laughed– kita laughed with you. 

resting his head on the massive trunk, he continued, “doesn’t help you’re really pretty too. feels like im like, teaching a princess, or something.” 

hearing that, your heart suddenly skipped– the heat did well to hide your flushed cheeks. 

“if it helps,” you started, just loud enough for kita to hear, “i think you’re pretty too. and really sweet– im glad im not alone this summer,” flashing a short smile, you closed your eyes and soaked in the moment. 

it was comfortable, lying with kita here. 

– 

you quickly fell into a routine during the summer– it was the same thing every day, but it felt different each time over. you’d help your aunt and chat with her up till lunch, then you’d meet kita and hang out with him until the sun started to set. your feelings towards him only blossomed more over the course of the holidays– like a flower bud. you two would talk about anything and everything, or just lie next to each other, basking in the sunlight. whenever you crossed the little wooden bridge, you felt lighter on your feet, as if you were in a fantasy land. and to be honest– that’s what it was like– you’d come to the country for the summer and fallen in love with a boy who lived in a completely different world to you. the farms were almost like a time capsule, stuck in the simpler, pre-industrial world. 

sometimes, you thought about leaving everything behind for kita, but you knew better. you knew your family were waiting for you back home, and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave them behind for a boy you just met– you knew even kita’d say no. 

so, you surrendered to the ever-moving, fleeting nature of time. 

and soon, it came time to leave.

– 

today was your last day seeing kita. you were waiting underneath the same tree, staring out at the endless flower fields. 

“hey,” you heard kita from behind you. this time, you didn’t get scared. turning around, you studied his features one last time. 

“hi.” you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him properly– it just brought tears to your eyes. 

gently grabbing hold of your chin, kita lifted your head to look at him. “don’t cry, please, you’ll make me cry,” he said, his voice softer than usual. using both hands, you held onto his arm. 

“i know, i know but…” your voice came out a little choked, small sobs making their way through. “i’m gonna miss you, shin,” you whispered, your voice cracking a little. 

letting go of your chin, he closed the distance between you two with a hug. you just sobbed into his shoulder. 

“i’ll never forget you, shin,” you said, muffled. 

“me neither.” he broke the hug to give you something. 

“here, that photo we took during the sunset. i printed two out so that we could both keep one.” taking one, you put it in your phonecase. “thank you,” you managed to say before your aunt rang you on your phone. 

you both knew this was it. the flower field here would forever hold your memories together, even when you were apart. taking one last look at the field, and then at kita, you walked off. if you said anything now, you wouldn’t be able to handle it– you both knew that. 

kita whispered under his breath, “i’ll see you later, my love.” having barely heard what he said, you looked back to ask, but he had already disappeared. 

– 

in the car ride to the train station, you made conversation with your aunt. 

“thank you for letting me stay for so long, i had such a good time.” 

she laughed. “sure, feel free to come back whenever you want. did you make any friends?” 

friends– you thought of kita. smiling, you answered,

“yes i did– the boy who lives in the farmhouses?”

your aunt looked confused. “[name], there aren’t any farmhouses around here. maybe it’s some other house? did you get his name?” confused, you carried on describing to her. “the farmhouses across the bridge…” pausing, your aunt replied again. “oh, those.. no one’s lived in those for years now…” she sighed. “there was a boy your age a few years ago, but he died of tubercolosis. poor boy…” 

you blinked rapidly. kita wasn’t— what was he?

a ghost? it kind of made sense; his white hair, his lack of presence, and how the world felt… surreal on the other side of the bridge.

but the feelings you felt were real. when he hugged you, it was real. there was something there between you two— a pure love, seemingly powerful enough to transcend time. it didn’t make sense to you; but all that mattered was those moments. 

he said to you, “i’ll remember this forever,” but it seemed it was just you who remembered. and you’d hold onto this summer forever. 

note first longfic EVER (longfic = >1.5k okay) oh my gosh. why do i actually kinda like this..... @phantasmaebg

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ like what you read? here’s the masterlist! ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

[amy-the-god]

My most precious possession ( Mr Wolf x reader )

---------------------------<3----------------------------

• Mr Wolf Pov •

Being good was something I never anticipated, but it was something welcome.

When you are bad, people suspect you if anything bad happens, you will always be the target of bad rumors

Like the day the police chief's daughter went missing

--------<3------

The city was in... how do I say it? Chaos, After the police chief's little daughter disappears, ____., the sweet, sweet future doctor of the city, the best of the best, or so they said

I calmly adjust my sleeves, putting a charming smile on my face as I wave to Diane and the others,Moving away from the group

Just imagine? The girl from the age of eight was pressured to be something she never wanted to be, Grown with the goal of making others proud

I get into the car, putting on my seatbelt and starting it, When I see my reflection and my smile grows, I adjust the rearview mirror before I start driving

I understand, if I were in her place, I would want to disappear too

It doesn't take long for me to stop in front of our old hideout, getting out of the car and calmly walking in, ignoring the dust.

And how could I refuse when she practically begged me to hide and protect her?

" darling I'm here~ "

I yell with a smile opening the door to my old room, my smile widening as I see .____ still chained to the bed, Looking at me scared.. I still don't understand

" Oh love, aren't you happy to see me?"

I ask, walking over and sitting on the bed next to her, watching her shrink a little, making me smile.

"I did everything you asked... I saved you, I took you out of that old life, and you're still not happy?"

I say taking the gag out of her mouth, watching her breathe heavily.

"My love, you are a bit ungrateful"

I say scratching my chin and closing my eyes, as my ears perk up when I hear her speak.

"let me go.. please.."

"let you go??"

And I let out a low, incredulous laugh

"My love, why the hell would I do that??"

And I grab her chin, watching her tremble as my smile widens

"After all, you are my most precious possession.. And I won't let you go.."

I murmur with a smile, before pressing my lips against hers in a kiss.

Ok this was in my draft for a long time and I was just too lazy to post it, and sorry if it's short it's just so I don't have anything left, please ask for oneshots or headcons ;-; kisses from Brazil 😚

[princeblue]

I had someone on anon ask me if I thought Genya was incapable of cultivating his own breathing style or not and i accidentally hit fucking delete so I’m gonna retype it here:

Tldr: No, I think Genya is a character that is akin to a dull blade, capable of being sharpened, but the people around him lack the means to shape him properly. I also think he was just a character that was underutilized, plain and simple.

But anyway let’s start with my biggest point: Genya did not have good teachers.

I believe it’s at the end of the first season after Tanjirou has had his trial by the Hashira’s, that the Hashira themselves state the new recruits for the demon slayer corps have grown sloppy and poor, meaning that the trainers themselves have grown either too old or too lazy.

With this, and the fact that we can infer Genya’s original teacher was on the poorer, sloppier side of things, not only failing to install a breathing style in him, but as a teacher who let a child go to final selection without a breathing style, which would most certainly be a death sentence.

We also have Genya himself state that Gyomei is not a good teacher, he states that he learned repetitive motion by observation alone.

Which then reads: Genya is smart, smart enough to pickup on something that dozens of others, including the MC, have failed to do.

So, do I think that Genya was capable of cultivating his own style? Yes & No.

I think if Genya had the proper teachings, that yes, he would have. And I have quite a few friends that believe Genya first tried learning Wind Breathing, which would be a very nice symbolism, but I am more personally inclined to say that he first learned, or attempted, water breathing.

The reason I state this is because Genya knows the fundamental basics of a breathing style, and the most basic breathing style is water, Tanjirou states when he’s conversing with Giyuu during HTA that it’s not uncommon for people to learn WB and then adapt to another, which I feel like we can safely say people also utilize it to craft their individual breathing styles as well.

But this to me would also tie into Genya’s insecurities, if he cannot master the most simple breathing style, nor be taught by two trainers (one of which is a hashira) how can he believe that he could craft his own? He wouldn’t, at all. Which means he find the next possible resort within his grasp: his gun, and then later down the line: his ability.

Because let’s talk about total concentration breathing: it is not something that comes naturally, Tanjirou himself had to be corrected by Makomo to properly wield it, and then later down the line, be told how to use repetitive motion.

This might contradict him not being able to learn TCB by observation alone, like he did RM, but what exactly is weak about Genya? Beyond his emotional regulation, which can play into TCB. But still, he is: tall, strong, observant/smart, and quick.

And while I absolutely adore the theory/headcanon that he is asthmatic, it is not canon nor is it implied to be canon. Genya has no reason whatsoever as to why he shouldn’t be able to use TCB, he just can’t.

Which leads me to believe that his original trainer was a sleazeball, believing that since Genya couldn’t master TCB in that moment, he just stopped properly training him altogether.

And to further reinforce my point: I can understand Senjurou Rengoku not being able to master TCB or Flame Breathing simply because he appeared small for his age and lived his life as a maid instead of a warrior, not to mention encouraged by Kyojurou to pursue a different path in life. But Genya goes down a different, more drastic route, and he quickly makes up for what he lacked in height, leading me to believe that there is a disconnect there.

But let’s play with the idea that Genya is asthmatic.

The whole point of total concentration breathing is to be able to match the strength of a demon, learning a specific fighting style is great, but it will do you no good in the end unless you have the strength to back it, or seek alternatives. (Poison/gun.)

But, if Genya is able to consume a demon and adapt to their strength and more while also knowing the fundamental basics of TCB & Water breathing (or whichever breathing style you prefer) I still don’t see why he wouldn’t be able to use it in this enhanced state of being.

Now, do correct me if I’m wrong here, because I have seen the “only demons who learnt of TCB as humans can use it as full fledged demons” thing floating around, but I’m not sure if it’s canon and Genya is still a special case, he is not a true demon, personally I would say he is kin to half, but still not a full demon. Meaning that with his body still fundamentally being human, he should technically be allowed to use TCB.

So, to me? I have never seen a reason why Genya couldn’t have ever cultivated or learnt of a pre existing breathing style. I find that the most logical reasoning as to why he couldn’t is 1. He is at the end of the day, a background character, and a character used to conclude Sanemi’s character arc and attitude shift (you can find that analysis at @pompomchihuahua ) and 2. Because the author realized they made him too op, nerfed him, and then never gave a proper reasoning as to why he couldn’t do what others could do.

—

This was a lot of fun and I actually changed my answer halfway through writing the original text, feel dumb I deleted it, but glad I did actually because I worded this one much more cleanly put!

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

[behind the scenes: this is the first piece i ever wrote for lu zhi! i was still figuring out her voice and the direction i wanted to take with her character, so the tone is a lot more comedic and lu zhi is a lot more blunt in her communication.]

Liu Bang knew from experience that the best way to assuage his wife's temper was to debase himself first. The math was simple; grovelling*time/gifts= forgiveness. He did not regard this as an act of emasculation the way a normal man should--though you couldn't have beaten that admission out of him with iron cudgels. In his mind, the path of least resistance was always the correct choice, and this inborn laziness easily trumped forty-eight years of Chu society instilled chauvinism. Why fight your way through a twenty-li thorn bush when there was a perfectly good paved road right there? Thus, he approached his humiliation with the level-headed calculation of a city engineer who was about to open the dykes for an approaching monsoon. Better to suffer some moderate flooding than to have the dam burst and flatten your city. When Hurrican Lü blew through, you could either get out of her way, or hunker down and minimize damages.

Liu Bang eyed the short, fat woman carefully from his periphery and wracked his skull for something appropriately stupid to say. What he came up with was exceptional, even by his standards;

 "Wife, be honest. Me and Xiang Yu… y'reckon I've got a chance?"

The shuttles of the loom abruptly screeched to a halt. Lü Zhi stared at him in disbelief for a long moment. "My god, your arrogance is breath-taking. Let me spell it out for you, old man. Xiang Yu is a hegemon-king and a hero of our times. You are a small-town populist with a handful of soldiers and barely two pieces of silver to rub together. What could you possibly offer him except a half-decent face and a willingness to debase yourself?"

"…So that's a maybe?"

"Maybe my ass!"

Liu Bang was preening a little at his face being called half-decent, even into his advanced middle age. The rest of his shortcomings rolled right off him like water off a duck's back.

"I think you're spot on, wife." He said thoughtfully. The longer he played this out, the more effective it would be.  "Debasement is the key here! Men like to feel powerful and in charge. I'll just act as pathetic as possible and let Xiang Yu dominate me! I got his type all figured out. He might not have a taste for boys, but he loves conquest. I'll convince him it's a show of strength to bed a man, especially a venerable senior who is in awe of his youth and valour. Haha, it's perfect! I'll have that arrogant young stallion pushing me down before the month is out, I guarantee it!"

By now, Lü Zhi had wizened up to his game. She was both furious, and struggling not to laugh--which made her angrier. "Were you not fed enough as a baby?" Lü Zhi snapped, half disgusted, half in awe of her husband's shamelessness. "How could a grown man end up so bent? I've seen whores have more dignity."

It was unnatural for an older men to take the submissive role in bed. If word got out that her husband was letting some brat who was young enough to be his son climb all over him, her reputation would be in the gutter.

Liu Bang replied shamelessly, "you're just jealous of what I can do, even without a girl's natural advantages." He even had to gall to draw his sleeve over his face in a parody of coquetry, "it takes skill to turn a man's head! It's not enough to have a pretty face, you must also be sweet and have an enticing personality."

That struck a nerve. Demure and sweet were antonyms to the name 'Lü Zhi.' "Maybe he'll take you as a concubine, dear husband. You'd enjoy it, I wager."

"A concubine?" Liu Bang didn't need to pretend to be deeply affronted by her words, "how could you think so little of your husband? I'll have you know, I'm consort material through and through!"

Lü Zhi sighed and rolled her eyes skywards, as if praying for divine lightning to pierce the ceiling and end her suffering. Either by striking herself, or Liu Bang--she wasn't picky. "Even if you have no regard for propriety, can you at least spare some pity for your family? Such ignominy is no hardship for myself, of course, it is a woman's duty to stand by her husband, even if she is torn limb from limb. It's your venerable old father I fear for. If he were to hear the filth coming out of your mouth, he'd surely die of shame."

Liu Bang replied  shamelessly, "oh, we both know my mouth's been in dirtier places."

Lü Zhi spluttered and flushed scarlet, for a moment she was too enraged to even speak, "why you revolting, shameless…!"

"That wasn't what I heard last night!" Liu Bang roared with laughter--from the safety of a three zhang away. A wooden shuttle went whizzing past his head and he retreated another zhang as a precaution.

—----------

Liu Bang had been speaking in jest before, but bit by bit his voice had gradually changed. It had lost none of it's pleasant, conversational tone, but now it contained an undercurrent of thoughtfulness, which made it a hundred times more dangerous. Like the invisible eddies that formed below waterfalls, tranquil on the surface, but waiting to drag you under if you got too close."He's fatherless, y'know, the poor, sad little pup. And that venerable uncle of his? So stuffy and uptight. He loves that horrible brat nephew of his--Heaven bless that old soul, you couldn't find a more filial younger brother--but he's a real tight-wad when it comes to praise, or any emotion really. Never smiles or frowns. You'd have better luck squeezing water from stone. Our Hegemon-King may prowl like a tiger when he's on the battlefield, but deep down inside he craves the adoration of older, respectable gentlemen. I've seen it in his eyes. Sing a few praises, and he puffs up like a little mantou. He measures himself against the glory he's won, just like a little boy marking a doorframe to see how much he's grown. And he's a greedy bugger too, he'll never be satisfied with the inches he's already put on. The next goal has to be bigger than the last. Each cheer has to be louder than the last. He needs the attention of others to survive, like the wheat-sprout needs frequent rain, not one drop less, or he'll wither up and die. He's sick to death of all these advisors and generals trying to tie him down and keep him humble. Always telling him to say this and do that. So I'll be the one to raise him up. I'll stoke his big, hot ego and use my silver tongue to leave him smiling and sated. I'll blow him up bigger and bigger until his head brushes the clouds, right until the whole thing collapses under it's own impossible weight. Let him think I'm just a harmless old leacher. By the time he realises I'm far from harmless, it will be too late. Mark my words, Old Liu will be the one who finishes on top in the end."

[glubsurleseuil]

Don't be scared - Chapter 1

This is the first chapter - Next

A Pennywise X F!Reader fanfic 'cause I need to get these ideas out of my head before they eat me up. I'll post this thing on AO3 when I'm not so lazy to create an account. If I go ahead with it, it'll be NSFW, sexually disturbing, gory, violent, reader is an autistic drepressed suicidal girl… In short, skip it if you're a sensitive soul. For the rest of you, enjoy (I hope).

(Note: It was translated by Deepl, English is not my mother tongue, so I apologise for any mistakes. If you want to correct me, don't hesitate!)

(Note 2: The image is by @fandomscreenshots but you should already know that because what she does is amazing)

You've always lived in Derry, Maine. Well, actually you were born in Derry, went to school in Derry and, like any good citizen, you now work in Derry. You don't like it, you never have, and you know that no matter what you do, you'll never like it.

Firstly, because no matter how hard you try since childhood, you just can't seem to make any friends. Worse, people seem to have agreed to shut you out and hate you. At best, they ignore you, at worst… well, let's just say there are certain people you've learned to avoid at all costs, so you don't have to spend the evening licking your wounds…

Secondly, because there's something unhealthy about the general atmosphere of this town, as if it were being devoured by a cancer that affected not only the surrounding greenery, but also the buildings and even the people. A cancer that could be called suffering, melancholy or despair. And although no one knows where these feelings come from, everyone seems to accept them as an inevitable burden.

Tonight, like most evenings, you're working at the Canal Rouge, a rather quiet bar where people can drink and listen to local artists perform on a small stage. You're a waitress, and it's not the most pleasant of jobs, especially when you're a woman. Fortunately, your boss is a woman too, and she's very strict about the respect customers show her staff, so things could be a lot worse.

But tonight, you're in a particularly bad mood. Fatigue has always been a difficult thing for you to deal with, and lately your nights have been… tormented. You've been having a dream, always the same with little difference, on and off for over a week. It's a hazy, dark, incoherent dream that's hard to remember. What you remember most is anguish, fear… and an unbearable feeling of being watched by something dangerous, making you feel like prey waiting to be devoured. When your therapist asked you to describe this dream, even with random words, you said 'fear', 'red' and… 'clown'. You laughed after saying that last word, a nervous, uncontrolled laugh, like a continuation of the one you always hear in this dream before waking up.

But tonight, the worst is yet to come, because you have to serve Jenny's gang as consumers, young people your own age who, like you, are stuck in Derry and like to pass the time by annoying other people. Especially you, since you met them in kindergarten. You know you won't be able to get home safely tonight…

And your fears are confirmed as you finish your shift. As you emerge into the alley to which the service door leads, you see them laughing at the end of it, looking in your direction. This is the way home. You quickly think of another option, but you know that even if you take a longer route, they'll be able to corner you sooner or later, and that's what they'll do. Unless… you go through the forest…

You don't hesitate, knowing that your pursuers won't follow. Their parents have given them the same instructions as you: never go into the forest at night. Ever. Your father had made it clear that he meant business by emphasizing his order with the back of his hand. But tonight, you're a grown-up, and between your dead father's old superstitions and Jenny and her gang's guaranteed beating, the choice was quickly made.

You head into the forest, at first more worried about your pursuers who, as expected, quickly abandon their target. Then you decide to turn on the torch on your phone, as it quickly becomes very dark between the tightly packed trees in the middle of the night. You recognize the path you're on and follow it to the ancient oak tree where you used to climb as a child to escape the bullies. But even this place, reassuring by day, gives off a menacing aura by night…

All is quiet, too quiet for a forest where animals should be going about their nocturnal lives. You get the impression that a kind of fog is floating around, light but unnatural, and as you look at the thick branches of the oak tree, you get a strange feeling… Like a memory from another life… Like a dream…

Suddenly, there's a sound. A sound you know well, having heard it every night for over a week. A laugh. A clown's laugh… You turn in all directions, shining your phone in every nook and cranny around the oak. And just as you realize that there's nothing there, that maybe it's your imagination playing tricks on you, the laughter starts up again. You jump back against the tree, light pointed ahead, anticipating the appearance of someone, something… The laughter becomes more distinct, closer… But it's not coming from in front of you, nor from the sides… It comes… from above?

With a quick gesture, you point the light towards the branches of the oak tree and there, hidden in the shadows of the leaves, you see it: a clown. No, THE clown. The one who has haunted your dreams, distressed your nights, devoured your sanity. This present moment has repeated itself endlessly in your nightmare and now it's all happening for real, clear as day and just as terrifying.

With a muffled scream, you drop your phone, the lamp face down and your legs buckling beneath you. The little light that escapes from beneath your phone only faintly illuminates the bottom of the tree, but you know IT's there.

And it's not long before he leaps down from the tree. You can only make out a silhouette in the darkness, and as you hear him coming closer, you try to remember the end of the dream. It's all a blur, and all that comes back is a vague memory of a hunt in which you are the prey… Back on the grassy ground, you pull yourself back as best you can with your hands, never taking your eyes off the presence. Is this how you're going to die?

He moves slowly closer, slipping into the shadows. You can make out that he's leaning forward, then addressing you in a childlike voice.

"Hiya Y/N! I'm Pennywise, the dancing clown!"

He suddenly picks up your phone from the floor, pulling it up slowly, light downwards, gradually revealing his appearance as he continues.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, you know? Don't be scared, I'm not going to kill you…"

As he utters these words, light finally shines on his face, reflected in his abnormally large and sharp teeth, piercing yellow eyes focused on you, and horror fills you.

"… yet."

The instinct to survive gives you new energy. You leap to your feet and flee the way you came, briefly illuminated by your phone in the clown's hands. You run at full speed, ignoring the noises behind you that make you think he's chasing you. If you've got a chance of getting away, you're going to take it. In fact, the forest exit isn't far off. One last push! You close your eyes and accelerate again… when hands often clutch your collar, brutally stopping your momentum.

"There you are, you bastard!"

"I told you she'd come back! She's such a pussy!"

"No way out now, you bitch!"

Jenny and her gang… It was Tim, the big muscular guy who caught you. They were waiting for you just outside the forest…

"Why are you running so fast? Are you afraid of the big bad wolf?"

They burst out laughing, but the sound reaches you distorted. The adrenalin from your run is wearing off too slowly and you can still hear your heart pounding in your eardrums. You struggle on, your brain unable to make sense of what has just happened. Suddenly, you hear a foul noise. A kind of hoarse, inhuman growl, coming out of the depths of the woods like an echo to their pitiful mocking laughter. You feel Tim's hands trembling with uncontrollable fear on your collar and watch their faces disintegrate before your eyes. Tim lets go and they all flee in a single scream of terror, leaving you behind.

You turn around, your body still tired from your frantic run, and you quickly understand what made them flee: golden eyes, shining menacingly in the darkness, perched on a huge, muscular, fur-covered figure, its multiple sharp teeth accentuating the evil growl rolling down its throat. A werewolf.

You barely have time to realize that it's the clown from earlier before he disappears between the trees with a hoot that sends shivers down your spine. Just as you regain your strength to flee, something falls near you. You examine it carefully: it's your phone, and as you turn the screen towards you, you see a message written in a torn red font:

DON'T BE SCARED

You don't wait any longer and run towards town without looking back.