#i have grown lazy in my old age

[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.

[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!

[filled-with-fat]

My best friend made me fat and I didn’t even realise

I’ve known Jared since 4th grade, when he joined my elementary school in Houston. Initially, we weren’t really that close, but our parents worked together, and so gradually both our families become inseparable friends.

Aged 10, I was incredibly skinny, I didn’t eat a lot, some of the teachers at school even thought I had an eating disorder. Whereas, Jared on the other hand was a fairly chubby kid.

We would spend every summer together on a joint family trip, sometimes we would go to Disneyland, other times we would go to Mexico. Being with Jared and his family was always a fun time, and some of my best memories from being a teenager were when we were together.

When me and Jared graduated high school, we both went to the same college, and by chance got allocated the same dorm. My lifelong best friend, who I had spent nearly every second of my teenage years with, was now sharing the EXACT SAME dorm as me at college. Honestly we couldn’t believe the coincidence, but nevertheless we were both really thankful we didn’t have to share a room with a total stranger!

Aged 18, Jared was definitely on the larger side, just as he had always been, and I was still the skinny twink that could fit a size 0. But that all changed after sharing a room with Jared for a year … now that I was away from home, I had to start preparing meals for myself, and both me and Jared were not very accustomed to cooking … Jared would order takeout almost every night, and I was too lazy to make something healthy, so we would sit on his bed, watching our favourite Netflix series, eating pizza after pizza after pizza. It become our daily routine. Some nights we would venture to the on-campus Mcdonalds with some of our friends, or buy pre-prepared meals to heat in the microwave, but that was the closest we got to cooking our own food. Jared had some disgusting eating habits too, I suppose all guys of his size would, he would wake up at 3am, and stuff down a full bag of chips. I’m embarrassed to admit I started doing the same when I began to get hungry in the night 😅

Slowly but surely, me and Jared started packing on the pounds. All the effects of our unhealthy eating habits took a toll on our bodies. Jared got bigger, a lot bigger. My once chubby friend was now a 400lbs sophomore. And I had grown a protruding gut that spilled over my fat pad and thighs. We were both alarmingly fat, but I didn’t notice, honestly, and neither did Jared. Eating together had become our new obsession, it was our thing. During the day on campus Jared would go out of his way to come find me, insisting that we had to eat together. He said he only felt comfortable eating around me, that only I shared his love for food. I started seeing a side to my best friend that I had never seen before.

As the end of year approached, and we got allocated different rooms for the next semester, me and Jared found out that we would no longer be sharing a dorm. Jared became hysterical. I returned to our dorm to find him eating the chocolate-frosted cake I had stored in our freezer. He looked at me, almost embarrassed by his appearance. A 20 year old man, 400lbs fat, lying on his bed scoffing his face with cake, his mouth, cheeks and hands covered in chocolate. Jared told me how he had loved sharing a dorm with me, and that he didn’t want to come back to college unless we would continue to be in the same dorm. He said he loved our late night snacking, and how some nights we would fall asleep together after binge eating Burger King. Jared said he loved me. My childhood best friend, whom I had spent all of my best teenage years with, now confessed he had feelings for me. At that point, I leant in to pick up a piece of cake, and held it in front of his chocolate-covered mouth, he began to smile as I fed it to him.

[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. 

[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.”

[mrsoftthoughts]

Just Some of my headcanons of the Di Angelo(s) in the 30's

(that honestly are pretty delusional but sometimes i just want to think of them as a happy family before the Washington DC event and the lotus casino ok??)

- Maria is the oldest sister of the 3 daughters of the marchese Stéfano Di angelo and her father little gem as the only daughter of his first "marriage" (*Cof* *cof* daughterofVenusMariadiAngelo *Cof*)

- Hades proposed and married Maria because no fucking way that he let a woman of her status being judged for having a long term relationship without a ring and even less having kids with her out of wedlock ( in fact the ring was what make that Persephone don't like Maria, she couldn't care less if only she stayed as her husband girlfriend, i may explain this in another post some day)

- Hades was there for Bianca and Nico while they grow up, living with them during the spring and summer and being always looking up for them in some way during winter , they really got to be a family, Family vacations around Europe, little and silly baking days, Nico and bianca trying to convince the house personal to helping them to spy their parents dates, that kind of things

-Alecto has been the kids babysitter and bodyguard since they were born, her job is just slay anything that it dares to try attack them, even in hades presence in order to him doesn't get distracted from the family activities

-Stéfano really loves his Son-in-law, for him is the son that he never had, he doesn't know that hades is a god, but he's concius that just like his lover he is something non human and that his grand kids are also especial like his daughter, but he doesn't seem in hades the intention of letting behind Maria like Venus do it to him, and Hades is probably the only man wealthy enough and with enough class to be of his liking for his little princess, so he isn't complaining

-And don't make him talk about his grandchilds, because you're gonna be stuck hearing him talk of them for hours, Bianca and Nico are the first since that maria is the only one of his daughters in age to have kids and he couldn't be more happy when the nurses anounced that Nico was a Boy, he may be a girls father but he really wanted a male from his blood, and sice he didn't get a son he was rejoicing for his grandson he really spoiled those little things

- Nico and bianca were homeschooled and The family end up getting the reputation of being "really hard" towards the personal tutors of Bianca and Nico, actually they just dont tolerate the bullshit of entitled people calling their kids stupid or lazy because they couldn't read right lenguajes that weren't romances or Greek... Needs to say, they fired a lot a people until they find people that really were disposed to teach the kids and not just screaming at them ,Even getting people that weren't from Italy for that because their kids only would have the best and would be treated with the respect that they deserved

- Bianca plays the piano, Nico the violin, I'm not elaborating, just trust me

- in fact their music instructors end up being zagreus and macaria, they were introduced to everyone except Maria and the kids as hades cousins because there isn't a logic and no controversial way to say that the full grown adults over there are his children

-Bianca used to have a Best friend, she lived in Switzerland so they only could see each other every once in a while when one of them was allowed to stay with the other for a time, the last thing that the girl know about bianca is that she moved to the US and then... Well, we know what happened there ( in some place in Switzerland there's and old lady that still concerned about what happened to her friend)

[lego-man-speer]

A Little Word on Wolf and Claims of "Fatphobia"...

This is a response to a recent thread of posts made by Wolf (A.K.A wolfsnewsideblog - since deleted / lightning-flight) in regards to “fatphobia” in reichblr towards Göring).

I would have made a direct response to one of his posts but Wolf has me blocked because I asked him to justify why he (a 33 year old) was talking to minors and just generally people under the age of 20 (85% of reichblr) in his discord server. But this isn't what I want to talk about, rather I want to talk about this apparent “fat phobia”.

Let's just answer the question: Is it wrong to make fat jokes about Göring?

Of course it fucking isn't. He's a war criminal, responsible for the deaths of millions. A believer in the so-called Aryan race while being incapable of replicating this supposed image of the “Aryan man”. He deserves no sympathy and deserves to be made fun of.

I also wanted to address another ridiculous point made by Wolf that “fatphobia towards Göring affects fat people in real life”, which is arguably the most insane take I've ever heard. Although I cannot speak for plus-sized people, I can speak for this paragraph on the same point:

For reference I'm a 5'4 male with height dysphoria and for the overwhelming majority of my childhood and teenage years I struggled with anorexia. Jokes about Goebbels' physical appearance do not offend me and my struggles with my own body personally. Why? Because it's not about me. It's about Goebbels. It's about pointing out the hypocrisy of Nazi propaganda towards what the ideal male should look like. Because while Goebbels was living the high life (from pocketing party funds and sexually assaulting young women), the Nazi government was working eugenics schemes (sterilising and euthanising), believing they could selectively breed German people so that people with disabilities and afflictions (like Goebbels and Göring) would not exist in future generations. Is this a hard concept for you to grasp, Wolf?

I also want to discuss this disgusting comment you made between you and this anon:

Not only have you and anon made some radically untrue statements suggesting that some people are fat because they're poor (which is very shameful to say, assuming that some people living in poverty can even afford to buy food in the first place and also assuming that poor people are also lazy). As a working-class person myself (+ with a disabled parent) you evidently have no experience of being from a working-class background and are no position to be talking about classism in this context. I mean to be honest this post was classist itself.

But at the same time this anon + its response has nothing to do with Göring and the original point you made. Because Göring is not a victim of poverty or class struggle. He was loaded and lavish. What even was the point of this post?

Now my last point is not related to Göring but it's about how Wolf responded to someone in this debate (? idk if I can really call it that) who (to my knowledge) is sixteen. Once again Wolf, why are you talking to minors? You are 33. Calling a minor “vile” and “toxic”? Who on earth do you think you are? And then trying to infantilise them by bringing their age into this (the same thing you tried to do to me in our last conversation except for the fact that I am 20 years old and I have a job - something you clearly do not have considering how much time you spend on Tumblr). And yes I know I'm bringing Wolf's age into this, but he is a fully grown adult and knows better.

As for a final conclusion here: good riddance to Wolf. You weren't someone reichfandom needed nor did you contribute much to the community aside from poor attempts at being funny. The most humorous thing you did was get upset over the fact that I said people in the community needed to start engaging with educational content more. You were also a danger to the community not just because of your age and engagement with people half your age, but the fact that you have THREE DID ALTERS that are Nazi introjects (ironically one of them being Göring, which I feel is what charged your anger towards fat jokes about Göring - or it was a white saviour complex. God knows). People can speculate about whether you're faking it or not, but if it isn't fake why would you willingly put yourself in such a space with such young people with your alters who are literally Nazis?

I doubt Wolf will even see this because 1. I'm blocked and 2. He has the literacy skills of a monkey, but I'm making this post regardless.

(This is completely unrelated to this post but this does not mean I am returning to Reichblr. I will make a separate post later on the topic).

[yanyuegege]

[INTERVIEW]

Part 1:

If everyone has a compulsory course in life, then Dong Sicheng's compulsory course must be "independence". At the age of 12, when most of his peers were still looking for directions in various interest classes, he had already resolutely bought a plane ticket to Beijing and studied at the Affiliated Middle School of Beijing Dance Academy. "It seems that I am the opposite of many people. I make my own choices for major events in life, but I will ask experienced friends or elders for small things." Dong Sicheng was a little amused, but he still firmly believed that shouldn't we follow our own feelings in major events in life?

When he was in the first year of high school, he was discovered by a Korean scout and invited to attend a summer camp in Korea for training. At that time, Dong Sicheng began to realize the systematic and professional training of Korean trainees, and the seeds of his dream were planted in his heart. After spending a few years of training at Beijing Dance Academy, he directly chose to debut in Korea and officially embarked on his journey. Many people think that the training of trainees in Korea is a hell mode. In fact, in comparison, the learning career at Beijing Dance Academy is more difficult: "You have to get up at five o'clock in the morning, and then start practicing morning exercises at six o'clock until 7:30. In the morning, there are usually professional and cultural courses, lunch at noon, and professional and cultural courses in the afternoon. At seven or eight o'clock in the evening, it is self-study, and after eight o'clock, you have to go to skill classes... Every week, you practice from Monday to noon on Saturday. Yes, there is another half-day class on Saturday morning." In Dong Sicheng's memory, the Korean training mode that makes many people "scared" is actually more relaxed. During that long period, Dong Sicheng's mind never flashed the word "give up".

"Since I was young, I have seen that all the friends around me have grown up in this model, and I have never seen anyone have an easy time. Maybe at that time I subconsciously thought that life was probably like this." He laughed and joked, "But if you let me go back to that period and walk the same path again, I don't know if I can still stick to it." It's not that Dong Sicheng has become lazy, but after experiencing the process of collecting small things to make big things, he enjoys using his mature expertise to challenge higher fortresses at the moment.

Part 2:

Accustomed to the challenges of "difficult mode" since childhood, the old saying "character determines destiny" is very true for Dong Sicheng. After becoming an artist, he feels fulfilled and comfortable with the "non-stop" life. "I feel that I am quite fulfilled, and work makes me more motivated. Even if I encounter some challenges and difficulties, I think it is a kind of growth. People are probably learning throughout their lives. For me, vacation is not the only way to rest. I can also relax at work."

This is the first time I heard someone think that work can be a "relaxing" thing. The location for this cover shoot was Sun Moon Bay in Wanning, Hainan. The last time Dong Sicheng came here was to record a variety show in Shimei Bay. He came to the surfing resort that young people are keen on twice, both for work: "Shimei Bay feels more like a vacation, for example, you can see a lot of very good hotels, and the commercialization is more obvious; Sun Moon Bay makes me feel more fireworks and more lifelike, with many people dancing and singing on the street, which feels very comfortable." Under the coconut shadows and sea breeze, his first reaction was that if he had time to take a vacation, he wanted to bring his parents here to see it: "In fact, when the last "Five Fortunes" was finished, I planned to take my family to Southeast Asia. There are many seafood food stalls there, which is very suitable for relaxation."

His last real vacation was four years ago: "I went to Hokkaido for a vacation. At least at this stage, work is probably the thing that makes me feel most at ease and happy. Whether it is the long-term filming this year or being a singer before, these are what I like to do. I think passion will not make people feel tired. If there is physical fatigue, it can be fully restored after a good night's sleep."

Dong Sicheng said that his ideal life before was to have a stable job, which might be hard work but not too much worry, and to be able to take his parents on a trip in his spare time with a stable income: "If I have to say that I have any other thoughts about my current life, it is that I really don't have much time and can't accompany my parents well. But whose life is perfect, right? I have many opportunities now to try the fields I am curious about, and I should feel satisfied."

Whenever he touched on topics like "vacation" and "relaxation" during a chat, he would reflexively mention his parents, but he hardly mentioned friendship or love. Working in a fast-paced environment, Dong Sicheng naturally left the softest part of his heart to his family. Even though he left home to study at a young age and the physical distance between him and his parents was increasing , he always missed his family in his heart. Behind his independence and stubbornness, his family affection was always warm.

Part 3:

In the first half of this year, Dong Sicheng put most of his energy on the two plays "Five Blessings" and "Midnight Return". Both plays have different meanings for Dong Sicheng: "Five Blessings" is a story full of comedy. Yang Xian changed me from an i person to an e person." He couldn't help laughing when he said this: "There is a scene where Yang Xian wants to rob a woman on the street, but he is teased by a righteous beggar and has his clothes stripped on the street. This kind of exaggerated performance is something I have never imagined before. The contrast is huge, but it gives me a different sense of accomplishment after performing it."

Dong Sicheng does not list the production scale and team quality behind a drama as the most important selection factors, but focuses more on whether an opportunity will bring him different experiences and feelings.

Another film and television work, "Midnight Return", attracted Dong Sicheng, who has left a lot of blank space in the field of film and television works, because of its subject matter. Although the entire growing period was difficult and fulfilling, Dong Sicheng, like most of his peers, also received cultural input exclusive to post-95 boys during that period: "At that time, I also loved to follow the novels of "Fighting in the Sky" and "Douluo Dalu". The heroic growth model of fighting monsters and upgrading is the complex of our generation. " In this story, he played Fu Chao, who had a lot of spells. Although he was not unfamiliar with the scenes of gods fighting in novels, he still felt a little "hesitant" when he went on stage one day: "That requires a strong sense of belief, so you need to quickly enter the role and story. After a few times, it's completely "cool". It's simply the self in another time and space that I have imagined . Until the day of the wrap-up, I was still reluctant to leave, thinking how could it be over, and I have to go back to being an "ordinary person" again, haha!"

Dong Sicheng's first film and television work was "25 Hours of Love". Although he was already a major role in his first attempt, he is still keen to find new parts of himself in other types of scripts: "I just want to challenge myself. I have never acted in a costume drama, so I am very happy to have the opportunity to act in a costume drama. I want to try what it would be like to play roles that are very different from my own personality. That feeling is to release another side of myself, a bit like liberating my nature."

In addition to demonstrating professionalism, at a time when artists' personalities are becoming more realistic and less stereotyped, variety shows are like a spiritual "connection" with fans. For many rising artists, it is even a must. Although Dong Sicheng has always mentioned that he is a standard i-person, he also agrees that people have two sides: "There may not be a personality that exists completely independently and has no opposite in a person's spirit. Every introvert has a desire to go outward, and every extrovert has moments of peace of mind." At the beginning of his involvement in variety shows, he also hesitated a little, worried that his personality might not be easy to integrate into the "quick-heat" collaboration model: "Later, I found that sincerity is a must-have in any occasion and any circle. Let others feel that you are a very real person, and you can break most of the barriers encountered in life." For example, during the recent filming at the Wanning beach, he has been communicating with the filming team: "Maybe it's because facing the sea makes people more open-minded. On the day of the filming, I told everyone a lot of my own thoughts, and then everyone tried again and again under the scorching sun. The final film has many surprises, and you can see a lot of story-telling things."

In fact, the labels of singer and dancer had already matured when Dong Sicheng was growing up, and actor was more like an unexpected surprise after working hard with the first two achievements: "It's hard for me to say, if these labels leave me with only one, what will I choose. This shouldn't be a multiple-choice question. Every identity is obtained because of love and hard work, and I will not give up any of them."

[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.

[pompadourpink]

hi mom! i'm starting uni in september, i'm moving to a new city so i need to start shopping and all, but also my parents didnt really give me advice and im the eldest so im kinda lost, do you have any advice?? XX

Hello darling,

The ABC:

Uni is scary because your free-will goes from 8 to 90 in two months and freedom is intoxicating. Making up for lost chances can lead to bad choices (spending, dating, partying).

If your family failed to parent you, it is now your job. Autonomy is essential. Learn to cook, budget, clean, be clean, save, be a good citizen, make scary phone calls, keep yourself safe, prioritise.

No one will force you to get up and study, or hire you at 21 when competing with a bright 18 year old. Effort will not betray you (being a grown lazy gifted child will).

Have shared hobbies, from movie Sundays with a girlfriend to knitting with your sister. A social life is a happy life.

Trust your body, it knows. Stomach cramps mean we hate him, daydreaming means try, yawning means bed, not coffee.

The home:

Make a cleaning schedule, be open-minded and reasonable, do not do or say anything your landlord wouldn't like (I fully recommend having roommates once for exposure therapy).

If you have a neighbour your age, introduce yourself. Having that phone number will one day mean not having to sleep outside or getting a package stolen. Thank them with food.

Start documenting problems right away (photos, timestamps, screenshots, testimonies) as you may need to take action later. No emotions, you're just "worried about everyone's wellbeing".

Mould, vermine and leaks are enemies. Act yesterday.

Avoid big purchases. You don't know what the future (location, size, taste) looks like. Go secondhand, neutral, practical.

Avoid silly purchases: streaming, takeout, drinks, fast fashion. You will not regret having a downpayment saved in ten years.

If you ever need to do emergency laundry, put a bin or a bucket in the shower, add water and detergent (+ soda crystal for stains or whitening), wait an hour, rinse, wring, hang.

The shopping:

My grandmother has kept her house clean with a broom, bucket, squeegee broom wrapped in a floorcloth and Marseille soap since the 60s. When something doesn't work, look back.

Must-haves: cleaning (see #1 + cloths, soda, lemons, white vinegar, steel wool), hygiene (scraper, net, shower head filtre, first aid), night (good pillow, plugs, mask) supplies, freezer if possible, water filtre, reusable period protection, winter clothes, long chargers, sunscreen, friend living at home who will lend you tools.

Must-not-haves: anything trendy, collections (even books), a pet - don't let Felix keep you back, sleep over and study in Paris!

Have an emergency kit (+ whatever you need) + a smaller version in the car/at the office (with cash).

Fresh fruit, starches, a few types of frozen vegetables, of cans of legumes, of fresh, canned and frozen protein, a treat, something fun once in a while to experiment + a (bi-)monthly outing.

A couple of formal outfits. Large black dress pants, white shirt, dark grey thin jumper, pencil skirt, blazer, large coat, trench coat, loafers, heels, tall boots. Never slouchy or skin tight, plain.

Craigslist, Facebook marketplace, thrift stores. Spend a few hours making a perfect home board on Pinterest instead of listening to TikTok and taking what Ikea gives you.

The social life:

Make one or two real friends and cherish them forever. Support each other, travel, buy a house together, idk.

Don't be afraid to be/do things alone. You shouldn't be afraid of what your head says when it's not distracted.

Don't miss out on huge opportunities for people. Some are around out of necessity and will ghost you after graduation.

Do not try to impress, especially people you don't like and who don't like you. Do not do or say anything cops wouldn't like. Be a homebody who doesn't drink if that's what you want.

Do not try to educate those who will not learn.

Do not befriend someone who lacks confidence as they will make you pay for their jealousy, nor someone who wants a free therapist. Those relationships will be one-sided.

Befriend a couple of older girls. They will see through the lies of the people (men, classmates, employers) trying to fool you.

The love life:

The thirty-two year old man doesn't find you mature, he finds you inexperienced and malleable. Don't try meth thinking you're special enough to not get addicted.

If a date mocks you and you get mad, either that is who he is or he hates you. If you got mad, he is not for you. Your job is not to pretend you don't care so he can have a girlfriend.

Ask yourself if you would tell your best friend, mother, Taylor Swift, that he (hers) didn't mean it like that. If not, take a break from dating and think about why you think you don't deserve respect.

Don't forgive what you don't want to tolerate.

Don't try to force a relationship with someone who made it clear that he is, for whatever reason, not interested. You will be played like a fiddle until he meets someone he wants.

Don't try communicating with someone who is messing with you on purpose. No one ignores you for three days or sleeps with your friend or breaks your favourite necklace after an argument by accident. Also, your husband would never.

The daily life:

Have a clean e-mail address (firstname.lastname) for official biz and a casual one (f.lastna) for everything else, a solid password (Lanadelrey1984#) - change it yearly - and a list of the usernames and passwords you didn't pick.

If you don't trust your parents, block them off your account or open a new one when you turn 18 before they rob you.

Save a year worth of expenses, don't purchase what you couldn't buy twice now, don't replace what still works, give yourself week-long thinking periods before spending.

Get folders for your paperwork and keep them safe + take pictures for an encrypted Drive (beware of iCloud): diplomas, flat, car, big purchases, work, taxes, health, etc.

Print pics and make albums. One day, the app will die.

Mind your health. Exercise weekly (cardio/strength, ex: runs + weighted Pilates), walk, get more water, sleep, and fibre, take vitamin D, mind your eyes/ears/skin/teeth, stretch, leave.

Only invest energy, money, or time into what is worth it. FaceTime before the date. Get secondhand leather boots instead of replacing plastic. Drop the book after 100 bad pages.

Refuse conversations with people whose lives you wouldn't want, who happily overwork for a mediocre wage and don't know how old their children are. The handcuffs are homemade.

The job:

People will not forget how you made them feel and the world is a small place. Colleagues, clients, bosses will gossip: make sure it is for good reason. Dress and look clean, stand straight, be on time, never ever gossip, even when you were wronged.

Understand the power of sobriety. Be known for the success of your last project, not your bright skirts or temper.

Protect future you so you get the promotion/project/raise. No friends, no enemies. Smile, have neutral answers, make them talk, move on, make your IG private, google your name.

Lie. You don't avoid them, you eat lunch with your nana (hi Paula, no, I forgot about the hairdresser's), weren't unemployed, your father was ill, cannot go out, you have a birthday party.

Act boring with the jealous old woman or the obnoxious man. Take the fake compliment for a real one, don't understand the innuendo, have too much work to chat. Bullies get bored.

Instead of clapping back (see #3), be Cinderella, who ignores the insults and turns to Mr. No nonsense, who has been there twenty years, worryingly asking if Ethel is okay, I don't know what to do (no mention of ego, you're just distraught about her).

Sites to look up: Proton (mail, VPN, drive), Notion.

Love,

Mum

(PS - apologies if the she/he thing doesn't match you, this is a flexible plan for all of my children)

[samuel-star]

Disability isn't "adult".

The fact of the matter is that, even though they would just love to deny it, able-bodied people think that disability is a sign of your age. They avoid acknowledging any sign that a child could have a physical disability, even if it is screaming in their face. An 8 year old is in pain after failing the pacer test and complains that they have shin splints, the bridges of their feet hurt, they feel dizzy. And their able-bodied PE teacher tells them, "that means you don't run enough, those things will go away if you work out more often." And that child will believe them. That kid will internalize that. "All of this pain I feel is my fault. I run around the playground with my friends, but maybe it's because I sit down more often than them. If my shins hurt when I run, but running will get rid of that pain, what am I supposed to do?"

And it takes years of assuming that all of this pain was normal, everyone would experience this if they were lazy, for them to finally go to the doctor. Years of avoidable pain. Years of feeling lazy. And that kid, the child that never learned that the pain could've been relieved, will never forgive those teachers. And those teachers won't give a shit. Of course they won't, why would they? They told a child that they were normal, told a kid that it's something that can be fixed easily with the very exercise that hurts them, that teacher was clearly in the right. Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. A connective tissue disorder that explained everything that they had experienced, down to the smallest thing, even the constant joint popping every time they move. The shooting pains that they would get in a random joint for weeks on end which would randomly just dissipate.

At this point, I don't know why I'm writing this. Maybe I wish I could go back, tell that kid that he should tell his mom about the pain in the bridges of his feet. Something that would've helped me in the long run. Maybe I should've told my doctor about my "zombie foot", where I turned my leg 180 degrees around while standing in place.

Because of those teachers, I have to relearn my own limits, understand that if I'm in pain and there's a way to relieve some of it, fucking do it! I know that I've grown as a person since I learned about my disability, but now I'm seeing the rage I never released and I wish I had half as filthy a vocabulary when I was in 3rd grade as I do now! Even just a good "fuck off" would be nice. Knowing that I didn't just take what they were saying as fact. For anyone who read through all of this, you're fucking awesome, and there isn't a person who deserves chronic pain. Nobody "deserves" it. No one is "at fault" for a chronic disability. I'm not disabled because I'm lazy. I have to rest and heal because I'm disabled. Because I'm human!

I'm going to use my wheelchair in public because I know that my hips stop hurting when I use it. I'm going to sit down if my feet hurt because I know there might be less pain later if I take care of myself. Self care shouldn't be something you shame people for, and to anyone who thinks that the validity of my disability depends on how much pain I'm in, fuck you. Fuck you, go learn basic human empathy and get back to me with an apology. I have nothing to prove to strangers, I'm living my life to the best of my abilities, and that means using my wheelchair. Thank you guys for reading, have a fucking awesome day, and drink some water.

[keeperoftinyarmy]

I’m about to cleanse my SM because apparently I follow a whole lot of JM solos.

People wishing for Jimin to leave Hybe. Are they for real? He’s not leaving. He loves Bangtan and they have really good contracts. What other company would be better for him?

Then the people calling JK an obsessed copycat and wanting him away from Jimin. Just wow. As if Jimin wouldn’t have spoken up if he didn’t like that Seven styling looked so much like Face. As if JK and Jimin aren’t close and talking all the time about their work. Logically speaking they probably planned for a tie between their projects…it’s too much to be lazy styling or coincidence.

In no way would Jimin be happy that people are trashing JK or trying to sabotage his debut in his name. Jimin would never ever want that. It’s not some shipper fantasy that Jimin is in NYC. Jikook are bonded and support each other. Tearing down Kookie is like the worst way to show your love for Jimin.

I’m Jimin biased and wished for more Jimin hype/promotion in the US as well. I’m disappointed but I’ve always thought …when all the solos were announced…was that JK would be the one they’d try to make their golden ticket. It makes the most sense from a business standpoint…the lead singer…sellout king…arguably the most popular member and he sounds great singing in English. That’s a stockholders dream.

So if regular me sitting in the US thought of that…then you know the members did…and agreed with it. Jungkook has tons of mass appeal. And Hybe wants to create music for the masses. Jimin who is quite popular in his own right, threw them a curveball with the global success of his album. (Especially since Jimin mainly did promos in Korea…world domination wasn’t the plan for him. And I strongly believe he was aware of the plan.) Jungkook is their weapon they planned to use to push further into the west. I’m sure it was all plotted out and Jimin wasn’t supposed to be the one vying to be a US household name…they couldn’t have him “beat JK to the punch”. It sucks but it’s business.

And Jungkook doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to do, so he’s up for this challenge. If it’s true his album will be all English…then again I firmly believe he wants to do it. (And doing an English album is not selling out…they’ve done all Japanese albums…it’s no different imo)

I personally love Seven. It’s Jungkook’s child star breakout moment. He’s showing the world he’s grown now and I’m glad he did it. And beyond that the song is a great dance song that follows in the age old tradition of boy band singers getting raw in their solos (maybe I’ll do a post on that later).

I’m fully supporting JK…like I did for all the members. They all deserve success.

[phantasmiac]

in which you unexpectedly reunite with high school sweetheart!touya

cw/tw: pro hero!touya who is messy, touya’s pro hero name is blueflame, drug use mention, alcohol use and mention, reader is a detective/cop, bar fight woo, use of guns, mentions of blood, mention of a grandparents death, angst and a little fluff

wc: 4.9k

a/n: this is a follow up to my ua student!touya piece. you can read this without reading that but it’s more fun if you dooooo wink wink.

the number five hero is slightly beefier than he was three years ago; still lean in comparison to the likes of his hulk of a father or his broad shouldered little brother, but the biceps outlined by his tight fitting hero suit are not the same ones you once habitually wrapped your arms around. his old snake bites have been exchanged for a single hoop on the right side of his lip. long gone is the eyebrow piercing you used to hold between your fingers as a threat when his teasing would become a little too obnoxious, and in place are two additional studs on his nose that join the original to form a triangle shape. his snow white hair has been tainted by the tips, now dyed black. you think it looks like he’s been sweeping the soot out of a chimney; you wonder if the same idea has ever crossed his mind. he always did have a tendency to beat you to your own joke.

standing next to him is the wing hero, hawks; though you remember him best as “bird brain”, or the underclassman from ua that touya loved to complain about. you wonder if he remembers you from the few times you’d ran into him while glued to touya’s side. those interactions always left you scolding him about “being nicer” (“if you like him so much go date him then,” he’d grumble). they look like they make a good team. you know they make a good team; news channels made sure you did, with all those replays of battle clips. you never thought your touya would be capable of being civil with a rival, let alone working with them. if it hadn’t been just last week that you saw him caught up in another scandal, you might have believed he’d actually grown since you last had him.

“i hope that we’re all able to cooperate,” you hear your sergeant say, muffled by the intensity of your own thoughts and the blood pounding in your ears.

you’ve been looking at the heroes from a distance, merely peeking past the shoulders of your fellow deputies, all crowded together to greet them at the door of the small office. it’s easy to go unnoticed when touya looks so painfully uninterested, leaving hawks to do most of the formalities. it’s funny, seeing these flashy figures in a place as dull as the police department (the yellow fluorescent lighting isn’t a good look on anyone, really). the number five hero has his arms crossed across his chest, eyes lazy and directed towards the beige vinyl floor tiles. you think there’s a chance he might actually be listening to the discussion despite his expression. it’s hard to tell. you don’t know him that well anymore, after all.

“how much you wanna bet he’s on one right now?” the close up whisper and sudden hand on your shoulder nearly has you jumping out of your skin. kawabata is one of the two only other detectives your age in the division. you’ve moved up the ranks with him and frequently worked alongside him for cases, but your closeness hasn’t surpassed friendship — you’ve made sure of that. kawabata is kind, considerate, and a good looking guy. you think if you hadn’t met him so early on, while you were still trying to get over touya, you wouldn’t have worked so furiously to build the wall protecting you from his advances.

“what do you mean?” you ask. you know exactly what he means. and you know you have no right to feel angry. you’re equally as guilty of subscribing to touya hero related gossip and making bitter judgements. but hey, touya didn’t break his heart.

“and how exactly would you know whether or not he’s on something? you gonna go up and ask him yourself, tough guy? think you could take him?” a voice chirps in from your left. like a smug angel sent from heaven — as if she needed another reason to be your favorite coworker — saeki intercepts your conversation. kawabata’s face flushes a noticeable shade of red at her teasing. it has you digging your mouth in the palm of your hand to cover an escaping set of giggles, an action that only irks him on even more.

“i totally could!” he exclaims in a volume that both makes your heart stop and leaves the room uncharacteristically quiet.

sheepishly, you look up to see the crowd in front of you parting like the red sea, sets of eyes turning their gazes to where the three of you stand in the back of the room — you can feel his burning into you among them all. when you fully lift your head towards the front of the room, your breath hitches. pro hero blueflame is no longer standing there. it’s touya, sleepy eyes gone wide and mouth ever so slightly agape with his crossed arms threatening to falling to his sides. defenseless and vulnerable, caught by surprise. it’s a familiar image, one you used to want branded into your brain, captured every time you would suddenly pull him into a kiss. contrarily, the blush on his cheeks is missing. so is all the color in his face. he looks like he’s seen a ghost. maybe he believes he has, too.

it all feels too real now that you’re looking at one another, and the urge to run up and wrap your arms around his neck is suffocating. you want to embrace him as someone you lost. someone who was ripped apart from you, and has spent every waking moment looking to find you again, driven by the dream of your fateful reunion — but that’s just a fantasy. the reality is that todoroki touya walked out of your life with his heart in your hands and decided to never look back. now he unexpectedly finds himself standing in front of you, stunned, with nothing to return. the reminder is like oxygen to your lungs.

hawks recognizes you, that much is clear. he’s probably the only person in the room aware that a silent soap opera is playing out in front of him, and judging by the way he’s grinning while his eyes cartoonishly dart back and forth between you and his partner, he’s enjoying the show.

“ha!” your sergeant is looking at you in a way that’s scarily reminiscent of the look your grandmother used to give you in public whenever you would act out as a child. the one that said you’re in for it when we get home. he maintains his best people pleasing grin and turns his attention back to the heroes. “saving me the introductions! those three are our youngest detectives….. clearly.” he mutters. “they’ll be the ones working most closely with you on this case. i believe you’re all close in age. we’re hoping that makes for an easier dynamic.”

and there goes that oxygen. you want to smack the look of subtle elation off each person standing before you. you know they’re not happy for you. they’re happy for themselves (perhaps with the exception of hawks and his shit eating, ear to ear grin). and then touya. you’re not really sure what to make of the twinkle that appears at the center of the storm that's been brewing behind his eyes.

you feel kawabata’s hand finds its place back on your shoulder, giving it a few pats of acknowledgement. the twinkle visibly disappears; the storm clouds grow darker.

the small claps, the rounds of congratulations and the confused calls of your name from your two colleagues all become distant as you trail after your sergeant out the door and down the hall. you deliberately avoid looking up at touya during your exit, but you’re still able to pinpoint the exact moment you brush past him. it’s not his particular smell or the warmth that he radiates that alerts you; it’s just a feeling in your gut.

your attempts at getting removed from the case were futile. maybe you were a little naive to think there was even a chance to begin with, but for the sake of your sanity, you had to try. the reality is that no detective is itching to work with heroes; much less heroes with as shitty of a public image as the dynamic duo currently in question. throwing scraps to the youngins, that’s all it really is.

you learn that you’ll be working together on a mob bust during your one and only meeting together, where you let kawabata take the lead (who was more than happy attempting to assert some sort of dominance). you spent the entire time silently begging touya to quit staring at you from across the conference table. you knew if he was anything like you remembered, he was more than likely going to attempt to catch you outside to talk. your solution was to come up with some bullshit excuse about having to share “confidential information” in order to get them to leave the room first, a request that earned you an audible scoff from an obvious perpetrator. by the time your impromptu briefing was over, the pair had left the building for their other duties, and a single word had yet to be shared between you.

the next evening, you and your teammates find yourself standing at the discussed location. it’s a dingy, seemingly abandoned warehouse that sits next to a river, saturated by the hues of the sunset. you’ve been standing at a safe distance for nearly half an hour, since the plan has essentially reduced you to backup.

“more like chauffeurs,” a voice yawns out. it’s a surprise to no one that kawabata is unhappy with the strategy.

it was touya himself who had declared that he and hawks would be the ones to enter the warehouse and restrain the suspects. if there was some sort of escape attempt, you’d be the ones to handle it. otherwise, you were really just there to collect them and take them to the station. sure, it was a bit patronizing to hear it from him of all people, but you agreed that it was the safest route to take. touya had his blazing flames and hawks had his wings of steel. if kawabata’s hands fidgeting at his holster indicated anything, it was that the three of you were restricted to using your guns. there was no telling exactly what you’d be up against, and you weren’t exactly eager to come back to the station in a body bag.

“it’s like they’re in there having tea or something. so quiet,” saeki mumbles as she paces around back and forth. her steps suddenly come to a halt as a thought visibly develops, and she’s turned to look at you with mischievous eyes. “speaking of quiet. what’s been up with you recently?”

the question has you flinching. “running off to the sergeant about the case? not taking charge during the meeting yesterday? what’s going on with the golden rookie?”

saeki’s tone isn’t malicious. she’s teasing you, like always, but you can’t help but feel like an animal backed into a corner at her sudden questioning. you’ve never told a soul that the current number five hero happens to be your high school sweetheart. it’s something you’ve wanted to erase from your own memory for years, and you’d believed you were making progress up until a few days ago. it’s humiliating, even more so now that your coworkers have noticed his presence interfere with your work ethic.

by the time you come out of your dissociated state, the stares of your comrades have become concerned. the silence is heavy, and you try to muster up something to make the atmosphere less uncomfortable. instead, you’re choking on your words.

“can you blame her?” kawabata butts in in an attempt to save you. “they’re making us work with a borderline felon. the narcotics unit probably has a whole file on blueflame,” he chuckles.

saeki seems to find it funny enough that the silence is replaced with laughter. but you’re still quiet, and it’s not because you’re at a loss for words. you’re biting your tongue. touya isn’t yours to defend anymore. if anything you should be joining in, adding some more quips into the mix. but you can’t help the anger that consumes you at kawabata’s badmouthing. you want to yell out “you don’t know him like i do!” like some silly lovesick schoolgirl. what a joke.

the sound of shattering glass has all your heads turning and your hands reaching towards your guns. you see shards raining down from a window on the other side of the warehouse, along with a silhouette that’s seemed to land on its feet. the three of you quickly approach the corner as silently as you can in a triangle formation. you’re now able to see the men the silhouettes belonged to as they attempt to make a run for it, completely unaware of your presence. they’re alerted by the “freeze!” that kawabata bellows.

it manages to get them to turn around. there’s a brief panic in their eyes that’s quickly replaced by a mixture of relief and malignancy at the sight of your guns and badges. it makes them bold enough to ignore your warnings and start walking towards you. their proximity forces shots to be fired; one of the men lifts his hand, and the bullets start flying wildly. one of them flies back towards you and narrowly misses, grazing your cheek. a metal quirk.

the culprit’s partner makes a pushing motion with his arms towards you, and you feel a force throwing you back. it’s all too quick to process. you’re suddenly meters away from you were just standing and away from your coworkers, back against the pavement. from where you’re laying you can see the men closing in on them. though your body is in shambles from the impact, your concern for your friends gives you the willpower to stand up and run back for them. a large wall of blue fire stops you in your tracks and blocks your line of vision. the adrenaline doesn’t allow you to make the connection between the fire and it’s potential user; all you can think about is the safety of your friends, and it has your hands gripping at your hair in distress.

it’s only a few seconds later that the fire dwindles, and your arms fall at your sides. in front of you, taking the fires place, is him, unscathed and looking down at you with an expression that screams high and mighty. “didn’t realize you were fucking quirkless now.”

it’s his first set of words to you in years, and yet your focus is over his broad shoulders. he follows your eyes towards both of your coworkers; but all he can see is that fucking dork from the meeting. the same one that put his hand on your shoulder all chummy the day he first saw you. the one who clearly has a thing for you.

you shove him aside and march away. you see hawks towering over the culprits who are now being held to the pavement by his feathers. you feel touya towering over you as he stalks you from behind. it irks you; it’s probably best to ignore him, but three years of rancor and your current aggravation compel you to respond.

“well what would you know about me anymore,” you don’t look back to see his reaction. “law enforcement aren’t permitted to use their quirks. you should know that, number five.”

touya watches blood gush down your cheek as you berate him. he’d be huffing smoke if he could. of course he knows that. what he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, is why you’re working this shitty job in the first place. three years ago, you held a golden ticket in your hands in the form of a secured, successful future. how the hell did you get here?

he brings his hand to your cheek to wipe the blood off. “stupid fucking job, then.”

the sudden grip on his wrist could leave a bruise on a common civilian. you rip his hand away like he’s burnt you, and he looks back at you like you’ve done the same. touya has never seen you seething. annoyed, mostly, at all his teasing when you were together. you were always so patient with him, something no one else was ever able to do. something no one else has been since the day he left you. but angry with him? never. it’s something he expected all those times he would fantasize about a day where he’d run into you again. he certainly deserves it. but seeing it now — it makes him want to throw himself in the river and let the current swallow him whole.

touya doesn’t know how much of your self worth depended on him back then. it’s not something you ever brought up out of embarrassment. he doesn’t know how hard you worked to build yourself back up while having to hear about him thriving and hooking up with someone new every weekend. so maybe you’re wrong for wanting to rip his head off because of three silly words. he doesn’t know. and he’ll never know, because he abandoned without so much as a lousy text.

“well then it's a good thing it's my job and not yours. so you’re welcome to fuck off and disappear somewhere right after this.”

you think the universe really has it out for you when you see touya again the very next night. you’re at your usual bar, on your usual stool, with your usual drinking buddies. the bar is located in a small, quiet town; the same one you live in. seeing two top ten pro heroes around the area? very unusual.

you figure he must be staying around until his next duty calls and happened to find this place. his bird friend is missing at his side. three women take his place, tracing the tattoos littering his arms and giggling at his every word. it’s a sight you’ve seen in images countless times already, but none of those times prepared you for the ache in your chest when seeing it in real life. he’s wearing a black polo shirt that squeezes at his form; you really are no better than those women.

saeki and kawabata are chatting away about yesterday's events. how lucky you all were that “metal man” didn’t have great control of his quirk, how humiliating being saved was. both of them are about two shots in when they start blubbering a bunch of nonsense about starting a protest and how they would beat everyone’s asses if they could use their quirks.

“are you with us or are you against us?” you nearly fall off the stool when kawabata slams his fist and shakes the whole counter. “hey you’re not even listening!”

a dramatic shriek from saeki has you nearly breaking your neck in concern, only to find her looking where you’d just been. “this is so humiliating. we have to leave, immediately. or kill him. or both. for my own mental health, i just can’t ever look at that guy again.”

agreed, you think to yourself.

you realize her voice has traveled greater distances than your own ears when touya’s blue orbs shoot towards your group. it’s all too reminiscent of that day in the office and you silently curse your friends for repeatedly doing this to you. maybe you’re tipsier than you thought you were, because you think you see a tiny blue wisp ignite on touya’s shoulder for a mere nanosecond. the way he proceeds to flirtatiously whisper something to the women and moves one of them to the side by the waist makes you doubtful.

you feel the need to brace yourself for his arrival, hands gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles turn white. it doesn’t take long for arms to cage you in from behind. what you don’t expect are his hands placing themselves on top of yours; it’s infuriating how the action makes your heart flutter, but it quickly steadies itself when your nose catches the smell of alcohol. he reeks of it. he must not be in his right mind.

“you following me?” he whispers directly into your ear, breath running down your neck. you’re not strong enough for this.

“absolutely not,” you hiss through gritted teeth. “the hell is wrong with you?”

he only chuckles and rubs circles on your knuckles. the tension makes you forget about the presence of your friends, though you’re quickly reminded when the chuckling suddenly stops and touya’s shoved off of you.

“dude, who the hell do you think you are?” kawabata is a few inches taller than touya, but you know he’s no match. you’d never forgive yourself if he got beat to a pulp because of your carelessness. it’s a pity that touya has always been so quick witted.

“if i remember correctly, i’m the guy that saved your sorry ass,” touya mocks like he’s been waiting for the opportunity; it warrants the first punch. it’s strong enough to send touya’s head whipping to the side. kawabata wastes no time in tackling him to the ground while he has the chance. the women touya flirted with previously are screaming like they’re about to witness a murder, and the bartender is demanding that they knock it off but making no move to actually stop the fight; probably afraid of ending up on the news or something. you hear a laugh before touya manages to turn the fight around and get on top to throw his own punches. it’s then that you realize you really need to do something.

you’re slightly embarrassed having to play the role of idiot trying to calm their “boyfriend” down using the power of love, but you see no other way. you know better than to try to yank him off, so you resort to the second dumbest option, crouching down in front of the scene and reaching out to hold his face in your hands. if he’s as drunk as he smells, this might just work.

“hey! touya. touya! let’s go home.”

the punches come to a halt. the collective confusion is comical. kawabata looks up at you like you’ve grown five heads from the ground below, nose all bloody. it’s impossible to miss saeki’s drunken “huh?” from above. and touya. his face has completely softened, and those tiny little wisps of fire are now undeniable. for a moment, you’re both sixteen again, sitting on your living room floor after having your second kiss.

“okay,” he whispers.

the first thing touya notices upon getting through your door is that your apartment is small. way smaller than his luxury loft. the second thing he notices is that he immediately feels more at home there than he ever has at his own place. and finally: he thinks about how he should have been the one to live here with you in the first place. there’s no evidence of him ever existing in your life as far as he can see. it should come as no surprise, but it still hurts a little, considering all the old photos of you currently being held up by a magnet on his fridge. the ones he’s had to regularly avoid explaining to all the hookups who’ve been nosy enough to ask.

on your wall there’s a framed photo of you at your graduation, from a school he doesn’t know about and has never heard of; very much not the one you were going to before he’d ghosted you. there’s a photo of you at the police academy, receiving work related awards and diplomas, and jesus fucking christ even that dickface has spots on your wall (saeki is very much in those photos, too. he just really enjoys torturing himself). finally, he sees the pictures of you and your grandmother. it cheers him up a bit, remembering how much he adored that sweet lady. probably hates his guts now, but he still feels compelled to ask about her while you’re scavenging through your cabinets for something like a wild animal.

he hates how your movements freeze and all the ruckus dies down at his question. instantly, he knows.

“she, uh. she passed away, after….” he knows.

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. you didn’t kill her,” you laugh humorlessly. you stand up from below your sink, first aid kit in hand. touya is looking at you like a wounded puppy, and it makes you really laugh. “she was sick, touya. you’re not a murderer, at least as far as i know. now sit,” you point to the couch.

there’s a teddy bear sat on the other side, mocking him. it reminds him of your first date — the day after your first kiss — at an arcade. he’d emptied out his pockets to win you a stuffed white cat with blue glass eyes, all because you said it reminded you of him. he was persistent even after you insisted it was okay, after his umpteenth attempt at that stupid crane machine. he was convinced you started to love that stupid thing more than him after awhile, even if it’s name was “touya jr”. the door to your bedroom is slightly cracked open. he wonders if touya jr. might be in there, on the same spot on your bed.

you first get to work on touya’s nose piercings, wiping them down with a cotton swab and hydrogen peroxide. you think to yourself that aftercare for three nose studs must have been a bitch, and touya was always shit at remembering to clean them. the bathroom in your house used to be stocked on wound wash, and you’d made it a point to tell fuyumi to make sure he was cleaning them at home. you wonder how all his siblings are doing now. natsuo should be in the beginnings of high school, and shouto in middle school.

“if you wanna know so bad maybe you should just come home with me,” he says, head shot towards the ceiling per your instructions.

“don’t be stupid,” you shoot him down. you’re hard at work trying to stop the blood that suddenly won’t stop dripping.

“why not? dickface won’t like it?”

“who?”

touya makes punching motions with his hands, and an honest giggle leaves your lips. the sound makes touya lower his head to get a good look at you, that expression he’s missed so much.

“kawabata,” you correct him, and touya wants to grumble that if you like his last name that much maybe you should just take it. he doesn’t (what if it actually gives you ideas?). “nah. not my type. but i might have to use my charms to get him back in my good graces now".

“well i think i hit him hard enough so that he'll have to fix his face. you’re welcome.”

it earns him a flick on the forehead. you instantly worry that you’re acting too comfortable around him, and it has you drawing your hands back and squirming in your seat. touya can tell you’re flustered. just yesterday you were speaking to him like you hated his guts — it’s the very reason he found himself in that bar tonight — and now you’re tending to his wounds the way you did when you had loved him. he knows he’s done nothing to deserve a second chance, nothing to prove that he never once stopped loving you. but he’s prayed to a god he doesn’t even believe in for a chance at meeting you again for so long; so he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take this opportunity.

“hey. do you think we could ever try again?”

the cotton swab falls from your fingers. he watches your eyebrows furrow and a lump form in your throat. you let your head fall, and he fights the urge to pick it back up. you probably don’t want him to see what you’re thinking, and he knows he’s not entitled to that privilege. with baited breath he waits, and continues to beg whatever higher power there is to give him one more chance. he silently promises he’ll get his act together, make up for everything he’s done, if he can just have you back.

after what feels like an eternity, you look back up at him with tears in your eyes. touya feels your weight being lifted off the couch when you stand, and he immediately knows. he’s not above getting on his knees and begging, but you’d always given him more than he deserved. so he sits still.

“‘m running out of cotton swabs,” you mutter.

a silent sob racks through your body when you close the bathroom door behind you. you will never not be madly in love with touya; but you think you’ll always be afraid to trust him with your heart again. and you know it’s pitiful and fucked up to wish you were the person you used to be, especially after you spent so much time trying to be better; but that person was weak enough to have taken touya back in a heartbeat. so in a moment of weakness, you allow to yourself regress back to that version, heading back to the living room with your answer.

you come back only to find that touya is already gone again.

★ a/n pt ii: if you were one of the people who read part one very early on and have been waiting for a part two for over two months I am so sorry AHHHHHHH I thought about writing part two literally every single day but could never find the inspiration to actually do it and then during my winter break I wrote like HALF and I literally finished this bad boy up in a day.

☆ tag list for those who wanted a part ii: @touwuya @ijustrepost @goblinhobo @yelloeukulele @nadyyl @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @abeokutea

[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 😚

[ask-court-genshin]

Not anything related to events whatsoever but imagine growing up with Kaveh and Al Haitham in an orphanage.

The three of you are inseparable. Although none of you had reached the world outside the Akademiya, your close-knit group was more than enough mental stimulation for your young mind.

You don't remember a lot about your childhood enough, but you'll never dare forget these two. You enjoyed playing with the two boys, often teaming up with Al Haitham to assign Kaveh as a family dog or making Al Haitham play lazy roles like "the tree that stands outside a castle". There was never any need to know any other faces than the people you've seen throughout your childhood, and you've never wanted to cross the outside bother.

That was all until third grade when one day, your teacher gloomily walks to class, dropping a few of their papers, sloppily picking them up before sitting down. Every child sees her as a guardian. It was clear to everyone that Miss Rukkha had been having a particularly rough patch that week, and then she asked you all a question:

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Numerous voices– dreams filled the room, bright. Nilou said she wanted to be a dancer– you've heard Dehya speak of becoming an adventurer of sorts that protects her friends– and Kaveh proudly stated that he'll become an architect worthy of expanding the orphanage.

But Miss Rukkha laughed somberly.

"I'm sorry, children, but much like a seed expected to be grown and plucked as a beautiful rose–" she breathed, the pain evident in her voice.

"The truth is, we will see no fruition to those dreams, for you are created and raised to be harvested– with the time for wilting stolen from you." Miss Rukkha sobbed. "You will never see what becoming old is like. We have reared you in for the potential of your organ donations, and to this day, we cannot even tell if you children are human."

Miss Rukkha gazed at Al Haitham specifically.

"Even with my age–" she laughed again, although joking, her chuckle remained hollow. "I still can't tell. I still can't tell if clones are just like us– just like me."

Your teacher slowly skimmed through the papers, seeing Kaveh's crayon drawings. The colors are vibrant and the strokes were masterful: befitting of a genetically enhanced child.

Memories are a fragile thing, but it's not particularly forgiving when it comes to phrases that will haunt you.

"Do any of you have any real souls and dreams at all, or am I fighting for my delusions...?"

You don't have anyone in life anymore. They've all "completed" the goal they were assigned to. Now in your thirties, you've gotten yourself a rather unsurprising occupation as the "carer". You've convinced yourself this was the job for you since it helps you look after the clones who will donate their organs until they inevitably pass.

But it does have it's empty moments. Sometimes, you'd take a good look at the drawings Kaveh had done. You wished you had better momentos to keep Al Haitham in your mind, but perhaps his faulty earphones is enough for you to hold on to.

"Miss Dehya, are you ready?"

She sighed.

"(Y/n), you know this is my last donation..."

"I know, I know..." You nodded politely. "I'm sorry."

"Just– just shut it." This was Dehya, that was by no means impolite. Being blunt was her weapon of choice to protect herself.

...

"Say, (Y/n)," she looked down. "When's your... You know..."

"In October 13th."

Dehya immediately jolted up.

"On the same day?!–"

"On the same day Kaveh and Al Haitham had theirs in 2021 and 2022 respectively, correct."

"These people are demented."

Dehya didn't know you three chose this date.

"At least they're people." You smiled. "We're just clones, after all."

"But it don't feel that way, don't it?"

You didn't say a word.

...

"... Will you be fine?" She asked.

"I'll be fine– and you will be fine." You took her hand. "Because..."

"Why are you crying?" Al Haitham bends down, looking down at you. He was slightly taller, but with you on the ground it seemed as though he was towering you. "Are you sad because we're clones?"

"Of course they're sad about that, you idiot!!!" Kaveh smacked his head. "Who wouldn't?!"

Al Haitham didn't seem to mind as much as anyone else, and perhaps that's precisely why Miss Rukkha gazed at him.

"But what exactly are you sad about?"

"I-I–" you choked out, mid-tears. "I wanted to be with you two!!! I wanted to be with you and Kaveh for much longer!!!"

Kaveh's lips trembled. "(Y/n)..."

Al Haitham frowned. He knelt down to your level.

He hugged you.

"I see."

Al Haitham pulled away. "How about this: why don't we all complete our final donations on the same day?"

"We can't," Kaveh frowned. "I'm older than you guys by two years..."

"If we can't do it in the same year, then let's pick a date." Al Haitham proposed. "This way, we'll still feel a bit closer."

He wiped your cheeks roughly. "How does that sound?"

You sniffled.

Kaveh, knowing that Al Haitham's idea doesn't sound particularly comforting, knelt down beside him and took your hand.

"Hey, hey, you'll be okay– we'll be okay– wanna know why? Because..."

"Because even though we're having a hard time leaving– we're not meant for this world. Our dream life is somewhere up there, on a castle in the sky, where there's a lush green tree that lazily sways and a happy golden retriever waiting for us to come home."