#i'm sorry please don't throw me through the screen

[mybelovedsylus]

For the Zayne fans on my poll ♡

First off, thank you to the crazy amount of responses on my poll! Second, I really hope this doesn't disappoint you all. This is almost 2.5k words- Zayne has been keeping track of your cycle and therefore has to have you in his office while you're ovulating - for the best chance of breeding ofc. Do with that what you will. Those are your warnings. I just know that while Zayne is like the perfect man to bring home to mom, he's absolutely a menace in the bedroom (lowkey confirmed by the valentine banner) I'm still newer to lads so if it's ooc I'm sorry I'm still reading through the stories.

I of course, didn't edit this, one day I will - when I can get back into my account on the computer because me and tumblr on the ipad do not get along. Today is not that day. Anywaaaaaays, 18+ no minors please and enjoy

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Zayne's gaze snaps up from his laptop screen, and he briefly checks to make sure there's not a dent in the wall as the framed awards and his diplomas rattle on the wall. He knocks a few files over as he stands hastily and rushes over to you, smoothing down your wind swept hair and running his fingers over your flushed cheeks. He may also subtly shift them to take your pulse, but only because the way your chest is heaving can't be healthy. You clear your throat and raise an eyebrow as his eyes flicker from your chest to meet your eyes. 

"You sent 911, and you're just in here doing paperwork?" you ask out of breath, and the flush in your cheeks is reheating as you start to get pissed off. "Zayne,  I was in the middle of a debrief, what the fuck are you thinking?"

His hand reaches around you to push the door closed, which in turns means he's encroaching on your space. Your head is tilted up to look at him, and the anger dissipates as soon as you recognize a hungry look in his eyes. You gulp as you hear the click of the lock echo across the small clinical space. What is happening?

"I sent 911 because I have surgery in 30 minutes," he says in his usual matter-of-fact tone that makes you want to shake your head, as if there's some literal fog that can be cleared. It doesn't work though, you're still not connecting the dots, and honestly it short circuits as he places both palms flat against the door on either side of your head, effectively caging you against it. 

"I can see the gears in your head spinning, love. We have 45 minutes, the perfect amount of time for us to get started on conception, enough time for me to fuck a baby into you," your breath catches in your throat and you're wondering if you've flat lined as poised Zayne tapers off into the more feral behind close doors version of himself. No matter how many times you see this side of Zayne it still short circuits your brain. You're not certain it's not whiplash as he clears his throat back to his usual doctors tone for a moment. "After all, based on my tracking, you're ovulating today - so it's the perfect time."

His nose drags down the column of your throat and he works on sucking and biting the skin of your neck as your brain tries to desperately catch up. However, instead you throw your head back with a deep moan, to which Zayne reprimands you and captures your lips with his, plunging his tongue in your mouth. He tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away from you, eliciting a small whimper.

"Don't forget, we are in my office, and those noises are just for me,” he all but growls at me, and I can feel how wet my underwear is from just these few moments. Goodness, you love the contrast of who he is in private compared to the version of himself he gives to the world. 

“Wait - how do you know I’m ovulating?” You ask pushing on his chest as if the space will provide you reprieve to think for a second. He easily crowds right back into said space, molding his body to yours as he pushes you against the door. 

“You send me to pick up tampons, and two weeks later you jump me the second I walk in the door, it doesn’t take a doctor to figure that out, love,” He says tilting your head up so he has easier access to your lips. Before you can think his hands are running up your legs and you gasp as he presses on the seam of your jeans putting pressure right on your throbbing clit. “Definitely ovulating,” he smirks. 

“Shut up,” you gasp into his mouth, tangling your hands in his hair and standing on the tips of your toes to get a better angle. With the precision you only get from dating a surgeon, every button of your top is undone in seconds and with a simple flick of one hand at your back, your bra joins it. He wastes no time in bending to suck on your nipple as his hand drifts to the buttons of your pants, undoing them and the zipper, and pushing them over your hips. Before you know it you’re completely nude as he stands fully clothed, doctor coat included before you.

He simply smirks, dragging you to the couch where he seats you on the arm rest, back to the rest of the couch so he has plenty of room in front of you. 

“How many times do we think I can make you finish before they page me,” He asks, although it seems rhetorical as he passes you his glasses and sinks to his knees while throwing your right leg over his shoulder. You open your mouth to answer, but the words die on your tongue as you feel him use his evol to blow icy air over your slick folds. You drop his glasses onto the cushion, moving to put your hand over your mouth to try and smother the cry as his tongue finally hits you. He drags it flat over your folds, gathering your wetness, before working overtime to flick your clit in a way that has you wondering if he’s going to beat his record for bringing you to orgasm. You are certain he is when you feel his fingers probing at your entrance, working two in and opening you up. The sound of his fingers working through your increasing wetness is obscene, the squelching sound working in tandem with your strained breaths through your nose. When the fingers he has inside you curl upwards as he gives your clit a gentle bite, you don’t even have time to warn him as the wave rushes up on you and your vision blacks for a second. 

“That’s one,” he tells you with a cocky grin, his chin still wet as he stands back to his full height. His eyes glaze a bit as he watches you tremble and shake through the aftershocks. He undoes his zipper, pushing his slacks and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free. It’s clear he’s pent up from the angry flush of red it has compared to normal. 

“You’re really going to keep the coat on?” You ask him with a raised brow. He seems to really weigh the options with a shrug.

“It’s fine, I have to scrub in for surgery so it’s not like a sanitation thing to worry about right now.”

He pulls you up, before spinning you around and pushing you over the armrest, face landing on the cushion. He groans at the sight, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness before notching at your entrance and slowly working his length inside. Your fingers grasp for purchase in the fabric of the sofa and you gasp as he finally seats himself inside you. He doesn’t give you the usual time to adjust though, rather pulls back so only the head remains inside and then he pumps forward in a smooth deep stroke. He sets a steady pace for the onslaught, and at this point you’re sure that your moaning, his grunting and the sound of skin slapping will let all of his coworkers know exactly what is going on in here. 

“You’re going to look so good stuffed full with my cum, and then bursting with our child,” he folds himself over you, whispering the dirty words right into your ear and sending a shiver up your spine from the sensation of his breath on your overheated skin. 

He works both his hands around your body, one to rub tight circles on your clit, the other alternating between tweaking both nipples. 

“Zayne, I- fuck - I’m close.”

“I can tell, you’re squeezing me so tightly. Your cunt knows exactly where I need to be, I should just live in here, keep you here in my office whenever I need to take a break,” he mutters each phrase with a deep thrust for emphasis as he sets a quicker pace. At this point he’s basically fucking you into the couch and all you can do is try to hold on. The sensations quickly become overwhelming and when he bites down on the back of your shoulder, you’re coming with a gush. He lets out a guttural moan, working you through the crest, still firmly seated within you. 

“I think we have time for one more,” he states with a laugh, harder than ever inside you, while you feel practically boneless. “Gotta get you into a better position though, want to make sure we can get it all deep inside so it has the best chance of taking.” 

Holy fuck, okay. Next thing you know you’re whining about how empty you feel as he pulls out, only for him to reassure you it’s only for a second. Once he stands you up he finally shrugs off his coat, only to thread your arms through it, before he turns you around so you’re leaning on the very edge of the arm rest. 

“You’ve been dying to see me in the coat huh?” you ask suggestively, wiggling your eyebrows to tease him as you let the coat slip down your arms so it lays more like a shrug, keeping your naked form on full display. 

It’s then that you hear his phone go off at his desk and he spares it a glance for a second before he’s asking you to widen your legs as he steps in between them.

“Don’t you need to get that?”

“It’s Greyson, I told him to give me a two minute warning before the official page,” he tells you as he lines up and slides back in. He pulls you into a rough biting kiss as he sinks all the way to the hilt. This time, he’s a man on a mission, or maybe man possessed is a better description. You have your hand fisted in his shirt and his doctor coat between your teeth as he pounds into you like a machine. He’s battering your cervix on each downward stroke, and then pulling almost all the way out of you. 

“Wait, I need my glasses,” he gasps, halting all his movements and you can only respond with a desperate groan, letting your forehead rest on his chest. 

“Really? Now does not seem like the time for that,” you gasp but lean back, reaching until you find them crammed down in the cushion. You unfold them and place them on his nose, pushing them up until they sit in their usual place. 

“I want to see the mess I’m about to make of you,” is his simple answer, and he smiles devilishly at the clench of you around his shaft. Suddenly you found yourself wishing you ovulated a lot more often. You watch as he sucks two fingers into his mouth before using them to lavish your clit with attention once more. He’s using his evol to heighten it with the drastic contrast in tempature and you just know you’re a babbling mess as you climb closer and closer to your peak. 

“That’s it love, we’re going to come together, and you’re going to hold every last drop- right here,” he tells you, doubling down on his efforts. His free hand rests on your stomach and he lets out a deep moan when he realizes he can feel the press of himself at the deepest point. His brow is coated in sweat and the vein popping in his neck shows the strain as he relentlessly thrusts over and over. Your hands have moved to his back, holding onto him for dear life, probably still leaving marks down his back despite the fabric barrier. 

You can’t hold back any longer, hooking your legs around him as you cum, locking him to you. He groans, mouth meeting yours in a messy kiss as he pushes to get as deep in you as he can while he finds his own release. You can feel the added warmth as he paints your inside walls, and the clenching of you riding out your own orgasm serves to help milk him for everything he’s got. He shudders, pushing his weight against you, causing you to fall back on the couch, all the while he remains seated deep inside you. 

Your bubble is burst by the official page and you know you unconsciously grip him tighter before releasing him. He begrudgingly slips from you, but he angles you so that your hips are being held up by the arm rest, keeping your pelvis tilted. 

“You’re going to be a good girl, stay just like that so it all stays right where it needs to, up against your cervix, and if you can do that, when I get back from this quick surgery, I’m going to give you another load here and then we will go home where I will only give you breaks for sustenance,” he says darkly his eyes firmly fixated on what you’re sure is a mess. You can already feel his cum dripping from you to the sofa fabric below. What you are not prepared for is him scooping up some of what is leaking and pushing it back in with his fingers. His eyes flash for a second, but then the page goes off again and he sighs. He leans over you to give you a sweet kiss, and he pulls his doctor coat around you so that you aren’t completely exposed. 

“You sneak, you gave me the coat knowing you were going to leave me here like this?”

“Oh believe me, I’m going to dream of this picture for the rest of my life - I won’t be able to wear my coat without getting hard I don’t think,” he confirms as he tucks himself back in his pants and heads to the door straightening himself back into professional mode. He barely opens it to slip out, making sure that no passerbys can see into what’s his. 

“Remember - don’t move. I’ll know by how much you leak. And I plan to keep you stuffed to the brim or leaking for the rest of the weekend. I can’t wait to see you swollen with our child.”

[justacomicsjinx]

Please enjoy

[dolcekissy]

Maybe reader stays at bestfriend rafes place after a night out (they always share a bed) and when she wakes up hungover he gives her pain meds but when she starts to feel hot all over he realizes he accidentally gave her a sex pill

wait this is so tea.......

disclaimer // 18+ content. this story includes unprotected sex, p in v, pulling out, bsf!rafe, yur. not proofread srry lol

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last night was a mistake. that's your first thought when you wake up in your best friends bed, sitting up with a groan as you slap your hand over your forehead ─ nausea hitting you like a truck when your eyes finally open, the brightness of the room making your head pound.

rafe chuckles, his back against the headboard of his bed as he scrolls through his phone, glancing over at you. "you good?" he laughs, thumb double tapping on a picture topper posted last night at the party, scrolling through each slide on the post.

"do i fucking look good?" you barked, fingers digging into your temples as you rub them ─ closing your mouth immediately as saliva builds up in your throat, that familiar salty taste welcoming your taste buds. he scoffs, standing up with a smirk as you lay back down on your side, eyes squeezing shut.

"want some water? medicine? food?" he asks, not even giving you a chance to respond as he walks out, already on a mission to gather everything for you ─ it's hilarious seeing you try not to vomit all over his bed after he warned you last night when you were pouring your 5th drink of the night, but you're still his best friend he needs to take care of.

he's grabbing water, crackers, and a bottle of meds for you, returning back to the room to turn the tv on ─ putting on your favorite movie and helping you sit up to take the meds, trying not to laugh as you chug the water bottle, wide eyes staring into his as you grip his arm like a damn child,

"goddamn, ya thirsty?" he laughs, placing the water bottle on his nightstand as you sigh and lay back down, trying to ignore the nausea simmering in your belly as you focus on the screen in front of you ─ rafe laying right back down next to you, scrolling on twitter and glancing at you every couple minutes.

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you're halfway through the movie when you realize how hot you are, face is hot to the touch, palms sweating, a thin layer of sweat coating your body. you're throwing the blankets off your body, readjusting your position, grabbing rafe's attention when you're letting out the most dramatic huff he's ever heard.

"you good?" he asks, brows furrowing in confusion when you sit up with a whine, tugging his sweatshirt off and adjusting your tank top.

"no, i'm on fire." you huff, gasping when his hand touches the exposed part of your back, head snapping in his direction.

"jesus, you're fucking burning." he mutters, setting his phone down as both of his hands feel over your body, concern written all over his face when your eyes flutter shut ─ your body leaning into his touch with a pained whimper. his first thought is to give you more medicine, hand reaching over to grab the bottle.

he's tipping the bottle over when he realizes the fucking object in his fucking hands isn't a labeled bottle full of pain killers, it's a plain white bottle full of fucking viagra.

don't ask him why he has a bottle of viagra, alright? he found a couple in his dads drawer and stole some for...a science experiment, alright? that's not even the point, what the fuck is he supposed to tell you? does viagra even work on women?

"hey! i accidentally gave you viagra instead of pain killers, so sorry! please forgive me!"

"hey! sooo...you actually took a pill men use for erectile dysfunction that's why you feel insane, hope this helps!"

are you gonna start feeling horny? is he supposed to help? someone fucking shoot him.

his questions are answered as you lean into him, the pained look in your eyes disappearing as a wild look takes over, lips parting as you grab onto his arm ─ squeezing his flesh hard enough to bruise the skin. your eyes fall to his lips for a second, gaze trailing down his neck.

"rafe." you mumble and he's letting out a shaky breath, cock twitching in his sweatpants. his brow twitches when you let out a soft whimper, inching closer to his body, heat radiating off of your skin even though you're dressed in nothing but a tank top and shorts ─ nails clawing at his arm as you move close enough to graze his neck with your lips, letting out a shaky breath, trying to control yourself as your body subconsciously moves to straddle his leg.

his palms are sweating when he grabs your hips, shakily holding you in place as you breathe against his neck, lips barely pressing against the skin as you whimper again, hips bucking against his thigh when his fingers dig into your hips ─ cock hardening every time your hips rut against his thigh, your fingernails digging into his scalp, panties soaked and uncomfy.

"a-are you-" he starts, eyes widening when you slap a hand over his mouth, leaning up to look him in the eye.

"we will never speak about this...okay?" you mutter.

"okay."

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your hands are flush against his chest, nails digging into his collarbones as you bounce on his cock, head tipping back to let out moans ─ eyes glazed over in pure bliss, mind mush as you ride your best friends cock ─ cunt so wet you should be embarrassed, your wetness dripping down the shaft of his cock, pussy squelching around him.

rafes eyes are glued to you, watching the way your tits bounce in your tank top, the way your sweaty neck glistens when you tip your head back, the way your cunt takes his cock so well ─ walls so warm and wet around him, groaning when you lift your hips to show him how wet his dick is before sliding right back down, grinding your hips just right.

he's reaching down to rub your clit, trying to get you to cum before he gets his best friend pregnant, groaning when you tense up and cry out his name, forcefully grabbing your hips and pulling you up his body, hot spurts of his cum coating your soft ass ─ eyes squeezing shut as grind your ass against his cock with a lazy smile, cooing when his cock keeps spewing for you.

rafe doesn't know if he should be terrified or excited he accidentally gave you a viagra when your scooting down his body, eyes on his as you suck the rest of his release off his tip, your eyes rolling back when he thrusts up into your mouth, a whimper falling from his lips.

oh yeah ─ he's fucking terrified.

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[parfaitblogs]

over the moon ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a bout of insomnia prompts the usage of your arguably overworked baking equipment. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. cliché flour fight into kissing... sorry... no i'm not. use of pet names. make out sesh (obviously).  word count: 1.4k a/n: also known as spencer and reader take on the margotlia bucket list for margovember!!! happy birthday to my lover @pathologicalreid!!! who has very quickly become my other half on this silly little side of tumblr. a prophet told me there are snickerdoodle cookies and a smithsonian date with our names on it in our futures ♡

"Honey, please tell me the light on in the kitchen is you getting a glass of water."

Like a deer in headlights, you're frozen in your beelined pathway between the fridge and the countertop of Spencer's kitchen, the carton of eggs in your hands preventing any attempt of a lie to him.

"Uh..." Your eyes lock with his, and he's visibly deflating upon spotting the pantry's baking ingredients arranged in front of you. "I'm just getting water?"

"I didn't realise you put sticks of butter into your water," he counters, voice meticulously picking apart your lie in front of your face. "Does that taste good?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure," he nods his head, his feet carrying him over to you behind the counter. "What recipe have you chosen to victimise today?"

"Snickerdoodle cookies," you mumble, as his arms wrap around your waist, and his chin sits on your shoulder, eyes peering at your phone screen that had the cookie recipe open. 

"Any particular reason?" 

"I couldn't sleep," you explain. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah," he nods, and a beat passes where you mumble a quiet apology to him, before he's pulling away from you and picking up your phone. "Where do we start?"

It wasn't the first time you had baked instead of sleeping, and it certainly wasn't the first time Spencer had woken up to the sound of your hand mixer combining sugar and butter, or the oven timer dinging to accompany the smell of freshly baked muffins. In fact, he had become accustomed to not getting through an entire fortnight without at least one tray of baked goods taking up counter space. 

It was the first time he had offered to help you, though. He either accompanied you and watched you bake, or sat at his desk to get paperwork done (he said he should use the extra time spent conscious wisely). 

"You don't have to help," you're shaking your head, but he's already going to the sink to wash his hands. 

"You only slept for two hours before waking up to do this. I'd like to get you back to bed sooner rather than later," he answers, patting his hands dry. "I won't sleep until you do, anyways."

"Okay," you relent, staring at him almost stunned, before you return to the recipe you had up on your phone. "Um... could you combine the sugar and butter?"

Baking with Spencer Reid seemed to make everything a lot easier. Ignoring the obvious (the help an extra set of hands provided), his eidetic memory meant you could throw a step his way, and he'd know exactly what he was doing. Having asked him to add the eggs to his sugar and butter mix, he was already separating the yolk from the whites before you needed to say a thing.

"Have you ever stuck your hand into flour?" you ask him, and he lifts his head, eyebrows frowning together. 

"No. Why would I do that?"

"To know what it feels like," you say, dryly, though there isn't any malice behind it. "Have you never wanted to know what it feels like?"

"You can use context clues to figure out what it would feel like," he replies. "Correct?" 

"Spencer, you're entirely missing the point," you shake your head, and though he lifts his head from his sugar-butter-and-egg mixture to question you, he doesn't even remotely expect a large fistful of flour to explode across his chest. 

Then, you're laughing, and he's still battling with the initial shock of your flour attack for a few more seconds to laugh with you. But, when he does, he's almost mocking with it, and your face falls when he's putting his own hand into the container labelled flour, lifting it, and dragging his hand over your stomach. 

"Oh my God!" you say through a laugh, looking down at the smear of flour on your t-shirt. "Spencer!"

"Reap what you can sow," he retorts. 

So, you do.

You aren't too sure when the flour fighting gets more intimate. Somewhere between your fingers running it through his hair, and his hands landing on your ass, as he tugs you into him.

You're heaving, though the smile on your face is perfect, and he's certain he might be falling in love with you all over again. Cheeks stained in flour and all. 

"Hello," you sing, lifting your chin up to smile at him.

"Hi, sweet girl," he replies, ducking his head down to brush his lips against yours, and you pull a face at the faint taste of flour on them. 

Your finger lifts up to brush his lower lip, face growing concentrated as you brush the powder off it. "You've got a little... something..." 

"Do I?" he asks, condescendingly, and you're firmly nodding your head. 

"Yep. This is why I bake alone, Spencer Reid," you tut. 

His eyebrows raise. "I don't know if I want to even try to prove you wrong."

"I wouldn't recommend it."

"Duly noted. Anything you do recommend?"

You pause. "Kissing me might help in my journey of forgiving you for this mess."

If he's got any plan to defend himself, it crumbles beneath the words of your request, and his lips are stretching into a smile. 

"I'll do whatever I can."

His lips have a film on them from the brushed away flour, making them softer than they usually are, as he presses them against yours. Hands that were once resting almost teasingly on your ass lift to your hips, and your own drop to the countertop behind him as you lean into him.

As you usually feel in your slow moments like this with him, you feel your heart soar, your head tilting to the side as you accomodate his face being so close to your own. 

Arguably, his favourite thing about kissing you for longer than half a second, is the mewls and hums that leave your lips. Never too much to prompt anything more, but instead just enough to tell him just how much you enjoy kissing him. A feeling that is entirely mutual.

As soon as it starts, it's over. Which can't really be true, for you are panting when his head pulls away from yours,  and he's got that glassy look in his eyes that always makes your body warm. 

"We need to go shower," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. 

You want to decline, just to stay standing right there in the kitchen with him, the urge to keep kissing him almost overwhelming. But his fingers have lifted to brush against a patch of flour on your neck, and you're surrendering at the feeling. 

"Okay."

Thus, forty-five minutes and one unreasonably long shower later, you were standing back in the kitchen, a bowl with cinnamon and sugar in front of you. Spencer's t-shirt hanging off your body — after you had expertly coerced him into letting you wear it — and a fork in your hands as you whisk the two toppings together. 

He's sitting on a stool on the other side of the bench, stirring the dough together after you had complained it was too thick. He argued it was supposed to be. 

Heading over to Spencer once the cinnamon and sugar was combined in a bowl, you mumble, "Okay. 'm tired," your head buried into the crook of his neck. 

"Yeah, weaponising that flour probably exhausted some energy," he muses, letting go of the wooden spoon to wrap his arms around you. "We still need to bake these, though."

"Cookie dough is yummy too," you retort, hand reaching out to pinch a piece of the dough. 

"Cookie dough isn't safe for you to eat," he answers, catching your wrist before you can get ahold of any batter. Upon seeing your pout, combined with the tired look in your eyes, he relents, letting you pick up a small piece just to eat. "How about we put this in the fridge, and we bake them tomorrow?" 

"I like that plan."

"I thought you would."

Helping him with the clean up consisted of you putting the dough in the fridge and cinnamon sugar in the pantry, and him doing... everything else. He didn't seem to mind, though, and his hands found their place on your waist as he walked you back towards the bedroom. 

"C'mon, sleepy girl."

He laughs at your incoherent grumble towards the name calling, letting you drag him back into the bed adorned with wrinkled sheets. 

"Thanks for baking with me," you say, voice layered with your exhaustion as you're curling up next to him. 

"Thanks for attacking me with flour."

"And I'd do it again."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[caxycreations]

Okay, I've been nerd sniped, I'm sorry

NOTE: If you're going to reblog just to say "not reading that" or some other rude shit, DON'T. I've seen so many notifications of people just saying they couldn't be bothered to read it. I don't know if it's just that they don't see how incredibly rude and disheartening that is or if they know and don't care, but either way it really hurts to see, so please don't reblog if it's just to tell me you won't read it.

So let's go through the canonical likelihood they could each beat Goku. For the sake of keeping canon, we'll keep groups/pairs together if they would never reasonably be apart for something like this. Long post below the cut.

So first up are the ones I see that would, without a doubt, beat Goku.

Saiki K

Saiki is an omnipotent psychic/psionic with quite literally every single possible power out there. Now, this on its own isn't enough to beat Goku. Versatility doesn't mean everything, but Saiki is also powerful enough to rewrite the genetics and reality of everything within range, and his range is, so far, "Earth".

So this, on its own, would allow him to rewrite Goku's biology to make him Human. Bye bye zenkai boosts, bye bye Saiyan transformations. And Saiki, with his powers, has no trouble beating a Human of any caliber if he truly wanted to. And for those who ask "Why would he ever fight Goku?"

One simple reason: Goku would sense his immense power, and be excited for a fight. Goku is respectful enough to not force one if he's refused, but he's persistent enough to badger Saiki until he's given a chance. And Saiki, being Saiki, would simply take off one of his limiters, or both, and rewrite reality as such: "Being an alien isn't possible", thereby making it effective immediately that Goku must be lying/insane, and he is, in fact, Human. Easy win for Saiki.

And for those who would argue against this, bear in mind, the funniest way to beat Goku in this instance would be to simply make him weaker than Saiki, and Saiki is a gag character from a gag series, and it's already been shown in the world of Dragon Ball, and again in Dragon Ball Super, that Goku is incapable of defeating a gag character regardless of that characters canonical ability.

Saiki could win without gag character status, but even in the instance of Goku "beating" him, the gag would turn out to be that Saiki only pretended to get beaten, and is actually entirely unharmed because it was the easiest way to get Goku to leave him alone. Followed by a reveal that Goku will still show up now and then to ask for sparring matches, to drive the point home.

Popeye

Gag character. Would get beaten handily, crawl his way to spinach, and then be exactly as strong as he needs to be to take Goku down in however many hits is funniest.

Bugs Bunny

The gag character to end all gag characters. Someone on this hellsite once described Bugs as a "Trickster God who traps us in our own societal expectations" or some such. Like convincing Thanos to remove the Infinity Gauntlet by establishing a security checkpoint with a metal detector and shaming him into cooperating by telling him there's others waiting.

He could beat Goku in a billion ways, and each and every one of them would involve some shenanigan like Goku throwing a spirit bomb, Bugs showing up behind him holding it, saying "Ehhh, can you hold this for a second?" and as soon as Goku takes it and Bugs is off-screen, it would explode and Goku would be a pile of ashes with blinking eyes. Bugs would win because Bugs' gag is that...well, he simply can't be beaten.

The Warner Trio

Gag trio. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot would snark, sass, and sarcastic-joke their way into the scene, and they would spend the entire time poking fun at him, roasting his look, being unfazed by his attacks because "Nice laser show but we didn't bring our glowsticks." and just being too unbothered to care.

They would undoubtedly annoy Goku into admitting defeat simply to get away from them.

Road Runner

Gag character. Would force Goku to chase him, Goku would fire some blasts, chase him around, and inevitably be led right into the path of a blast he fired earlier to be disintegrated by it.

Pop Team Epic

I know nothing about this series except that it is a gag series. They are gag characters. That means Goku is inherently incapable of beating them.

ASDF Guy

Gag character. Could beat Goku with a simple "Hello, Mine-Turtle!" or "I like Trains."

Heart Diagram

Goku was literally killed by a heart virus in Future Trunks' timeline. This is one that has actually canonically already killed Goku.

Chowder

Gag character. Would likely be after S-Cells for some recipe and need to take Goku's as he's "The only Saiyan in this episode!" or some such, thereby ending the fight with a shot of Chowder wearing Goku's Gi for comedic effect while Dahl stirs raw Super Saiyan aura in a pot to hint that Chowder killed Goku for his S-Cells.

Force Ghost Trio

Gag versions of serious characters, and also ghosts. Goku is canonically unable to beat ghosts or gag characters, and these guys are both.

Those are the ones that would, without a doubt, beat Goku.

Now, let's go over the ones that could, potentially, be it likely or unlikely.

Kirby

Kirby is often considered a gag character, but he isn't. He has a very specific level of power, even if that level of power is "fuck you" levels of power. Kirby has beaten Gods, but so has Goku, even more often and with greater ease. However, Kirby has absorption and power-theft. Kirby could, potentially, absorb Goku (he isn't the brightest and Kirby has his unassuming appearance on his side) and take on his strongest form, including its powerup, and given Kirby in base form is likely more powerful than Goku in base form (Goku needed SSJ to scare Supreme Kai, Kirby beats Gods in base), it's possible Kirby would be more powerful than Goku with the same power up.

Kevin McCallister

Okay, hear me out.

Kevin is technically a gag character, BUT. He is not TRULY a gag character. He just happens to be a comedy character.

So he isn't guaranteed to win, but he could still possibly do so. How you ask?

Goku has been somewhat injured or lightly shaken by the following: planet-shattering attacks. Punches that rock the universe. Energy blasts so potent they would destroy entire galaxies.

Goku has been rendered inconsolable from the pain of the following: chest pain and a half-heartedly, boredly tossed pebble.

It is canon that when Goku and the other fighters in the series are expecting an attack or primed for battle, they are protected by their ki, like armor. It's how they're able to knock away attacks that would destroy planets, or put their "bare" hands on plasma energy that would normally burn the skin off you from a mile away let alone touching it.

This is why when Krillin threw the rock at Goku, it left him in agony and bruised him despite Goku being in Super Saiyan form at the time. This is why Chi-Chi is able to injure Goku regardless of how strong he gets.

So, how does this relate to Kevin being able to beat him? It's everything. It's critical information.

Kevin McCallister's entire M.O. is unexpected attacks. You open a door, you see a bucket fall, think it's over, turns out no, second bucket pulled by the first, second bucket is full of paint and open, you're blinded, you get your bearings, you take a step and feel cars, you smirk and step over them only to find marbles, you slip, you land on the cars which turn out to have been rigged to break easier to let loose a single thumbtack which is now firmly stuck in your back or butt. You bolt upright only to slam your head on a 2x4 that was rigged to hang down from a rope when you fell because your impact shook things enough to make it fall from a precarious perch above.

You get the idea. Every time you think it's safe to let your guard down, that's when the next wave hits. So you say "well he would stop letting his guard down" right? You fool. You know nothing of Goku. He would never put his guard UP. This is a human child, Goku can sense his pitiful power level. His strength? His speed? His ki? Weak. Pathetic. Nothing. A scouter wouldn't even register his power it's so low.

Goku never raises his guard to Chi-Chi, or to Bulma, or to Hercule. He does not raise his defense against normal, powerless, non-combative humans.

"BUT KEVIN IS COMBATIVE" No. He isn't. Goku can sense intent, power, and location. But Kevin isn't actively intending to hurt Goku. He's intending to protect himself and his home. He's not actively wanting to hurt Goku, he's just wanting Goku to leave. He doesn't have power to threaten Goku with, so Goku won't pick up on any threatening aura. And while Goku could simply instant transmission to Kevin and do what he will, we're not talking about how Goku could win, we're going over the fact Kevin could POSSIBLY win.

Enough injury and Goku is down for the count. Otherwise, Goku leaves to avoid further injury, and thereby admits defeat. Both cases, Kevin wins.

Shedinja

This one took me...quite a while. I had to do a lot of extra research for this. So, my immediate thought was Shedinja is a Ghost type, so ghost rules, right? Nah. Bug and Ghost type, and they are the physical shell left behind that has been reanimated. So they very much are physical beings, and given their ability to faint in the games and show they are capable of being physically damaged.

But There's a real case to be made for Shedinja beating Goku.

It can learn Ghost type moves, which operate on ghost-logic, and therefore are a canon weakness Goku is known to have. So things like Shadow Ball, Hex, Curse, and the like would all effect Goku regardless of Ki or form.

It also has access to Wonder Guard, which renders it "immune to all damage types that are not Super-Effective". For those unaware, we can actually attribute Typings to Goku's moves based on attributes and traits they share with Pokemon moves. His melee is, by nature, Fighting type, which Shedinja is immune to. In fact, Shedinja is immune to ALL attack types except Flying, Rock, Ghost, Dark, and Fire type moves, which are all Super Effective.

Goku's most common methods would actually fall under Fighting and Normal type attacks. "But his Ki blasts-" would be Normal type moves. You want proof?

Focus Energy is Normal Type. Quick Attack is Normal Type. Self Destruct is Normal Type. Techno Blast is Normal Type. Tera Blast is Normal Type. These are all energy based moves similar to ki blasts. Know what other energy based move is Normal Type? Hyperbeam. Which is almost identical to the Kamehameha and every other beam attack in DBZ.

Those few attacks Goku has that aren't going to be Normal Type will be Fighting Type.

Shedinja is Immune to all Normal and Fighting Type moves. Goku literally can not damage Shedinja, but Shedinja can damage Goku through Ghost Type moves. Shedinja can beat Goku. But why is it not "absolutely will" beat him? Because Goku can also transform his Ki and if he finds out Shedinja is vulnerable to fire, he can and will use that to his advantage.

That's who could potentially beat Goku. Here's who absolutely could not.

Saitama

I forgot to go over Saitama originally so here's the edit that features that analysis. Bear in mind I am saying this as someone who has seen Seasons 1 and 2 of the show AND is aware of some of the events of the manga.

A lot of reblogs over Saitama claim he is a gag character. But there is a case to be made that he is NOT. What is that case you ask? Well, for the sake of fairness, here is how I am handling gag characters: if their gag is in effect in 100% of all cases (such as looney tunes like Bugs or Road Runner) or if the gag is triggered in 100% of all cases (such as Saiki K or Chowder) then they are a True Gag Character and will insta-win.

However, if their gag has failed (such as Wario, or, yes, even Saitama) in ANY case, then it CAN fail again, and the fairest fight is one against two non-gag characters, so we can safely apply non-gag Saitama here since his gag has failed and Goku meets the conditions to cause it to fail again, which I'll explain.

So, first off, how does his gag fail? Well, his gag is that he kills everything instantly in one hit, unless he actively chooses not to. So we can safely say his gag fails if any of the following are true: he fails to instantly kill an enemy with a single hit while intending to do so, OR if he fails to kill an enemy with a serious hit intended to kill.

He meets both of these conditions. Boros survived for several seconds AFTER Saitama hit him with a Serious Punch. It was a single hit that intended to kill...But he didn't kill Boros INSTANTLY with it. Another example of his gag failing, if that doesn't satisfy, is Garou. Garou, in the manga, has survived MULTIPLE Serious Punches with intent to kill. This, on its own, is proof Saitama's Serious Punch does in fact have a limit to its output. It also proves his gag can, and does, fail against certain opponents.

So the next thing we need to look at is similarities between Garou and Boros to identify what they share that could possibly allow them to get around Saitama's gag, or to nullify it entirely. First similarity is that both are determined to have a good, satisfying fight. Boros crossed the stars seeking one, and Garou sought to become a true Monster powerful enough to force every hero, every do-gooder, to unite under one banner just to take him down. They both seek a battle to end all battles, even if Garou's intention is to end it in his favor, not simply enjoy the fight.

The second similarity is that they have incredibly unique circumstances, even by OPM standards. Garou is a man who has always felt love for the bad guy, he looks to the monsters as inspirations, as the misunderstood and the victimized by those claiming to be heroes. He's trained by an S-Class hero, and has developed into a being of unimaginable power in the pursuit of his dream. Very much a true foil to Saitama, who looked to heroes in comics as inspirations, as the righteous and unshakably moral, self-taught through and through and developed into a being of unimaginable power in the pursuit of HIS dream. Garou is, in this way, a reflection of Saitama, the Tails to Saitama's Heads, the dark to his light.

Boros on the other hand is an alien, forced to become strong by his homeworld's unforgiving conditions, developing a level of power necessary to survive and then some, and on realizing he was far too powerful for his own good, he sought purpose, meaning, and when he heard he may find a worthy opponent, he did everything he could to achieve that future, to realize his dream of facing a foe that would give him a true challenge.

So what are the similarities we can identify? Notably unique circumstances even by OPM standards, sharing strong similarities to Saitama's desires or dreams (Garou dreaming of becoming the greatest Monster vs Saitama dreaming of becoming the greatest Hero, Boros feeling lost in life and seeking a worthy foe vs Saitama feeling bored with living and wishing for the sensation of a real fight again), and the desire for a serious and ultimate battle.

Goku fits ALL of these conditions. He is an alien sent to Earth for his protection, grew up in hostile conditions (surviving on his own for most of his childhood, constant battles with Nation-level threats throughout his teen years, constant battles with world or universe-level threats throughout his adulthood), trained extensively until he was the best of the best, has the ultimate dream of a truly satisfying battle (a dream he routinely seeks out by facing down powerful foes), and being entirely bored with mundane life because there's absolutely no challenge to it, not to mention the fact he has the ultimate dream of becoming the strongest, something he shares with Saitama's pre-OPM self.

Since Goku fits ALL the conditions needed to make this battle exempt from the gag, we will NOT be considering it, as Saitama is not a True Gag Character, and Goku fitting conditions for nullifying it means we can assume actual power limits and such.

So let's look at feats of power. Saitama's Serious Side Hop technique allowed him to create AT LEAST 60 after-images (based on the manga panel) which, when compared with Sonic's 4, means Saitama was moving 15x faster than Sonic in that moment (bare minimum). An afterimage like that is created by moving at least 572mph, stopping in each position for at least 1/255th of a second (any less and the human eye can't pick up on it), so by moving from position A to B for 1/255th of a second and back to A, going 572mph between the two, you create the afterimage.

Sonic creates 4 simultaneously, meaning he needs to move to 3 positions and then back to starting position, or go from A to B, B to A, A to C, C to A, A to D, and repeat.

This means Sonic, to move into each of these positions in less than 1/255th of a second, would need to be moving ~4x faster than the speed for one afterimage. That puts him as moving at 2,228mph while creating those 4 afterimages. Given he is capable of Mach 5 speeds (he's said to be hypersonic) this feat is easy for him, as Mach 5 is 3,805mph. I assume, just as it's easier to move at top speed in a straight line than at sharp turns for a normal person, it's likely more difficult to create such consistent afterimages and so the difficulty that makes it his best attack is from the technique and reaction involved, not the speed itself.

In any case, if Saitama made at least 60 afterimages, putting him at 15x faster than Sonic's speed while creating 4, that puts Saitama's speed at 33,420mph just to account for the 60 we can count in the manga panel. This means 33,420 is the MINIMUM speed we can assume for Saitama's max ability. To be generous, given he wasn't winded after doing that and given he was able to react incredibly easily to the near-instant directional changes, I'll be kind and put his maximum speed at 10,000x this number.

That puts Saitama's speed at 334,200,000mph, or 49.8% the speed of light. We'll be kind again and say 50% the speed of light, round up that last .2%

So we have a speed value for Saitama. Now what about Goku? Well, let's look at Goku on Namek, for a moment. Base form Goku, at the start of his fight against Freeza. Goku, BEFORE his super saiyan transformation, was moving at 3.26 (we'll round down to 3) times the speed of light. How do I get this number? Buckle up, it's involved.

The Namekian ship Bulma, Krillin, and Gohan took to get to Namek made it from Earth to Jupiter in "seconds". That means less than a minute, so we'll say it took them 1 minute just to lowball it and to have a solid starting number. Jupiter, when the two planets are at their closest to each other (assuming shorter distance for slower speed, another lowball), is 365,000,000 miles from Earth. This means the Namekian ship moved 365mil miles in 1 minute.

That puts the Namekian ship at a speed of 21.9 billion miles per hour. They made it to Namek in 30 days of travel. The ship Goku took to Namek made the trip in 5 days. That means Goku's ship is 6 times faster than the Namekian ship. Don't worry, the ship speed DOES matter in this, I promise you.

So Goku's ship moves at 131,400,000,000mph. That's 131 billion, 400 million miles per hour. Or 195x the speed of light.

Why does the ship speed matter so much, you might ask?

Because King Kai could visually keep up with the ship. He was able to track Goku's progress with ease, and could see his ships movements without problems. This means King Kai's eyes and brain are capable of perceiving and processing things that move at 195x the speed of light.

Why does that matter? Because Super Saiyan is canonically a 50x multiplier to ALL base ability. Strength, speed, durability, etc.

And Goku, in Super Saiyan, was moving so fast King Kai stated he could no longer keep up. King Kai, capable of seeing and processing the input of vision on a ship moving 195x the speed of light, could not see or process the input of vision on Super Saiyan Goku.

We'll lowball it, and say Goku only needed to move 1 mph faster than 195x the speed of light for King Kai to lose track of him. So whatever value we get, we'll add 1mph to for Goku's base form speed.

So 195x the speed of light +1mph. 195/50=3.9x the speed of light. That's 2,616,900,000mph, adding in the extra mph makes it 2,616,900,001mph. So Base Form Goku moves at ~3.9x the speed of light, ON NAMEK. Super Saiyan is a 50x multiplier, putting him at ~195x the speed of light. Super Saiyan 2 is a 100x multiplier to Base, so 390x the speed of light. Super Saiyan 3 is a 400x multiplier, so 1,560x the speed of light. Super Saiyan God is a 20,000 multiplier so 78,000x the speed of light. Super Saiyan Blue is a 1 million times multiplier, so 3,900,000x the speed of light. And lastly, Mastered Ultra Instinct is a 300 billion times multipler, so 1.17 trillion times the speed of light.

Why did I bother going through all those multipliers? He wins in Base as of Namek saga lol. Anyway, continuing on to strength now that we've established Base Goku on Namek could move 3.9x faster than the Speed of Light while Saitama could only move at 0.5x the Speed of Light.

Strength. Okay. This one is harder to gauge, but we CAN gauge it. We'll go in terms of level of damage, so human level (would be on-par or less than peak human ability), town level (small towns), city level (large cities), nation level (an entire nation, less than a continent), continent level (one or more nations that span an entire continent), world-surface level (the surface of an Earth-sized planet), Planetary (capable of destroying an entire Earth-sized planet), Solar (capable of destroying a solar system), Galactic (capable of destroying a galaxy), multi-galactic (capable of destroying many galaxies), Universal (capable of destroying an entire universe), Multiversal (capable of destroying multiple universes).

We'll start with Goku this time. Goku's punches are, as of the Battle of Gods arc, strong enough to match Beerus perfectly to nullify the shockwaves of Beerus' attacks. Mind you, the mere shockwave of Beerus' attacks are enough to rip and tear the fabric of the universe itself, as stated by Elder Kai. This puts Goku's punches as being powerful enough to tear the fabric of the universe in when he first obtained Super Saiyan God. Why does this matter for Base Goku? Because Base Goku retained his SSJG power, as stated by Beerus.

So Goku in Base, post-battle of gods, is physically capable of punches that can tear apart the universe from the aftershocks alone. This is important to note because Elder Kai could physically feel the shockwaves from the World of the Kais. This makes Goku Universe-level in strength. This means Goku, post-BoG, in Super Saiyan is 50x stronger than what's needed for Universal, while Goku, as of current manga canon (assuming he didn't actually get any stronger since BoG and is simply more powerful due to new transformations) is capable of a form (Mastered Ultra Instinct) that puts him 300 billion times stronger than minimum Universe level strength.

And Saitama? Where does he fit here? Well, I thought this gap would be bigger honestly? But after researching, it seems the gap isn't all that big. Saitama has, canonically, with a Serious Punch, snuffed out an entire cylinder of stars and presumably every planet, moon, asteroid, and more, at a distance surpassing that of our solar system, and with a diameter surpassing it as well. This puts Saitama's power (if we lowball it MASSIVELY) at Solar. He could, in a single punch, destroy our entire solar system, and he wouldn't even need to be serious to do it. It's worth noting this is coupled with Garou's own Saitama-level Serious Punch, so we can assume this level of power is double Saitama's own.

So how do we determine the specifics? Well, he cleared an area large enough to cover, presumably, half the area of stars destroyed in the path of his and Garou's serious punches.

Through future revelations in the series we learn they didn't "destroy" every star in that path, but likely only several were destroyed, and possibly a galaxy, while the remainder of the void left behind was from the shockwave forcing every other star within range into a new position, creating a void in space that all stars had been moved from, save the few that were in the DIRECT path of their attack.

Another theory is that the Serious Punch^2 simply distorted the photons in the area, resulting in the appearance of a massive void, and this theory is based on the angles in the manga and comments made by other characters that paint Earth as the only thing in real danger from the power of the attack.

To be fair to Saitama, where we would lowball Goku, we'll highball Saitama, and say the Serious Punch^2 outright destroyed every star in the area. That level of power would, naturally, have shockwaves that push nearby stars out of the way AND distort photons in the area, resulting in a massive cone of destruction surrounded by a large cylinder of force.

This puts Saitama at, quite easily, multi-galactic level of strength.

But why did I say this gap isn't as big as I expected? One simple thing. Saitama has canonically punched his way into a different dimension in the manga. That means he's capable of brute-forcing his way out of the bounds of his universe. He is capable of physically destroying the fabric of the universe.

Meaning Saitama's strength is, bare minimum, Universal in close proximity. That puts him, strength-wise, on par with Goku, who through training has become stronger than Super Buu (who was so strong he could shout his way out of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, a dimension separate from our own), meaning Goku is also Universal in close proximity.

So...while I expected Saitama to be ~Planetary, MAYBE he'd be Solar at most...Research indicates he's actually Universal, or near-Universal, meaning the fight may not be too far a gap after all.

Goku may have Saitama beat on speed (given recent manga events in OPM, I'm willing to allow that Saitama is faster than light speed, but Goku having as many forms as he does (Kaioken, which he can combine with other forms and can hit a multiplier of x100 on top of whatever power he currently has, SSJ1-3, SSJG, SSJB, MUI) means even if Saitama matches Base Goku, he's likely not going to stand up to his stronger forms).

But on strength, I'd wager they're close enough for this fight to be one hell of a battle.

What about Durability? After all, all the strength in the world won't save you if you're as easy to kill as a simple bullet to the head, right?

Goku has withstood universe-ripping punches (from Beerus, the God of Destruction, and based on comments in the manga he's one of the stronger Gods of Destruction too), dimension-tearing attacks (from Goku Black, pre-Fusion), energy blasts that even the Gods of Destruction were nervous of (from Jiren during the Tournament of Power), and he survived multiple blasts from Granolah post-wish buff, who was renowned for his sniping power pre-wish, and post-wish was as powerful as he would be if he had spent every single second of the next 147 years training non-stop with the absolute healthiest amount of rest and physical care, making him, presently, as powerful as he would be at the END of that time, with the price paid being that he only had 3 years to live as he lost 1 year of his lifespan for each power boost.

It was also clear that Granolah was the strongest in the universe...at the time of his wish. Goku and Vegeta, who were already on their way, were not as powerful as Granolah even with their transformations. They became stronger during their fight with him, and stronger still during their fight with Gas (who was more powerful than Granolah after Gas transformed and mastered his transformation).

So we can safely assume Goku is Multiversal in Durability, as he himself was able to output Universal damage with each punch, and he was able to survive hits from beings drastically stronger than himself.

What about Saitama? Well, Saitama was able to survive the force of the Serious Punch^2 and he was able to casually bust his way into another dimension. So his Serious Punch, if he wanted it to, could easily destroy the barrier between universes or dimensions.

And given he survived the force of two of them impacting each other, I would put Saitama at, bare minimum, Universe-level durability. But given he was able to survive prolonged battle against Garou, who is a Power Mimic and has shown Saitama-level strength, we can safely assume Saitama is BEYOND Universal-level durability, and so we can put him right there with Goku at Multiversal durability.

So what do we have so far?

Goku has speed equal to, in Base Form, 3.9x lightspeed, and 1.17 trillion times lightspeed in his most powerful form.

Goku has Universal level strength in Base Form, 300 billion times that in his most powerful form.

Goku has Universal durability in Base Form, Multiversal durability in his most powerful form (300 billion times his Base Form's durability).

Saitama has speed equal to, at minimum, 0.5x lightspeed, and at maximum, if we highball it, 2x lightspeed.

Saitama has Universal strength.

Saitama has Universal durability at minimum, and Multiversal durability at maximum.

At this point, I'm convinced the speed difference between Base Goku and Saitama means nothing. Saitama's durability means even with Base Goku moving at his top speed, his impacts won't be enough to beat Saitama. At top speed Base Goku may be putting out Universal damage, but he's not putting out enough to actually BEAT Saitama. Only injure.

Making me rethink my "Goku wins in Base lol" claim earlier, how dare you!

Anyway, at this point, Goku would HAVE to transform to beat Saitama. His ability to sense power and Saitama's evident inability to suppress it (as evidenced by multiple characters sensing his ungodly power even while Saitama is completely relaxed) would mean Goku would know, right away, he needs to transform for the fight.

Saitama's durability means Goku would likely need Super Saiyan 2 or 3, or, more likely, SSJG. Super Saiyan God's multiplier to Granolah-arc Goku, after all of his training with Whis and Vegeta, would most likely be enough to beat Saitama. And given SSJG is enough to "most likely" beat him, then Super Saiyan Blue (aka Super Saiyan God Super Saiyan, the form above SSJG) is surely enough, and Mastered Ultra Instinct (a form drastically more powerful than SSJB) is absolutely more than enough to beat Saitama.

And given Goku's mastery over the Kaioken technique, and he's been shown to enter Kaioken x 20 while in Super Saiyan Blue for fair amounts of time as of the Moro saga, meaning even if SSB wasn't enough, given MUI is overkill, it's possible SSB x10 or x20 would be.

The point being, Goku wins this fight due to a combination of technique, experience, and power from his transformations. Given Goku is faster than Saitama and would sense his power as Saitama doesn't know how to suppress it, nothing Saitama could do would be a surprise attack to Goku, meaning Goku would have ample opportunity to react to everything Saitama does.

And given the relatively similar strengths the two bear, Goku would recognize he needs to transform to beat Saitama's output.

And given Saitama's greater durability than Base Goku, and greater durability than even what Saitama himself can put out, Goku would see he needs to transform to have enough of his own output to beat Saitama's durability.

Conclusion: Goku would absolutely win this fight, BUT...I'll give Saitama credit where it's due.

Out of everyone on the entire list, Saitama is the fairest matchup here, and the one most likely to give Goku a truly satisfying fight, given it would be a battle on par with those Goku has enjoyed most.

Kingdom Hearts Mickey

K.H. Mickey has a clear power limit and ability set. He is not strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, or durable enough to beat Goku, but he is just enough of a threat for Goku to actually put his guard up, which is why K.H. Mickey would lose; Goku would see it as a fight, unlike with Kevin.

Crash Bandicoot

Crash isn't nearly powerful enough to be a threat to Goku, but he IS insane enough to push Goku to hostility. Goku would feel the need to put effort into getting him away and that is his downfall.

Hatsune Miku

Goku would assume she is a Red Ribbon android and fight her on assumption she's trying to kill him or bring harm to Earth. He would hit her full force expecting her to tank it and she would keel over dead instantly.

Wario

Everything he could possibly do, the Red Ribbon Army has tried and done better, and they've never beaten Goku. Neither would he.

Sans

Lost to a child with slightly above average human determination, and standard human strength and speed. He does not beat Goku.

And just because you specifically told me not to @ you, have this :)

@that-one-enby-onyx

[vampyr-ss]

baby | s. getou

wc: 1.2k

other: chat this was a random thought so it's unedited this is brainrot.

warnings: dark content (stepcest) + non con kinda sorta + mating press + daddy kink + 'angel' + infidelity + creampie + breeding kink + squirting + pussy slapping + slapping + subspace + smut under the cut babe

geto knew your pretty little cunt couldn't take the pounding he wanted to give you. he's watched you walk around the house in those tiny fucking shorts with no panties. he's watched you lean over to pick something up in just your thong and a big shirt--his shirt. he doesn't even remember lending you any of his shirts.

his marriage to your mother is on the rocks because she's cheating on him. he knows this, you know this, and you've always thought he was attractive. you didn't care that they got married when you were 19, you don't care that he's 20 years older than you. you want him. your mother doesn't deserve him.

geto isn't an idiot, he knows you've been trying to fuck him. he didn't 'let it happen', he plotted on it. he waited until your mom left for work. he waited until her car pulled out of the driveway before he found himself practically charging into your room. you were still laying down in bed on your phone, silently giggling at whatever was on the bright screen.

he hadn't cared before what you were laughing at, and he sure as hell doesn't care now. all he needed was to fuck your throat, fuck you, and watch his cum ooze out of every hole he could possibly fill. a very reasonable ask if you asked him.

"the fuck are you crying for?" geto asks you as he watches the tears spill from your eyes. his feet are steadily on the bed and your legs dangle over his shoulders. your ass hurts from the previous slaps he'd adorned it with, but nothing beats the pleasure that ripples through your body when he slaps you across your face. "da- suguru i'm sorry!"

he tuts at you and his thrusts only get stronger. he wraps his hand around your throat for more leverage, and at this point he's basically throwing his body weight into his thrusts. the way your pussy clenches around him has him thanking god for you, for this cunt, for this life. he hasn't had pussy like this in years.

"-too much! 's too much suguru i can't daddy please! i feel like-" you pause to catch your breath since his hand is tight around your neck. another sob racks your body when geto slaps you again, anger building in his body. "feel like what? you're the one who kept bending over in front of me. you kept wearing those slutty ass panties so i could see a preview of this cunt." you shake your head in an attempt to deny everything he's saying but the both of you know it's true.

your pussy clenches at the thought of him watching you bend over and thinking about it later. did he think about it while fucking your mom? did he wish it was you instead? "i'm sorry! i'm sorry daddy!" you're practically screaming your pleas and geto takes the time to shift his free hand to rub at your clit. he wishes he could fuck your ass and watch your pussy clench around nothing because you don't even deserve his dick.

"my slutty stepdaughter, what am i gonna do with you angel?" you shake your head to say that you're not a slut but before you can say anything a loud moan rips from your throat. "that's it sweet angel." he purrs. "take it. this is what you wanted right? for your stepdaddy to fuck this tight cunt?" he frees your throat to wait for your response.

he leans over so he's closer to you, pressing wet kisses along your neck. "admit it. my sweet angel's just a fucking slut." you clearly haven't found your voice again because you just nod. geto tastes the tears as they run from your cheeks to your neck. "admit it or you won't cum. i'll make sure you get to the edge and then i'll pull out. i know how desperate this pussy is. sloppy fuckin' cunt." his hand comes down on your pussy for extra measure, a wet squelch following the slap to your cunt.

"yes! i'm just your slut daddy, please let me cum. i need it so bad!" your hands find purchase on his back and your pretty acrylics dig deep into his back. geto can feel the skin break a little and the pain somehow fuels him into pounding your pussy further. he can feel his orgasm get closer and closer with each thrust and with your pretty moans and the tightest cunt he's ever felt aren't helping it either.

geto laughs at your begging and adjusts so he's face to face with you. he glances over your face, taking in how swollen your lips and eyes are. your face is somewhat red from him slapping your cheeks and somehow he's harder than before. "good girl," he pauses to grin widely, "maybe i'll fill this pussy up and give you a baby. you can't leave me then, huh? can't leave your daddy for one of these stupid fucking college boys."

you shake your head in protest, your hands pushing at the bottom of his stomach to get him out of you. "no! no, please! i can't- how- no!" geto understands your questions even if you don't get them out properly. "i don't care, you can just tell your mom one of those frat boys knocked you up. i'll take care of you, angel. i'll divorce your mom to marry this perfect pussy." you cry out as he finishes his sentence, shifting your hips away from his as the knot tightens as far as it can go.

"stop running, angel. take daddy's dick, yeah? go ahead. cum for me." you shake your head again, because you know when you cum he'll cum with you. he'll cum inside of you and make you a mother. that isn't something you can truly explain. geto sighs heavily from above you, gripping your cheeks in his hand. "cum so i can make you a mommy, baby. cum so i can see my cum ooze out of your perfect pussy."

despite wanting to fight it your body convulsed under his. you lean up to kiss geto, crying out against his lips to no avail. your stomach shifts and a new sense of euphoria floods your senses. your pussy twitches as you cum, fluids spurting out against geto's pelvis and onto the sheets under the two of you. geto grunts against your lips, chanting your name like an unanswered prayer. he barely gets another thrust in before he's coming deep inside of you.

he continues short sharp thrusts into you, forcing more cum out of you and your orgasm to prolong. your legs are shaking on his shoulders, but he doesn't care. he's praying that this takes so he can finally leave your bitch of a mother. "atta girl, wasn't so bad was it? you gonna have my baby, angel?"

defeated, you nod as your eyes flutter open. geto smiles down at you, a sweet sincere smile that almost makes you forget who he is. you almost forget that this is wrong and that you could be pregnant with your step-dad's baby. "yes, daddy. i can't wait." you purr softly, smiling dreamily up at him before he kisses you softly.

[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 3)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, canon typical violence (mostly all off screen), descriptions of dead/dismembered bodies, reader is injured (leg injury and slapped), the kidnapper emotionally manipulates the reader, on page murder. Author's note: Thank you so much for all the support it's been crazy!!! This chapter is a bit intense, I'm not going to lie. We just need to hold hands and get through this. But I swear, the next part of this will be sooo tooth rottingly sweet. It's so long that I actually had to make this five parts lmao. I could not stop with the comfort and softness. ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know. If I forgot someone I'm so sorry!!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o  @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @movieat @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @amararoseblog @harryshousewhore

The first thing I felt was rough rope as it scraped against my skin. I worked my eyes open, the task feeling too great. I was strapped to an old chair. Nausea swirled in my head as I tried to take in my surroundings. It was a plain, nondescript gray room. The walls were concrete. In the middle of the room, directly in front of me, was a large iron door. It looked like something you would find in a bomb shelter. Around my chair were shafts of moonlight provided by a skylight above. There was a bite in the air that made me shiver. My breathing was uneven as I weakly struggled against the ropes. 

“I see you’re awake. Wonderful.” The man with ice cold eyes appeared from the corner of my vision, a folder in his hand. “I don’t want to waste either of our time.” He lugged a metal chair in front of me and I cringed at the horrible screech as it echoed around the room. “Where is Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett?” I blinked, my brain foggy. 

“I don't know who those people are.” The man tsked. There was a flash of anger across his calm face before it was replaced by cool indifference. 

“Bullshit, we see you coming in and out of their apartment.” My stomach churned, either from whatever they shot me with or from the creeping anxiety.

“Oh you mean Al’s roommates? I work for social services for her. I don’t know anything about them.” The man grinned. It was vicious and predatory. 

“You are a bad liar.”He sat on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Why do we have photos of you with both men? What? One not enough for you?” He flicked open the folder and pulled out two pictures. One was of Logan and I on the fire escape. It had been captured at the perfect moment to have clear shots of our profiles in it. The other was of Wade and I at the bar. No, not just the bar, the bathroom. I was half exposed, Wade’s face against my bare breast. The woman who interrupted us had worked for him. Now I was actually going to throw up. I had been followed for months at this point. “Now, I’m going to ask again. Where are they?” 

“They don’t tell me about their jobs, I swear. Please just let me go.” The man shook his head with a hum, sounding like a disappointed teacher, sliding the photos back into the folder. 

“I’ll leave you here for a couple days, see if that jogs your memory.” Days? 

“Wait no! Please!” But he had already disappeared through the metal door. In the doorway, I saw a woman waiting. I blinked in shock. The woman, the one from the dingy bar bathroom. She was the one who had taken our picture.  My kidnapper nodded at her before the heavy door thudded shut. Days did pass, the skylight allowing me to count by the motion of the sun. My body soon grew stiff and achy as I sat on the chair. I wanted to sleep, anything to pass the time, but I wasn’t able to calm my mind enough. The shadow of the woman never moved from the small window. I could feel her watching me, my arm hair standing up at the feeling. To distract myself, I thought of Wade and Logan, of them bursting in here and rescuing me in a blaze of glory. But as the days bled into one another, hope started to fade. 

The man reappeared after four days. He removed the chair from in front of me, opting to just stand. “Have you thought about your answer?” 

“I don’t know where they are.” It was the truth. They didn’t give me any information about their jobs. They could be on Everest for all I knew. 

“I don’t believe you!” He began to pace, wearing a line into the concrete floor. 

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, it’s the truth.” He rushed at me suddenly, fingers digging brutally into my cheeks as he gripped me. My fists clenched as I forced myself not to jerk away. 

“Stop bullshitting me,” his voice was a venomous hiss. “Tell me now.”

“Do you not understand me?” My voice had lowered too, anger boiling inside me. “Get it through your fucking head that I. Don’t. Know. You are wasting your time. Let me go. Do it before they find me here. They’ll kill you before you can even try to fight back.” 

“Oh is that right?” I knew he was toying with me, but I fell stupidly into his trap anyways. I was angry and tired and so fucking scared. My brain was barely functioning. 

“Wade’s gonna make a necklace of your intestines.” 

The slap made a stomach churning crack. My mouth filled instantly with blood from my split lip. My cheek throbbed in the aftershocks. Tears pooled and trickled down my pulsating cheek. Another thunderous slap caught my other side. Blood splattered across my sweats. It was so hot, it practically burned through to my skin. 

“What a shame.” His hand wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back, neck stretched too far. The warm blood rushed down my throat and I gagged. “You had such a pretty face. I see why those two kept you around. It’s so nice to have some stress relief. But it seems that they’ve moved on to a better piece of meat now.” He winced when I spat at him, the saliva and blood sticking to his cheek. He touched it like he couldn’t believe it, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb. 

“When they get here they’re gonna eat you fucking alive!!” His face twisted in rage. His grip tore at my hair as he ripped my head to the side. Something pricked my neck, cool liquid rushing through my veins. My vision began to fog, body feeling too dense, brain going fuzzy. 

“Sleep well.” 

It had been days. 

I watched the sun beams make their slow progression across the dusty floor, only to be replaced by the darkness of night. My face still stung and my lip kept dripping blood. I called to the woman who was still standing there, hoping that she would take mercy and help me. But I might as well have been shouting at the wall. No one came. No one helped. All I could do was wallow in my pain and loneliness. Maybe they had really abandoned me. What was I to them anyways? Exactly what he said, stress relief. Nothing more than a convenient body. Something to pass the time. If I was worth anything, they would have been here.

My eyes had just slipped shut, head lolling to my shoulder, when the door opened. “Good morning!” It was him. My shoulders slumped, hoping I could just ignore him, that he was just some hallucination. “Your saviors haven’t appeared. So we have come up with a solution.” I opened my bleary eyes when I heard the chair in front of me creak. He clutched my phone in one hand and a wickedly sharp knife in the other. He swiped my phone open before clicking on the screen. I could hear ringing and then someone picked it up on the second one. My eyes were fixated on the knife as he flipped it, catching the hilt each time. 

“Baby cakes?! Where are you? What happened?” Wade’s voice was horrifyingly panicked. 

“Aw baby cakes?” The tip of his knife traced my cheekbone and I held my breath, hoping I wouldn't flinch and cut myself. “What a cute name.” 

“It’s not as cute when you say it,” I grumbled. My voice was thick through my swollen lip. 

“What happened? Why do you sound like you have cotton in your mouth?” The man pinched my busted lip, fresh blood bursting forward, and I whined in pain. My nails bit into my palms. Over the line, I heard a growl, letting me know Logan was also listening in. 

“Sometimes I just don’t know how to handle myself around such a pretty lady.” Wade let off a string of choice swears and Logan snarled. “She has such a naughty mouth. I see why you keep her around. But it seems you’ve left her for good, huh? She won’t be too pretty once I’m done with her.” 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” Logan was spitting in rage. “If you do I swear I’ll rip that worm you call a dick and ram it down your throat.” I smiled despite myself, something warm unfurling in my chest. They were still trying to find me. After over a week, they were still hunting. 

“I told you,” I hissed, “they are going to eat you alive.” 

There was a split moment where I knew I had fucked up. His eyes snapped to me, lips pulled back in a horrifying smile.

Then the knife flashed.

The pain in my leg was indescribable. I thrashed, desperate to escape the blade stuck through my thigh. I knew I was screaming but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding in my ears. Fresh blood from my lip and tears traveled down my chin. More blood pooled under my thigh, soaking into my ruined pants. I was only faintly aware that others were shouting and someone was laughing. 

His hand hammered the knife in deeper, the wood seat cracking under me, the hilt flush with my leg. I wailed, pleading sobs of mercy clogging my throat. “Stop moving so much.” There was more shouting. My head knocked against the back of my chair. The corners of my vision grew dark. “Do you want to say goodbye? Who knows if you’ll make it to see them.” All I could do was weakly whimper. “She seems preoccupied. I’ll see you two soon.” He tapped my face, the force just under another slap. “You sound so nice screaming. Maybe I will actually keep you around.” 

He left me like this, bleeding, trembling, pinned to the chair like a piece of meat. More days passed and the bleeding didn’t stop. It wasn’t normal. I should have died like this. Cold was lingering on my skin and small shivers racked my body. My bare feet had long gone numb. Someone, my foggy vision only registered them as a blob of white, entered the room. They carefully removed the knife and then eased me out of my pants. They methodically stitched my skin together, the haze of shock covered the pain of the stitches. Once a thick white bandage covered the wound, they turned and left. 

On the fourteenth day, I heard shouting. Then gunshots. My head jerked from where I had been sleeping. Panic spiked. I needed to run. “Fuck,” I mumbled, looking around desperately for something, anything, to save me. The room was mostly bare besides a table against the opposite wall. Then I saw it. 

The knife. 

I tried to wiggle closer, but failed to move an inch. “Fuck,” I repeated, desperate now. More shouting and gunshots, closer this time. The more I fidgeted, the more of the seat fell away from under me. Think think think. I continued to sway, lifting the chair onto its sides before it cracked against the floor as it fell. Then I heard a splinter in one of the legs. I took a breath to steel myself before I tipped myself completely over. I nearly sobbed in relief when the chair leg connected to my uninjured leg was the one that snapped off. I awkwardly propelled myself across the scratchy ground, the exposed skin on my left side becoming ragged. The rope on my left wrist began to fray, just enough that when I got to the table, I was able to yank my hand off and reach blindly for the knife. The blade caught my palm but I gripped it tightly, ignoring the bite of pain. 

I made quick work of my other binds, the knife almost slipping from my wet grip, and rose to my freezing feet. My injured leg protested instantly, nearly giving out when I put weight down. But I had to run, had to escape. I limped toward the door, and looked through the small window. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard screaming. I had to yank hard on the door to get it open. There was a dead end to the right and a long twisty hallway to my left. I took a few tentative steps out. When no alarm sounded, I sprinted. 

The stitches in my thigh ripped right away. I couldn’t think about the pain. Only escape. I clutched my stolen knife close and ducked into any small nook I could when I heard people thundering by. I should have followed them, maybe found an exit, but the squelching sounds of limbs being severed launched me forward. I turned left, left, right, middle at a fork, up a flight of stairs. I was hopelessly lost but all I could think of was escape, running on pure instinct to find it.  

The smell of blood hit me first as I turned a corner. Body parts were strewn across the wide room. Intestines dangled from the ceiling beams. Heads, half crushed, lolled away from their torsos. I wretched, nothing came up besides bile. But I could see outside through large bay windows. My legs were like water under me as I moved to the door. I stepped on an eyeball, the firm jelly bursting between my toes. Just keep going. My head was swimming, nausea from the gore around me mingling with the searing pain in my leg. 

I collapsed. I could barely feel the pain as my hands slammed down on broken glass. Then I heard two men’s voices. I scrambled to hide behind a stack of boxes, jamming my sore body into the smallest crack I could find. “I know she’s in here, can smell her.” My knuckles turned white around the knife. My breath was weak, I had lost too much blood. 

“Could you maybe sound less like a pervy vampire?” I heard boots lightly hitting the floor as they spread out. “Do you think this scared her?” He sounded timid, maybe even a little afraid. The first man laughed. 

“What do you think? You pulled this guy’s entire spine out! Of course she’s fucking scared!” The shout made me jump, huddling deeper into my hiding spot. “Fucking idiot.” A pair of red boots passed my hiding spot, then planted back in front of me. I sucked in a breath as fear rippled through me. My eyes closed tight.

“Hey,” the voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “There you are.” I was so on edge, so terrified, that the hand with the knife whipped out on pure impulse. The tip pushed through something firm, before that gave way to softness. It sunk deep, blood rapidly flowing over my hand. I couldn’t open my eyes. I had attacked someone and they were bleeding all over me. My victim barely made a noise when I stabbed them. 

“You can let go of the knife, you're okay.” A hand caressed my face and my teeth sunk into the leather glove, jaw latched tight. I felt like a cornered animal, ready to tear into anything that came near. “Sweetheart,” the name, the voice, pulled me back. I released the hand and opened my blurry eyes. Logan and Wade were squatted down in front of me. Their faces were covered but I recognized the suits. 

My knife was stuck through Wade’s neck. 

“Wade,” my voice shattered, tears welling. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see it was you.” He pulled the blade out with a little grunt. There was a hole straight through his throat. My stomach churned again but I held it back. The muscles and tendons laced together rapidly before the skin closed over it completely. 

“Don’t apologize. I said the height of romance was stabbing, didn't I?” Logan reached out again and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. A frown drew down his lips when he saw the bruises on my cheeks. “What do you say we get you out of here, yeah? I don’t think extreme violence is really your scene.” 

Logan was examining my leg the best he could without touching me. I could hear him sniffing as he leaned closer. “We need to take her to a doctor. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“They stitched me up but I think all of them have ripped now.” My head felt so heavy. “My fingers are cold…is that normal?” 

“We have to carry you out, is that okay?” As Logan asked, Wade was already reaching for me. He scooped me into his arms and clutched me tight to him. I hissed as my thigh stretched, head falling heavily against Wade’s chest. Logan walked beside us and I reached blindly for his hand. He gave it a small kiss, but didn’t hold it. 

After two weeks, I was safe. 

I was safe. 

But we had to get out of this building first. Logan walked a head to peer down corners before signaling we could move forward. Wade moved slowly, keeping a firm hold on me. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet. I felt limp and weak in his arms, ready to sink into sleep as soon as I could. To keep myself conscious, I tried to remember all our turns, but it felt like there was an impossible amount. There was a round of clicking and the shuffle of feet as we rounded a corner. 

“Ah shit.” 

“Fuck.” 

My sore eyes opened to find rows and rows of armed men. In front of them was him. There was a cruel smile on his face as he took me in. The woman was tucked behind him, her eyes pinned on me. “I see you pulled your stitches. You should have waited for me to get you instead of trying to run off on your own.” Logan snarled as his claws extended. 

“Listen here bub. I don’t make idle threats. So best believe I’m going to follow through with skinning you alive.” Wade moved suddenly, his back to the men. He moved far quicker than he had before. I heard men readjusting their guns, their anxiousness clear.

“And where are you going Mister Wilson?” 

“First off, Mister Wilson is my father.” I groaned as Wade placed me on the hard concrete floor, safely tucked behind a stack of boxes. He stood, “you can call me Marvel Jesus.” I watched with an unfocused gaze as his hand snapped open a holster and handed me the gun that it held. “Just dropping off special cargo.” I took it, my hands shook at the light weight. There was a flash of gold along the black metal but my hazy brain couldn’t make out the text. I carefully tucked it under my leg to hide it from view. Once that was done, Wade traveled back to Logan’s side. “What do you say darling?”

“Let’s fucking go.” My hands slapped over my ears at the thunderous noise of all those guns firing. I was desperate to drown out the screams, the wet slap of limbs falling to the floor. My first instinct was to take deep, calming breaths, but my nose was too full of the scent of iron. The time stretched, the fight going for hours. 

Just as a sense of shaky calm fell over me, hands grabbed me. I recoiled instantly. “Don’t be difficult.” It was him. He was trying to pick me up, trying to move me. But my body was dead weight and he struggled to lift me. Something cool pressed under my thigh. 

Now don’t be afraid of it. If you show fear around guns, you’ll end up shooting yourself in the foot. 

Okay, see this little switch? No, not me you insatiable minx. This. Get a feel for it. If you are ever in danger you have to know where it is right away. 

He was distracted, watching something over the boxes next to me, his arms suspended in mid air. A female scream cut through the rest of the deep shouts. That rush of time, the feeling that wasn’t easy to explain, snapped. I blinked in confusion. With the man’s focus somewhere else, I put every ounce of concentration into my hands, willing them to stay still, as I lifted the gun. I found the safety and flicked it back.

Now don’t get any big action hero dreams of just pulling this trigger and letting bullets fly. It requires a lot of force, so you have to pull the hammer back first. Make sure you hold it with both hands, okay? Last thing you need is a concussion from it flying back and hitting you in the head. 

My sweaty thumb slipped from the hammer. The movement seemed to catch the man’s attention. There was a split moment where neither of us moved. Then, as if in slow motion, he reached for his own gun. I raised mine and pressed the barrel to his forehead. Both of my index fingers wrapped around the trigger. I squeezed with every ounce of strength I had left. 

You can’t look away, pumpkin. 

You gotta make sure anyone who is trying to hurt you is dead. 

I didn’t. 

One second his head was there, eyes bulging in fear. The next, just a cloud of red remained. Squishy chunks of brain, shards of skull, and a splatter of blood went everywhere. It was in my mouth, in my hair, across my bare legs. All sound died and was replaced by a dull ringing. His body slumped before it fell. I stared at it, dark red spluttering from the exposed veins of his neck, the liquid pooling on the floor. The concrete was quick to drink it up. Logan was the first to appear at my feet. He took me in, his face unreadable under his mask. I saw his mouth move but it was jumbled, words half broken. I shook my head, tapping my ears. It was like a dial slowly moving up on the radio. The sound of bullet casings hitting the ground, screams of pain, the thud of bodies. 

“You alright?” Logan sounded panicked, his loud gruff voice cutting through the renewed sound. I nodded. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t worry sweetheart.” I nodded again. There was one last shout of agony before silence fell again. Logan maneuvered the dead man off me, throwing the body carelessly away. He slipped the gun from my sticky hands before hoisting me into his arms. I buried my face in his neck, taking in his scent. Sweet, earthy, the tang of sweat. 

“We got you. I got you, sweetheart. Always will.” 

[writingwithciara]

aggravations -nico hischier-

summary: after a particularly tough game, nico comes home and accidentally lets his frustrations out on his roommate, shifting their relationship in the worst way

word count: 3.3k

pairing: nico hischier x roommate reader, jesper bratt x best friend reader

notes: had this idea written down in a notebook for a long time. i can't believe nico is injured now 🥺 also i couldn't decide which gif to use so i chose all 3 because he's too cute 😍😊

y/n watched the devils game on the edge of her seat. she had gotten home from work just before the 2nd period started and she watched her best friend & his teammates play their hardest.

jesper took several shots on goal but only one made it in. he had tied the game just as the period was ending.

the third period was way more intense, however.

no shots were going past the goalie for either team and she could sense the frustration from each man. even through a television screen, it was easy to tell that jesper and nico were taking it the hardest. perhaps it was because she lived with nico and had known jesper her entire life basically.

she glanced at the image of the man that popped up on her screen. nico's stats so far that season had been impressive. but the broadcasters were comparing them to his performance on the ice & it wasn't good. and it wasn't fair to him.

things only got worse when the other team finally scored. y/n watched as the camera focused on nico's face. he wasn't mic'd up but she was an expert lip reader.

what the fuck was what he muttered. and it tugged at her heart as she watched the waves of frustration roll off him.

his frustration translated into his playing style and shortly before the end of the game, he got tripped and fell awkwardly. he had to be helped off the ice.

y/n watched as her best friend winced in pain while they helped him off the ice. she immediately got to work on setting up the apartment to cheer him up and help him feel better about the injury.

but the moment he walked in the door, everything fell apart. nico was more frustrated than he was at the game and whenever y/n would try to talk to him calmly or try to help with the injury, he would only get more upset. it culminated into chaos when he finally raised his voice and said the one thing y/n thought she'd never hear from him.

"god, i just can't stand having you here."

she was nearly speechless as she felt the tears prick her eyes. but she managed to get out a few strangled words. "screw you, nico."

"y/n, i didn't.."

but nico's apology fell on deaf ears. y/n was already in her room, grabbing a bag and throwing clothes into it. nico stood in her doorway.

"y/n, please." nico watched her every move and felt terrible. he never meant to say those words to her. he was frustrated beyond belief and instead of thanking her for her efforts, he screwed up.

y/n grabbed her bag and shoved past nico rather roughly.

"y/n where are you going?"

"none of your business, nico." y/n fought hard against her tears as she headed to the door.

"y/n please."

"no, nico. you don't get to say those things and act like i'm the one who hurt you." she grabbed the handle and took one last look at nico before slamming it in his face.

she got in her car and let the tears finally fall. she didn't know where she was going but she needed to put distance between herself and the apartment.

so, she drove. she didn't care what time it was. she just drove. by the time 7 am rolled around, y/n was wide awake and still in her car. she turned off the 'do not disturb' feature on her phone and stared at her screen as the texts from nico came through. mostly generic apologies.

i'm sorry please come home i'm really sorry i didn't mean it where are you? are you safe? if you won't come home, please tell me you're safe i don't know what i'd do if something bad happened to you seriously, please text me even if it's to say you hate me, which i deserve please

even though she was upset as his words replayed in her head, she couldn't help but feel bad.

instead of replying to his text, she checked the one from jesper.

hey. nico just called and told me what happened. please tell me you're alright

she hit the call button and he answered before it rang a second time.

"y/n, are you okay?"

"physically, yes. but i've been up all night just driving around town and i'm exhausted. plus, my heart feels like it's been blown up or something." she sniffled and wiped her eyes.

"you know you're welcome to come by and get some rest here. i won't tell nico."

"i should probably get some rest, huh?" y/n started her car and connected her phone to the bluetooth. "thanks, bratter. i'll be by in a few minutes."

"i'll have the guest room set up for you."

"greatly appreciated." y/n sighed and drove to her best friends house. when she arrived, jesper handed her a cup of coffee and let her take her time as she rested in the guest room.

a few hours later, y/n woke up and ventured back into the living room. jesper was waiting for her.

"hey. how are you feeling?" he asked as she sat down.

"a little better. i'm rested but i'm still incredibly hurt."

"that's understandable. nico told me he snapped at you but he didn't tell me what was said."

"after the game," y/n sighed. "he came home and i was trying to cheer him up. figured he could use it. but he got even more frustrated and said that he couldn't stand having me there."

"he seriously said that?" jesper's eye widened. "y/n, i'm so sorry."

"you don't need to apologize. it's not your fault, jesper." she looked at her friend. "maybe it's mine. maybe i pushed it a little too far."

"no. you definitely didn't do anything wrong, y/n. and i'm sure nico feels the same way. we had a bad game last night and i'm positive he didn't mean to take it out on you. that man adores living with you."

"i'm sure he does. but i need time away from him. to clear my head, and whatnot."

"that's understandable. and you're more than welcome to stay here. the guest room is yours."

"i appreciate it jesper." y/n stood up. "you guys have an away game soon, don't you?"

"yeah. 2 days in florida then we're back here."

"okay. that might be enough time to clear my head." she nodded and headed into the guest room.

2 days later, as jesper was getting ready to head to florida, he stopped by y/n's room to check on her.

"hey. are you sure you'll be okay here until i get back this weekend?"

"i'll be fine, jesper." y/n smiled. "you're going to crush it in florida. guaranteed. tampa and florida won't stand a chance."

"no they will not." he chuckled. "i'll be back saturday night."

"looking forward to it."

while he was away, y/n watched both games on the tv. nico was not playing to his strengths and while it wasn't hurting the team, she could tell it was messing with him.

and she wanted nothing more than to be there for him. she just couldn't bring herself to forget what he had said to her. it was still a sore spot for her to even think about.

when the last game was over, tampa had completely shut out the devils. y/n had to turn the tv off before they did the post-game interview with nico. she couldn't listen to him beat himself up over their loss.

on saturday night, jesper walked through the front door, waking y/n. she had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room just over an hour prior to his return.

"oh shit. i didn't mean to wake you."

"it's alright." y/n got up and followed jesper into the kitchen. "i watched the games."

"i'm sorry."

"i should be the one saying sorry to you. you guys tried your best out there. but both of the florida teams are brutal. you guys fought a good fight."

"not as good as we normally do." jesper ran a hand through his hair and looked at y/n. "nico is blaming himself for the loss."

"i figured he would be." she sighed. "it's not his fault though. you guys are a team. you win together and you lose together. the blame should never fall on one specific player."

"i know. but try telling him that. he thinks just because he's our captain that he's supposed to carry the weight of it all when we end up sucking."

"i would tell him. but i'm still mad at him. for everything."

"well if it's any consolation, he's suffering. bad."

"good." y/n straightened herself up and looked at jesper for a second. "i'm going back tomorrow to get my stuff. and i'm gonna take it to a storage facility & i'm going to tell nico that i'm moving out."

"y/n, you know that's going to crush him." jesper shook his head. "you and i both know what happened last time someone broke his heart."

"i'm not breaking his heart, j. maybe we've just grown apart over the last few weeks and he's finally had enough." y/n shrugged.

"i can see i'm not going to be able to convince you of anything regarding nico. so i feel like i should end this conversation by telling you that you're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

"thanks, jesper. i'll see you in the morning." /n patted his shoulder and went to her room. she was out like a light.

the next day, y/n drove slowly to nico's apartment. she was procrastinating and she hated it. it meant that the longer she put it off, the more likely she'd be to move back in with nico. and she was sure that he wouldn't want that happening.

she climbed out of her car and rode the elevator to the right floor and stood in front of the door, unsure if she should knock or walk in. after debating with herself for 2 minutes, she decided to just use her key.

as she entered the front hallway, she surveyed the room. it was quiet. which meant nico wasn't home. she already knew that, seeing as how jesper had informed her of an afternoon skate for the team. and that was why she decided now was the perfect time to get her stuff.

unfortunately, time was not on her side.

just as she was packing up a third box, the front door opened and footsteps approached her bedroom door. she looked up to see nico standing in the doorway.

"you're back."

"just packing up my stuff, nico."

it was then that he finally glanced around the room, taking in all the boxes and the mess on her bed.

"you're leaving?"

"i have to." she stood up and stacked the box onto the others. "i'm taking most of my stuff to a storage unit until i get my own place & i'll be officially out of your hair by friday at the latest."

"i don't want you to go, y/n."

"i don't really have much of a choice, seeing as how you can't stand me being here." y/n brushed by him while she headed to the kitchen.

"come on. you know i didn't mean that."

"it sure seemed like you did." y/n sighed and turned to face him, recognizing for the first time, the tears welling up in his eyes.

"i didn't." he reached out for her but she moved back. "uh, where will you be staying?"

"with a friend. you don't know her. she's from work."

"okay. as long as you're safe, i guess." he ran a hand through his hair. it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he loved her. "y/n?"

"what?"

"um, nothing. it's not important."

"okay then." she grabbed her favorite mug and headed to the front door. "goodbye, nico."

"goodbye." he muttered to the closed door. he was 2 seconds too late.

the next 2 weeks were harder than ever for nico. and in turn, they were also harder for the team. it was hard on jesper too because he was stuck watching his two best friends slowly shut themselves down.

he couldn't stand it anymore. so after a huge shutout, with the opposing team winning 6-0, jesper walked into y/n's room without knocking.

"dude, what the hell? ever heard of knocking? i could've been naked."

"i really don't care." his tone came out a little more harsh than he intended it to. "i'm sorry. didn't mean to sound rude there." he sighed. "look, you and nico are not children, y/n. but with the way you two are acting, it would sure seem like you were."

"well what do you expect me to do? my best friend decided that after one bad game, he was gonna come home and rip my heart out. and he did it so easily too. that's what hurts the most. like it was building up for years and he was just looking for an excuse to let it out."

"he didn't mean it and you know it. plus, he's apologized so many times. and i'm really tired of you two agonizing over what happened. and nico hates himself for than ever. isn't that good enough for you?" jesper looked at her. "you haven't been to one of our home games in a long time. can you please come to tomorrow night's game?"

"i don't know, jesper. what's in it for me?"

"a happy best friend and 2 weeks of me waiting on you, hand and foot?"

"fine. but it's for you and you only. that means you gotta play your ass off."

"for you? anything." y/n smiled and jesper walked out into the hallway.

the next night, y/n found herself in the stands, watching as jesper passed a shot to nico. he hesitated for a second but it was enough for him to calculate the shot. he took it closer to the net and sent it flying past boston's goalie.

2 minutes later, nico was passing to timo. he also ended up scoring.

2-0 new jersey.

by the end of 2nd period, the score had jumped to 4-0, with 2 assists and a goal from nico.

during the jumbotron flashed each players headshot along with their selected photo. jesper's popped up and it showed him smiling with his team and y/n.

when nico's picture came up, y/n felt her walls breaking down. the picture nico had selected was one of the two of them. he had his arm around y/n and while she was smiling at the camera, nico's eyes were glued to her. he was even sporting the wide smile that prominently showed off his dimples.

her heart melted as she averted her eyes and fiddled with the hem of the jersey she was wearing. it was a hischier jersey and she had been hesitant to put it on before the game. but now it was making her feel warm inside.

as the boys took to the ice for the final period, y/n's eyes instantly glued to nico. she couldn't take her eyes off of him even if she tried. he was her sole focus now. and she loved it.

by the time the game was over, new jersey had shutout the other team 7-0. it was a monumental win and y/n knew they'd be excited so she hurried down to where the girlfriends and families usually were and waited for nico and jesper. as she waited, she chatted with jack's mom, ellen, who had traveled to come see her boys play.

she had her back turned towards the locker room doors when nico walked out. but he knew it was her. he was shocked and pleased she was not only at the game, but wearing a jersey with his name across the back.

he watched as ellen made a gesture and y/n turned around. when their eyes met, nico couldn't stop himself from propelling forward and yanking her in for a hug. he didn't care that she was still mad at him. he needed this more than he thought.

and when she hugged him back just as tight, he glanced down at her.

"you're here." he whispered, as if he was still in disbelief. "you're actually here."

"i know." she smiled. "i didn't want to come at first, but jesper's offer was too tempting to refuse."

"what offer?"

"that man is now my servant for 2 weeks, correct?" she glanced behind nico at the swede who just exited the locker room. he stopped in his tracks and smiled.

"that was the deal, wasn't it?" he chuckled. "wait, does that mean you're staying for 2 more weeks? because i think it'd be difficult to wait on you hand and foot if you're not under the same roof as me."

"you've been staying with jesper this whole time? how did i not piece that together?"

"because you're an idiot." jesper smiled. "but that's okay. we still love you anyway, nico." he patted his captain and walked away.

nico turned back to y/n & his smile began to fall as he came to a conclusion. "you guys aren't, like, hooking up....are you?"

"me and jesper? no. absolutely not, nico." y/n couldn't help but chuckle. and suddenly, she found the courage to tell nico what she recently discovered. "i love you, you idiot."

"well that's a relief." nico chuckled. "wait. me? you love me?"

"yes. i figured it out recently and once i realized how much my life sucked without talking to you every day, i noticed that it was why your outburst hurt way more than it should've. i got scared and after you said you couldn't stand me being there, i realize now that it was because there was no way you loved me too."

"that's not true. i do love you. and i didn't mean what i said." he looked at her. "after you left, actually while you were packing, i knew that it hurt you and i couldn't forgive myself. i wanted to reach out to you over and over again but i figured you needed your space so i stopped after the first night. i wanted you to have the space you needed. but i regret ever uttering those words. they were harsh and extremely uncalled for. we had a bad game but you didn't deserve the frustration and i am so, so sorry."

"nico, it's okay. it's part of your job."

"i never want to do that to you again." his large hands framed her face as he held her. "move back in with me, please? i'll take over jesper's servant duties if that's what it takes." he sighed. "please? i just need you close to me in whatever way you'll allow."

"okay." y/n smiled contently and nico wasted absolutely no time. he was eager to crash is lips to hers. it was everything he had ever dreamed of, and then some.

"i love you so much. it was unbearable being away from you."

"i love you too, neeks. and i'm here to stay."

"good. i'm glad to hear it."

jesper leaned against the wall, not far from his friends, and smiled. they were perfect together and he knew that more than anyone. thank god he was able to push them back together. suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

"wait, does that mean i don't have to be your servant anymore?!"

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

yes, ma'am

Dave York x dominatrix!reader | 9.5k w | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: life goes sideways and Dave is close to snapping. he needs professional help. aka let himself be dominated and be at the receiving end for once. good thing he has your number.

warnings: sub-ish!Dave (how sub can a born dom be?), dominatrix!reader, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied, Dave is a good husband and father™️, Molly throwing up, slight humiliation (the boy being called dummy <3), slight ball torture, (guided) masturbation (m), finger sucking, petnames (ma'am, good boy, love), cum eating, slight shoe worship, dick+pussy pronouns, reader wears lipstick, nail polish and stilettos, squint and you miss unprotected PinV; dm me if I missed any

a/n: my submission for @wannab-urs dmamc 2025. i had so much fun domming my man and I tried to make it believable because, well, he's Dave 'the dom' York. enjoy another character study including his dick. thank you @guiltyasdave for the beta and constant love, even though sub!Dave isn't your cup of tea 🥹💛

"Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time."

“Fuck!” His hand slams down on the steering wheel, once, twice. Again, again, again, until his palm hurts and the thrumming pain helps him to push aside the anger boiling inside of him. He rips down his beanie, ripping out a few hairs as well, not giving a shit about it.

He fucked up. If it wasn’t for his partner the mission would have gone south completely, pulling him along. The plan had been perfect, the preparations perfect as well. All he had to do was to pull the trigger and take the target out. But he fucking missed. He fucking missed. Hit the target into the shoulder, and if Dave’s partner didn’t take initiative and put a bullet through the target's head… He doesn’t want to think about it.

He already saw his domestic life passing before his eyes. The police arresting him at home, his daughters terrified and not understanding why they would take their daddy away. Carol at the trial, being questioned if she really didn’t know about her husband’s assassination side hustle, her face puffy and red from crying.

Dave hisses out another curse, hitting the hard wheel in front of him again.

He could always just disappear, always has an emergency duffle bag stowed away with fake IDs and some cash. But he wouldn't stomach it, couldn't stomach it, leaving his family behind.

It was a close call today… He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb, the tail lights of his inconspicuous car slowly blending in with the dozens of others on the nightly roads as he heads home to his inconspicuous life.

The next few days were difficult, to say the least. His higher up at the CIA was a pain in the ass, deadlines were piling up, Molly got sick and needed attention and care, Carol needed his support, the almost-failed mission was still breathing down his neck… He needed a break and there was no break in sight. Not now. His family needs him, his job does, he needs to fucking function now.

“Daddy, ‘m not feeling good,” Molly mumbles, curled up on the couch, her head in Dave’s lap while he’s working on a report on his laptop.

“Just a second, baby.” He’s almost done, he just needs a minute and the worst part of his report would be finished. Molly stirs on the couch, hastily now. God damnit.

“Daddy…” Her little body starts trembling and with a shudder and a sound that makes Dave’s heart hurt, she slumps over and pukes. All over his notes. Over his pants he had just picked up from the dry cleaning. All over the cream colored couch that Carol wanted so badly and that looks like shit now. All over his laptop. The screen flickers a last time before it goes dark.

“I'm so sorry… Please don't be mad, Daddy.” Molly starts crying, feeling sick and miserable, her little hands shaking as she grips her ruined blanket.

The vein on his neck, he feels it throbbing. His laptop, his fucking work laptop, broken. The sticky, disgusting warmth of what once was chicken soup seeps through his trousers and makes his eyelid twitch.

Just pick your baby up, just comfort her, just help her change into new pajamas, just be a good father, just be good…

“Daddy?” She sounds so fragile, her voice nothing more than a weak breath. She clumsily pushes herself up and accidentally nudges the laptop off of Dave’s knees. The carpet swallows the low thud when it hits the ground, but the cracking of the screen is still very much audible, just as much as Molly’s shocked gasp.

“You broke it. You fucking broke it, Molly,” Dave hisses and is on his feet in an instant, his daughter toppling back onto the couch, now crying even more because she upset her dad.

He doesn’t look over to her but picks up his laptop, trying to bring it back to life. The muscles in his jaw clench when Molly’s sobs start pealing in his eardrums. Dave turns towards her, a barked shut up already on his tongue when Carol appears in the doorway.

One quick look is enough for her to assess the situation. Their crying daughter, a picture of misery and guilt written all over her pale face and Dave, nostrils flared and one hand balled into a fist, the unmistakable smell of vomit reaching her nose… No, this wasn’t good.

“It'll take it from here, Dave,” she says when she strides past him. “Go and calm down.” There's no bite to her words, bite wouldn't do any good at this moment. It would only make it worse, make Dave lose the last bits of reason.

Carol scoops Molly up in her arms, pressing a few soothing kisses to the little girl’s temple. She looks over her shoulder and gestures towards the door with a tilt of her chin as if to say please, just go.

And he does. He flees from the living room and the feeling of shame that starts licking at his insides. It gets too much. A thought crosses his mind, a simple calculation, it has been almost ten months since…

A shiver runs through him and he shakes the idea off his mind like a dog tries to shake off an annoying tick. No, he wouldn't need to do it this time, there sure is another possibility to finally get a grip on his life. He just needs to focus more. Needs a better sleep regimen. More training. More protein. More control over all the small bits and pieces of his life.

Dave shuts the door to his home gym behind him and gets to work. If his muscles are trembling and his lungs are begging him for air, he has no time to think about what kind of an asshole father and husband he is. And so he starts tormenting his body to shut off his mind, to keep the guilt and shame at bay. For now.

That night, when he slips under the bed sheets, almost silently to not wake his sleeping wife, the idea creeps back into his head. Like a tick it has sunk its teeth into his skin and he can’t seem to get rid of it since the first time he has done… it.

It has helped him before, more than he likes to admit it. But he hates it. Because he cannot do it on his own. Because he needs someone else doing it for him, to him. And Dave never liked to be dependent on something or someone.

The sheets rustle and Carol’s hand finds his own, wrapping her fingers around his in the darkness as if she was trying to comfort him. But in reality she wanted his comfort and soothing. Dave wasn't a man who was dependent. Because he always was the man everyone else depended on.

He turns on his side and lifts her hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to Carol’s knuckles.

She hums, shuffles closer, her feet slipping between his calves. After a moment of content silence a murmur crawls over the pillows to Dave and settles right on his chest, where the thought about it sits and gnaws at him like a night terror.

“Maybe… maybe you should go see that therapist again? They really helped you the last time.”

Therapist. That was what he told his wife you were. And the things you did, it was therapy. It is, in a way. It helped him. And he hates that it does. He hates that he can’t function like he needs to. He hates that Carol sounds so timid when she suggests therapy, afraid that he could snap at her, too, because she dares to point out his weakness.

He sighs, her soft knuckles still held against his lips. “Is Molly okay?”

“She’s a little better, yes.”

The silence weighs heavy for a moment, Carol’s unanswered question pressing down on Dave’s rib cage. Or is it the feeling of guilt? About being a shit show of a father and husband? About needing you to function, even if it all feels so wrong but afterwards it always feels good and right and he feels better, every damn time?

“I'll make an appointment,” he murmurs and his lips find her ring finger, kissing the spot where the simple golden band always sits. She never takes the ring off, just like him. Carol nestles into his arms, the relief clear when she whispers her thank you, I love you into the hollow between his clavicles. God, he is such a failure, he thinks to himself with his wife in his arms and you in his mind.

You are completely booked out. Months ahead. Of course you are. There never is a shortage of people who want your services. Or to be exact, who need them. So when you received the request for an appointment “asap, ma'am”, signed by David York, you told him you were free again in three months. But then another customer canceled their session and because you like David, you give preference to him.

So a week and a half later you find yourself entering the bar of the Rosewood, one of the finest hotels of the city. Doors magically open because there’s always some finance or marketing guy holding them open for you. Each step with your pointy high heels parts the crowd in front of you and is paved with sleek smiles and licked lips of the men who move out of your way.

You pay them no mind, they only exist at the periphery of your focus. They are not important and will never be. What is important is your customer for this day. You recognize him, the way he sits at the bar, one foot on the footrest of the empty stool next to him, the other one firmly planted onto the ground. Just another pretty man in a suit, interchangeable for most who might look at him.

But for you he was different. A customer, first and foremost. A challenge, too. And he's probably the only man in this bar who is not doubling over to get a crumb of your attention. You had to work for what your customers usually give you gladly and freely: their acceptance and sometimes even devotion.

That is why you like Dave York, because working for him and with him is rewarding. It satisfies you to no end to finally turn his smoothness into something with cracks and weaknesses. And to have him thank you for it.

One of the many men in suits in this bar moves from his place on the outer borders of your attention into the spotlight and obscures the view on Dave. The guy looks you up and down, tries to smile a flirty smile but all you see is a pathetic obstacle. Your mouth already opens to tell him no to whatever suggestion he wants to make, when a big hand lands on the man's shoulder.

Thick fingers, blunt nails, a simple golden wedding band. You look past the surprised strangers face and find Dave, standing behind the man.

“Sorry buddy, not tonight,” Dave tells the man. For a moment they look at each other, like two wolves who found a piece of meat and now silently fight for ownership. Two alphas in suits. But only one of them is a wolf, the other one is just a dog.

“Not ever,” you add when you pass the stranger. The sting of your words gets soothed by your sweet smile, showing off your wolfish canines as you do. Your gaze meets Dave’s own. Two alphas looking at each other again, this time both are wolves.

You don't even bother to care about the other man who disappeared into insignificance as quickly as he had the guts to peek his head out of it. Your focus is solely on Dave now. He looks tired, frail even in the small details of his facial expression. He already looks cracked, maybe you wouldn’t have to work as hard as usual today.

“It has been a while.” You sit down at the bar and Dave gestures for the bartender. He always orders you a drink before you both go up to the booked suite. He never not acts according to the unspoken rules of those kinds of arrangements. He is polite and respectful, even if the air around him very much tastes like aversion. Not against you as a person or the work you do. The aversion is directed against himself and the fact that he was sitting in this bar with you and not at home with whoever was waiting there for him.

He nods his head. That would have to do as an answer. “The usual?” he asks instead when the bartender waits for the order.

“The usual,” you confirm and watch Dave order your vodka on ice. It is a nice change of pace, to not talk and to enjoy the silence, to stretch it like a fabric until it becomes see-through and the silent words between them become audible. Two wolves, dressed in white shirts and blouses, in polished shoes, mustering each other over the rims of their glasses. Sizing each other up.

You take a big sip of your vodka and set the glass down. There’s still a good portion of the booze left, but you need to keep a clear mind for what comes next.

“Are you done?”

Usually he obliges and leaves the rest of his drink on the counter, usually he wants to get over and done with it, with you, with himself. But tonight his need for some more liquid courage is bigger.

“Not yet, ma'am.” His legs spread a little more when he leans back on the barstool. Not in a sleazy manner, not to act like he is hung like a horse. No, taking up space comes naturally to him. And again he is respectful about it. He gives your crossed legs enough room between his thighs, almost like he acts as a buffer between the bustling bar and you.

A thought crosses your mind and makes you smile. He is protective, even though you mean nothing to him. You stretch out your leg, just enough to let the tip of your pointed stiletto brush against his shin. A silent praise for him being good.

Dave’s hand suddenly grabs your ankle, following his first impulse of inhibiting an unwanted touch. Your eyes snap up and meet his, your surprise showing in your raised brows. The grip of his fingers loosens immediately, like he touched something that he wasn’t allowed to, like a too hot cookie fresh from the baking tray.

“Finish your drink then.” A demand dressed up as a friendly request. You pull your foot away, Dave’s privilege of getting a feel for you is already over.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says lowly, just loud enough to be heard over the hustle and bustle of the bar. He swirls his drink in his glass and takes another look at you. You look like some partner in a law firm or some higher up shoving around numbers on paper and employees in meetings. Expensive clothes, expensive designer bags, expensive heels. He had seen them often enough to know that you only wear those 700$ pairs. You’re sleek, smooth, polished, with edges that look round and safe to touch but will cut through skin and flesh if you want to.

He takes a sip of his drink and watches you smile, the red lip stretching over your teeth. He feels a part of him getting excited, this one stupid part of himself, the part which constantly makes troubles. Some corner of his brain just loves this. And apparently needs it too, needs it to make him function as a person. This little part loves to make you smile. And he hates it.

You let him finish his drink, let him buy himself a few more minutes before you leave the bar and enter the grand and shiny hotel lobby. Having people move out of your way just by the way your heels click is satisfying. But having someone in front doing it for you is better. You watch Dave plowing through the lobby as he makes his way to the elevators. His ass looks cute, you think to yourself and enter the cabin with him.

He’s so well behaved for you, pressing the buttons, shielding you from the other guests and making sure you can stand comfortably without anyone standing too close to you, himself included, You smile at him again and for a moment one corner of his lips twitch. Good, that's good. He's responsive tonight.

Dave exits the elevator and struts through the long hallway, countless doors left and right until you reach the right one. A quiet beep when the key card opens the door, muffled footfall on the thick carpet and a discreet click when he closes and locks the door behind you both again. Another reason you love this hotel so much, beside the soft beds and high end shower products in the marble bathrooms: the soundproofing.

No matter how hard the stomp, how loud a scream, how sharp a smack, the walls of these rooms seem to swallow the noises and they are never sated. They drink down every word and whisper and always seem to want more. Like the people you work with.

“Tell me about your rules and limits tonight, David,” you say and look around the suite for a moment. You gesture for him to sit down on one of the plush chairs facing a full body mirror.

All you know about Dave is his name, his phone number and another number as an emergency contact. The rest is guesswork you did over the last months and years. The golden ring on his ring finger? He never takes it off. He's married or maybe widowed.

Dave takes off his jacket and hangs it over the backrest of the velvet chair. One time a little toy figurine fell out of his pocket when he took his jacket off. So there must be a child who he has a close enough relationship with for it to sneak little gifts into his pockets. This time nothing out of the ordinary happens. He simply follows your instructions and sits down.

“The same as always.” He lifts his hips again to tug his slacks down, just enough for them to not cut into his groin. “Nothing that leaves marks on me, no touching me between waist and knees, no restraints, no gagging, nothing enters my body, nothing leaves my body without my consent.”

Yeah, just like you thought. “So basically just talking. You know, you could have ‘just talking’ a lot cheaper, down at the bar for example.” You pull a chair for yourself closer to Dave, with the mirror diagonal behind it.

“I'm not here for just talking,” he says quietly with his eyes fixed on his knees.

“Oh I know, don't you worry.” You sit down now, your legs crossed over your knees and one of your high heels swaying in the air just between Dave's spread legs. “Next: safety. Repeat the rules for me, will you?”

He looks up at you and sighs. “We use the color system. Green means more, yellow means keeping the intensity, red means stop.” He likes the simplicity of this system, appreciates it at home, and loves the way Carol loses it whenever he keeps her on yellow for a little too long. But he doesn’t like to be the one using it himself.

“Good. What else means stop?” Your leg is slowly bouncing up and down and Dave's focus shifts to the pencil thin heel for a moment.

“The… the safeword. Helsinki.”

His eyes meet yours again. Dark ponds of raging brown, the storm behind them perfectly contained, for now. “And…?” you prompt, prodding him a little bit with the sweetness in your voice.

“And there's no shame in using my safeword. Or not using it if I'm… feeling good.” He almost chokes on the last words. There is shame in the whole situation, no matter how he looks at it. But you smile again and this one part of him is relieved. He did good, fuck.

“Good job, you remembered,” you praise and the shiny leather of your shoe ghosts along his calf. “Let's start then. No touching yourself or me and no talking unless I tell you to. Got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He never sounded less enthusiastic than now. His pretty mouth curves into the tiniest scowl and he looks a little more handsome like this. In another life you two could have a lot of fun. Real fun. Fucked up fun.

In another life you might kneel before him and beg for some peace of mind. He could be the therapy the therapist needs. But not in this life. Because in this he was the one needing peace of mind and you were the provider.

“Now, Dave, I want you to take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. Right into your eyes.”

He obeys. When he meets his own gaze through the mirror the scowl becomes more prominent. You will let him sit with his own thoughts for a minute or so. Enough time to recap your last sessions with him.

Pretty quickly into your business relationship with Dave you found out about his history with the military. No details really, you just knew that he had served for several years. Being degraded on a daily basis in your forming years does something to the brain. And it surely did something to Dave's brain because his tough outer layer cracked beautifully for you as soon as you called him a ‘weak fucking loser’.

And that was all that you did since then: humiliating him, watching him turn from the hard and controlled man into one who is struggling to loosen up and finally a man who spits out ‘Helsinki!’ and flees from the scene with a raging boner. He is the weirdest customer you have. Because his requests are so tame, so small scaled for what you could do and for what he could really take.

But all you had to do was calling him names and having him palm himself through his pants. You are not exactly complaining, he paid you as much as the guys who go the whole nine yards. Dave makes you work for your money though. It is a fight, every time.

You see it in his face, he is fighting right now, while he stares himself down through the mirror. A fight he can never win. His upper lip twitches, like he is going to growl at his own reflection any moment. Oh, it is clear as day to you, he really needs this session.

You might need to switch things up a bit, you want your customers satisfied after all. And the way he glares at himself tells you that he needs more today.

“What are you thinking, tell me.”

Your voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. It’s sweet like honey but also sticky. He knows that your mouth is a sugary trap. Every word and gesture and touch a carefully laid out crumb to lead him to where you want him: staring up at you, doing whatever it takes to get your sugar lips to smile at him.

A little nudge of your heel against his thigh. A little harder than it had to be to get his attention. He doesn’t like that he likes it.

“Whimp,” Dave says with heartfelt disdain.

“What else? And keep looking at yourself.” Your heel digs a little more into his thigh and you can feel the tremble of his muscle beneath his slacks. He sure was a runner, you think. Thick thighs look so pretty with a few streaks on them. But no, no marks. “You can tell me everything, you know?”

Dave swallows thickly, the soft velvet of your voice is making his throat tight. He's trapped, caged in between your shiny stilettos and your mouth. His thigh throbs against the thin heel.

He takes in his reflection, the man in power, in slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, in polished shoes. A high heel prodding him. His fingers clutching the armrests. His face tight and sour. His wedding ring glinting.

“Cheater.”

You hum, pleased with his answer and gracing him with a small smile in return. So he is in a relationship. Good, this would make it easier. For you.

Your foot moves, the pointy heel being exchanged with the flat of the sole, pressed against his inner thigh. You drag it up the seam, just a little bit.

This is breaking the ‘no touching’ rule. And yet, he endures, fighting his silent internal fight.

Interesting.

“What’s your color, love?” You tilt your head to the side, enjoying how Dave’s nostrils flare at your audacity. He is defying the sweetness of your words. But he wants more of the stickiness. Just a little bit. It won’t hurt, right?

“Green,” he grits out. Fucking whimp, cheater, loser, failure, he tells himself silently through the mirror. Your sole moves higher now, the pointy tip already indicating towards your final destination.

Green. He wants more, he will get more. Your shoe slides higher and leaves a trail of dusty dirt on his clean pants. He will hate that, you know he will, because you would be pissed off, too.

“Are you not embarrassed, Dave? Sitting here, paying money for this? What would she say, if she knew?”

His eyes snap from the mirror to you, the corner of his lips move into another scowl. The wolf would be baring his teeth soon.

You tap the sole of your shoe against his crotch, just enough for a little sting that lets him jump slightly. Dave looks at you, stunned. Such a pretty sight.

“Oh what's with the attitude now? Did I say you could look at me?” You smile at him, the tip of your tongue running along the edges of your teeth. “Do you think you deserve it, looking at me, dummy?”

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, ready to protest, to call this off, ready to show you your place. But the only thing leaving his throat is a choked sound. Probably because you keep rubbing your foot into his groin, pushing into the not-so-soft-anymore softness.

“Eyes back on the mirror.” Another quick rap, sole meeting joined seams, another jolt and, oh yes, a moan, finally. The walls with their expensive satin tapestry greedily drink down the throaty sound. “Now.”

Your command has nothing of the powdered sugar quality anymore and he obeys. Who even is he, he wonders for a moment of clarity when he meets his own eyes through the mirror again. A stupid man, growing hard under the shoe of a stranger, a stupid man with a loving wife at home. A stupid man with guns hidden all over town. Growing hard.

He looks into the mirror, feeling detached from his own reality. He watches the shiny shoe move between the thighs of this man in the mirror, he sees the stomach of the man tense under his dress shirt, he notices how the man's mouth opens. He hears him groan, this man who looks like himself.

“God, are you seriously turned on by this? That's embarrassing. No wonder you pay me for it instead of getting it at home.” You love being mean for money and you love how Dave writhes beneath your high heel and squirms under your gaze. “Do you like this? Answer me, dummy.”

“Yes.” You only get a single hissed word as an answer. Adorable.

“Yes what?” you hiss back, applying a little more pressure to the bulge showing so beautifully.

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarls now. The wolf is showing his teeth and you're gonna pull one out. You are the only one allowed to bite in this arrangement.

“Christ, do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?” Your foot drops lower, right over the tight little package nestled under the thick, elongated dick outline. The pointy shoe tip slowly pokes into the squishy warmth of Dave’s clothed balls. His breath hitches. “Yes, ma'am, what?” you prompt him, the sugar returning to your words.

“I… I like this, ma'am.” His eyes are still glued to the picture in the mirror and he seems to register that this is him. The visual of an expensive high heel pressing against balls matches the thrumming, stingy feeling of pain in his own slacks. And another thing belongs to him, besides the pain. The jumping hard-on, right above this damned shoe.

He swallows thickly, his blunt nails digging into the velvet of the armrests. “Fuck. I like it,” he stutters, staring at his face, like he is seeing himself for the first time. Like he recognizes himself. His stormy eyes become a little calmer, the silent internal fight becoming more quiet.

“There we go. Good job.” You pull your foot away from him and lean closer, elbows to knees, one finger coming up to his chin. He just now notices that your nail polish matches your lipstick. The color would look good around his dick. In another life.

“Look at me,” you croon, laying out your trap for him again. The pad of your finger so warm and gentle under his chin, guiding his eyes to yours. You're smiling, red stretching over white, he did good and his cock throbs against the zipper. He’s wagging his tail for you.

“Good boy.” You lean closer and he can smell your perfume, the mint and vodka on your breath, your amber-scented dominance tinted in black and scarlet. The sweetness of your praise coats his tongue and he swallows it down, to make it a part of him. A little secret part on the inside only he knows about. 

“Color?” Soft, alluring, a trap made for him to curl up in.

He takes a moment to think, but not too much. The thinking part of his brain was already beginning to shut down. “Green,” he rasps with his eyes fixed on the way your eyebrows dance when you smile again.

“Good. Now, I have a question for you.” Your thumb rubs against his chin, just enough to feel the day worth of scruff beneath the digit. “Will you take your cock out for me? Let me see him?”

Gentle eyes, soft words, tender chin scratches. You have his tail wagging. Slowly, slowly you are domesticating him into a dog, one praise at a time.

Dave nods his head. There’s no harm in showing his dick. That doesn't make him a cheater, he tells himself. Maybe he could make you smile again, he knows he has a good cock. Good balls too. Maybe you could squish them again. Just a little bit.

“That's a good boy. Show him to me. Show me how hard I make you.” You lean back in your chair and watch Dave hesitantly fumble with his belt, then top button, then zipper. He still has a little fight left in him. You would be concerned if not. A man like him will never give up completely, that is what makes him so interesting for you, so much fun to play with.

The teeth of the zipper hiss, the fabric rustles when he pulls it over his ass and down his thighs, over his knees. He looks a bit disgraceful like this, sitting in the velvet chair, slacks pooled around his shoes, tented black briefs, looking at you expectantly. You would have let him take his shoes off and fold his pants if he wanted. But he chose to be… excited. And a little impatient. Truly adorable.

You move a little closer again, inspecting what you can see so far. You never saw his dick and usually you are not too keen on seeing your customers’ genitals, they were just extensions, more of the canvas you like to work on. But since Dave always made a fuss about decidedly not showing signs of arousal you became curious. Out of professionalism, of course.

It was looking good, the tent. A thick head pressed against the cotton and crowned with a now black, later milky stain.

“You’re leaking? For me?” You sound like he presented you with a bouquet of flowers or a painting he doodled with crayons. You reach out, your fingers stopping shy before touching the wet spot. You look up at him, a glint of horror in his eyes. No touching, with your hands. “Is this okay?”

A head shake and a dry swallow, then he finds his voice again. “No. Ma'am. I’m sorry.” You touching him would be cheating; in his head this makes sense.

“That's okay, don't worry.” You purse your lips, tapping a finger against the red on them. Then you hold out your hand, palm up. “Lend me a hand?”

Dave hesitates. His dick protesting with stirs against the briefs, not caring about who would touch him and how. He puts his hand in yours, trusting that you would accept his limit.

And you do, of course, you're a professional. Which means you know how to work your way around limits and how to stretch boundaries. You guide his thumb to the wet, glossy spot and rub the pad over the fabric, once, twice, until Dave grunts from the tingling friction.

“Let me know how you taste,” you coo and lift his thumb to your mouth. You open it wide, your tongue sticking out, reversing the roles but he still is your wolf in a dog costume. His eyes glint and for a second you can smell his dominance, too, lingering under the scent of his precum.

Two beasts who recognize each other, just for the fragment of a second, as you look into each other's eyes. But only one can be in charge tonight. You lean in and take his thumb into your mouth. Deeply. You sink down until your lips leave a red lipstick print around the base, one half on his palm, the other half on the back of his hand.

He tastes salty, with a sharp bite to it, just like the man himself. He presses his thumb deeper, can’t resist to have the upper hand with you just once. Your pussy clenches. She likes him.

Oh, in another life, you would let him wreck you. But not now. You suck his finger until you can’t taste his precum anymore and pull off of him.

“Kneel.”

He huffs and his brows draw together. “What?”

“Wrong answer, stupid.” Your foot snaps up, sole pushed against his hard dick, pointy heel somewhere in between his balls. “Try again.”

There it is again, the storm in his eyes. He is so much fun to work with, so easy to rile up, always keeps you on your toes. The same toes that feel Dave's cock throb through his briefs and the leather of your shoe. You move your heel from left to right, just enough to make him squirm and hiss.

“Yes, ma'am.” That's what he says but it sounds a lot like ‘fuck you’.

You laugh at that, sit back in your chair and put your foot back down on the ground. “That's more like it. Come on, chop chop. On your knees.”

He does as he is told. Growling and glaring, avoiding his ridiculous reflection in the mirror, of a tough guy with his pants around his ankles and leaking like his cock is drooling for you. Dave finds himself on his knees as he sinks into the thick carpet. Your feet are right in front of him, he catches a glimpse of his face in the glossy black tip of your heels. He looks twisted, but unmistakably like him.

“And now: touch yourself. Over your briefs. Nice and slow. Eyes on my shoes.” You place one foot on his thigh and his eyes follow the movement without moving too much. “You seem to like them?”

His hand, the one with your lipstick on it, runs along his length, slowly, calculated, avoiding his sensitive tip as he does. “Yes, ma'am,” Dave mutters and squeezes his girth like he's trying to soothe himself because your voice doesn’t do it anymore. It's all harsh now and not sticky-sweet.

Your heel gets pressed into his thigh, the thin end biting into his skin. “Yes, ma'am, what?”

His jaw ticks. His thumb is soothingly rubbing over the head of his cock, knuckle pushed against the underside. “Yes, ma'am, I like your shoes.”

“I thought so. You got so hard for them, didn’t you?”

He takes a deep breath and keeps on palming himself, a steady back and forth. The wet blotch grows. “I-...” He breaks off when you start caressing his balls with your sole. Back and forth. Front to back, in the same rhythm as he strokes himself. “I did get hard for them, yes. For you, ma'am.”

He just wants some of that sugar back, some of those honeyed words from you. He's on his knees already, what else could you want?

You let him kneel and watch his hand move, register his hip twitch. You brush your fingers through his hair, just a light pet.

“Take him out now. I can look at him, right?”

He nods his head and tugs himself out. Caught behind the waistband you get a first peek. Girthy, a stunning color, a dusty rose turning into an earthy pinkish-red, cut, a clear bead of precum forming over the slit before it runs down and spreads over the already glistening skin.

With another tug he pushes his briefs under his sack, forcing it up nice and tight, right under his cock. He has a slight curve, too. Fucking perfect. Your pussy clenches again.

Dave's hand fists the base, some of your red lipstick transfers to his shaft. The closest your mouth will probably get to him. Such a shame, you think, swallowing down some pooling spit, because you really would like to get a sore jaw from sucking him off.

“Now that's a pretty cock you got there. Hold still.”

You crouch over to Dave and place your palm over his hand, giving his dick a good squeeze with Dave's hand. 

“I won't touch him, I promise. But let me guide you.” Molasse thick, that's how your voice sounds. Almost too thick to be swallowed down. 

He manages to do it nonetheless. Ignoring that this is out of the comfort zone of David York, the husband and father. But oh, those words taste delicious for the man who knows rules and laws but lives outside of them. 

His own hand relaxes under yours and with the first stroke another yes, ma'am drips from his lips. 

This is a strange feeling. He guided several hands in his life, taught them where to rub, how to twist, how much to squeeze. But having his own hand touch him with those foreign movements was… new. Sexy. Frustrating too, because you seem to know exactly what not to do.

He looks down between his thighs and sees two hands moving and he really tries to imagine it was just your hand. He wants your touch. Christ, he wants your mouth on him, too. And you would do it, you would gladly accept the proposal and call him a good boy again. But he can't. He can't do it, it's not the right thing to do. He feels his wedding ring slide up over his tip and back down. No, he can’t have you touch him directly.

But he can give in to you a little more. His dignity hangs over the other chair, taken off together with his jacket right at the beginning. You might as well make him your bitch. He throbs against his fingers and Dave asks himself if you can feel it, too. Without being able to stop it his hips buck into his fist, your fists. You were moving his hand so goddamn slow, he needs more. More pressure, more speed.

“Are you not happy, love? Are you being ungrateful?” You slow down even more until your palms reach his top again. Dave has lubed himself up so nicely with his own precum, you can feel it spreading between your own fingers. With a tight grip you flick and twist, like screwing open a bottle, twisting the cork out of a bottle of champagne. 

Dave’s body jerks as do his hips and he moans again, feeding the soundproofing of the hotel room the delicious sounds he makes.

You tut at him, smirking and mocking and twist his hand over his cock again.

“Oh, so you are ungrateful? You have to ask for the things that you want, dummy, That's how this works.” You loosen your grasp and straighten your back, cross your arms and then your legs until the sole of your shoe hovers over his balls. “So…? Are you ungrateful?”

He shakes his head and fights the urge to rock himself against your shoe. More precum gets pushed out of his slit, he fucking aches. He could just spit out the safeword and jerk it in his car, like usual. But he is too proud for that. He is going to finish what he started here, in this room with you.

“No, I’m not. I just-...” he breaks off when you start bouncing your foot, knocking against his balls with almost gentle pats. Dave clutches his girth with a groan, his hips bucking forwards again. “I…,” he strokes himself once, hoping you would get the implications without having to put it into words.

A finger hooks under his chin again, he can smell himself on your skin. A nudge and he looks at your face again, the way you bare your teeth at him in a graceful smile doesn't cover up the authoritative tone hidden in your sweet words.

“You already did so good today. But I want you to do one last thing, yes?” You rub your finger under his chin, smearing some of his sticky precum over his skin. “Will you try it, for me?” 

He'd do a backflip, if you kept up the carrot and stick game for a little longer. 

And then you do it again, showing him the treat he could have if he only was a good enough boy for you. You start licking your hand clean. Languid laps with the flat of your tongue, starting with the little finger.

“Love, I want you to fuck your hand. You don't have to hold back.” You suckle on the tip of your finger before licking Dave's salty residue off of the next one. You stop at the tip, twirl your tongue around the fingernail painted all ruby and smile at him. Just as if you were licking an ice cream spoon clean. 

“Just make sure to keep your hand still and fuck into it.” Now middle and index finger. Your tongue runs over both of them before you put them into your mouth. In and out they go, sluggish and without hurry, you hum at the taste like it's the sweetest cream. 

And then, instead of doing a backflip, Dave starts moving his hips. His eyes glued to your mouth and the red of your lipstick transfers to your fingers before it disappears in the dark, tight, wet cavern of your mouth. 

His hand doesn't feel anywhere close to what he imagines your mouth does. Dave is just glad that he can finally care for his aching boner. With every thrust, in sync with your fingers sliding in and out between your lips, his balls slap against the leather sole of your shoe. It stings, but it stings good. He didn’t even know he liked this before tonight. Before your expensive stiletto pressed and rapped and pushed into them.

He ruts his hips faster now, not matching the speed he needs, but he makes it up with squeezing himself hard. Soft squelches come from between his legs now with every back and forth. More noises for the thick carpet and walls to swallow, never to be heard again.

You’re sucking on your thumb now while Dave's clutching himself harder, hips thrusting in a relentless pace. He fucks his hand like you told him to. 

He looks so perfect in the mirror, that little piece of ass that you can see from your angle. Clenching and unclenching, the movements draw you in, hypnotize you. The perfect cream-white canvas for blotches of red and sprinkles of violet, for scarlet streaks, oval imprints of your teeth even. 

You lick your lips when his thighs start trembling. How good he would look if he fucked himself on your strap-on. In another life, you muse and press your thighs together. The sound your thumb makes between your lips resembles the one that will come from your wet cunt later, when you're at home again. With Dave's salty taste in your mouth and a girthy vibrator, one to match the size of his cock.

His eyes meet yours again, just for a second before they dart down to your tongue again when you start licking your palm. He's still in there, the hard man, the one who's fighting against himself, the one who probably whispers insults inside his head. You can see him in that short moment, somewhere swimming in the stormy mahogany.

You stop licking your palm when Dave winces after snapping his hips harder into his hand and his balls against your sole. He’s at his personal limit.

“Almost there, love, hm?” Another lap to your palm, seemingly unbothered by the state he is in. “Do you want to come?”

He groans and growls, his glutes are burning, his knees hurt, his fucking balls thrum. Oh, he wants to come alright. “Yes, ma'am,” he grits out.

“Say that you're pretty when you fuck your hand for me.” Your tongue flicks over your palm again and reveals your canines again. Just a wolf cleaning her silky fur.

If the need for his orgasm wasn't bigger than his pride, he would have rolled his eyes and fucked that smug smile right out of your face. But he really, really needs to come. He is so close. He can play along a little longer.

“I'm pretty when I fuck my… fucking hand for you,” he snarls and a something in the depth of his guts starts fluttering with a burning strength.

“Good job. You really are pretty like that, love.” You pull the leg of your pants up, the heavy, black fabric now rests bunched up on your knee. Dave still ruts into his hand, chasing the release he knows he can’t have that easily. 

“Say ‘I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am.’,” you order and push your fingers through his hair, careful to not ruin his side part. A single unruly strand gets fixed with your spit-wet fingers. Nothing that leaves marks on me. Well, he can wash off your little saliva mark later.

More carrots, more sweet words and sugar touches, more of your smug but also content smile. Christ, he just wants to do something right. And you are offering him an easy fix. Dave whines and leans into your touch. Vigorously he pounds his hand, his balls trapped between his waistband and your sole and it all feels so warm, hot, his pulse beats in his ears and throbs in his straining cock. “I will make a pretty mess for you, ma'am. Fuck. I need to move my hand.”

His big browns look up at you, same parts furious, pleading and desperate.

“Say please,” you chirp and tilt your hips to feel the middle seam of your pants pressed against your clit. “Be good, say please and you can come for your ma'am.”

“Please. Fuck, please!” he barks as he steps into your honeyed trap you have laid out for him from the beginning. He is stuck in it knees first, tail between his legs, barking, howling, wagging. How to catch a wolf.

“That's my good boy. Go on, you can come. Make a mess.”

He did good, thank god. Dave starts moving his hand, jerking his cock hard and fast, his teeth sink into his flew to bite back a loud howl when he feels himself coming.

It is beautiful to watch for you, how his eyes roll back slightly, how his hand moves so fast that the smacking sounds are like a rapid fire, how he thrusts a few more times into his tight fist until he squirts his thick creamy cum all over. It feels hot on your skin, like molten wax poured over your shin, down to your foot and finally your high heel.

You moan in unison with Dave. You never are above feeding the soundproofing some of your noises as well. An offering to the gods, to keep you blessed with men like Dave.

He continues to stroke himself, choking on a few whimpers, milking the last remnants of cum out of him. His wedding band isn't shining as much now, all dull and foggy with his seed dimming the golden hue. His hand trembles, his runner thighs tremble too, his briefs, still tucked under his balls, are ruined and he slowly, slowly loosens his hard grip around his cock.

“Love, you did so good. That wasn't so hard, was it?” His cum starts running down your leg now and you both watch it for a moment. 

“I'll get you a tissue,” he mutters breathily, ready to finally get off his knees and gain some dignity back.

“Nuh uh. Clean up without tissues or towels.” Nothing enters my body without my consent. He looks at you and scoffs out single disbelieving laughter. You shrug your shoulders. “Listen, you came this far. You can be a coward and use your safe word. Or you can take responsibility and clean up the mess you made. It's an easy task.”

You are right. It is an easy task, compared to the mess his life is. It's easy. It's easy. It's easy. He leans forward and swallows, thickly. He looks up at you and sticks his tongue out. It's easy. 

You lift your leg up to his mouth, nodding your head, smiling, baring your teeth like a docile pet wolf. Dave's tongue meets your skin, smooth under his slick, powdery scent under his salty stench. He licks a stripe from your ankle up your shin, then another one and another one. Slowly. It's easy. One lick at a time. Fixing the mess he made.

His clean hand holds your foot, nestled in your stiletto, and he laps his cum from the bridge with shorter strokes. 

Dave doesn't flinch away from his own taste, he’s licked his own hands clean often enough to enjoy it to a degree. A form of cannibalism, eating his young, feasting on his own potential.

He cleans your skin, lifting your foot higher and his tongue pressed into the small gaps between the leather and your toes. You pet his head again, humming, purring under his ministrations. Dave's lips purse half above the leather and half above your skin, a small kiss before he sucks his cum out of the tiny gap.

It really is easy. He licks over the glossy black, leather and salt coating his senses, another sugary good boy in his ears and in his hair your claws graze over his scalp. 

A few more licks and kisses and the creamy white has disappeared from the shiny piece of leather. He can see himself in it again. A twisted image, but unmistakably Dave.

He rubs his spit into the smooth animal skin, you can wash his mark off later if you want. He's done. With cleaning and with this. It's over, for tonight at least.

He lowers your stiletto onto the thick carpet again and offers free sight to his spent cock, heavy and sticky. No more wagging, no more dog. He's back to being an equal.

“You did amazing, Dave. Really good.”

Your hand falls to his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat before you rise to your feet and over him your hand to pull him up. He takes it, groaning quietly when his knees crack. Dave feels a little shaky, or maybe more shook than shaky. But he feels good, lighter, loose. Not even ashamed.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink, something to eat?” You don't even wait for his answer and turn to the minibar, pulling out a cold water for him.

“No, thank you. I'm good. I'll just take a quick shower.” With a thud his shoes land on the floor as he kicks them off. His slacks follow, then his damp briefs.

You watch him undress, amazed and attracted to his confidence and nonchalance, attracted to what lies beneath Dave's clothes, too. In another life you two would be a great match. 

“Do you want me to wait for you?” You turn towards the minibar again, looking for something else. There it is, a kitkat.

“You don't have to, but thank you.” Dave smiles at you and shrugs his shirt off his shoulders. He holds out his hand now, naked in front of you and not bothered by it. Smug. Big dick energy and he can afford it.

You shake his hand, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. “Until the next time then. Take good care, Dave.”

You smile at each other, the possibilities of being reckless crackling between you, but then he lets go of your hand and turns his back towards you, heading into the bathroom. When the water starts running behind closed doors you take his shirt from the pile of clothes and nuzzle into the fabric. It's a good smell. Masculine, of course.

Slipping a few fingers into your pants and deeper, behind the elastic of your lace underwear and still deeper, dipping them into your sopping pussy, you inhale his scent deeply, clenching to the thought of his tongue on your skin.

You treat yourself to a moment with your fingers buried in your cunt before you pull out again. You write your name on the inside of his collar, invisible ink made out of your slick, setting a scent mark, a last reward for this good boy. 

When Dave enters the room again later you have disappeared, in thin air, no trace of you is left. But something churns inside of him when he gets dressed. 

Later, in his car, it clicks. Pussy. It smells like pussy, right in front of him. You god forsaken menace. Of course you had to have the last word. Marking him, mocking him, making him hard again. And of course your pussy smells delicious. Sticky sweet. He groans and adjusts himself, driving home a little faster now.

The house lays in silence when he steps over the threshold. The girls are fast asleep, he checked it immediately with a peek into their rooms. Carol is asleep as well. Soft and warm and plush under the blanket, curled up on her side. Dave kicks his shoes off and steps out of his slacks and briefs. They are still damp in the front, from the precum you urged out of him. But the shirt stays on. 

He slips under the blanket and pulls Carol closer, her perfect ass against his already half-hard cock. A hand gently kneads one of her breasts, the other one tugs down her pajama pants. 

She's awake in no time, whimpering when he grinds against her rear and lets his dick glide between her ass cheeks.

“Therapy was good?” Her voice is so soft, always sweet for him, never harsh, rarely ever does a no come from her.

“Yeah. Missed you…” he mumbles into the crook of her neck, biting and pulling on her skin until she winces softly.

“Dave-...”

He pinches her nipples and she winces again. A waft of your pussy hits him and he breathes it in deeply.

“Color, baby.”

“What?” Carol chuckles, not yet believing that she’s about to be fucked by her always loyal, always loving and caring husband.

“You’ve heard me. Give me your color.” His cock now slides between her legs and through her folds. He’ll slick her up real good, leaking already with a quiet thrumming sting in his balls. Carol’s pussy feels as good as yours smells.

“Green,” she gasps and rocks back against him.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls before biting the flesh over her shoulder blade and pushing into her.

When Dave finally is satisfied, soaked in Carol and him, she rolls on her back and watches him get a warm towel for her. Whatever this therapist did with Dave, it did wonders. He should go more often.

thank you for reading! and remember, kids, comment or reblog to show me I've been a good girl and did a good job, please and thank you

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

more a/n: I'd probably suck as dominatrix, shout-out to all the bad ass professionals and hobby dom(me)s out there, you are amazing and I'm literally on my knees for you

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[arjudy224]

The Intern: Small Talk with a Dead Man

After a dramatic realization during Christmas break, Y/N has been peacefully trying to live her life without the influence of the Batfamily. One night after classes, she is visited by an old friend...

*Fluff*

Prequel: Death of a family

The Intern: Day one

The Intern: The Laughing Fish

The Intern: Busy Work

The Intern: Outreach Gala

The Intern: Teachers Pet

The Intern: Visiting an old friend

The Intern: Chemical Valley

The Intern Small Talk with a Dead Man

The Intern: Billionaire Boys Club

I shouldn't have been surprised. TV broadcasts. Google Alerts. The radio guy who complained about Gotham's newest Crime lord during my morning commute. A few local news stations dared to ask, "Is Red Hood more dangerous than the Black Mask?"

Despite all those warning signs, my heart stops when I see him again. A flash of lightning illuminates the man across from me. The signature Red Helmet drips rainwater on my ratty tan carpet. The towering man is far from the mischievous teenager I once knew. Judging by the watercolors across his knuckles, he must have driven from patrol.

From the corner of my bedroom, my phone vibrates on the nightstand. Dick's grinning face covers the screen. I hurriedly decline the call. Tim's face makes an appearance. The screen goes black. I drag my gaze back to the dead.

"Hatchling?" Jason observes motioning to Tim's contact name, "What's Damien's? Infant?"

I pause to think about it. What did I make Damien's?

"Sassy pants... with several angry emojis." I elaborate showing him the contact.

"Ahh... fitting for a child raised by assassins."

The room feels too small. Stuffy even. After years of dreaming of what I'd want to say to him, I blank. The helmet drops to the floor with a thud. His voice breaks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go."

That breaks me out of my stupor. Crossing the room, I shush him.

"Take this jacket off before you track any more water in. My landlord is terrified of mold."

Reluctantly, he lets me peel the wet leather away from his goosebumped riddled skin. The hulking man slumps towards my touch. In the darkness, I can almost forget how long it has been.

How many nights did we do this? Bruce starting a fight. Jason sneaking in through my childhood window with a devilish grin.

"I figured I've already disappointed one father figure. Why not disappoint them both?"

The image of his charred corpse flashes in my mind. Some memories don't age well.

A well-timed thunderclap shakes me back to the present. My Jason had blue eyes.

"Go sit in the living room," I command throwing a towel in his direction, "Do you want tea?"

"Yes please." He agrees following my heels, "Do you have-"

"The usual? " I interrupt with a sly backward glance, "Who do you think I am?"

I almost blush at the look he gives me. Good God. My back turns to face him while I turn the kettle on.

Which mug do you give a dead man?

I correct myself.

Which mug do you give a crime lord?

I look past the cluster of random holiday cups to my shining star. A brand new Superman mug complete with a washable cape napkin. Water. Green Tea and chamomile bags. A little bit of honey.

While I set everything up, Jason studies the collage of photos on my wall. Some from Gotham. A mix from school. His eyes fall upon a selfie of Dick, Alfred, Barbara, and I. Encrested on the frame, it reads, "Jason Todd Memorial 2022". My throat gets tight. It seems so meaningless now. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I analyze the man. The new uniform is much more outwardly utilitarian than his Robin costume. No more shorts. The guns are new. He had set a few in a cluster on the coffee table. Jason takes a postcard from the collage in his hands.

"George Clooney?" He muses turning over the card, "Dick always had a flair for the dramatics."

"It runs in the family," I retort setting down his mug on the table.

As I draw near, he smiles at the choice of mug.

"I didn't realize that you picked sides."

"Alfred sent it to me as a peace offering," I shrug.

I motion to the brown patched-up couch. Jason eagerly reclines. His body stiffens at the strange lumps towards the center.

"Courtesy of Ma Kent," I joke, "I'm convinced she lined it with kryptonite, so Clark wouldn't jump on it."

Rubbing his sore shoulders, Jason grimaces sitting up.

"Well, I'm sure this is the only couch that could cause the Man of Steel back pain."

Sitting next to the sweaty young man, I sip on my own tea. The bitterness of the green tea grounds me to the present.

"Do you want to talk about what happened in Gotham tonight?" I question glancing at the freshly bandaged cuts on his arms.

He shakes his head grimacing at the memory. New City. New topics.

Grabbing the remote, I start, "What are you feeling tonight? I've been aching to rewatch "You're Next" for a while."

He eyes me with playful suspicion. Jason folds his arms behind his head.

"What? I've always found scary movies comforting after a long day."

"Like the way you find Ma Kent's Couch to be comfortable?" He teases fidgeting with the coarse fabric of the homemade pillow.

The random stains make him raise an eyebrow. Thunder shakes my apartment.

"It's an acquired taste." I reply pulling the pillow flush against my chest, "Besides, horror is the only genre where your anxiety is always right, but the horror never stays for too long. It’s nice to see the Protagonists survive to the end of their story."

For a moment, he looks like my Jason again. The slight bruising around his left eye causes him to squint ever so slightly, but he flashes me an amused smirk. His fixed gaze never leaves my face. I start to sweat. What if he thinks of me differently? Five years is a long time. We've both changed.

"You watch too many movies." He remarks offering me half of the blanket.

I snuggle close allowing myself to enjoy this moment. A flash of lightning illuminates the small TV screen.

"That is probably true." I reply lying my head on his shoulder.

The exhaustion of the day compounds until the opening credits fade into black.

Taglist: @nosyrobin,@jjsmeowthie.@epicy0n,@gaychaosgremlin,@rory-cakes,@luna-zendra-star,@b4tm4nn,@anuttellaa,@chibiduck

[writersdrug]

Please continue to write literally anything for konig, I’m having the worst work week of my life and your fics always sustain me! I just finished chapter 13 and I almost cried because I realised I’d have to wait for more to come out 😔 this isn’t really a request or question just encouragement!!!

I don't have much queued up for König besides I Don't Need You, but here are some headcannons I have!! Also I'm sorry your work week was bad, let König cheer you up

NSFW at the end

We all know he would love to go on rants bout knives, guns, history, etc. But I also imagine that if you tried to chime in with your own, semi-relatable topic he'd glare at you and say "I wasn't finished," before continuing on his schpeel. He's not trying to be mean, he just has to tell you about Richard the third and how he definitely killed the two princes in the tower.

If you ask if the two of you can get a cat, he comes home the next day with one - but he didn't go to the pet store, or a shelter. He went to the restaraunt you always drag him to and waited by the dumpster with a can of tuna. Caught the scruffy thing and brought it to you, tucked under an arm with a big smile on his face.

He had to help you bathe the spitting kitten, poor baby was covered in fleas.

This man unironically adores the bucket of chicken you can get from KFC. Just a pail of chicken all for himself.

If you're out shopping or really anywhere where you take the lead, people are always asking if you're ok - "That man looks like he's following you," they whisper, "do you need me to get someone to walk you out?"

It's just König, standing behind you in a balaclava, hands in his pockets and dark clothing. Just 👁👁

Goes for an hour-long run at 4 am every morning, comes home to shower, then crawls back in bed with you to sleep until you have to go to work.

His phone screen is probably gross. Lock screen is you, doing your makeup and wearing a stunning dress for date night, unaware of König lurking in the doorway for a photo; background is the poster for Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

This man is known as a terror among door salesmen. They're just trying to get him to buy their services for cleaning gutters and he's dragging them to the backyard to show them how he cleans it himself, talking to them for an hour about how you don't need to hire someone to do "simple work"

He plays D&D with other veterans every Thursday night - you both usually host at your house, and he gives you an appreciative smile/pat when you come through with more drinks.

(Based on a tiktok) he once came in through the back door, standing in the dining room awkwardly as he watched you sort through the mail. He stared at you with a blank expression, until you finally looked back at him. "What's wrong, baby?"

He then slapped a lizard on the table, making you scream and throw a pile of mail at the thing as it scurried across the wood. He laughed for a good thirty minutes.

When he's sick, he tries to get away with downing a shot of Everclear and moving on with his day. "Alcohol kills bacteria, no?" (You'll have none of that nonsense, and he's not complaining when you dote on him and hand-feed him soup.)

If you're in the shower, he's in the shower. Doesn't matter if he had one an hour ago.

If you have a child, he loves to gaslight them (especially in their elementary years). Agrees to play Princess with them, but then proceeds to say that he's the Princess.

"I'm always the Princess!"

"Nein, you said I could be this time!"

"No I didn't!"

"Well I'm the Princess, so I make the rules."

Believes eating your pussy will make you feel better in any situation (sometimes it does). Bad day at work? He's kneeling in front of you and telling you to flip your skirt up. Cramps? Orgasms are the best remedy, schatz. Your tomatoes aren't growing well this year? Ah, shucks. Let him eat you out.

Anyways this is bleh but hope this helps!!

[wish-i-were-heather]

A FOOL FOR YOU PT 4⤵ GRAYSON HAWTHORNE X READER

ABOUT: 2642 words, no use of y/n (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5)

STORY: well, y'know. you can't ignore a 911 text from a hawthorne

WARNINGS: none really, reader does struggle to swim tho and freaks out a little

TAGS: @littlemissmentallyunstable @gretag13 @lanterns-and-daydreams @whatsamongus @alwaysthefangirl @zuzanna-jadw1ga @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @low-caloriesmonsterultra @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @jimcarreyfann42 @ravishinglyliving @maybxlle - lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist!

A/N: EEK I LOVED WRITING THIS. i didn't describe the reader's swimsuit because i don't know what everyone is comfortable with so i let you kinda imagine it however u want! i'm not sure how many more parts i can get out of this idea, there'll definitely be at least one more lmk what u think tho

He said please. 

Grayson didn’t lack manners. It’s not that he didn’t know how to say please and thank you. But he also wasn’t the kind of person to throw around a plea lightly. Grayson Hawthorne was, well, a Hawthorne. The name itself was a demand, not requiring a please. But he’d felt the need to say please to you. 

Maybe you were overthinking it. 

Or maybe you were still in denial, like Avery said you were. 

The texts came in at eight at night, too, which only raised more questions in your mind. If he wanted to talk to you, why hadn’t he just found you? Or simply texted you to meet somewhere? You didn’t understand why he’d felt the need to use the 911; you would’ve come if he’d just told you to go to the pool. 

Hawthornes did tend to have a flare for dramatics, you supposed. 

You had no idea why Grayson wanted you to meet him at the pool. He was a swimmer, sure, but that was very much his personal time. Grayson didn’t often appreciate people watching or joining him in the pool. But, you figured there was a chance he expected you to.

So you found yourself at her door again. Despite the faint conversation you could hear from inside, you knocked. 

Avery took longer than last time to open the door. “What’s up?” She asked. 

“Hey. Uh, do you have a swimsuit I could borrow?”

She frowned slightly, confused. “I mean I do, yeah, but why-”

You didn’t even have to say anything. You just showed her your phone screen with the text messages. Her eyes widened as she read them and she immediately opened the door wider for you. “Get the hell in here.”

Avery was already digging through the grand dresser. As you entered the room behind her, you noticed Jameson sitting on the floor in front of a deck of cards, giving you a curious look. “What-”

“Not now, Jamie,” Avery quickly answered. “Girl problem.”

That shut him up. 

“Don’t mind him,” she told you, turning back around with a few items in hand. “We were just playing solitaire.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Together? Isn’t that a one player game?”

“His idea, not mine. Managed to turn it into a competition too, somehow,” Avery shrugged. Jameson gasped dramatically but she continued before he could speak, bringing your attention back to why you asked for help. “So, I’ve actually never worn this one before, you could keep it if you want. Or-”

“That one’s fine,” you interrupted, taking it from her. “Can I change in your bathroom?” “Oh, uh, yeah, sure I guess,” Avery answered, clearly confused as to why you were so quick to answer. “Sorry, I’m just trying to get there as soon as I can. Thanks.”

You didn’t change completely, just putting it on and putting your clothes back on over it. You didn’t plan on getting into the water, but it was worth being prepared.

As you were stepping out of the room and thanking Avery, Jameson called, “Say hi to Gray for me.”

Your head snapped back. “What?”

“Come on,” he smirked. “He’s practically the only person who uses the pool, especially at this time. So tell him I said hi.”

Shaking your head, you just ignored him. Jameson was the type of person who could read people well, so odds are he probably already knew he was right. But you didn’t want to give even more of a reaction to him than you already had. 

Avery grabbed your arm though, before you left. “Hey, hey, good luck.”

You thanked her and left, just hoping Jameson wouldn’t try to watch from the window. 

~~

The cool night air hit you sharply as you stepped outside. It hadn’t been too chilly during the day, but you now found yourself wishing you were in more than just shorts and a thin hoodie.

Shivering, you made your way over to the pool. Your mind was racing the whole way there, but there wasn’t really anything else for you to be wondering. Grayson had asked for you to come to the pool, presumably either to swim with him or just because he was most comfortable there. Either way, it was pretty clear that he wanted to discuss what happened when he was drunk. But you still didn’t understand why he sent the 911. 

Good thing you were on your way to finding out. 

The pool deck was empty, save for a few lounge chairs. The fancy cushioned kind, the ones you would only find at a hotel. And the Hawthorne mansion, of course. 

On one of the chairs were two neatly folded towels- two. So he did expect you to get in the water with him? Where was he anyway? If he’d already brought out towels, why wasn’t he-

Splash.

You’d been too caught up in your thoughts and the sound of your heart racing in your chest to realize that Grayson was, in fact, already in the pool. Swimming laps because he was Grayson Hawthorne, so of course he was swimming laps when the sun had already set and the only light in the sky was that of the stars. 

Swimming had never really been your thing, so you didn’t know the exact stroke, but you would’ve been a liar if you said you weren't somewhat mesmerized. The way his arms went up and out, the way his fingers glided along the surface before entering the water once again. His legs kicked together, the movement fast and almost indiscernible under the blue of surrounding him. 

Grayson came up for air so quickly you couldn’t even make out his face, but your eyes caught on the way his hair flicked up with his head. It was certainly a skill, and he managed it so gracefully. You struggled to look away.

Thankfully, you were pulled out of your stare when he suddenly reached the wall nearest to you. Grayson’s hands touched the edge of the pool in perfect sync. You could see the red in his face, the tire he was giving himself from swimming. You wondered how long he’d been there before you found him.

Grayson met your eyes with a tired smile as he caught his breath. “You came.”

“You said 911,” you explained, sitting on the edge of the chair where he’d set the towels. “I figured it was pretty important.” 

“Yes, I did.” He nodded. “We do only get one of those a year, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to any of my brothers.”

“Got it.”

He was avoiding the elephant in the room. 

“Would you like to join me?”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused,” he said. “Would you like to join me?”

Was he really just going to ignore the fact that he’d sent you such an urgent message? A 911 could’ve meant he was dying, for all you knew when you’d first received it. And what, it was because he wanted to go for a swim with you? There was more he wasn’t saying and you just wanted to yell at him to spit it out. 

Instead, you responded calmly. 

“Join you in the pool?”

Grayson looked you up and down and shook his head. “I suppose you can’t really, not without proper swimwear.”

You got in the pool in a suit when you were drunk, you didn’t say. 

“I have a bathing suit on under this,” you explained. “I just… why do I need to get in the water? Can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

He took a deep breath. 

“I’ve decided I owe you an apology. For what happened.” You knew immediately what he was referring to. “I was reckless and foolish and unintentionally put the burden of myself onto you. It would have been easier for you to just leave me be, but you dealt with my mess. I appreciate that.” 

The silence that followed was only interrupted by the gentle lapping of the pool.

“See why I figured you should get in?” He asked. “We’d be at an even level. Better suited for such a conversation.”

“Or you could just get out,” you offered. 

“Please?” 

That word again.

Grayson Hawthorne knew what he was doing. 

“Fine,” you groaned, but really only half annoyed. You turned around as you began to take off the layers above the swimsuit, watching him in the corner of your eye as he looked away respectfully.

The cold hit you even harder now that you had removed your hoodie, and you hoped that the pool was well heated. 

“Okay, okay.” You began walking over to the edge of the pool where Grayson was. When his eyes found you, he stared for a little longer than normal before answering.

“You’re nervous,” he observed. “Can you swim?”

You shrugged, taking another step closer. “I know how to stop myself from drowning.”

Grayson moved out of your way and you sat on the edge of the pool with your feet getting wet. It was heated, thankfully. Comfortably so. No wonder he loved to come here at night. 

He was watching you silently. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and it was killing you. Not that anyone could ever tell what Grayson Hawthorne hid behind those piercing eyes, but yet another question amidst everything that had happened that week was too much.

Of course he’s a mystery, he’s a Hawthorne. 

Before you could overthink it even further, you got in.

The warmth of the water enveloped you, contrasting greatly with the chill of the night air. You were holding onto the wall, not planning on letting go because your swimming skills were just barely above that of a child starting swim lessons. But Grayson’s intense gaze kept your heart racing. 

He swam towards you, grabbing onto the wall a little closer but still leaving a respectful distance between you. “Do you know why I sent the 911?”

“No,” you admitted. “It scared me.”

“I apologize for that. I panicked.”

You hadn’t expected that confession from him.

“You panicked?”

He nodded slowly. “I was afraid you’d think less of me after how I acted. You haven’t spoken to me in days, so I wasn’t sure you’d come otherwise.” The vulnerability in his voice was tangible.

“It’s not that I’ve been trying to avoid you, Grayson,” you explained. “I just… I mean, you haven’t spoken to me either.”

“I thanked you, I thought we were past what happened. I didn’t think we needed to talk about it.”

“You thanked me and then flirted and walked away.”

Grayson raised an eyebrow. “Did I?”

“You know very well what you did,” you said, trying to hide the blush on your face. 

He swam a little closer. His voice dropped to the same sincere tone it had adopted back when he was drunk. When you’d told him to be careful and he’d cupped your face. When he said he’d never hurt you, never. 

“Perhaps I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that I burdened you with my drunk self.”

“You’re not a burden, Grayson,” you told him, also pushing yourself closer to him along the wall. “It was no problem, really. Just a little entertaining.”

He chuckled, and you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or bitter. 

The way he was looking at you was making you feel something. Something you couldn’t name but… didn’t quite hate. You started to move yourself a little closer to him until-

Splash.

Your hand slipped off the edge of the pool, accidentally sending you back. Not exceptionally far or deep into the pool, but enough to make you panic. You could keep yourself afloat, sure, but not when you were suddenly pushed away from the only solid thing keeping your head above water.

But before you could fully let the panic set in, a strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you upwards.

The sensation of being lifted was disorienting. You were overwhelmed by the sudden rush of water and movement, then the lack of water as your head reached the surface again. Even if you’d barely been below the water for a few seconds, you found yourself gasping for air. 

Grayson’s arm around you was the only steady thing in the chaos.

“Hey, hey” Grayson spoke, and it took a moment for your startled mind to process the words. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to focus. It took a moment for your breathing to calm down, but you helped yourself by rationalizing it; you’d been under the water for maybe five seconds, there was no need to panic so much.

The shock had just gotten you.

His voice broke through again, focusing your vision and hearing on him. “Just breathe, in and out. Nice and slow, just like that.”

You followed his instructions, taking deep breaths. Your panic began to fade, and you became painfully aware of how close he now was to you, the proximity at which he held you.

Grayson didn’t let go as you calmed down, simply keeping you tucked protectively in his arm as if the water was threatening you. He used his free hand to reach up and brush a wet strand of hair from your face behind your ear. The gesture was so gentle, so careful, that you felt your heart flutter.

“Are you alright?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I think so. Thank you.”

He only nodded in return, his usually sharp gray eyes beginning to soften as he stared down at you. He didn’t move his hand away after moving the hair out of your face. It stayed there, lingering around your ear, until he decided to move down, cupping your face.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the first time that shirtless Grayson Hawthorne was holding your face in his large hands and looking at you in a way that was more than an annoyed glance. 

But it felt different this time. More intense, more real. 

He wasn’t drunk, not hungover; there was no doubt in your mind that he really meant everything. His eyes were still locked on yours with an emotion that you couldn’t quite place, yet somehow felt deep within your core. 

He leaned forward, so close to you that your foreheads were almost touching. His eyes fluttered shut and you realized what was happening only after you felt the words he whispered against your lips-

“I’m sorry.”

Grayson closed the small gap between you, gently pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant at first, like he was giving you the chance to pull away or tell  him to stop. But when you didn’t, when you leaned into the kiss, the arm around you tightened.

Your hands moved on their own, both sliding their way up to rest on his chest. He responded to your touch with a low hum that made you shiver despite the heated pool. 

His arm moved up to the back of your head, pushing you impossibly closer to him. The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate, like he was trying to express every emotion he’d been hiding for the past week. It was overwhelming, and for a moment nothing existed outside of you and Grayson Davenport Hawthorne.

When he pulled back, you kept your eyes closed. Grayson placed a small kiss on your forehead before resting it against his own. You were so close now, much closer than before, but that didn’t matter anymore.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he admitted softly.

“Me too, Grayson,” you grinned. “Me too.”

When he kissed you again, he tasted like those stupid cherries he loved and felt like the end of the world.

the writing above belongs to me. please do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own. © 2024 wish-i-were-heather

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (i)

grumpy!matt sturniolo x sunshine!fem oc / reader

summary : matt is a grumpy tattoo artist and y/n books him for her first tattoo.

warnings : needles and pain (not very detailed tho)

mickey speaks : i don't have any tattoos so i actually know nothing ab the procedure lmaooo just guessing but i’ll be writing multiple parts for this. also i am very much self indulging bc i headcannon y/n as poc! but obvi anyone can read there's not much exclusivity ab how i write her, i js wanted to note that for any poc readers <3.

THIS IS PART 1 BTW!!!!

“SHITTT,” you draw out the last syllable at the rumble and screech of your car engine as you continue your attempt to start it.

eventually you throw your head backwards in defeat, annoyed by the unbudging car. this is the actual worst timing. you're supposed to be at the tattoo shop (that is a 12 minute drive from your apartment complex) for an appointment in less than twenty minutes.

you truly want to scream and border on throwing a tantrum but decide it would probably be better to find a solution than complain about the agony further.

you quickly find your roommate's contact, raising your phone to your ear and pinching your eyes shut as the vibrating ring hums through your skull.

"y/n? what's up?" andrea answers confused as you had only just walked out of the door five minutes ago.

"hi drea... so i know you have your own plans right now but is there any way you can give me a ride... please?"

you hear shuffling on the line, "mmm, where to?"

౨ৎ

“thank you again for driving me,” you smile at andrea and squeeze her hand before reaching for the door.

“yes, of course. you can call me when you’re done and i’ll head over here- m’sorry i can’t stay with you.” she replies and exaggerates a frown.

"i'll be fine, i think- i hope..."

"you will be fine. just don't stress or it'll hurt more."

౨ৎ

your arms are crossed tightly over your chest as you make your way into the shop (in its form of an oversized warehouse, fixed up to look stylish and comfortable- something you’d never really seen before). the rickety jingle of a small bell kindly indicates your presence to the rest of the shop.

a few people sitting in a waiting area look up before continuing their conversations (though some continued to stare as you walk by). you see a surprising amount of people crowding in a brightly decorated lounge area, housing many arcade games and a kitchenette.

you reach the receptionist desk and are greeted by a young man dressed casually, humming along to the music playing in the background of the space.

“um, hi. i’m here for my 1:30 appointment.” you state with a smile, you’re suddenly aware of how nervous you truly are.

the brunette looks over to a desktop screen with a soft scrunch of his face, “for y/n, right? huh, that’s crazy…” he rubs his chin, “1:30 was like nine minutes ago,” he looks up at you, almost like he was questioning you; who do you think you are? and why do you think you’re important enough to be late?

as soon as your face begins to morph into fear and embarrassment his own face splits into a large smile as he laughs softly. “i’m sorry- i’m such an ass but i had to- your file said you’re new clientele so i just had to fuck around.”

“you’re sick! i was fully prepared for a fucking lecture on timeliness or something,” you let out a soft laugh.

the boy comes from around the desk holding a paper and clipboard. “yeah, sorry, i’m chris,” he reaches a hand out to which you willingly return and restate your name to him, “‘m not usually up front so you probably talked to asha over the phone when booking.”

you nod and smile at the familiar name, “yeah, she was so helpful over the phone.”

“she’s awesome, i miss her,” he touches each of his shoulders then forehead before kissing his hand and pointing to the sky.

"oh my god? i'm sorry for your loss."

his eyes squint and lips pucker in confusion, "oh, she's not fired she's just on vacation right now."

"so why'd you...?"

chris cuts you off by handing you the clipboard and grabbing a pen from a cluttered mason jar on the desk as he explains, “okay, we’re just gonna have you fill out this quick consultation form; just so you and your artist will be on the same page about things.” you nod in understanding. “keep it brief, matt’s not big on reading large bodies of text,” chris laughs.

“got it,” you smile before turning to find a chair and begin writing. you truly were relieved that chris wasn’t hard on you about being late, for a second you thought you would be lectured and have to carry the guilt of dissapointing someone into a room where you'd be paying to lie in excruciating physical pain. (damn, double homecide)

the sheet had general information to fill before the questions specifically about the tattoo you’d be getting today came.

you go back up to chris once you’re finished.

“cool, follow me we’ll set you up with matt.” he leads the way and your nerves are suddenly back as it's feeling more and more real with each step. you pacify your thoughts by looking around at the many images and messages written in sharpie along the walls of the hallway. there's also plenty of hanging shelves around with vintage trinkets and succulents that compliment the space around.

chris reaches a curtain and dips his head past as if he were checking for something before giving you a chance to see. you notice the small "Matt" embroidered on the black curtain. chris then opens it wide enough for the both of you to walk into the surprisingly large space.

(who you can only assume to be) matt sits comfortably in a wheeled desk chair, legs spread. his elbow rests on the arm of the chair and he holds his head up with two of his fingers, as his middle finger grazes his irritated mouth with a stern look on his face while he scrolls on his phone.

he doesn’t move his position when he looks up at the two of you.

“alright! matt this is y/n,” chris motions between you two. matt hums, placing his phone on the desk and placing his hand out expectantly for the clipboard. chris goes to hand it to him and whispers, “fix your face, jackass,” then turning around to leave you some reassuring words, “good luck y/n, the tat’s gonna look amazing.”

but chris doesn’t see matt exaggerating a large, sarcastic smile from behind him in defense of chris’ words (he immediately drops it though). something that would make you at least giggle if you weren’t so nervous.

“thanks,” your voice is a little hoarse as you haven’t used it in some time. matt watches the boy leave before looking over to you. he rolls the chair closer, reading over your short (as requested) responses.

“you can sit down.” he forms it almost as a question like are you going to sit down or do i have to direct you to do everything?

you sit on the black cushioned bench, lined with a disposable white cloth and begin to fidget with your fingernails as matt goes over your paperwork quietly.

“''kay, so you’re getting a small hello kitty on your lower hip?” he summarizes while checking and signing a few lines on a paper.

“yeah, um, i told asha over the phone that way you could have it sketched already- she told me that’s best and saves time for the both of us.”

his response is a slowed nod and a breathy, “yep,” as he rolls over to his desk and places the clipboard on the surface before opening a drawer and digging through it.

you gaze around the room and wonder if he decorated the space himself or if he wasn’t the type to be bothered enough to add personal things to his work area. almost all the posters are of music artists or tattoos, the most personal things you see are a small picture frame on his desk and a pokémon plushie sat on a chair in the corner of the room. all of which just pose more questions in your working brain.

you notice him switching to a different swivel chair that is lower to the ground and bringing himself (as well as a moving table with already prepared supplies) closer to you.

you’re nervous again. even after your roommate and older brother have both given you advice on first tattoos and the pain expected you’re still finding yourself scared of what to expect. your ear piercings would have nothing on this.

“first tattoo?” matt clarifies, as if he could read your mind. you nod and go to speak but stop when he gestures for you to lay back on the cushion.

you’re sure that he only was searching for a quick confirmation from you and is not too interested in your life or what brings you here but you’ve found that talking relieves your own stress and you absolutely cannot just lay there and only speak when spoken to.

“yeah, i guess m’nervous. i just hope i don’t, like, die from pain or hate the outcome or curse myself in a couple years for the placement- but it's not that i'm doubting that it'd be cute. younger me would be screaming at the fact that i'm even here..." you pause just for a second. "but then again i'm not sure how much forty year old me will appreciate it. so i guess i just don’t know. you know?”

you lean yourself up to get a look at matt, only to realize he has airpods in and simply has not been listening or interested in you (just as you expected). he’s moving his head the smallest amount to the beat as he works on his sketch.

he notices your movement though and takes a headphone out of his ear, “are you okay?” is all he asks.

a pretty broad question. and an anxiety inducing question to ask a girl who's been questioning her decisions as much as you have. you hope you’re okay. will you still be okay when this (mostly) permanent decision is etched into your skin forever? is he okay? will he give you any sense of encouragement or comfort during this process? are tattoo artists typically like this or are you just considered especially needy clientele?

“yeah, i just was- like, curious, i guess.” you mumble a little and internally hate that you feel so insecure in this situation. so out of control.

“was just adjusting my sketch to be a smaller. nothing crazy happening over here.” he shrugs. “you can go ahead and pull your shirt up, though. i’m just gonna clean the area and prep before inking.” he explains to you very straight and to the point.

you fall back into place and obey, inching your shirt up further to expose your lower stomach. you drape your arms over your face to gain composure as you hear matt rip some packaging.

the coolness of the cleaning pad sends your stomach butterflies and you try to not think too hard about the fact that matt’s hands will be on your lower stomach and hip for a good length of time.

eventually matt speaks to you again, “i’m starting so if you’re feeling the need to get the fuck out you gotta do it now or for forever hold your peace.”

you smile a little at his dry joke but when you turn your head to see him fully serious you blink, “no, i’ll be fine. thanks though.”

he just nods his head and goes to put his airpods back in before you’re interrupting again, “wait. whatcha listening to?”

he’s suprised by the question. his clients rarely get too involved in what he’s doing. mostly because he does a great fucking job no matter how few words he may utter over an entire session. there's a mutual understanding there that he's never had to speak up about to anyone. other artists use a strong bond or charisma to secure returning customers but matt finds there’s nothing better to display than his pure talent and passion for his craft. that’s how he keeps clients. they ask and he will always deliver; and that’s how he particularly likes it. no questions and minimal conversation.

the sound of the tattoo gun begins and just for your sake he decides to answer the question without malice, “just some frank ocean instrumental tracks." he places his hands back onto your skin, "don’t start moving.”

you pinch your eyes shut and squeeze your forearms as soon as the initial pain takes over. it’s a feeling you can only describe as a needle poking into you a trillion times at once. which is literally what's happening to you.

you’re not oblivious to matt’s disengagement with your attempts at conversation but you need him to continue to speak to you or else you’ll think too much about the needle actively puncturing you. “oh yeah? i’ve never listened to him before…”

“surprising. he’s pretty big.” matt mumbles slightly, focusing on his work far more than his slight interest in your knowledge of frank ocean.

“mhm. i’ve been meaning to give him a listen. could you share?”

matt’s eyes just move to look up at your face as he tries not to beg you to just be quiet and let him do this so that you both can leave within an hour. “i’m good on that.” he returns to tattooing.

“huh? you can’t share music?”

“i would prefer not to but-” he doesn’t even know why he’s continuing to fuel this anymore.

“what if i add a pretty,” you pause to wince a little as the needle moves lower, “pretty please?”

“i’m almost done,” he mumbles the lie.

“matt?”

he pauses for only a second to glance over to you. he’s met with a face scrunched in pain with an attempted smile that he thinks makes you look more like a doped up hippie than the cute effect you were going for. you plead after his glance, “pretty please?”

he rolls his eyes and sets his tattoo gun down, reluctantly swiveling over to his desk. before you even realize what exactly he’s doing there’s a airy beat of drums and piano playing from a small speaker in the room.

once he's back over to you he can tell you’re smiling even though your face is mostly covered by your arms. “thank you, i needed a distraction or something.”

he mumbles an “mhm” and returns to his work.

౨ৎ

there was generally no talking after that. only a few moments you observed (due to your need to cling on to literally anything going on besides the pinching at your lower side) that were any indication of matt's quiet presence. you noticed when matt would softly hum the lyrics to the instrumentals over the speaker and when you began to tap your fingers out of boredom and nerves, to which he simply placed his hand over them to force them flat while muttering a small “stop.”

when matt was completely finished he asked you if he could take a picture to add to his instagram and you agreed eagerly. he then added a strip of tattoo film over a layer of protective ointment. after he helped you to fully stand he explained how to care for it and how important cleaning is because “that shit will get gunky as fuck.” and you told him that you promise to do everything he said. he also gave you a detailed list on a card for you to follow just in case you forget.

you glance down at your tattoo one last time before you begin to leave the room you’d just spent a lengthy hour of your life in. you assume matt doesn’t want much else from you until he calls your name from his desk. you turn and see him still looking at his phone before glancing up, “uh, what’s your insta handle, so i can tag you in this?”

you don’t know why you’re surprised but you are.

you agree to exchange handles with him before deciding to compliment him once more, “my tattoo is perfect, by the way. i love it so much, thank you.” you want to tell him that you hope you didn’t annoy him too much but you don’t know if that will annoy him more. so you take his nod and hint of a smile as his way of showing appreciation, keeping your own smile bright to mask the crushing feeling of someone seeming so indifferent towards you.

after walking past the curtain and through the trinket-filled hallway you’re back to the main area of the warehouse. you see a different collection of people gathered playing pool and some more huddled on a couch looking at a girl’s phone in awe. chris is busy talking with what seems to be a close friend when you walk up to the reception desk.

when his eyes find your bright expression he’s bouncing back with energy, “hey! i’m assuming it went well?" he asks.

"very well. glad it's over though, i can't lie." you laugh while taking your debit card from your purse.

"yeah, definitely not the best feeling. especially when matt's ugly face is that close to you." chris jokes and takes your card to cash you out.

you laugh along with him but assure him that matt's looks weren't an issue. he raises his eyebrows and has a growing smirk that travels to his eyes when he gives you your card back. you try not the blush at the implication, "i didn't mean it like that."

"right," he nods and chuckles softly, "well hopefully you'll be back for another eventually?" he hands you a receipt.

"i mean how could i not with such a sweet receptionist asking me? i'm sure you get everyone to come back," you joke.

chris shrugs with a cocky grin, "somethin' like that."

౨ৎ

"oh my god it's fucking adorable, what?!" andrea exclaims with a spoonful of frozen yogurt still in her mouth.

she initally begged to see it as soon as she picked you up but you dramatically told her you had just experienced the worst pain of your life and you'd need a sweet treat if you were planning to not sleep the rest of the day away. so she just rolled her eyes and demanded you show her once you both arrive at your favorite frozen yogurt shop (conveniently down the street from your apartment complex).

"i knowww," you respond and quickly pull the lower part of your shirt down with a smile, taking a seat across from drea.

"how'd it go, though? i'm curious. i've only been to warehouse 79 like once, and it was for an event."

"it was good, they were all generally kind and my guy did exactly what i wanted. i'm pretty happy."

"'my guy,' oh okayy?" she takes a bite and smirks.

"not what i meant! i should have just said matt. like, the guy who did my tattoo-"

"mhmm."

"stop.” you smirk, “i mean he was not ugly by any means but he seemed to not care to get to know me at all. which is fine, he's not paid to care about me. but i doubt i'll ever see him again." you shrug taking another bite of frozen yogurt.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

[kiarastromboli]

𝕭𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖊𝖘

𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘹 𝘺𝘯

★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★

★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤: smut, unprotected sex (DON’T DO THAT), alcohol consumption, mention of dangerous driving choking, adrenaline, mean!Matt, rough sex.

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a disappointing discovery in the middle of the night, y/n turns to her last resort to get home—her worst enemy, Matt. But things will take a different turn that night.

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Sorry if the ending isn't amazing; I didn't know how to finish it. It's been sitting in my drafts for weeks.

★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★

Here I am at my ex's place, again.

As if the four previous betrayals weren't enough, I had to fall back into his arms, again.

It was 3 a.m. We had just come back from a random party, and when he went to shower, I couldn't help but snoop through his phone.

It wasn't new; trust clearly never existed in our relationship, and I was too drunk to stop myself from going further.

Unsurprisingly, while snooping through his phone, I saw that he had continued talking to the girl he had cheated on me with the week before.

I thought he had truly changed this time and that tonight we would be able to have fun in bed! What a fool I was.

Tears didn't even come this time; I was too accustomed to this situation. I simply got up, silently grabbed my things, and grabbed a cheap bottle of vodka from his bar. What? I needed it more than him, and anyway, he probably won't miss it given its price! Then I stumbled out.

"Oh my fucking god!" I sighed as I took a big gulp from the vodka bottle.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket to order an Uber, only to realize that at this hour, the prices were exorbitant.

"Fuck!" I groaned, tossing my head back before straightening up and fixing my hair.

My heels were killing my feet, and my dress was far too revealing for me to hitchhike or even consider walking home.

I went through my contacts and called all my friends, more or less close, who had their driver's licenses, hoping that one of them would be awake. Of course, none of them were.

I took a deep breath, trying not to lose patience and throw my phone on the ground. What the fuck am I supposed to do right now??

I took another gulp; this time, I almost fell to the ground because of the amount of alcohol in my blood.

In reality, I had one option left, one person I didn't want to call. Matt.

I don't even know how I have his number in my phone; this guy is clearly the last person I want to talk to.

I turned back towards my ex's apartment for a moment, sarcastically thinking maybe it's not so bad anyway. It wouldn't be the first time I went straight back to him after he cheated on me.

Then my eyes returned to my screen, where it said ‘Matt’ in my contacts. I owe it to myself to have a little more respect than that.

I sighed before dialing the number; maybe he was sleeping too, maybe he wouldn't even answer, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't want to come pick me up.

I let the phone ring for a few seconds before telling myself that this was all ridiculous and hanging up.

Oh well, anyway, in both situations, I was dissatisfied, so I might as well turn to something I'm used to!

I started walking back towards his apartment when my phone started ringing.

I didn't waste a second to answer, hoping it was one of my friends who had seen my call, but of course, it wasn't.

"Why the fuck are you calling at 3 am, y/n," I heard Matt's raspy voice say, with the muffled sound of music behind him.

"I need you to do me a favor," I said, rolling my eyes, and he started laughing.

"Yeah, sure, bye," he began to say before I cut him off.

"No, Matt! Please, I'm serious!" I said, desperate.

I heard him sigh as if annoyed, but he didn't say anything more.

"Come on, you know I wouldn't have asked you if I had any other option, please," I added, biting my lip.

"It must be something really important for you to beg me like this," he said in a provocative tone, what an asshole.

"I'm not begging you, asshole," I said, getting annoyed. The insult came out on its own, and I can't even blame it on the alcohol because I really wanted to say it.

"Insult me one more time and I'll hang up. You're lucky I even had the decency to call you back," he said condescendingly.

I sighed, gosh, why did I call him?

"What do you want?" he added.

"I need you to come pick me up," I started to say before he burst into laughter.

"I'm busy right now, y/n, I'm not your damn taxi. Aren't you old enough to call an Uber?" he said.

"Do you see the time? It's way too expensive right now!" I complained.

"Well, that's not my problem, so figure it out!" he said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. It must have pleased him to know I was in this situation.

"Matt, come on!" I said, grumbling.

"And what do I get out of it?" he replied.

"I don't know, whatever you want, I just want to go home!" I told him.

"God, you're really annoying, y/n," he said, sighing, and I smiled, understanding what that meant. "Where are you?"

"At Ben's," I replied.

"Y/n, are you fucking kidding me? He lives on the other side of town!" he said, getting annoyed.

"You're a fucking liar, Matt, you live barely 15 minutes from here!" I said, furrowing my brows.

"I told you I'm busy, I'm at a party. You're making me go out of my way to take you home!" he said, still angry.

"You know what, Matt? Go fuck yourself if you're going to leave a completely drunk girl in the street in the middle of the night," I snapped, furious, before hanging up. What a fucking asshole! I hate him so much!

I kicked a rock lying there, feeling anger bubbling up even more.

I brought the bottle to my lips again, this time taking three big swallows. If I had to go back to Ben's, I'd need a lot more alcohol than this.

I was about to start walking back to my ex's apartment when I felt my phone vibrate again. It was Matt, again.

"Matt—" I started to say before being cut off by his voice.

"Don't move from where you are, I'm coming," he said, sternly, before hanging up.

"I—" I started to say before realizing he had hung up, then I sighed.

Ultimately, I didn't even know if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

I stumbled over to the bench across the street and sat down.

"What did I do to deserve this?" I sighed, looking up at the sky before taking another drink.

At this point, I'd even prefer to go into an alcohol-induced coma! It might sound exaggerated to you, but believe me, it's not!

As far back as I can remember, the relationship I had with Matt was contentious.

It all started in high school when I met Nick, who quickly became a close friend of mine. Then I met Chris and Matt, his brothers.

At first, everything seemed fine until Matt decided to start hating me overnight for no reason.

Anyway, since then, he became cold and distant, which really hurt me, especially since at that time, I had a crush on him. So, I quickly started to dislike him, and since then, nothing has changed; we've remained ‘best enemies.’

After waiting for about 30 minutes, I saw Matt arrive in his car and park right in front of me.

"I thought you were on the other side of town?" I said without moving from where I was.

"I hurried; I wasn't going to leave a drunk girl alone on the street," he replied, referencing what I had told him earlier.

"Mmhm, feeling guilty, huh?" I said with a smirk.

"Shut the fuck up and get in the damn car, y/n," he said, getting annoyed.

"Fuck you," I said, squinting.

Let's just say the amount of alcohol I had consumed in the meantime hadn't made me any nicer.

"Okay, that's enough; figure it out yourself, y/n," he said, starting the car again.

"No! Okay, I'm kidding! God, you take everything too seriously!" I said, chuckling, and quickly got up to reach his car.

Once I reached the door, I tried to open it, but it was locked. "Matt, open up."

"Ask me nicely, and we'll see," he said.

"Don't be a pain; just unlock the door for me!" I said, continuing to try to open it.

He didn't say anything and simply crossed his arms, looking at me, waiting for my response.

I sighed before saying what he wanted to hear, "Please, Matt, open the door for me."

"See, wasn't that hard," he said with a smirk before unlocking the car.

I opened the door and got in.

"Nice accessory," he said judgmentally, referring to my half-empty bottle.

I just gave him a dark look.

"So, what is it this time? Wait, let me guess, he cheated on you again, right?" he said amused.

"Go fuck yourself, Matt," I said, crossing my arms and looking outside.

"It was with who this time, one of your friends again?" he said, chuckling, and I didn't respond.

"No, it's his neighbor, isn't it? He slept with his neighbor? What’s her name again?" he said with that damn smirk.

"Can you please start your fucking car? We're not going to stay here all night, damn it!" I snapped.

"Hmm," he simply hummed, starting the car. "Anyway, I'll end up finding out because you always end up crying in Nick's arms," he said, shrugging.

After that, I didn't want to open my mouth again; he had already annoyed me enough. I just kept my gaze out the window in silence, hoping the journey would pass quickly. And indeed, it was going to pass quickly considering the speed at which he was driving.

"Matt!" I said, gripping the handle of my door when he took a very tight turn at a dangerous speed.

He didn't respond. "You're drunk," I said, looking at him.

"I'm not," he replied without looking at me.

"Yes, you are," I said, frowning.

He didn't respond, so I continued, "You always drive like this when you're drunk."

"Y/n, I told you I was at a party. Yes, I had a drink or two; otherwise, I would never have agreed to come pick you up," he said, scoffing.

"That's bad," I said.

"What, because you're sober right now?" he said, laughing, looking at the bottle on my lap.

"But I'm not driving," I said, raising my voice.

"Can't you be a little grateful for once in your fucking life, y/n," he said, hitting his steering wheel.

I flinched when he did that and stayed speechless, looking at him.

"It's not like you had any other options, did you?" he said, looking at me sharply, then accelerating.

"Matt, you should keep your eyes on the road!" I said, starting to panic.

But for some reason, maybe it was the alcohol, but I couldn't help but find it exciting, this mix of adrenaline and anger. It was like a Molotov cocktail with alcohol added.

"Why, what's wrong?" he said, maintaining his speed, and I looked at him, not knowing what to say.

"Are you scared?" he said, smiling.

"Matt!" I yelled as we narrowly missed a car while passing it.

"Does it scare you?" he continued.

I felt the tears welling up; I was lost, I was scared, but I liked it.

"Answer me, y/n!" he said, accelerating even more, the situation becoming more than dangerous.

"Yes!" I screamed, closing my eyes. "Yes, I'm scared!" I said, feeling a tear run down before opening my eyes again.

"But you love it, look at you, you can't help but watch," he said amusedly.

His eyes slid over my thighs, which were pressed together, and it made him smile.

"You really like this, don't you?" he said, slowing down when we arrived in front of my house.

The adrenaline still hadn't subsided; it was too much for me. I broke down in tears before opening the door and quickly getting out of the car; I felt like I was suffocating.

He stayed in his car for a moment, seeming hesitant, but he eventually turned off the engine and got out.

I immediately started walking towards my house, and he followed me, shouting, "y/n! y/n, stop!"

I didn't listen to him and hurried to grab my keys. "y/n, I'm sorry! Please!" he said, running towards me.

I opened the door, and he reached my side at that moment. "y/n, come on—"

I turned around, and without thinking, I kissed him.

I had been dying to do it.

And even though it killed me to admit it, I had been dying to do it for so long.

He didn't disconnect our lips; on the contrary, he deepened our kiss, leading us into the house backward.

Our tongues battled for dominance for a long moment, our teeth clashing. Without paying attention, my back collided with the wall of my living room, causing me to groan in pain, which allowed him to win our dominance battle and slip his tongue into my mouth.

I quickly forgot the pain when he grabbed my throat with his hand and pressed the lower part of his body against mine.

His lips left mine to place open-mouthed kisses on my jawline while applying pressure on my neck to keep me pinned against the wall.

"I knew you'd like that. I wonder how wet you are right now," he whispered in my ear, making me sigh with pleasure.

It would have been weird if I weren't drunk, I mean, I’m making out in my living room with the guy I like the least on earth, and honestly, it seems even more exciting this way.

"Ouch, fuck!" I moaned when he dug his teeth into my neck to leave his mark.

He reconnected our lips in an even more ravenous kiss after that, and I rushed to remove his clothes, starting with his top.

I slid my hands down his stomach to his belt to remove it. I was about to take off his pants too, but I was caught off guard and distracted when he slid his hand between my legs to feel the wet spot on my panties.

"So fucking wet, I knew it," he said with a smile before starting to massage my clit through my panties.

I moaned and dropped my head against his chest when he slid his hand under my panties to make direct contact with my pussy, making me shiver and grab his arm for support.

He wasted no time inserting two fingers into me and massaging my clit with his thumb.

"Fuck," I whimpered against his chest at all this sudden stimulation.

"Look me in the eyes, y/n," he ordered, but I was so lost in my pleasure that I didn't respond.

He increased the pace and grabbed me by the throat with his free hand this time. "I told you to look me in the eyes when I fuck you with my finger, y/n," he said firmly, and I moaned at the force with which he squeezed my neck and the speed at which his other hand moved between my legs.

"Mmph," I whined, struggling to keep my eyes open, and he seemed to love it judging by the smirk on his lips.

"You're such a slut for letting me do all this to you when you claim to hate me every day," he said, pressing against my ear to degrade me, and it only turned me on even more.

My legs started to weaken, and I felt my orgasm approaching. Without meaning to, I clenched my legs around his hand.

"Keep your fucking legs open, slut," he ordered, tightening his grip around my throat.

"Matt, I'm going to come," I told him, my face contorted with intense pleasure.

"No, you're not," he said, removing his fingers from me and releasing his hold on my throat, causing me to almost fall forward and moan at the lack of stimulation.

I looked at him confused, and he knelt in front of me, slowly removing my panties without breaking eye contact.

He then began kissing the bottom of my thigh, slowly and gently moving up towards my pussy. "I want you to come on my face," he said before burying his head between my legs under my dress.

I gasped in surprise as he did so, gripping onto his hair before letting my head fall back against the wall behind me.

He circled my clit with his lips and immediately started sucking, causing me to cry out in pleasure. I was already extremely close to the edge, but I've always been very sensitive.

"Oh my god," I whispered, placing my hand over my mouth when I realized how loud I was moaning.

And it seemed to amuse him because I felt him chuckle between my legs.

He shook his head between my legs, teasing my sensitive clit with his tongue. Just the sight of his head like that under my dress was enough to push me over the edge.

"Fuck, I'm going to come, Matt, I—oh god," I moaned again, and he slightly lifted my dress to watch me. That was the last straw for me; when I saw his piercing blue eyes, I immediately came on his face, letting out a string of curses and moans.

He then straightened up, and I threw myself at him to kiss him.

He took a step forward, slamming me violently back against the wall, and it would be a lie to say that I didn't love it.

This time, uninterrupted, I ran my hand over his pants to feel him through his jeans.

And he intensified our kiss as I started unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper.

Then I separated our lips, and he looked at me confused.

I looked at him, biting my lip, and began to kneel down, but before my knees could reach the floor, he suddenly grabbed my throat, making me gasp in surprise. "Matt—" I struggled to say because he was squeezing so tightly that I couldn't breathe.

"I can't wait, y/n. I want to feel you around me now," he said, releasing my throat, and I took a breath.

"Do you have a condom?" he asked, moaning as I continued to feel him through his pants.

"No, but... I want it inside..." I said timidly, and he widened his eyes.

"Please, I—" I started to say before he grabbed me by the hips and turned me against the wall, making me sigh in surprise.

"You're going to make me come before you even touch me if you keep that up, baby," he said in my ear, starting to unzip my dress from behind, but it got caught in the seam.

He didn't seem to have much patience because right after that, he ripped my dress off my body, tearing it, and I sighed in surprise at the force of his action.

"Matt!" I said, still facing away from him but turning my head toward him, and I saw him smile.

"Oh, it's okay, darling, I'll buy you another one," he said, slapping my ass and leaving a kiss on my shoulder as he removed his pants and boxers.

He trailed his lips up to my neck, leaving hot kisses, all the while taking his member and rubbing it against my entrance, causing me to let out small moans.

"I'm going to fuck you so well that I promise to make you forget about your ex," he whispered as he gradually inserted his member into me.

My jaw dropped, and my brows immediately furrowed at the burning sensation; he was much larger than Ben, without a doubt. "Ngh—Matt," I moaned when he hit the depth.

"That's right, say my name, get used to screaming it because this definitely won't be the last time I fuck this pretty pussy," he said, groaning in turn before starting to move inside me.

He gripped my hips with his hands, digging his fingers into my skin, and when he began to pick up the pace, I arched even more, hungry to feel him even deeper inside me than he already was.

"Fuck, I knew your pussy would be perfect for me," he said, slapping my ass before thrusting a bit harder.

"God, Matt—Oh—" I cried out as he started hitting that sensitive spot inside me, making me see stars.

He chuckled at my moans before grabbing my hair to pull it and turn my head so I could look at him.

"You look so pretty just like that, all for me," he whispered before kissing me and wrapping his arms around my waist to hold me in place and go even faster.

Our kiss was really messy because he was fucking me so well that I struggled to concentrate and not moan.

"Fuck, I need to see your face!" he said, separating our lips and pulling out abruptly, making me moan at the lack of contact.

Before I could react or understand what was happening, he turned me to face him again before placing his hands behind my thighs to lift me up and insert his cock into me again, and I moaned at the new angle.

"I've never tried this position before; let's see how long we can hold it like this," he said, chuckling before resting my back against the wall behind me.

I chuckled too before wrapping my legs around his hips, and he resumed his pelvic movements, making me roll my eyes and let my head fall back, driven by my pleasure.

He took the opportunity to bury his head in my neck and kiss me, so I lost my hands in his hair, playing with it and pulling on it.

"You smell so fucking good," he whispered against the skin of my neck, and I moaned.

"Matt," I said in a high-pitched moan, and he looked up at me.

"Mh?" he said, continuing to abuse my pussy with his deep thrusts.

"MmmMmmh-" I hummed with my eyes closed, unable to form a coherent sentence due to the overwhelming pleasure engulfing me.

He licked his lips, chuckling, "I'm fucking you dumb, huh?" he said proudly, and I didn't respond, so he started thrusting harder and more brutally.

I opened my eyes, feeling my orgasm approaching, and lowered my head towards him, grabbing his face with both hands. My mouth was open, emitting only sinful moans.

His eyes locked with mine, and he realized what was happening, so he increased the pace even more.

"Matt!" I screamed louder than before.

"Come! I know you want to come for me, y/n!" he said breathlessly. I could feel him twitching inside me; he wasn't far behind.

"F-fuck! Mphh Matt-" I moaned before tightening my pussy around his cock and climaxing, dropping my head forward.

He grabbed my face with one hand to kiss me before he also climaxed after a few more thrusts.

He then rested his head on my shoulder without letting go of the back of my thighs, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

We were both out of breath.

He gently let my feet touch the ground, and I kept my arms around his neck to support myself.

"Bath?" I asked him, smiling.

"Only if there's a second round," he said, chuckling before kissing me.

★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★

[reverie-starlight]

For the MC returns fic you wrote, it's absolutely splendid. But I was wondering if I could ask for a part two with the dateables??

AHHH okayokay i'm so sorry this took so long, I have been so busy since school ended among other things, but here it is!!! and thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed part one <3

as always, gn!MC

disclaimer: I'm not that familiar writing the side characters' personalities, this is my first time writing for them, so please bear that in mind if you think they're a bit out of character. Also, I won't be doing a part three with the undateables (as much as I adore thirteen), bc I'm only on lesson 25 of the OG game :')

warnings: fluff!! slight reverse comfort in diavolo's bc if the game won't let him have a small breakdown, then I will, but it's like so minor. he cries a bit. poor baby deserves to let his emotions out a bit. his section got looonnnggg. slight making out in simeon's? nothing explicit, but definitely lots of kissing. blood mention in barbatos' but no gore or violence. he's just coming back from the dungeons bc I love him being just slightly unhinged. barbatos' is probably the most ooc because I had such a hard time trying to write his section, plus it got just a tad suggestive.

and once again, the details of MC's return are unspecified, just because I don't want to think too hard about it right now! did they complete the task and re-forge all 7 pacts again? did they just pop back into the present randomly? who knows? not me!

MC Returning to the Present: Dateables Edition

(aka MC goes back to the future... I missed out on that pun last time hehe)

After waking up in your room, where you rightfully belong in the present timeline, and getting through your teary reunion with the brothers, you were anxious to set out and find your lover.

You couldn't even text him to let him know you were back- with a shattered screen and an apparent dead battery, your D.D.D. had seen better days. The brothers offered to text the others to let them know of your return after they were done dog piling you, but you shook your head.

"I need to go see him now," you said, feeling guilty that you wanted to leave the warmth of their company so soon after finally having your chosen family back. You made a silent promise to them that you'd spend as much one-on-one time with them as they needed after this, but you were desperate to find him and they could tell. They could see on your face that you had been through a lot and just needed the comfort only a partner could provide.

So instead of fighting to keep you there with them a bit longer, they led you to the front hall and let you go find your beloved. You'd be back after all, you told them as much.

Solomon

As soon as you opened the door to run to Purgatory Hall, you walked right into a wall shaped like the sorcerer you were looking for.

"Solomon!" You gasped out, throwing your arms around him tightly.

"MC," he sighed in relief, cradling the back of your head with his hand, other arm around your waist, holding you just as tight. "I was so worried when you were nowhere to be found in the other timeline, I rushed here to see if you were back."

You hid your face in the crook of his neck, and blinked away a tear. "I made it, I don't really know what happened, it's all a blur, but I'm back now."

"You're back, you're okay..." he pulled back a bit to scan over your figure. "You are okay, yes? No injuries? No weird physical space-time abnormalities?"

You laughed a little breathlessly and shook your head. "No, I'm okay, my love."

He smiled fondly at you before glancing behind you, making you aware of your audience. The brothers were glaring daggers at your boyfriend, and you were sure that if Solomon wasn't, well... Solomon, any other human on the receiving end of those looks would perish.

"Guys, don't. He kept me safe when I was trapped back then. He took good care of me when I needed it, I swear."

You raised an eyebrow at them when they didn't immediately stand down, but they untensed after a second and just eyed him wearily.

Solomon smiled sheepishly. "Honestly, MC, you give me too much credit, but yes, I promise I kept them from getting into potentially catastrophically worse situations."

You returned his smile and squeezed his shoulder, tearing up again. "Don't be like that, you did far more for me than you realize..."

He knew you were referring to all the nights he held you in bed as you sobbed over the possibility of never getting back home, comforting you and acting as a distraction. If he weren't there, you honestly don't know what you would have done.

He sighed again, not wanting to get you too worked up right now. You looked like you were about to drop from exhaustion. His eyes lit up and he grabbed your hand.

"MC, why don't you let me cook for you tonight? A special treat in celebration of our return." The poor guy looked so hopeful that you almost gave in.

Before realizing that you wanted to live to see another day in the present.

"Oh, Solomon, that's very sweet, but you must be exhausted after everything as well! We can just go to Ristorante Six, or get take out..." the determined look in his eyes scared you and you glanced at the brothers for help.

"Nonsense, my love, you didn't let me cook for you once when we were living in Cocytus Hall, let me return the favour." Damn his persistence.

A few of the brothers snickered at that, probably picturing you frantically trying to keep your boyfriend out of the kitchen by any means necessary. It was then that they truly realized how many obstacles you had to overcome. You gave them another pleading look and finally Lucifer took pity on you.

"Actually, Solomon, it's Satan's turn to cook tonight, and we'd prefer to spend the evening with MC, so we insist that you join us for dinner. It'll give us a chance to go over some of the more... pressing details of what happened." His tone left no room for debate, so the sorcerer nodded.

"Oh... well alright, then, thank you for having me." He looked mildly disappointed but it didn't last long after you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

You let out a small sigh and silently thanked Lucifer as you walked further into the house again. You hooked an arm through Solomon's and went to sit with everyone else in the living room, finally feeling at ease for the first time in forever.

Diavolo

The second you were out of the house, you sprinted to the castle.

Normally you would be more courteous on the castle grounds, not wanting to piss off any of the nobles and have them think negatively of the Prince for choosing an ill-mannered human as a partner, but every rule of devildom etiquette left your mind as you ran through the halls.

You smiled at some passing servants as you slowed to catch your breath, wondering where he would be at this time of day. Finally you caught the eye of a servant you had gotten to know quite well during your visits and you visibly lit up as she greeted you.

"Hello, MC, it's lovely to see you again," she curtsied and you smiled kindly at her, insisting she didn't have to. She didn't seem shocked to see you, so you assumed everyone had tried to keep your disappearance a secret.

"Hello, it's lovely to see you, too... you wouldn't happen to know where the prince is, would you?"

She hummed and thought about it for a moment. "I believe I saw his personal butler bringing tea to his office not long ago... perhaps he's still there? He's been working in there far longer than he normally would, lately."

Your heart clenched at that, and you thanked her before running in the direction of his office.

You tried the knob, but it was locked, so you knocked frantically. It took a few moments, but finally it opened and there stood Diavolo. He had a welcome expression on his face, but you could immediately tell it wasn't genuine.

Until he realized it was you, that is.

All the pent up exhaustion you could see on his face melted away and he pulled you to him immediately. "You're back."

You closed the door with a gentle kick behind you as he dragged you further into the room. He lifted you up so that you were sitting on the edge of his desk, him in between your legs. His arms tightened around your waist before his hands trailed up to your shoulders, slid up your neck and finally rested on your cheeks. He rested his forehead against yours and let out a long, shaky, relieved sigh. Like the weight on his shoulders had just been lifted.

You let your own hands tangle in his hair and closed your eyes. "I'm back."

As you held him close, you started to feel him tremble slightly. You opened your eyes in panic, and your heart broke at the sight in front of you.

The future king of the devildom was doing his absolute best to hold back his tears, clinging to your shirt, his breathing unsteady. All because of you.

Your grip in his hair turned softer and you pressed your nose against his cheek, nuzzling into him. "It's okay, my love, I'm here. You don't have to hide from me, you can let it out," you whispered softly.

He listened to your words and immediately sank into your arms further, letting out a strangled sob. The tears that dropped from his face dampened your clothes but you didn't care at all. "Let it out, I'm here now."

You continued to soothe and shush him, all the while caressing his hair and kissing wherever you could reach. You knew Diavolo felt as though he had to remain strong all of the time, and honestly if you were in his position you'd probably feel the same. But since you started dating, you had been trying your best to let him know that he didn't have to be that way around you. He could let his walls down with you and never have to worry about being thought of as less.

A knock at the door made him tense up again and you looked at him in reassurance, silently letting him know you'd take care of it. He straightened up slightly, back still turned to the door, and nodded at you. "Come in," you called out.

You peeked over his shoulder and were pleasantly surprised (though you probably shouldn't have been) to see Barbatos standing there, composed as ever. When the butler saw your head sprouting from behind Diavolo's his eyes widened slightly before returning to normal.

"Hello, MC, welcome back."

You waved. "Hi Barbatos! I missed you."

He chuckled. "I must admit I missed you too. Young master, shall I prepare your room with fresh night clothes for MC as well? It's quite late."

You glanced at him and while he had dried his tears, his eyes were still rimmed with red and his nose was running. So he just nodded and said "Yes, thank you Barbatos. Could you possibly run us a bath, please?"

"Yes, my lord." He nodded at you once more with a knowing smile and closed the door behind him.

You looked back to your boyfriend and smiled. You gently kissed him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders again. "My love, I'm so happy to be back. I missed you more than anything."

He managed a smile and helped you down from his desk. "I was so worried about you, MC, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back."

You squeezed his hand tightly as he lead you out of the office and down the hall that lead to his personal wing of the castle. "Well you don't have to think about that anymore."

He nodded and for the first time you've seen that night, and most likely in general since you've been gone, a genuine smile took over his face and his usual playfulness returned. "Will you spend the weekend here with me, MC?"

You nodded. "Of course, I was going to ask you if I could, anyway... oh! Diavolo..." you sheepishly looked at him and pulled out your D.D.D.. "Do you think we could get me a new one sometime this weekend?"

He laughed. "Of course, my dear. Is there anything else you need? Anything at all, just say the word."

"No," you started, opening the door to his room and flopping onto his bed. "Just you."

His smile turned soft and his eyes were filled with love. "That can surely be arranged."

Simeon

You knocked desperately on the front door of Purgatory Hall, hoping to see your boyfriend's face. All you wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms right about now.

Soon enough, you heard faint footsteps from behind the door and the sound of a lock unlatching. The door opened a crack and you looked down to see a certain blonde boy's wide eyes. Your own eyes widened in surprise, as you weren't expecting Luke to be up at this hour.

"MC?!" He exclaimed, opening the door wider and throwing himself at you for a hug.

You laughed a little and kneeled down to hug him properly. "Luke! I've missed you."

You both walked further into the entry hall and he refused to let go of you after the door closed. "We were so worried about you, MC! Are you alright? Did you get hurt?"

You patted him on the head. "I'm okay, buddy, promise. I'm glad to be back in our time."

Another pair of footsteps was heard as you and Luke had your little reunion. Your heart raced in excitement, recognizing the pattern of the footfall.

"Luke? Who was at the-"

You smiled as his words cut off and he stared at you, frozen and clearly shocked by your arrival. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "Hi, Simeon."

Your voice brought him out of his trance.

He rushed to you and held you close. Everything about your boyfriend was gentle- his tone, his smile, his disposition... his touch normally was, too, but in this moment he held you tighter than he ever had before.

And you clung to him just as tight.

He pulled away after a minute, just taking you in- making sure you were real. His eyes turned glassy as he fought back tears. "MC... you're here. You're okay."

You nodded and felt your own eyes well up a little. "I'm okay, Simeon. I'm even better now that I'm here."

He took a shaky breath and composed himself, nodding once and turning to Luke, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Simeon, let's bring them to the parlor. We have so much to catch up on. We could watch a movie- oh! We could do some late night baking..."

The two of you shared a longing look as he rambled on about all the things you could do that night. There was a silent understanding between the two of you that you wanted some alone time, so he gave you a sly smile before addressing the boy.

"I know you're not going to like what I have to say, Luke, but it's getting late."

The angel frowned immediately and crossed his arms. "But Simeon, I want to spend time with MC!"

"I know, but you were already about to go to bed before answering the door. It's best to stay on schedule so you don't ruin your sleep cycle."

"But how is this any different than when you let me stay up late during our sleepovers?"

"Well..." he had a point. "I'm sure that MC is tired right now from their trip back. Time travel must be very draining, you know."

You stifled a laugh as Simeon grasped at straws to get more alone time with you and decided to help him out when he shot you a pleading look.

"Luke, how about we wake up early tomorrow and make breakfast together? Simeon's right, I'm exhausted and I want to be wide awake when we hang out. Does that sound okay? I'll spend the night and you can wake me up as soon as you wake up."

This seemed to satisfy him and he nodded, before hugging you one last time and running up to his room with a quick "Goodnight!"

You both waited for the sound of his door closing before his lips were on yours. You sighed into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck. It was soft and needy and longing. Exactly what the two of you needed. Your hands tugged at his hair and his hands roamed from your waist to your hips. His touch was back to being gentle.

You stayed like that for a bit, one hand trailing down to play with the hair on the nape of his neck.

When he pulled away after a while, a little breathless, he tugged you to his bedroom and let you rummage around through the drawer of your clothes he let you have for whenever you stayed the night.

When you were both changed and laying under his covers, cuddled up as close as possible, he kissed your temple. "I missed you so much, MC..." he whispered. "I was terrified that you would be harmed."

You turned on your side to face him properly. "I'm okay, Simeon. I just missed you a lot. You were there, you know... and you were almost the same. It was so hard for me to hold back from acting how I normally would with you..." you traced a finger along the bridge of his nose and then over his cheekbones. "I had to remember that it wasn't a version of you that knows me like you do. You were so close but so far."

He caressed your cheek with his knuckles and gazed at you with a loving smile. "Well I'm here, and it's me. I'm all yours, MC. You're okay."

If he was being honest, he felt like he could breathe again. Being away from you, knowing where- when- you were and not being able to help in any way was torture. Having you back safe and sound was the biggest blessing he could ever receive.

You leaned up to kiss him again and then rested your forehead against the crook of his neck. "I love you, Simeon."

"I love you too, MC. I'm so glad you're back."

Barbatos

Once you entered the castle, you immediately asked around to find out if anyone had seen him. The first few servants had no clue, but welcomed you back to the castle with a smile. It wasn't until the fifth servant you had run into that you got an idea of where he might be.

"I believe I saw him heading down to the dungeon about an hour ago. He's been spending a lot of time there lately- when he's not tending to the prince, of course. If you wait there, he should be about done with his... ah... appointment," he said.

"Thank you!" And then you were dashing to the top of the stairs leading to the dungeon. Just as you were about to descend the staircase, a familiar figure was ascending.

You both froze and stared at each other for a good few seconds, taking in the fact that he was in his demon form, covered in blood and carrying a bag. This certainly wasn't the reunion either of you were expecting.

However that didn't matter, because as you were too excited to finally have him back, you jumped into his arms, not caring about any blood on your already trashed clothes.

"Barbatos, I've missed you so much," you sighed in the crook of his neck.

He finally seemed to register was was happening and dropped the bag, wrapping his arms around you. His tail curled around your leg as well, a seemingly unconscious act. "MC... I've missed you, too." He said, slightly breathless. It wasn't often that anyone could catch him off guard, so you smiled slightly at your achievement.

Once he regained his composure, he immediately pulled back and looked you over for any injuries he could attend to. "Are you alright, my dear? Are you hurt? When did you get back?"

You cupped his cheeks and smiled up at him. "I'm alright. I got back about an hour ago, I just woke up in my room. I wanted to see you right away after I got done with the brothers," you said, and then ran a thumb under his eye.

"I'm happy you're back." He said, bringing up the hand with the less soiled glove to rest over your own. "I feel much more at ease now that you're here."

He'd never tell you how much of an understatement that was. He felt like everything was right again. His heart had been pounding in his chest ever since you made eye contact. He'd never tell you, but he was sure that you knew.

You smiled at him teasingly. "Have you been taking your nerves out on the prisoners? Is that why you're covered in blood?"

He chuckled. "It might be. Would that be so wrong? It's an effective way to relieve stress."

You snorted as he uncoiled his tail from your leg and brought your hands down to swing in between you both as you walked. "That's fair... Barbatos, would it be too much to ask if I could stay with you tonight?"

He squeezed your hand slightly. "Not at all, I was going to insist upon it. I still have things I must tend to tonight, but I need to clean myself off first. And while I'm at it, I will get you some new clothes. Then you should see the young master to let him know you're back."

You nodded at him and clung to his arm. One thing that hadn't changed from back then was how to the point and blunt he was. It was admirable, really. He smiled a bit as you walked, feeling perfectly content for the first time in a while.

Once you were both cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothing, you headed to Diavolo's office. You weren't nearly as nervous to see him as you were your boyfriend, but nerves still bubbled in your stomach. He was a close friend, after all.

Barbatos knocked and entered, signaling for you to wait a moment. You could hear muffled speech from the other side of the door before it opened again and he ushered you in.

Diavolo's eyes lit up. "MC, welcome back! You must be so glad to be home safe. I hope you're able to rest well tonight. We'll call a meeting tomorrow with everyone so you and Solomon can explain everything in detail. For now I expect you to take it easy for tonight."

You grinned at him. "Thank you, Diavolo. I'm happy to be back." You looked at Barbatos briefly to address him in a softer tone. "Should I wait in your room or the parlor?"

He was about to respond before Diavolo cut in. "Oh, Barbatos, you're dismissed for tonight. I'm just about done here, anyway."

The butler's eyes widened. "My lord?"

"You deserve to spend this time with them, take the night off."

"...Are you sure, my lord?"

He nodded and then looked at you pointedly. It was clear he was conveying along the lines of 'get him out of here, I can't convince him on my own'.

You smiled and bowed your head at him in thanks and gently tugged your boyfriend out of the office. "Come on, my love."

Once you were back in the hallway, he looked at you. "Are you hungry? I could bake for you, it's not too late yet."

You nodded. "That would be great, thank you..." you kissed him on the cheek as you walked, laughing slightly at his still-stunned expression.

Clearly he wasn't expecting much free time tonight, but with one glance at you, he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it. "When we're done in the kitchen, I think we should turn in for the night a bit early..." he leaned in close and brushed his lips against your cheek. "Does that sound alright with you, my love?"

You shuddered and nodded, looking up at him with an expression that matched his own. "That sounds perfect."

He was so happy to have you back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so happy to have this done!! it was genuinely so much fun to write... I'm sorry for Barb's section being so... short? and ooc? I had the hardest time figuring out how I wanted to portray him and I think I'm going to have to keep working on it cause I'm not 100% happy with it, but we'll see!

I also dug up some unrealized feelings I have for Diavolo with this fic, cause now I'm like totally head over heels for him.

all in all though, I hope you enjoyed!!

[bitchinbarzal]

Happy Never After | T Meier

summary: not everything has a happy ending

this is a re-write

-

"I don't understand you sometimes!"

"What's not to understand Timo?! I drop everything for you all the time and you just don't care-"

"I care!"

"No you don't! I dropped everything for you when you were traded to Jersey, I left my job and sold my apartment to follow you and I put up you you being absolutely miserable every single day because of it! I moved around the country now we’re in Jersey without my home and job!"

A weight lifted off your shoulders, finally speaking your heart. Timo shifted awkwardly infront of you.

"Glad you got that off your chest" he grumbled, angrily

"you're not the only one who sacrificed stuff you know?"

You laughed humourlessly "what could you have possibly had to give up?"

It was like he was searching for something to say "| missed out on like everything it was to be a rookie because I was tied down to, to you!"

Your eyes went wide and Timo bit his lip, regretting how he'd said it.

"You 'missed out'?" You put air quotes around your words and quirked your eyebrow

He gulped

"On what exactly? The drinking and partying? The hooking up every other night? Every Sunday I came over Kevin had a new girl in his bed! Is that what you want?"

"What? No-"

"That's what you said! You just said that!" You wave your hands around with no reason, just feeling frustrated.

"You know that's not what I meant!"

"That's what you said!" You screamed, as if raising your volume would get the point across better.

He ran a hand over his face and sighed "God would you stop being such a bitch-"

Nope.

The sound of your palm meeting the side of his face sounded through his apartment. He grabbed his cheek which was turning red now while you stumbled back, tears in your eyes and gasped.

"Don't you dare, don't you dare call me names!" He reached out for you, to console you but you pulled away "No, No don't! Don't touch me! God, I can't even look at you"

"Babe, please just listen I didn't - woah what are you doing?" He rushed, watching as you picked up your coat and bag.

"I'm leaving, I'm going home"

"Please don't leave! C'mon I'm about to leave on a two week long road trip let's not do this"

You looked at him, breaking his heart as he took in your red nose and tear stained cheeks while you sniffled

"I can't Timo"

When the door shut he stood in the silence wondering

what the fuck just happened?

When he woke up the next morning he had hoped you were there, you weren't. You hadn't answered any of his calls and texts.

The devils were about to leave for a two week road trip and he didn't want to leave this on a bad note but he had no time before the flight was due to leave.

Before take off you received a text

Timo 🤍

i love you and I'm so sorry. please just call me, I wanna hear your voice.

You read the text, like all the others but never replied.

Instead simply throwing your phone away to sit and sulk.

Day four of the trip and he still hadn't heard from you.

The first sign of life was when Jack's girlfriend posted a photo on her instagram stories of a bunch of denim jackets with the boys names and numbers on the back for the wags annual brunch.

He spotted his own name on a jacket, heart content to know you were there. However a couple of hours later he saw another story post of the same brunch and could see that same table with one jacket lay on it, the number twenty eight standing out to him clearly.

It had started taking a toll on his play around Vegas.

Nico spoke to him but was shut down quickly as Timo insisted there was nothing wrong and that he was sorry. Nico didn't care about his play, he was worried about his friend.

A week into the trip you visited Timo's apartment with a cardboard box in hand. Packing up everything you wanted to take with you. At some point you'd gotten so emotional you sat down on the couch to breath and turned the tv on.

It flickered to the last channel it was on, hockey. You watched the screen as it panned across the devils and the canucks. You watched as the screen showed Timo, holding his chain in hand and kissing the pendant that hung on it - your pendant.

"Oh T..." you sighed, biting your lip and turning the TV off.

When the road trip ended Timo couldn't wait to get home and see you, try to resolve this clear issue.

Opening the door, he immediately felt off. His eyes darted around the room trying to figure out what was different.

Your favourite blanket that hung over the couch was gone.

Your shoes weren't littering the floor next to the front door.

You weren't there.

Timo scrambled for his phone, calling you and texting you to be hit with the voicemail.

37 voicemails.

146 text messages.

27 instagram DM's.

6 twitter DM's.

1 email.

You never replied.

It wasn't until a few days later you called him when you knew he'd be at practice unable to see his phone so you could leave a message.

When he returned to the locker room and saw his missed call he cursed, rushing to listen to the voicemail.

"hey timo, I know it was shitty to ghost you like that but I feel like if I didn't do it this way I would make it worse for everyone. I feel like we need time apart, you made it clear that being in this relationship made you miss out on things so I want to give you the chance to explore that lifestyle! I'll always be your biggest fan, from San Jose to Jersey I've got you but I think I just gotta have you from afar for a little while"

Timo looked at his phone for a moment before he threw the phone onto the floor and stood on it repeatedly.

Completely unaware everyone was watching the scene he was causing.

It was Jonas’ hands on his shoulders that snapped him out of his bubble "C'mon man, let's go some-"

"She left me"

"Okay, come on buddy not here"

He looked up at his friend and let out a soft, shaky breath before he shoved his head on his shoulder and began to sob.

"You're alright, it's alright"

The pounding on your front door that night startled you, leaving your desk to answer the clearly urgent guest

The door wasn't even open enough to see you before you heard "What the fuck is going on?!"

"Hi Lauren, come in, lovely to see you" you joked, rolling your eyes as she barged into your apartment.

"Timo is on my couch right now crying, what is going on? More importantly are you ok?" She asked, eyes fluttering over you to check.

You smiled softly "I'm okay Laur, I'm sorry I didn't talk to you l just - my head has been fried"

Her eyes softened "hey listen, I'm here for you okay? I just don't understand what's going on? Jonas brought him home and we are both as clueless as each other"

"I broke up with him"

"You What? This is a joke right?"

"Laur, i feel bad enough please don't make me feel worse" you groaned.

She stood there looking at you "I don't get it, you're Timo and Y/N. You don't break up"

"Yeah well.." You trialled off.

You went into all the details. Explaining the cause of the fight and all the things he said to you amidst it all.

By the end you were both in tears and when Lauren hugged you, you felt relaxed for the first time in a long time

"We love You, so much! and we support you always-"

"But Jonas-"

"But Jonas nothing, you are our friend too and it'll take some getting used to but we support our friends"

When Lauren returned home that night she didn't speak to either of the boys. Clearly seeing how much Timo was hurting right now that being angry at him wasn't an option.

He returned home, to an empty house on day three.

He felt like he was becoming a burden in their home.

So he moved the pity party back to his place.

Life carried on as normal as it could, he played hockey, he practiced and he slept. He did everything he would usually without you. He tried not to think about you too much but it was hard living in the place he had never been without you.

The days and month kind of moulded into one.

Halloween passed, Christmas passed, New Years all without you.

Timo downloaded tinder and bumble. He let his friends set him up. Nothing was working. He hated this.

The next time he saw you was New Year's Day.

Lauren had asked for you to come along to the game with her as the Devils were playing the Flyers in the stadium series and her future in-laws would be present.

You'd been friends with Jonas since high school and his parents always enjoyed seeing you.

Jonas obviously hadn't passed on your news to his parents.

"We're super excited for the wedding! And you must be too sweetheart, oh you and Timo will be next huh?"

Your face went red and you stuttered until Lauren replied "actually, Nutchara. Timo and Y/N broke up in September"

She looked shocked "Oh no, sweetheart I'm so sorry ! didn't know!" Pulling you into a hug to console you.

The hug was showcased on the jumbotron, Timo watched from the bench, his heart in his throat.

After the game the Siegenthaler’s were gathered together with you chatting away and Timo overheard Nutchara speaking as he passed.

"Oh now you're single maybe we can finally set you up with Nico, he's a bit hopeless with romance"

You laughed, making a comment about "Poor Neeks" Timo about-turned bumping into his teammate behind him and poking a finger into his chest before grumbling "If Nico puts his hands near my girl, tell him he's a fucking dead man"

You did not go out with Nico. Jonas made sure his parents didn’t meddle.

January passed and the rest of the months ran quick.

You were helping Lauren out with wedding stuff, constantly flying back to Canada to visit the venue, speak to catering, order flowers. You name it.

The devils never made it to play offs.

You watched them the night they failed to qualify.

You wrote out a text to Timo

i'm sorry. you deserved that one.

You didn't send it.

The wedding planning soon started coming into play.

Bachelorette parties and Bachelor weekends commenced before the big day.

You spent the week before trying to fix everything to be perfect for their big day.

The Friday night was everyone flying into town. You couldn't be there to pick people up as your own flight out of Newark had been delayed but the team pulled through with Nico and Jack taking point as welcome committee.

Your new flight landed hours later, while everyone was supposed to be at dinner. You texted Jack to ensure someone could pick you up and he told you he had it it sorted.

You wanted to kill him when you exited the airport and you saw Timo waiting for you in the loading zone.

He was leaned up against his car, rushing forward for your bags when he saw you

"I thought Jack was picking me up"

"He ran out of fuel and I had a full tank so he sent me"

Your sighed "Well alright then"

The ride back to the hotel was quiet and awkward.

Nobody tried to make small talk.

When you arrived at dinner you swiftly knocked Jack's head and said "Never do that again"

Saturday was the rehearsal dinner and you weren't feeling so great.

You had put on the dress and headed across to the venue. You did your due diligence and welcomed in both Lauren and Jonas’ families.

Jonas was mingling with people but didn't miss how Timo’s stare hardened when Nico walked up to you and hugged you hello.

"Please don't murder him, this is my wedding after all"

Timo took a drink and grumbled "I make no promises but I'll at least hold off until after his speech" continuing to watch your interaction.

Jonas laughed and walked off with a "Thanks bud"

Timo kept an eye on you all night long, feeling something was off.

You didn't look right.

After everyone was sat for the meal and speeches had been done you wandered off to the bathroom and hadn't returned for quite a while.

A break in the meal service gave him the opportunity to slip away to find you.

He found the ladies bathroom, he knocked and said

"Y/N, you in there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. What's up?" You croaked. Timo frowned before saying "I'm coming in"

"Timo, no-" it was too late, he'd already made his way into the bathroom to find you on the floor hunched over the toilet.

He walked over, pulling his suit jacket off and draped it over your shoulder and then pulling your hair back into a makeshift ponytail to the best of his ability.

"You don't have to-" "Just hush, I'm here"

You were silent but grateful, continuing to spew for the next twenty minutes.

"I think I just ate bad chicken on the plane" you mumbled, defeated and laying against the tile wall.

"Let's get you to bed" he decided, pulling you up from the wall. Your body, weakened, fell into him and you groaned

"But the dinner " "can be done without you come on"

He slipped the two of you out the back door and called a cab back to the hotel. For a moment you forgot your situation, opting to think this was all normal.

When Timo took you up to your room and helped you get ready for bed, all normal.

You knew you shouldn't have but when Timo tried to leave you cried out "Please stay, I can't be alone like this"

It didn't take an awful lot of convincing, Timo knew you and he knew you were right. You never really got sick but when you did you always needed help.

He stayed.

He stayed all night while you slept, his fingers tangled in your hair scratching lightly at your scalp to soothe you.

At five that next morning he left you in order to return to his room and get ready for the wedding.

When you woke up, slightly confused you found a note on the pillow next to you.

morning, I had to go get the boys up. hope you're feeling better, I'm sure you'll look beautiful today. advil and water on the nightstand < 3

You smiled lightly, looking over to see a plastic water bottle and the aforementioned pills waiting for you.

You picked up your phone from the other side, a few texts from people checking you were ok was all along with a message in the bridesmaid group chat about getting ready together.

"She's alive!" Was yelled when you entered the room.

You smiled "Yes, yes I'm here I had food poisoning"

"Timo took care of you though, that was sweet" one of the other bridesmaids said, curling her hair and looking at you in the mirror.

You nodded, picking up a champagne glass from the table "Yeah, he left to go get Jonas up this morning-"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lauren yelled "He stayed over?!" Yeah nodded sheepishly "Uh yeah, I guess I asked him too when I was tired I think I was just used to him helping me out when I'm sick"

Lauren gave you a look but you didn't press it further, after all it was her wedding day.

The ceremony didn't last long, Lauren had always said she didn't want people being bored and just wanted to party.

You'd found your space at the head table, right next to Nico and you couldn't help but think Jonas’ mom had something to do with the table plans.

You were talking after dinner with Nico about everything going on in his life when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders.

You turned to see Timo smiling down at you "Hey Neeks, mind if I steal her for a bit?"

Nico smiled "Nah man, she's all yours. I'll see you in a bit y/n"

You smiled back before pushing the chair out and grabbing Timo’s hand to be directed onto the dance floor.

You didn't speak for the first few minutes, just basking in each other's company until you said "Hey thanks for last night you didn't have to do that"

"I couldn't leave you to fend for yourself"

"I'm not your problem anymore T"

"Not by my choice" he noted and you huffed "Timo-

"No, please just hear me out because l've been waiting for the right time to speak to you and I mean what are weddings for if not love, eh? Whatever that stupid fight we had was about was not worth loosing you over. I hate myself for that and the things I said because I love you so freaking much and I was so stupid for allowing myself to loose you. When you left me I was broken"

You sighed, looking up at him for any sign of a lie.

There was none "Timo... I miss you too but you know it's not that easy to just get back together"

"I know, I just needed you to know how I felt" he nodded.

"Well Thank you, i appreciate it. Maybe we can talk again whenever we're back home in jersey?"

"I like the sound of that"

You nodded, Timo twirling you out in the dance and when he pulled you back in he said "You do look beautiful tonight I guess I predicted that right"

Back in Jersey come the fall it had been a while since that night at the Siegenthaler wedding.

The devils home opener was packed with fans.

You were sat with a beer in hand, looking out on the ice at the red jersey's looking at all the new names around.

Your thoughts were broken when you felt something drape over your shoulders, turning you saw Lauren alongside other girlfriends and wives all smiling at you.

"Hey!"

"Hey sweetheart we didn't think we'd see you here, we saw you from the box" Lauren points up to the 'wags' box.

You blush "Yeah, i uh haven't been up there in a while"

"Well we thought you might want this back, a little birdy told me you might need it" you pulled the jacket draped over your shoulders off and looked at it.

The black denim jacket displayed the number twenty eight alongside Meier so nicely.

You smiled "That little birdy would be correct" you answered and the girls all cheered.

"Ugh, finally they're back together! We're so happy for you"

"Thank you guys honestly, it's been a massive journey but we're here now!"

Come the end of the night the boys were on a winning high and Timo didn't think it could get better than this.

That was until he came out of the locker room to find you with your back turned to him he saw the name and number on your jacket.

He groaned "Oh god I forgot what a beautiful sight this was" slipping behind you, arms travelling around your front to land on your abdomen and kissing the side of your head.

You leaned into him "You like it?"

"Like it? I love It" he announced, leaning in closer to your ear to whisper "I'd like it better on our floor”

You straightened up "Oh we've gotta go guys! We've got stuff to do. See you all next week!"

You were halfway out the door when someone shouted

"they really never changed!"