#it smells like old fans who no longer like the new content

[laindependencialuna1899]

damn they out here judging HS2??? like the new update??? why????

[from-memphis-with-love]

Gambling on Your Love - Ch. 2

Summary: Memphis Mafia antics cause trouble on set and put Elvis' relationship with the film's director on thin ice. Amidst this chaos, he finds himself increasingly drawn to his co-star, Francesca, who challenges him to consider a more serious path in life. Their growing connection, marked by moments of vulnerability and the thrill of new affection, leads to a pivotal evening that could change Elvis's life forever. Will he embrace the possibility of true love, or will his old habits die hard?

You can go back and read chapter one here. Word count: 9,800 Warnings: Outdated gender dynamics; crude humor; sexual content; alcohol use.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

“Hey, E.P. Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”

“Hands off yer snakey!”

Elvis knew those annoying hyucks and haws anywhere, especially beating down his door at the crack of dawn. He yanked on a black silk robe and tied it at the front. 

“We know you’re in there, E! Come to the door!”

He could hear the alcohol and pills still imbibing their speech and doubted they’d even went to bed last night. Opening the door to his home proved that no, they in fact had not gone to bed last night. At least not their own.

Joe Esposito wore a frumpled paisley polo shirt that was half tucked into his black slacks. One shoe was missing and there was old vomit on the one poor mahogany loafer present. Jerry Schilling had sweat through his beige three-piece suit and struggled to keep upright on the pebble driveway leading to the patio.

Marty Lacker and Billy Smith were leaning against one another, using each other’s gravity to stand up. The saddest mountain in the valley. Red West, sober and only a pinch aggravated, a vein bulging from his sweating forehead, opened his arms up for a mighty hug and a few wallops on Elvis’ back. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth before asking, “So why haven’t you answered any of our calls? You know I had to call fucking Parker to clue us in on where you went off to.”

“It hadn’t been that long,” Elvis insisted, glancing at his neglected answering machine.

“Longer!” Joe wailed, leaning all over Elvis and rubbing his pink forehead into Elvis’s silky sleeve. “Oooh, it feels so cool against my face. Say, where’s the bathroom around here again?” He gestured towards the pool right out back and Elvis guided his hand to straight down the hall. 

“First room on the left.” Or was it right? He didn’t use the downstairs as much in this house. Those double glass doors leading to the pool veranda freaked him out at nighttime. He made a mental note to buy some curtains. Getting everyone some water and ginger ale to nurse on, Elvis kicked back in his recliner, still in his loungewear with almost a full house. He hadn’t been so casual since childhood, without even his slippers on, for God’s sake. But everyone drank deeply and munched on the little cheeses and crackers he’d set out just in case they needed to soak up some of the liquor sitting on their bellies. He could get wild around this group of men. 

His reputation was something that he never really tended liberally. It was effortless to display whatever it was that made his fans flock to him. In all regards, he was just himself and it seemed to work to get him this far. His fridge was full, his bank fuller, houses in every state (that he liked to visit), top shelf dames for the picking. Why, just the other night he’d (almost) taken Francesca on a date. She insisted otherwise, but his cheek still sizzled with that little peck, he could smell her perfume when he shut his eyes. Hot spiced wine and caramel. He couldn’t get enough. 

The image he needed to maintain for this production was demanding and he realized that some of the worry he carried, in making this work, in making a mark, in doing more than just producing a film—in crafting a classic; was not for himself alone. The heaviness was shared for her. Frannie. She’d been in films before, he’d even watched a few of them. Some strange indie films, an avant garde piece with a French director, with her voice distastefully voiced over. She had a few commercials, television and radio. 

Francesca might not be selling out stadiums, but she certainly had a devoted following of fans. Some of them were mixed in with his, albeit intermittently and much quieter than his raucous crowd. Young ladies with long straight hair and plaid skirts, glasses and berets, tracksuits and pinstripes. Artsy types. Sophisticated types. And of course, young men by the droves. 

She always waited patiently for them, one by one, talking with them. Graciously asking them how their families were. Sometimes she remembered specific fans’ names, told them about their gifts seated on her mantle or dangling from her rearview mirror. She always had time for them, always radiating humbleness. She was grateful for every interaction, every autograph, every bouquet and box of chocolates. Frannie was working class at heart, just like Elvis. They both had a gift that lifted them from poverty, and both of them never forgot their roots, feeling more comfortable around the “little people” rather than their contemporaries. 

So it meant something to him. To inadvertently have a stronghold on the helm of her career. He’d blame himself for the rest of his life if he did something to steer her into a media storm. He watched her perform when she thought no one else was looking. He learned that when she was rehearsing, she had a whimsy about her. A playfulness in everything that she did. But she was also precise, always hitting her mark, yet subduing herself. She was saving her true magic for the camera film. Like an endurance sprinter, pacing herself. When she was alone, or under the impression she was, Frannie flourished. Like the night he first saw her on the television, an angel on stage. She commanded hearts with ease, turning heads, widening eyes, craning necks. He could watch her for hours. 

“So, who’s the girl? You know we know there’s a girl,” Joe asked, pouring himself a drink while plopping down in the only dent Elvis had managed to carve in the slippery white leather wraparound couch.

“There’s always a girl!” Marty hiccupped, his eyes shut as he sunk down in the crook of the couch’s arm, his cheek mushed against the wooden panel. They weren’t wrong. Elvis was by all accounts a ladies’ man. Women were the gentler sex and he’d always adored them, lovely and flirty as they came. He liked what he liked.

The Memphis Mafia had always been his traveling pack, but just for this film that he wanted to distance himself if only a little bit. Just to take things, well, seriously. He knew the boys were his weakness. They could get him partying all night long, blowing his money at casinos, bars, races. He loved the fellas, but this was only temporary.

But looking at ‘em all, so sad and slumped on his couch, strewn about his living room, stumbling back from the bathroom, he wanted to hang loose, too. Relax. Unwind with the boys a little. They were all dying to see what it was like on set. But more importantly, they were dying to meet Francesca.

“I saw her on a billboard on the way here! That dark haired doll with those come hither eyes,” Red whistled, rubbing his hands in that scamp way. “Oooh wee. Nothing gets me going more.”

“She’s a lady on set, but I guarantee she’s a wild cat in the sack, isn’t she, Presley?” Joe snickered, nodding his way.

Elvis felt a momentary pang in his heart. Then, he felt a childish itch to fib, but he relayed the truth, “Frannie and I are just friends for now. But trust me, it ain’t for the lack of trying.”

The fellas nodded solemnly, sharing glances with one another. “Typical games. They want you to try, try, try until you almost can’t see the finish line anymore.” Billy chided.

“Nothing quite like the fire of a hard-to-getter,” Red chuckled dryly. “She’ll make you work for it. But I can tell you just from looking at her, it’ll be worth it.”

Elvis wanted to pivot the conversation away from Frannie. It felt off to talk about her like a conquest. While he wanted her willing and wanting, batting those lashes at him, swooning for him, it just wouldn’t be quite right. She just didn’t seem like the type to fawn and frill. She never had a moment of, “Wow! You’re really Elvis Presley!” She’d taken him as a man, as her equal. A coworker, a co-star. A foothold on the wall-climb of success.

Once his boys had a power nap, a greasy fast food breakfast, and a long ride to the studio with the top down, they were right as rain, springing out of the Cadillac one after another.

“Good morning, Mr. Presley,” a young crew member winked. It was the girl from a few days ago that’d tried getting his attention. Looking at her now, she was quite the pretty freckled thing. Wispy bleach blonde hair pulled back in a high, twisty ponytail. Her hair was thinner than Francesca’s. So blonde it was almost pink. She had on a lot of make-up, maybe. He was apparently not the best at pegging if a girl had any on or not, if she was subtle enough with it. But she had black clumps in her eyelashes. Pretty, still.

The fellas tipped their suggestive glances towards him, wiggling brows, laughing and slapping him on the shoulders. Out on the hot concrete, the huge garage style bay door was open. Apparently, the air conditioning had gone out over the weekend and everyone was going to have to just power through it. The breeze was nice and there were more crew members lingering outside, smoking and shooting the shit.

Cassandra had gotten her hair cut, the graying wisps framing her face as she glared at him from across the way. She watched them cautiously, critically. He knew instantly that he would be under scrutiny with his boys around, but what’d started as a seed of worry had died and in its place agitation bloomed. He never liked the idea of being anything but his authentic self. His boys were nothing but a little harmless fun, and they weren’t causing a disturbance. Yet…

On set, Elvis noticed someone he hadn’t before, not only because of the new face, but also because he was escorting a brilliant mare, blonde and spotted, who shook her head and whinnied softly. He kept to himself, in a torrid conversation with the director, luring her attention back to his face.

Francesca’s scenes weren’t being rehearsed until the afternoon, but she was always in attendance early. She was inside, dark hair tousled by the breeze, chatting with the make-up crew and Eddie, who was already back on set, albeit with a neck brace and bandages squeezing his fractured hand. He gave a thumbs up before wincing, making the guys laugh.

“Looks like you at that age,” Red jibbed, as Eddie was almost a head shorter than him, gangly and pale. The poor kid was made to be behind the camera. Which was too bad, considering he had a lot of charisma. He told Frannie and Elvis jokes between gracious thank yous when they drove him back to his place. Kid still lived with his parents. In a basement no less. Eddie’s well-loved station wagon was outside and Elvis pointed at it, half-heartedly saying, “If I had to have a family car, that’d be the one.”

“That’s the car that would make you a father?” Francesca had laughed, that flighty, birdsong sound that haunted his dreams. Literally. He dreamt of her, feverishly, night after night since their not-date at the carnival. At first, they were silly dreams, wherein he was pantless and asking for directions in his second grade classroom and Francesca was the teacher answering snidely, “Yes, you may use the restroom, Elvis.”

Saturday he’d seen her in his childhood home. She was a little girl with braided pigtails and a sunhat too big for her tiny head, letting diamonds of sunlight in. They played together until it was time for him to wake up. One of those dreams he couldn’t remember the devices of, just the impression, the feeling he’d been left with when blinking his eyes open.

But there was one dream, his fervid dream just last night, where Frannie let him in, let him take her on a real date, wining, dining, charming her. Making her fall in love with him. Dark arms reached from the backs of their dining chairs and before he could shout, he was plunged into pitch black. Flashes of sunlight and song, mirth. He awoke with her in his bed, her beautiful back facing him, the linens bunched at the dip of her elegant waist. He would dream of lifting that sheet, but instead he drew her into his arms, inhaled her lush scent, felt her soft tresses against his face. His eyes had shot open and without even looking down, he could feel the space between the blankets and his belly where his morning wood tented the sheets.

A cold shower had been imperative. And then his crew had arrived, worried that he was in a slump (or more likely needing a place nearby to crash while they slept off their inebriants). But those feelings returned in full force the nearer he drew towards her. 

Sensing his approach, Frannie turned to him with a face so lovely it made his heart ache. He inhaled sharply, never as off kilter with his words than with her. She just did something to the part of his brain that told his mouth to say things.

“You look stunning, Frannie,” Elvis rubbed her arm and although she didn’t pull away, she wasn’t at all receptive to the touch, or returning the familiarity in any way.

It wasn’t until she leaned in with a worried look in her eye that she said, “There’s a reporter on set. I want everyone on their best behavior.” She hadn’t emphasized “everyone,” but she might as well have. He wanted to kick rocks or maybe go find a hole. Suddenly, thoughts that never plagued him before came rushing in, a worry that he could be the architect of his own undoing. He felt as if he was being eyed, damn near looked down upon. Like she waited for him to step out of line and make a mistake, sending her inevitably and gracefully swooping in to save his bumbling ass. 

Over by the craft table, Joe gestured towards Frannie and whispered, “That’s her, that’s her right there, shining like the sun. Talking to Elvis.” The boys made a beeline towards her and introduced themselves one by one, everyone remarkably tame.

She was still on the balls of her feet, her heels lifted, her composure fracturing when she watched the collective headturn of all the Memphis Mafia, eyeing bleach blonde and buxom Debbie who rapidly approached. She was a background dancer, the waitress that one of the male side characters was supposed to fall for. The girl who had winked at him just earlier. It took him a minute before he recognized her.

Debbie cut a line towards them, ignoring Francesca’s presence obliviously, so close to Elvis that she reached out with frosted pink nails and fixed his starchy white collar. “There ya go. I know how you like lookin’ your best, Mr. Presley.” She was chewing gum, strands of her hair getting occasionally snared on her glossed lips. “You wanna go see a movie after this? I’m free.”

He blinked in surprise at her boldness, but swerved the invitation tactfully, even with the boys egging him on.

“She says she’s free, Elvis,” Billy snickered.

Elvis grinned. “I’m so tired of movies, maybe something like lunch another time.” He didn’t intend anything but cordialness, but he instantly saw a shift in Francesca’s features. Her brows pinched momentarily, her lips thinned. She took a minute step back, acknowledging the situation.

Debbie was over the moon, clapping her hands together girlishly with a squeal behind her teeth. She had a gummy smile. He knew he’d done something that he’d regret, even if he didn't necessarily feel guilty.

Francesca walked away without a word, her perfume following her. He didn’t know whether to try and talk or just let her go. But watching her walk away, his decision not to trail left him hollow for the remainder of the day. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, about her face in that moment.

*

“So, like I was saying. My favorite place ever to shop closed down last week and I’ve been so upset about it. Where else am I gonna find another consignment boutique around here? Gah!”

Elvis nodded. “You should try secondhand, there’s a lot of good—”

She cut him off with laughter. “No way! You shop at thrift stores, too?!” Her voice was up there, volume wise.

“Oh, sure! I grew up shopping secondhand. This old spot back home, Tupelo Treasure Trove—”

“Shut up! You’re from Tupelo? My mom is from Saltillo!” She slapped his chest, her hand lingering for just a little too long. “That’s crazy! I bet we crossed paths before at a grocery store or a park, or like, on the street maybe. How funny would that be?”

Red and the others snickered behind him, rescuing him from menial conversation with a well-meaning loud girl, a natural reflex they’d honed to perfection over the years.

“He’s gotta get to make-up, ma’am,” Jerry politely interjected, hauling Elvis back.

“Yeah, he looks like hell, look at that,” Marty ribbed, mussing up Elvis’s hair, leading him towards crew. He craned his neck to look for Frannie and although he spotted her, she never glanced up at him.

While he was getting his hair sprayed and his pores powdered in, he saw Colonel Parker off to the side. He appeared as surly as ever, arms crossed and face puckered as he watched all the young people on set scurry around, getting everything perfect.

He approached Elvis. “Still just doing rehearsals? Thought you’d be filming by now at least,” he said gruffly, lighting a cigarette inside, something that Cassandra had strictly forbidden, proclaiming that the smell made her gag. 

“The director just wants to make sure that everything is perfect before we start filming.”

“That’s what retakes are for.”

It was always an argument with Parker about something, anything. He would find the little details to gripe about. Even while getting the lion’s cut of the share, he was still a begrudging miser. He coughed wetly, pointing at Elvis. “This hotel fee is going to fucking kill me.”

Elvis didn’t take the bait. He just went positively along, refusing to argue. “Prices are crazy. If you want, I can cover the cost of the hotel, too.”

“Oh, would you be so kind?” Parker stamped his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe, flicking it into a trash can. “Look, there’s press on set.”

“Trust me, I know.” Although, he hadn’t seen anyone yet with a camera or a recorder. They must be trying to gather information without being noticed first.

“Just don’t lean in to any of those disparaging questions they’ll ask you about your other films and you’ll do fine like you always do. You're proud of your work and you’re excited to give a female director a chance.” He couldn’t finish that without chuckling at the end. 

Elvis nodded along, knowing that if he misspoke about his previous work, he’d just be burning bridges in every direction. It was true, he was proud of his work even if it wasn’t his best. He’d put heart into all his roles, even if he’d been playing hard most of those blurry nights. 

“You’re up, hun,” the director’s rotund, sweet-faced assistant pitched her head towards the main set, the floor of the casino. He had another solo to play, but the music wasn’t the focus so much as the conversation his character was supposed to be overhearing between the crooked casino owner and a dirty cop.

The boys were chatting up some pretty girls at the craft table, lining their pockets with ding dongs while they were at it. They waved to him, all thumbs ups, wolf whistles, and cheers for their main man. 

Elvis took his spot at the piano bench, looking for Frannie again, settling his sinking heart before he focused on the ivories. The first tones were somber and the words he whispered were pitifully sad. He’d wanted Frannie to hear them. He selfishly wanted to see if she would be impressed with his playing or follow the lyrics with him. To see if she would still be avoiding him or not. 

But she didn’t show, and his lines were rehearsed and his scenes acted and danced out without a hitch in his step and declined to answer a lot of questions from the weaselly reporter that approached him, sticking to jovial, safe, canned responses about everyone doing their best.

*

Francesca avoided him. Jackass. Him and his little friends. They were acting like a bunch of pigs. She didn’t want to get muddy. She wasn’t some groupie.

Taking a break outside and enjoying the shade, the fresh air and flowing breeze made for a cooler air than the stuffiness on set. She could hear shouting from inside and after listening intently, she could tell that it was Cassandra, pitching an absolute fit. Stepping closer to the door, she propped it open to get a peek. Earlier in the day, Cassandra had grown instantly agitated by the presence of Elvis’s so-called “Memphis Mafia.” The obnoxious group of men had no right to be there. Their carefree demeanors sullied the professionalism on set, and both she and Frannie knew that they would serve as a very unhealthy distraction to their second leading star.

And they encouraged Elvis to flirt with all the girls on set. Ugh.

Cassandra had been fuming, practically pulling at her hair all day. She wasn’t saying a word, not yet, while she watched the boys cutting up daily, shmoozing with the pretty young crew members as the press sniffed for blood in the water. It was just embarrassing. Him. His antics. His effect on the film.

But now, the good director was spearing her anger directly towards the group of men, yelling at them to, “Cut the shit! How else would liquor end up in the punch?”

“Look, lady, we understand why you’re so pissed off. But we had nothing to do with this. Less than nothing. I don’t even know nothing. That punch tasted like regular ol’ punch to me earlier, but let me try some now.” The one she was sure was named Joe was clapping back at her, but it only pissed her off more when he sampled a bit from the pouring ladle.

“Get out! All of you, off the set. Anyone who is not getting paid by me, leave my set.” Her voice lowered an octave and she shut her eyes, calming her nerves and letting the men gather their wits.

Elvis was shocked, his face one of disbelief, but all the guys just laughed.

Francesca watched him lean into Debbie, close enough to smell her cheap perfume, to see the glitter she sprinkled in her hair to try and catch some of the low light and make him notice her. They exited out the door and Frannie, well, she was content to practice her lines. She wouldn’t let him dirty her on-set decorum. Maintaining good composure, she just barely tilted her head to acknowledge him, her expression blank. He was turning out like every bad rumor she’d heard about him.

Hell, when Francesca told her sister Connie about landing the star role alongside Elvis, she’d gasped and warned her to cage herself around a man like that. They just liked playing around and dipping out when things got inconvenient for them. Say something wrong, do something obnoxious, not laugh at one of their jokes and that was all they needed to deflate the joyride and steer things off course. 

But Frannie hadn’t set a course. She was just having fun and quite content to stop things at anytime. If they’d even started, that is. After all, she had told him that wasn’t a date. But they were supposed to go to dinner this weekend. Somewhere out of town, he wouldn’t tell her where. 

She was done thinking about this, letting him live in her head. She cleared some well-needed space and when he was hot on her tail after his rehearsal, when he’d magically garnered a moment away from his rowdy pack of dogs, he was laughing, shouting back at them, “One sec, just one sec!”

“Don’t bother,” she thought but didn’t say. Decorum, Frannie. Work professionalism was key in climbing the rickety ladder of fame. One wrong step was all it took. An explosion on set, a scorned would-be lover, jilted and hysterical, unable to continue filming, production on hold until a replacement could be found and—she swallowed, clutching her throat, turning to face him with a placid smile.

“Elvis. Don’t you want to get back to your friends?” Her tone was level, but he wasn’t stupid. 

“Well, hey. Hey, how are you feeling? You seemed a little distant on set today.”

“Distant? Distant, oh, I’m sorry, I’m not going for that with Josephine’s character.”

He waved that away. “No, no. I mean you. What’s wrong, did I do something? Say something?” He looked like he wanted to reach out and pull her closer. He already was with his eyes, raking them over her.

Usually she would never buck up, never cause a stir. She gracefully knew to take the pacifist route in this world very much dominated by men. But seeing him with Debbie genuinely rattled her. It was a strange, foreign feeling. 

“Look, I’m not a girl who can just sit pretty on a shelf and wait for you to come and fancy playing with me again. Do you… understand what I’m saying?” She struggled to keep her tone calm. He had truly unnerved her. She’d liked him, dammit. Still really did. But she kept it to a whisper, knowing that a nosey reporter could be anywhere on set, lurking in the shadows to get the next scoop, maybe overhearing a conversation on set that he shouldn’t have.

Francesca was horrified at the thought of any bad press getting out about the movie before its theatrical release. She didn’t want to do anything to put this project in danger. It meant so much to her, definitely more than one night at the fair. But she’d gotten kinda dizzy on the swings after a whole funnel cake, and he’d wiped powdered sugar off the corner of her lips, absently licking it from his finger. Her heart had skipped a beat. Now, it’d just sunk into the pit of her stomach. Like a portent, black storm cloud on the horizon, a man approached her with a greasy smile to match his sickly green checkered shirt and ocher colored shorts. He had a badge around his neck, a thick pair of prescription glasses resting on his bulbous nose and a pair of extra shades propped on his balding white head. He didn’t have a camera crew in tow, but he did have a recorder in hand, and he was already fumbling with it before he made his way to her.

Francesca steeled herself, trying to read him as a hard hitter or a blow-over. Some papers wanted a fluff piece about the latest film to placate the average reader. But others wanted to dredge up the worst of the worst, all the drama, all the angst, all the little petty arguments taking place behind the scenes that didn’t matter even an ounce in the grand picture of filmmaking. She saw them as pests, wondering if there was a fly buzzing in front of her face.

“Francesca Ferrara,” he slanted, his recorder hissing in the background, rustling his voice like wind through leaves. “What’s it like working alongside Elvis Presley for your biggest film yet?”

Maybe he was oblivious to how duplicitous it was to pose a question about her much more famous co-star, especially as the very first thing out of his mouth. She just barely masked the twitch of her lips, keeping her smile on.

“It’s amazing! I cannot believe that I actually get to work with Mr. Presley. You would not believe how professional he is. I couldn’t ask for a better co-star.”

He looked satisfied with that answer, asking another. “And this is your first Hollywood debut, right? What would you say to any potential moviegoers who don’t know which ticket to splurge their hard earned dollar?”

“I’d have to say this one. I’m so thankful for the opportunity to star in a movie directed by Cassandra Morgan. She is amazing. So, to not give too much away, just know that there’s going to be a lot of runaway laughs, heart stopping romance and a rocking soundtrack that’s going to shake the house.”

“Excellent, sweetheart. Excellent. And you just look fantastic. Fantastic, darling. What’s your diet? All the ladies are crazy about that cabbage right now. But you’ve always said you have a hearty appetite. How do you do it?”

Frannie was taken aback, but not surprised that his line of questioning devolved into simple dribble. What do you like to eat, Francesca? Do you go for a morning run like Miss Natalie Wood? Are you seeing anybody, Miss Ferrara? Do you have a man in your life?

She cleared her head, smiling though the bullshit. “That’s my little secret. But you can bet that I was taught never to be late for dinner, and I don’t count on skipping any meals. I’m Italian, after all! You’ll have to tell me about that cabbage, though.” She laughed daintily, even though she hadn’t really said anything all that humorous. She just wanted this to be over, clean and short. But he just kept prodding.

“So, I’ll ask the obvious. You and Elvis are playing a couple and have quite a few romantic scenes. Does any of that chemistry translate off camera?” The silence was filled with that anticipatory hiss. The recorder hungry for a story. One she was hesitant to give in full.

She couldn’t deflect his insinuation too hastily, for it would look like she was trying to hide something. Instead, she rolled her shoulders and held her chin up when she said slyly, “Isn’t that every girl’s dream?”

Thankfully, the questions shifted to lighter things about co-stars and estimated release dates, which she couldn’t really comment on other than a hopeful guess for next fall. When he concluded their interview and went on his way, she felt eyes on her. Turning to glance over her shoulder, in the shadows of the casino set, Elvis’s creepy agent, Colonel Parker was watching. The same dickhead who tried to lowball her agent and get her to take a smaller cut and put her name second. Absolutely not. She did not like the man, and by the looks of it, he didn’t like her either. She could live with that just fine.

*

Elvis watched from the sideline, a cool towel around his neck. He apologized profusely to the boys and also on the boys’ behalf. He just couldn’t believe that any of them would do something like that. Hell, when he interrogated them about it outside, they all had clean pockets. No one had a flask. So whatever alcohol had been used, the bottle had been disposed of. He wanted to check the trash cans to see if he could find any evidence, but what use would that do? They were already banned from set, and now Elvis was on what some might consider thin ice. Luckily, Cassandra Morgan was forgiving, seeing the obvious confusion and worry on Elvis’s face when he tried to make sense of what happened.

Apparently, some of the crew members were enjoying an early lunch. The punch left out had tasted a little dry and the smell was off. Elvis wondered if maybe some fruit juice had simply fermented. None of the boys would do something like this. Sure, they were jokesters, but they would never involve unwitting victims in their pranks. Absently, he had to worry if someone was trying to sabotage him.

With the air conditioning out and summer setting in, it was already starting to get hot with so many people. Debbie was saying something but when Elvis leaned in to hear what she was saying from all the way down there, he spotted the new horse trainer talking to Frannie. She was laughing, letting him release her hand after giving it a kiss, her eyes glittering. She looked refreshed, happy. Saying, “Antonio, you’re too much.”

Antonio was helping her up on the golden mare, letting her get used to the feel of such a powerful animal under her reins. She looked pretty and comfortable, like she’d done this before. When she responded to something the dashing Spaniard said to her, her dark hair spilled over her shoulder, mesmerizing him, Antonio, and certainly any other man with eyes in attendance. Her outfit was smart, tight fitting in a black pants and silver heels, the stark color of her slacks making the hand helping her quite glaring. Even though Elvis couldn’t make out what they were saying to each other, he could tell that Antonio was fishing. 

His fists balled and released at his sides, but he kept it cool, watching as Antonio exited stage left and Frannie took her place just off camera. In this scene—a heavily stylized dream sequence—she was supposed to blaze down the steps of the casino and steal a loose carriage horse to make a quick getaway from armed men who are tailing her, guns blazing! A few sound guys were stand-ins for the henchmen and posted up with the fingers as pretend guns. One knelt for a quick long range shot and the other was in pursuit as soon as Cassandra called action.

Francesca pumped her arms, her heels clicking as she ran, picking up speed before attempting to make the jump up to the saddle. She made a good first attempt, skipping to a momentous slide and up—up! Well, not exactly all the way up. She could almost get her leg over the saddle, but would fall just a little short and of course, her valiant hero came to lend a hand.

Antonio smiled, clearly loving the image he’d built for himself as the charming, helpful casanova. His hands once again grabbed her lithe thighs when she ran towards him, like she might tumble into his arms. And up she went, given that extra boost needed to soar up and land gracefully on the saddle. The horse, Goldie, adjusted with a mild-mannered flick of her blonde tail as she boredly chuffed.

“There you go, you had it in you the whole time. Just don’t be scared. She will catch you, just trust her and trust yourself.” Antonio served, but she was only somewhat interested as she nodded at him, grinning in acknowledgement and towards Cassandra to continue on with another take.

This time everyone was in a quiet standstill as Frannie focused ahead on the sprint path and took off. Without falter, she draped her right leg over the saddle like lace, fitting her feet into the stirrups and grasping the reigns. Goldie’s mane fluttered and she looked tired of the action, ready to gallop free. But she was a good girl, enjoying pets from Frannie to her big broad neck and ears. Gentle creature, tamed by a beautiful woman. 

Elvis watched on with a foreign pang in his heart, but there was pride in seeing how accomplished Frannie looked, mounted high like a queen on her throne.

“Good job, my girl! I knew you could do it. Just takes a little practice, like everything else.” Cassandra’s southern accent grew thicker when she was tired, and her words were practically a drawl in this heat at high noon. “Let’s pick this back up tomorrow, folks! Give poor Goldie a break—and a round of applause! For Goldie and her handsome handler.”

The ladies in attendance all looked at Antonio with saucy, behind-the-hand laughter and then turned to giggle amongst themselves. Except Debbie, who was still very much enthralled with Elvis’ presence, her hands clasped low and her breasts pushed high up, betting for his attention.

Frannie waved goodbye from up on Goldie, ironically doling out kisses just like royalty. Always in good humor and ready to make someone smile.

He went to approach her, to stride up the steps to see her. Debbie’s arm looped into his so fast it gave him whiplash.

“Whoa, whoa!” He kindly brushed her away, “Almost lost my footing there, thanks for the hand. I’m gonna go talk to our lovely friend there,” he trailed, hopping up the set steps with his hands in his pockets. 

Frannie could sense him approaching even while she conversed with Antonio, saying something about, “The Costa del Sol sure must be lovely this time of year.” She laughed elegantly, the kind of laugh that you stopped your own laughter to listen to. But here she was, putting on a polite show. Elvis could tell instantly that Frannie didn’t like Antonio, she was just being cordial. But the same couldn’t be said for the Spaniard, who was leaning against Goldie with his tan, brawny arms crossed, letting his eyes greedily wander all along Frannie’s figure. He was whispering, his brown eyes darting up to see Elvis rapidly approaching.

Frannie turned on her heels, never displaced, never caught off-guard. She touched her well-manicured, red lacquered pointer finger at his chest, muttering tightly, “We were just having a conversation about classic bikes. You have an old sportster, don’t you?”

He could tell even with the craft of her words, that the deliverance was key and that he wasn’t being welcomed in. Antonio looked smug, smirking at Elvis from over Frannie’s shoulder.

Elvis didn’t avoid eye contact with the younger man. “A Sportster. A Bonneville. Superhawk. Got an Electra Glide on the way with some customizations, before they’re being sold to the public next year.” He didn’t like being steered on when and where to talk, especially if some chump was going to try coming in on his girl.

Frannie leveled him with a split-second, whip crack glare. Like she couldn’t believe he was actually trying to flaunt his wealth. Or was he just puffing up like a peacock in some misguided attempt to win some perceived fight with Antonio? Either way, it shouldn’t have stung Elvis as much as it did. He was often regretting the things he said moments after he said them.

Antonio glanced between them, sliding his hand out with owl eyes. “Hello, sir. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Antonio.”

“Antonio here is only supposed to be on set for a few weeks, so we have to make the most of our time with him while we can.” The insinuation in her voice wasn’t lost on him but Elvis didn’t want to believe it. Whatever chemistry they had couldn’t have soured so quickly. He then realized why Frannie had been acting terse with him since this morning. 

Was he being an ass right now? He stopped just short of rubbing his hand tiredly down his face. She was jealous and flaunting herself to tease him. Him and all the other men on set who would chomp at the bit for her affection, pouring their intentions into every word, every lift onto a pony. She was stunning, even when she was ticked off. 

*

Elvis suddenly felt alone. His boys were probably at home, having a good time playing his records and eating his food, while he was here pacing the dark hallway to the dressing rooms. He’d spent only a short amount of time thus far in there, seeing as he was already dressed to the nines when arriving on set for rehearsals daily. Filming would commence next week and he was more than ready.

He let his brain toss his thought-slurry up one more time and somehow, amidst the fight for logic and courage, courage won out and he marched towards Frannie’s door. Knock, knock, knocking before he’d actually come up with anything to say to her.

“One second!” He heard a loud bash like she hit her vanity. She coughed a little painful grunt and stumbled to the door. “Jesus. I’m coming.”

When she answered the door, her heels were off, and she had her right foot clenched in her hand.

“I stubbed my toe for this?” She rolled her eyes, not hiding her irritation with him now. He wasn’t used to members of the fairer sex disregarding him like this. If any other woman had done that, it would have made his blood boil. But with Frannie, it only made him want her more.

“Frannie, talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on? What did I do?” He wanted to make it right. Alleviate some of her pain. He didn’t like seeing her so upset—especially at him.

But she just glared back. “I already told you that I do not want to speak to you.”

“Well, you didn’t say that.”

“I guess it was implied. I would appreciate it if you got out of my dressing room, please.”

“I just want to talk to you, Frannie. Don’t be like this. Can we at least go out for a walk? Some fresh air, maybe? It’ll do you good, you’ll love it.”

“I’ll hate it.”

“Nah, you won’t.”

“Get out,” she cut, shutting the door, but he caught it with his fingers. 

He shouted out in pain and she instantly pulled back, worriedly looking over him, but he used that as an opportunity to slip inside and shut the door behind him.

“Not until you talk to me.”

“I told you to get out! Do not—” Francesca collected herself before she misspoke, her heart leaping into her throat. He was so close. “Do not cause a scene.”

“Look, we’re behind closed doors. I’m not gonna raise my voice or nothing like that. I just wanted to talk to you, Frannie. We’re safe from the press. Just… talk to me. If you’re mad, let me know what I can do to make it up to you.”

Frannie was fuming. “Make it up to me? Making it up to me would encompass you apologizing me to start with and I don’t know, changing your entire personality perhaps? Because it seems you are incapable of going five minutes without ogling the next set of perky breasts.”

She knew she caught him completely off guard with her rashness, but she wanted him to feel struck, just like she had. Because for a moment, she entertained the idea, the fantasy that the rake Elvis Presley could be reined in, tamed by one woman. She couldn’t believe herself for believing in him for even a second.

“What are you talking about, Frannie? Oh come on, are you really upset about Debbie?” His tone was incredulous, like he couldn’t fathom fault in drooling over multiple women. 

“You cannot be that dense, Elvis.” She scoffed, turning away from him to pour herself a drink. Just some water, to settle her roiling stomach. He was actually having a physical effect on her. More than one.

“I was just joking around with her. You heard me turn her down? Didn’t you?” Then he grinned. “Besides, you and I, did we ever go on a date, really? I didn’t think you even really liked me all that much, Frannie.”

Oh, he was so full of shit!

“I heard you tell her you’d go to lunch sometime.”

“I was just letting her down easy! Lunch isn’t very sexy, is it?”

“Then how would you like it if Antonio asked me to lunch. Huh? What if he asked me to go with him to Spain later this summer? And we ride horses on the glittering sands together?”

That made him falter. “Well, I... that’s completely different. Situationally.”

“How? Situationally.” Smart ass.

“Because you know that I like you.”

Now it was her turn to be caught with her mouth open, closing it without a word, mulling over her response. He was being vulnerable with her right now. Real.

He looked even more handsome in the low light of her dressing room. The red lamp shades made it look like he had hearts scattered in his blue eyes. He took a step towards her and she didn’t move away. 

“Is that why you’re upset, Frannie?” He asked, his voice like velvet. “’Cause you like me, too?”

Of course she liked him. How could she not? He was a recipe for heartache wrapped in charm and velour. It would be too easy to fall for him, as easy as breathing. He was right in front of her now, looming above. The back of his hand brushed against the apple of her cheek. She inhaled sharply, her eyes searching his for the answer to the questions her heart asked.

Should I really be doing this?

He made the decision for her. When his lips crushed against hers, she cleaved to him, letting him melt against her. She could feel his relief when she didn’t retreat from him. He smiled, enveloping her face in his hands, petting her ears, exhaling indulgently, saying thank you with eager presses. 

Elvis was pushing her back till her knees hit her settee. She stopped him, her hands on his chest. When he pulled away for air, blinking slowly while gazing down at her, his mouth parted. He almost panted with passion. She was helpless not to let him continue. He took her down, his large body pinning her to the cushions. She felt warmth pooling between her thighs. He was such a fucking good kisser, his hands busily caressing her, his tongue gently sweeping against her bottom lip, kindly asking for permission. She readily allowed him in, letting him lick against her in the same beat of his hips, which had begun to pitch forward against her own.

“Frannie…” He muttered into her neck, making her shudder and cling to him. What was he doing to her? Whipping her into a fervor pitch just with a kiss and a deft roll of his hips like this. He was parting her thighs, making her accept him between them. His trousers were silky against her skin, his mouth desperate against her neck and his hands exploring her body. Starting with the dip of her waist, he let his fingers trace her. 

She arched into his touch, settling comfortably with him on top of her. It kept creeping up on her, the brevity, the quickness with which she was allowing this to happen. But she never pushed a man away because she was prudish or scared, only because she wanted to know that he meant to stay with her. That he was willing to get to know the real her. Yet something about them felt right. She couldn’t help but adventure headlong into this foray with him, learn these things about one another. About how sweet his mouth tasted, or how sturdy his hands were, gripping the small of her waist.

The vapors were rising and she could feel her body flush with heat. Her head began to spin, grounded by his weight. She touched him, cradling his face, pulling him into another kiss. Stirring his hips against her, she let out an unbecoming sound, one that he wanted her to make again and again with the way he continued that very movement.

“This side of you, how long was she waitin’ to come out?” He asked against her lips, stealing her breath with another smoldering kiss. Marking her with bruising passion. He was eating her up and she couldn’t get enough, even knowing that this was hurtling too fast, too far. 

Maybe he felt her about to retreat, to douse the flames, so he quickened his pace, rocking his hips against her, lacing her hands with his and hoisting them above her head while he kissed her fluttering throat, leaving little love bites as he went. 

She cleared her throat. 

“You want me to be honest with you?” Francesca poised the question and he was hooked on hearing the answer. Gazing down at her, his hair falling out of place. “I do like you, Elvis.” She felt his hot hands slipping up her thighs, darting underneath the shadows of her dress. The fabric began to bunch at her waist and he was mesmerized, watching her face as he pet her. 

“No sex,” she insisted breathlessly when he cupped her panties, palming the white cotton. Had she been anticipating this deep down? She wore the type of undies that turned him on most and delighted at the sight of his mouth parting.

“Anything you say, Frannie.”

His lack of fuss surprised and endeared her. What a good boy—a gentleman, even. Taking what he could get. Perhaps he really did like her. If only that were enough.

“This isn’t how I usually… conduct myself.”

“Well, I really love the way you’re conducting yourself right now.” He notched her dress up just a bit higher, catching the little bow at the top of her panties. It took his breath away.

“You should see how they match the top,” she alluded, rolling her shoulders and letting her dress fall. He eagerly assisted, tugging it down to show her lush breasts, attractively on display in a white cotton bra. It complimented her olive skin nicely. He touched her with open hands, gripping her impatiently. His thumbs pressed gingerly on either cup and he whirled in small circles, slowly stirring her, sending jolts down her spine with every spin. He was making her squirm, touching her so thoroughly. And he’d barely graced her bare skin. She worried if she could control herself if he did. She could be a voracious lover, taking a man for an endurance ride, and Elvis seemed all too ready for the task. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. 

“So, does this mean you’ll let me take you on a real date now?”

She laughed throatily. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, big guy.”

He shivered, holding her tighter. “I like that. Keep calling me that.”

“Only if you keep behaving.” She retorted, with only a sliver of venom laced in. Still, he knew what he needed to say. To really get the panties to drop. And maybe get her to… like him more.

“You know. I’m sorry. About before, I am. I’m just—You…” Where to start? He breathed out, tousling her pretty hair. He didn’t need to make excuses; he knew she wasn’t the type of woman to wanna be fed any. But she waited attentively, patiently, for him to say the right words that would reel her heart in. Maybe she’d never be able to love a guy like him, but he could at least get her to kinda like him. “I’m sorta, y’know, stupid when it comes to women’s feelings. I know that I like the attention, it makes my big dumb ape brain happy when a girl tells me I’m her favorite artist, or I’m sooo handsome—”

“Oh, please.” Frannie snorted. Elvis giggled too. 

“I’m going somewhere with this, I promise. I just want to say, I’ll quit listening to the part of me that says to entertain these girls and start listening to the really, really loud part, begging, pleading to listen to—” He leaned into her neck, still as stone, his hands poised on her ribs. She froze. “Frannie! Francesca!” He was tickling her, making her laugh involuntarily. She couldn’t even accuse him of playing unfairly; he was making her fight for every breath between bouts of laughter.

When he let her go and they were both catching their wind, looking longingly, almost warily at one another, she put her hand on his wrist, “Take me to dinner tomorrow.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Hmm. I’m busy tonight,” she coyly replied, letting him place butterfly kisses along her exposed collar. He dipped a few to the pillow of her cleavage, nuzzling into her, brushing his cheek along them. Almost purring. She played with his hair.

“You ever ride a motorcycle?”

She chuckled and he looked up to see what he’d said that was so funny. Behind a daintily furled finger, she grinned. “I’m very acquainted with them, darling.”

His ears went red and his cheeks bloomed with color when she called him sweet names. “Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow night!”

“Or, how about we ride separately, but together.” She could tell she was speaking his language when his eyes brightened. There was that wagging tail again.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow at Sullivan’s.”

*

He couldn’t believe it. She was letting him in. He felt her skin. He tasted her tongue. He had her fingers squeezing his while he kissed her. When he palmed her down there, he’d felt how wet she’d gotten just from kissing. She was mesmerizing and constantly on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He dreamed about her again. 

They were riding horses through the woods together, somewhere in Tennessee. It was snowy and there were perfect white flakes on her thick lashes. She looked like an angel atop a black mare. Next thing he knew, they were beside a roaring bonfire and he was taking her savagely in the dirt, her cries like music in his ears.

Again, he awoke thrusting his sheets, reaching out for her and grasping nothing. Dreams were weird and his always had been exceptionally so, but now they were also sex fueled. Francesca Ferrara fueled.

He brushed his teeth and thought of Frannie. What was she having for breakfast right now? He got dressed and wondered what she would be wearing. He stepped out into the living room, tumbling into the game room to play some billiards with his boys and pass the time until he could see her again. 

Filming started Monday and Cassandra wanted everyone at their best, well rested. They stopped by a local burger joint. Joe griped about the director for the third time that day.

“I’m just saying. That lady had some nerve. Talking over me like that. Wouldn’t even let me explain. I don’t drink that stuff. You know what was in that punch?” He stabbed a steak fry into ketchup. “I’ll tell you. That was Malort.”

All of them gagged in response.

“Malort. Cheap garbage. It's a better drain cleaner than it is as a liquor. I don’t buy that shit. Don’t know anybody who does. Maybe poor guys on welfare.” Joe shuddered. “That’s some immature high school level shit, pouring it into an open drink like that though. I’d never do that. We’d never do that.”

Elvis held up his hands. They knew he believed them. “She’s just terrified of anything going wrong, is all. It’s her first big budget film and she’s critical of everything.” Especially me.

“She’s giving you a hard time cause you’re a man,” Marty quipped around a mouth full of burger, the others nodding in agreement.

“Damn, this is good,” Red gruffed, hardly saying a thing while he inhaled his plate, sucking his fingertips after every bite.

“I’ll talk to her about letting you guys back on set,” Elvis promised, knowing that he could grease the wheels with Cassandra a little bit. Tell her he’d let her family have free merchandise or something. Even a meeting with him and all that jazz.

“Ehh, don’t even worry about it, champ. We’ll just be distracting you, keeping you from uh—making it with that Ferrara girlie.” Lamar Fike’s double chin jiggled as he laughed.

Elvis grinned. “Don’t talk about my Frannie.” 

“Oh, his Frannie, he says!” Marty chimed in, banging the tabletop, turning heads in their direction. 

“I’m just trying something a little different. A little more…”

“Serious?” Red finished, the others waiting on his answer like a bunch of sad sacks. Like Elvis was going to marry and settle down with two and a half kids, white picket fence, labrador and station wagon. 

Elvis shrugged, picking at the fries on his plate, anticipating dinner tonight. He had made the reservations and the breathless host had told him they could have a whole section to themselves, but he asked instead to just be seated far from the door, maybe outside on the balcony. He didn’t want a bunch of people coming up to them, star struck. He’d just wanted a private evening alone with her.

“Yeah. Just a bit more serious this time. Frannie is a really nice girl.”

“Don’t go falling in love.” Red warned.

“Don’t go breaking that nice girl’s heart, you old dog!” Lamar added, clearing his plate.

It was the last intention on his mind. In fact, it was paradoxically the one thing keeping him the tightest bound from diving into things with her. He wanted to take her on a trip to Europe, he wanted to take her to Bloomingdale’s and let her pick out anything her heart desired. Buy her a puppy, buy her a fur coat, buy her a matching pink Cadillac, buy her a house across from his so that he could see her at his leisure. 

But above all, he didn’t want to hurt her. And inevitably, he always hurt the women he got involved with. He already gutted her with just a little harmless flirting. It worried him that his wandering eye would get the best of him and she wouldn’t be able to find it in herself to continue forgiving him, accepting him back into her life. He couldn’t do that to her. She said so herself, that she didn’t want to just be part of his failures, his shortcomings, his bad films, his broken relationships and used women.

Francesca wanted something he would have to dig deep to give. His truest self wasn’t the type of man that she deserved. He had a lot of thinking to do while he picked out which outfit looked best. “Navy or white?” He asked the guys, holding up two ties, the poll for white winning out.

He wore a sporty black three piece, his red under shirt conveying his bleeding, beating heart. His gold cufflinks clinked against his helmet as he placed it on his head, careful not to mess up his hair. Tugging on his jacket, he headed out the door. Sunset painted the mountainous horizon in swatches of orange and violet. The blue sky fading beneath dotted with starlight, guiding him towards the city as his bike ate up smooth black asphalt. He knew to meet her at her apartment so that they could ride together—but separate—as she’d put it.

Elvis caught Francesca again, looking out the open window. And he wondered how long she had been waiting there for him, in a flowing red dress and black leather boots. Riding boots. She looked like a mermaid, wind racing lovingly against her figure, whipping her hair wildly about her face. A vision of loveliness. Maybe this was what it meant to truly take a heart’s gamble and roll the dice.

[eruden-writes]

Scent Match - Part 5

lycan x human celebrity x non-celebrity contemporary fantasy

(Note: Started with an anon asking for the phrase prompt, “Oh. Oh.”)

Summary: When Amber Dyer decided to attend a Creator Con, she never expected to run into Of Wolf and Blood lycan hearthrob, Augustine Prime.

But, there he was, stooping over her table, asking to buy the unflattering drawing of his character. Valuing integrity over taking money from a celebrity and running (though she was sorely tempted,) Amber finishes the sketch and delivers it to Augustine.

However, he continues to doggedly pursue her and entwine their lives.

All because of her scent.

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Amber gaped up at the softly smiling Augustine, catching the slight wave of his tail in her peripheral vision. A long moment stretched between them before she gasped, "You're not serious,"

"I am. Your scent is…” He trailed off, his eyes fluttering closed before inhaling deeply. Explaining scents was always difficult, since there was a layer of description non-lycans just wouldn’t understand. Ambrosial and stimulating, her scent eased in through his nose and danced on the back of his tongue, before sifting through his whole body.

Amber watched as his impressive chest expanded. Embarrassment flittered inside her ribcage, skittish feelings racing along her limbs. It was hard for her to acknowledge how his expression melted even further, his tail wagging a little harder when he opened his eyes. “You have one of the best fragrances I've encountered in a long time. Maybe ever."

"Not marriage proposal good!" Her brain floundered, still trying to make sense of the situation. Augustine Prime had proposed to her. Over her smell. Who did that? She searched his face for some indication this was a joke or a weird attempt at teasing. He simply smiled down at her. 

"Yes, marriage proposal good." Augustine almost took a step forward, before thinking better of it as Amber’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch. A thought suddenly tumbled through his head and he patted his pockets, until he withdrew an old receipt from his pants and a pen from his jacket’s breast pocket. Forgetting her wariness, he leaned over her with the pen and paper in hand.

“What do you think you’re doing,” she hissed, pressing tight up against the wall, but craning her neck to see what in blazes he was doing. She tried to ignore how his body heat and scent hugged around her. He had a piece of paper pressed flushed to the wall as he scratched what appeared to be a number and email address onto it. 

Thankfully, Augustine was soon finished and stepped back. He held the paper out to her, pocketing his pen again. "This is my contact information - my personal contact information - so you can think it over and call me or message me. Hell, text me whenever."

Her hand moved without much thought. After accepting the receipt, she stared at it. She still couldn’t accept that this wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t his real private information. He wouldn’t be that lackadaisical, would he? She could sell this information to a fan or outlet. "How can you trust me with this?"

Augustine chuckled, giving a one-shouldered shrug. "If my trust is misplaced, I'll just get a new phone number and email address."

She squinted up at him, overwhelmed with a sense of working-class disgust. While changing contact information could range from an inconvenience to extremely dire, she couldn’t think of anyone who would take that risk for someone they just met.

The longer Amber stared up at him, albeit with a baffled and somewhat appalled expression, the more Augustine’s grin grew. It was the longest she’d looked at him without looking away. He wasn’t exactly sure if that was a good thing or not, given the less-than-positive expression, but he would take it.

“How can you be so flippant about this?” Her eyes wheeled between the paper and his face. On top of being freely given the information in hand, he wanted to marry her. That implied shared assets and, if he was being sincere about the prenup, she could set herself up for life. Hell, in theory, she could marry him then skip on over to divorce court. “I could ruin you! Marriage is a big deal!” 

Augustine could only shrug to her exclamations. Yes, it was true she could ruin him. It was also true that marriage was a big deal, usually. He couldn’t argue those points. Looking down at Amber Dyer, though, he couldn’t help but feel this was right. Their interactions for the evening, though stilted, felt fine. She was pleasant and sweet, attentive to others and a little quiet. The itch to find out more about her, to take care of her, to have her scent around him forever, were all very hard to ignore.

The longer he stared down at her, that damned soft smile on his lips and an eager expression in his eyes, the more Amber’s heart thrummed. A sudden thought flickered through her head as she searched Augustine’s face. Once again, her hand moved before she thought too hard about it. She thrust her hand out, cell phone in her palm, and demanded,“Give me your manager’s number.” 

“What?” A quizzical look flickered over Augustine’s face, but he was already reaching for his own cell phone. “Why?” 

“Because someone needs to rein you in and isn’t it usually managers that do that?” 

“I already told them what I was going to do.” He smiled as he tapped along his phone screen until the correct contact came up. He held his phone out to Amber, screen facing her. 

"We'll see about that…" Amber’s lips pursed unhappily as she squinted from Augustine’s phone to her own. She tapped in the number and, once she pressed her phone to her ear, Augustine pocketed his own phone again.

With his hands on his hips, head tilted, he smiled down at the flustered woman.

The phone rang once, before someone picked up. “Go for Xomoa.”

The voice on the other end was husky, deep, somehow exuding a sense of heat. Amber swallowed the feeling of intimidation as she primly responded, “Hello, my name is Amber Dyer, she/they. Um, I’m here with Augustine Prime and he doesn’t seem too well-” 

“Ah, Ms. Dyer,” Xomoa sighed, though whether the manager was relieved or not, Amber couldn’t tell. “Judging from your tone, I take it Auggie actually went through with it.” 

“Excuse me?” Amber blinked, the minutely rehearsed momentum de-railed by the interruption.

“He proposed all because of your scent.”

Again, heat licked through Amber. Her shoulders hunched as she squeaked out, “Yes.” 

There was a long pause of quiet, as if the person on the other end of the phone expected something. Eventually, Xomoa pressed, “And you said…?” 

Amber was at a loss for what to say. This wasn’t how she pictured this conversation going. “And I said what?”

With unerring patience, Xomoa clarified, “What is your answer?” 

It was such a simple question. One that Amber should have known the answer to, but her mind completely blanked. 

“I… I…” With the metaphorical rug utterly decimated out from under Amber’s feet, her eyes wheeled from a vacant mid-distance to Augustine’s face. He had shifted into a crouch, elbow on his knee and hand cradling his chin as he stared up at Amber. His grin was the pinnacle of shit-eating as he carefully watched her expression. “You’re fine with this?!” 

“Absolutely not, but Auggie does what he does.” The sigh Xomoa gave alluded to years, if not decades, of experience with ‘Auggie.’ “Would you like my input?” 

“Sure.” Why not, Amber figured. It wasn’t as if any of this made sense to her. Maybe the steady, no-nonsense voice on the other end of this conversation had some ideas that would reboot Amber’s brain.

“Take some time to think it over. From a practical point-of-view, you don’t get proposed to by an A-list celebrity every day, but your privacy will be severely hampered. Fame is a double-edged sword.” Xomoa’s logical tone calmed the frantic flurry of Amber’s thoughts. 

She had been so focused on Augustine pulling her leg or not being in a stable frame of mind, she didn’t even consider accepting. What would it look like to be involved with a celebrity? And was that something she could even stomach? 

“Why are you okay with this? Are you sure he didn’t miss a medicine dose or something?” Amber pressed on, not totally capable of accepted that Augustine Prime wanted to marry her. Even if he had the money to break it off easily, it still seemed unlikely. Her attention flicked down to the actor, who pouted at her words in a painfully over-acted fashion. “This smells like a manic phase he’s going to regret later.”

“Don't make a mistake. I don’t trust you, but I trust Auggie to make appropriate decisions, even if he’s brash.” Amber felt pity for the manager having to wrangle in their client. The resigned edge to their words made it clear they had attempted to fend off Augustine’s whims before and lost. “If he feels this strongly, I’ll bow to his determination.”

“That doesn’t sound wise,” Amber muttered, lips pressing thin as Augustine continued to pout up at her, though his tail wagged genially. Then again, she didn’t know what he’d do if his requests were ignored or denied. Once more, the very fact she barely knew him reverberated through her head.

“Usually, it’s not, but you took the time to call me, worried over Auggie’s state of mind in this pursuit.” The acknowledgement in Xomoa’s voice was almost missed with their dry tone. But their next words made complicated sensations ping through Amber. “Consider it a small hurdle to gaining my trust.”

“I still have worries over his state of mind.” Amber pressed back against the wall again as Augustine got to her feet. The pout was gone from his lips and, in its place, that seemingly ever-present slight smile. 

“As do most of us,” they mused, the wisp of a smile in their voice. “Is he there? Can you put him on the phone?” 

Oh, he must have known his manager would want to talk to him. That was why he hovered around her. Wariness in Amber eased as she nodded, even though Xomoa couldn’t see the gesture. “Sure.” 

With that, Amber handed Augustine her phone and edged a little further from him. She needed some space to think and the way his body heat took over a space wasn’t helping. 

With a deep breath, she broke down the situation into small nuggets of fact. Augustine Prime had proposed to her, because he liked her scent. He was willing to sign a prenuptial that would give her half of his assets. There was no requirement of sex or intimacy. He just wanted her around so he could smell her.

Even with the facts, the whole situation felt surreal, but she trudged on.

Presumably, she wouldn’t have to work while they were married. His generational wealth and his value as an actor would see to that. If they divorced, and she took her fair share, working wouldn’t be necessary for survival either. 

If they married, did he expect her to move to California? To Follywood? Amber’s stomach dropped at that thought as feeling overwhelmed coasted over her once more. The amount of people, the traffic, the expenses. 

Again, he was footing the bill, though.

Beyond all that, being in Follywood might open doors for a creative writer or artist, wouldn’t it? Augustine might even have some connections. She bit down on her thumbnail at the thought, her brain wracking itself to understand the potential boost in her dream career.

“How are you feeling?” Augustine’s voice interrupted her intense introspection. She jumped, turning to face him again. That damn soft smile twitched with amusement at her reaction, but he held her phone out to her.

“I’m not going to lie. It’s tempting. As shallow as this sounds, you're obscenely rich and, depending on the prenup, I could be set for life.” Amber reached out and took her phone, doing her best to keep contact with the man minimal. Her gaze falling to the phone’s screen, seeing the call ended and nothing amiss. Her fingers slid over the edge of the case, feeling a little more stable as she considered the situation from a logically beneficial standpoint. “And you have connections in the entertainment industry that might help me.” 

He bent down toward her, a goofy smile spread over his lips. “Also, I’m talented and not too hard on the eyes, right?” 

Amber blinked up at him, staring at the way he posed. With his hand near his chin, his thumb and index finger extended, she almost waited for him to wink. It would complete the flirtatious character persona. When the wink didn’t happen, she remembered he’d asked a question. With a sigh and a shrug, Amber tried to pitch something relatively safe. “You’re a good actor, I suppose.” 

Well, Augustine couldn’t say he expected that. Genuine surprise flickered over his features. “What? Don’t you find me attractive?” 

She surprised him further by taking time to look at him. As if his visage wasn’t often plastered on magazines at check-out stands or slapped across websites. “Aesthetically, yes. You’re attractive. You have a nice smile, your eyes are expressive, and - I know this sounds silly -  but your hands are nice.” 

“But are you attracted to me?” His eyes narrowed as he assessed her body language, her expression. There was a tinge of a flush to her cheeks, but that was always there. Amber Dyer was a shy delight. He had a feeling any closeness between her and others - except maybe her friend Addie - would have resulted in pleasant little blushes.

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that,” she said immediately, leaning away from him. The heat on her cheeks worsened just trying to sus out her own feelings on the subject.

Augustine gave a thoughtful hum, his eyes still narrowed as if he were trying to spot something he just couldn’t see.

Whether he was annoyed or curious, Amber couldn’t determine. Actors were notoriously arrogant, weren’t they? Did he even want to marry her after hearing she possibly didn’t find him the most beautiful man to walk the earth? “Knowing that, do you still want to marry me?” 

“Of course. That’s a pretty minor issue.” His curious expression melted into a smile at her question. Beyond Amber’s scent, Augustine had found her to be adorable, thoughtful, curious. None of it turned him off to having her around. If anything, the urge to keep her around worsened since now she was a curiosity on top of everything else. Marriage would hopefully give him a chance to understand her even better. Or at least try to.

To that, Amber actually laughed and shook her head. She didn’t quite believe he genuinely felt so lackadaisical about it, but she had no proof otherwise. Either he was truthful or his acting skills were phenomenal. It honestly could have gone either way.

“So, should we go back to the dance?” He asked, making a motion back the way they came. 

“I was actually planning to leave.” She offered him an apologetic smile, before adding with a gesture to his frame, “After all this, I definitely need to think.”

Augustine bit back his disappointment, his expression faltering. He wasn’t ready to part from her, though. With a raise of one shoulder and a sheepish grin, he asked, “Can I walk you back to your room then?” 

Uncertainty peppered Amber’s initial thoughts. Pressing her lips together, she glanced toward the exit. Common sense told her to deny the request. As much of a well-known celebrity as he was, he was still a stranger. Letting him walk her back meant giving away the location where she was staying. 

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t tempted or that she wanted to outright deny him. Despite herself, Amber was finding Augustine’s presence interesting, if nothing else. When her eyes dragged back to his face, she only offered him an awkward smile. “I don’t want you getting mugged by fans or the paparazzi.”

“Eh, I can handle myself. Just flash them a smile and wink.” Augustine demonstrated his tactic with a liveliness that made it seem he had no problems being hounded. Indeed, there was a level of flattery to be had, having so many at his heels. With the knowledge he’d come onto Amber strong, Augustine reeled back his performative bravado. “But if you don’t want me to, I’ll back off.”

She watched him carefully. From his haughty bravado to the way he eased, body language softening with… well, she wouldn’t call it shyness or uncertainty, but a sort of delicacy. The realization struck Amber as strange. As an actor, the man was phenomenal, but from their time in person, she thought he had the tact of a bag of bricks.

Amber bit her bottom lip, wondering if she was wrong on some level. Regardless, under his hopeful gold gaze, her shoulders sagged and she relented. “Okay, you can walk with me.”

Immediately, Augustine’s demeanor changed again. Back to the puppy-dog grin and perked ears and wagging tail. He offered his arm to her, waggling his eyebrows. 

Once again, Amber hesitated. She looked between his proffered arm to his face, imagining the sort of gleeful malice that would fill the Internet if a picture of them together circulated. While Amber wouldn’t call herself ugly, she was nowhere near the same level of beauty as celebrities. People would call her a thirsty fan or maybe even a stalker Augustine had to assuage. 

Looking into his eager face, her resilient restraint faltered. This had to be part of the issue Xomoa spoke about earlier, when referring to Augustine being difficult to stop. He just evoked a sense of sureness that made Amber feel like everything would be fine. The status difference between them, the attractiveness, everything, didn’t matter. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” she sighed, accepting his offered arm. Even as she looped her hand under his elbow, she was too afraid to let it settle heavily. It was the weight of Augustine’s hand, settling over hers, that forced Amber’s palm to press flush to him.Heat razed up her back as he leaned over her, making it all the harder to meet his gaze. 

“No promises, Miss Dyer.” Augustine grinned down at her, catching the flush darkening her cheeks. He struggled to keep his tone light and playful, even as greater wants churned inside him. Something about the way her eyes focused on him, her fingers digging a little into his arm, did sinfully delightful things to his insides. Clearing his throat, trying to coax away the thoughts that would definitely get him into trouble, he asked, “So, where to?”

— 

After another quick trip with the personal shuttle - more like chauffeurs, Amber learned - and a quiet walk through the hotel, the two were soon at her door. They had managed to continue idle conversation. From weather, to the final exhibitions tomorrow, to Amber even mentioning how she hoped to clear out her stock. She was surprised to find Augustine attentive, asking questions and input. Even when the talk had little to do with him.

Though, Augustine would argue anything to do with her had to do with him. The need to see her happy and safe had taken further root the longer she was in his presence. He had a feeling that would be the case. Even as Amber rifled through her bag and pulled out her hotel keycard, Augustine couldn’t keep the bummed out feeling from ballooning in his chest. Even now, after so much time together, he wanted more. It was too much, he knew, but he still wanted it.

“Well, thank you for walking me back, Mr. Prime.” Once her door unlocked, she pushed her way inside her room and threw her purse onto her bed. As expected, Addie hadn’t returned. Vaguely, she wondered if her friend would even be back that evening. She turned back to her companion, leaning in her room’s door jamb as she tilted her face toward him. 

“Call me Augustine.” He planted one arm on the wall beside her door, leaning close to her proximity. Subtly, he inhaled deeply, trying to get a fill of her aroma for the evening. Even her body heat teased across the distance between them. He could still feel where she had touched his elbow earlier, the way her fingers had dug into him. Shamefully, he knew he wanted so much more.

“Hmn… I don’t think I will.” A pout threatened to crease Augustine’s features at her answer. Once more, Xomoa’s words echoed in Amber’s ears as she sighed, “Not yet, at least.” 

Disappointed, Augustine sighed but accepted her answer. He couldn’t very well push it. Especially if he wanted her to accept his proposal. Besides, there’d be time. Even if Amber seemed unsure, she hadn’t ended their time together when she could have. 

He let himself be buoyed by that thought as he tried to put as much charm into his smile as he could. “Fine, fine. Can I call you Amber?” 

Amber still struggled over the strangeness of it all. A celebrity asking to call her by her first name. The thought sent strange feelings through her, as if a member of royalty were asking to call a peasant by something intimate. It was just strange. 

“I suppose you can,” she replied with a shrug. Of the two of them, it was more acceptable for him to use her first name, she thought. Besides, it wasn’t abnormal for her.

“Well, goodnight then, Amber.” A million dollar smile crossed his lips, showing off his pointed pearly whites. She could have sworn the very air around him warmed and lightened at the very expression. Maybe it was the delight gleaming in his eyes that was just making her feel warmer, though. 

“Goodnight.” She peered at Augustine from the crack of her door. Something fluttered in her chest, prompting her to add, “I will think about your offer.” 

Her words seemed to make his features brighten further. A flash of a smile, of his sharp teeth, tilted at his lips before he turned to leave. Augustine didn’t get far before he stopped in his tracks and snapped his fingers. 

Turning back to Amber, who still stood sentry behind her door watching him curiously, he said, “Before I forget. There’s a charity auction tomorrow. One of those ‘win a dinner date’ things.” 

She stared up at him, trying to understand what it had to do with her. Did he want her to go with him? Or win him? Immediately, the thought the events of the day took a turn. Had he just wanted her attention so he’d have some schmuck to bid on him? His commission had been $200 so he knew she had that much at least.  

“It’s a PR obligation. Raises money for a good cause, yadda yadda.” Unaware of the way Amber’s thoughts were painting him, Augustine turned back to her and approached her door. He leaned a shoulder against the wall nearby, an apologetic expression softening his features. There was a tiny swell of guilt sloshing around in him, but it couldn’t be helped. There were some contractual things he couldn’t wiggle out of. “I can’t really get out of it. I just wanted to let you know, since it might seem weird after everything.” 

“Oh, well. Have fun?” A brief look of confusion crossed her features, before she realized he was waiting for something. It took her half-a-second to realize what he was looking for. “I won’t be getting jealous. Again, I barely know you.” 

“Yeah, okay. Good to know.” Augustine pushed himself off the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. A sense of disappointment swelled in his chest, but he stowed that away. There wasn’t anything he should be disappointed with, he told himself. He’d already gotten more grace from Amber than anyone else said he would. 

One last time, he softly smiled at Amber. “Well, uh, goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” she reciprocated, watching as he turned and walked away, dawdling a little, before she closed the door.

Once the door was closed, Amber pressed her back against it. She took a steadying breath, realizing how hard her heart beat and how warm her face felt, before reaching for her phone. Thumbing her way to an ongoing chat with Addie, her mind was a chaotic tumble of what to say. As she typed out her message - informing her friend of the newest turn of events - Amber gave pause. Would Addie - would anyone - believe her? Wouldn’t this sound like the delusional ravings of an obsessed fan? 

Amber pressed her lips thin and gave her head a good shake, before finishing her text to her friend. What was she even thinking? She had precedent on her side. It wasn’t as if Augustine would deny he had proposed to her, either. For some reason, that was something Amber was certain of.

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[copiousloverofcopia]

I have RISEN from the dead....

Lol just kidding...but----I am here with some new content!!!!

Here is the first chapter of my fairytale level fan fiction for @ashley-ghuleh featuring their OC Marcus and Secondo!!!

Thank you so much Ghestie for the opportunity to bring Marcus to life! I hope you and everyone else enjoys!!!!

The Hell Torn Heart

After a recurring dream leaves Marcus, a half-demon/half-hellhound, dealing with the ghosts of his troubled past and visions of a place he has never been. He is unexpectedly thrust into an unknown world. Guided by a mysterious couple to the Ministry, surrounded by ghouls and siblings of sin. The once outcast struggles with what haunts him and learning to find himself—until he meets Secondo.

Chapter 1: The Dreams

Also available HERE on AO3!

Read below the cut! (Eventually will be NSFW)

They would leave as swiftly as they came. Leaving beads of sweat along Marcus's brow and a cold chill running down his spine. His mind, unraveling night after night with the things that haunted him. The dreams had reared their ugly head once again.  

Last night was different, however, though it had started just the same. Dreams of his father, to Marcus nothing but a glorified sperm donor, who just so happened to impart half his infernal roots. Visions of his cold, intimidating stares and the sting of his hand, thankfully fading as Marcus stirred on his mattress. Its comfort, only one step up from the bare floor. 

Then came the dream of her. Always the same and as haunting as it was emotional. A woman, one he knew only for a short time, but who held his heart for a lifetime—calling out to him from the abyss. Her bright eyes and dark hair, like the mysterious void that was the night sky. Filled with celestial bodies, burning with the fury of creation. She was holding his hand, though it looked quite a bit smaller held in her palm than it truly was now. Marcus, only a young child when he lost her—his mother. 

She showed him a place. One he had never seen before. Built like an old castle and hidden deep within a thick forest of trees. Filled with secrets he could feel, carried on the wind as it swept through his cobalt hair. It was a  vision of grandeur. The massive, arched double doors and stone walls—impressive as they carefully approached. The fascia, all covered in years of history, draped in ivy and sweet smelling bougainvillea.

It was an old Abbey, or at least it appeared so. The steeple, adorned with an inverted cross, with what appeared to be a "G", standing proudly atop the roof. He recognized it instantly as a place of worship, but of what Marcus was unclear. His eyes, crawling over it before staring at the countless stained glass windows that shimmered in the light—beckoning him to continue.

He was in awe of it, feeling it somehow both ominous and inviting. Marcus could feel his mother squeeze his hand when he stopped to take it all in. Urging him to continue when his instinct forced him to stop. Worried about what dangers may lurk beyond the doors that stood before them. Trusting his mother enough to continue on despite his better judgment.

As they reached the stairway, Marcus froze once again. His heart, pounding hard behind his ribs. The mystery felt too great, too heavy as it weighed on his mind. What would happen if he dared to go inside?

"Go on…Marcus…find this place. Be happy." His mother whispered. He began slowly ascending the steps, taking a moment to breathe in the cool air that surrounded him before turning around to find he was alone. Now appearing as the age he was now. His mother, no longer standing behind him when Marcus finally summoned the will to bring his hand to the door. Turning the knob and then, like every time before—waking up.

Just like that, the blast of his alarm hit. Blaring incessantly as Marcus rolled over. Trying desperately to drown out the noise with a pillow pressed firmly over his head. His sensitive ears, ringing no matter how well he tried to muffle the sound.   

"Argh…fucking hell." He whined, rising up and scratching his head. Choosing to sit up and turn off the abomination as he succumbed to his waking. It was already after 4 in the afternoon and his aching head was happy to remind him of the bad decisions made the night before. "Guess it's time to get up." He yawned before managing to drag himself out of bed. 

It had been weeks now since the dreams started again. Each time, slightly different than the last. The dreams of his abusive father, which were thankfully overshadowed by the ones with his mother, filling him with anger and resentment. Replaced each night, when her ghost would visit him, leaving him feeling both broken, and whole all at once. Curious as to why she seemed to be begging him to go inside that place. An old Abbey that he had never even seen before. 

For now he would have to shrug it off. Shaking off the intrusive thoughts that nagged at him as a dog shakes off the water from its coat. He splashed some cold water on his face to help collect himself, grateful that his glamour had managed to hold up so well with his failing mental state. He slapped on a bit of eye liner and ran a comb through his hair before grabbing his cropped leather jacket. Swinging his case, filled with his prized white, heritage guitar, over his shoulder before heading out the door.

He was on his way to a small bar in Berlin, one that had been there long before the wall came down. The Hundekeller, was a small and insignificant place to most, but Marcus knew better. It was here that the most colorful characters humanity had to offer, convened. In this small, somewhat sketchy place Marcus had acquired all manner of interesting encounters. 

Marcus would often recall the time when he met the guy who carried around his pet spider inside his waistcoat pocket. Old Snippet he called him, a big tarantula that had the rest of the patrons keeping their distance. Or the time the long-legged woman, dressed in furs and sequins for days, flirting with him from the other end of the bar turned out to be a former U.S. spy during the war. Regardless of its bizarre and, at times, unsavory surroundings it felt more like home than his flat.

Marcus strolled over at a leisurely pace, passing the bokeh of street lights and cars as he lit up his first cig for the day. Relishing the taste of the sweet tobacco as he drew the smoke into his lungs. He was on his way to spend yet another night playing his guitar, once the paid act had taken their leave of course. Ready to sniff out all the interesting smells he’d encounter. He sat down as usual, inconspicuously in the back of the room and watched as people began filing in.  

The frequenters took their usual spots. The gentleman who always wore a red teddy, hidden under his blazer, sat down at his booth and Fräulein Elsa managed to slide right into her spot—a lone stool at the far end of the bar. All of them, settling in before the show and leaving only a few empty seats, for anyone else curious enough to enter, before the band began to play. This time the band played some sort of whiskey rock. The type that crosses rock with notes of country. Not Marcus’s usual taste, but the sound at least didn’t bother him while he waited. He watched almost in a daze as they performed, song after song. All by himself, as it was every night, until Ash came over to say hi. 

“You know one of these days you’re gonna be up there performing as the headliner, if only you’d give yourself some credit Welpe.” he told him. Leaning back to pop his back and rolling up his sleeves before picking up a crate from the back of the room. 

“Yeah…well I doubt it, old man. I’d hardly call what you all got going on in here “headliners” but whatever you say…not that you care but I also kinda like keeping to myself.” Marcus replied, giving Ash a shit-eating grin before the short, purple-haired man with the faint hint of subtle for a beard, headed back to his station. The bar keep was usually the only one Marcus ever talked to, and quite frankly might have been the only one he’d ever considered a friend. It wasn’t easy with his lineage, trying desperately to maintain his glamour, never allowing anyone too close. Worried that might see him for what he really was, a hound of hell. 

It was his mother’s wish that he grow up to be like them–the humans who had been nothing but kind to her. Unlike his father who had made both their lives miserable from the moment he was knitted within her womb. No—meaningless sex and a few well spread out acquaintances were far more manageable he thought. Refusing to ever be close enough to someone to get hurt again. 

As the night went on, Marcus remained in his thoughts. The traces of his dreams, still lingering in the forefront of his mind and the ache in his chest from the visions of his mother, kept him even more reclusive than usual. Wondering to himself if maybe tonight he should have just  stayed at home. Then, just as he rose from his stool and readied himself to leave he caught wind of it.

A scent unlike anything he’d smelled there before. A scent—like his own. It was metallic with hints of charred wood. Otherworldly, a scent he had worked hard to mask, flooding his nostrils as he scanned the room. His eyes fell over the audience as the band finished playing their last tune. 

“That's weird.” he whispered to himself. Shaking it off, convinced that he’d been imagining things. Before he knew it, it was finally time. The sparsely filled room, emptying to a mere handful of filled seats as he took the stage. Marcus said nothing as he took a short moment to tune his guitar. Strumming until he confirmed the notes hit just right. 

He began his song, nothing award winning, but one he had been tinkering with for some time now. Melodic and moody, he played—closing his eyes to feel the vibrations from it. He had refused to sing, his music serving almost as background noise for those who had found one reason or another to stay at Hundekeller. It wasn’t until he finished his second to last song, opening his eyes to the audience, that he saw them sitting together in the front row. 

There were two of them, a man and a woman. The man, quite bulky and handsome, though he  looked as if he were more than a force to be reckoned with. The woman, curvy with a mess of blonde curly hair atop her head. Radiating sweetness—almost bubbly as she listened to him play. Bouncing around in her chair when Marcus began the next song.

He struggled not to stare. The two mysterious strangers, maintaining eye contact with him, breaking only in moments when they would talk to one another. It left Marcus with an odd feeling burrowing in his gut. Something was different about them, but he couldn't be sure what.

He tried to press on, finding a way to distract himself from them when he happened to catch sight of a photo illuminated on the man’s phone. The image on the screen seared into Marcus’s brain as he watched the man show it to her. It was the building from his dreams. He struggled his way through it and the moment his set was up, he bounded off the stage and into one of the chairs at their table. Mad-looking and wide eyed as the man began to speak.     

“Well hello.” the man laughed, his hand gracing the shoulder of his female companion. 

“I—ah—I.” Marcus stammered, unable to explain himself with any sense of sanity. 

“I think he’s at a loss for words, Aeth.” the woman said, rising up from her chair to find a new seat right next to Marcus. “You alright there?” she asked him. 

“Of course he is, just might not have even seen someone as devastatingly beautiful as you Luss.” Aether mused, eliciting the eyeroll of a century from Cumulus. Marcus sat in silence, almost overwhelmed with the scent he noticed before, trying his best not to drop his glamour and give himself away as he got lost in it. Finally he swallowed back the knot in his throat, trying to gather himself before speaking again. How could it possibly be a coincidence that they smelled the way they did—and more so that they had an image of a place that, until now, had only existed in his dreams. 

“I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me.” Marcus managed to get out, rubbing at the old scar tissue gracing the back of his head. A callback to another night where his mischievousness got the better of him.

“It’s alright doll. I’m Cumulus by the way…but you can call me Luss if you want–and this is Aether.” she told him, taking his hand in hers. She was soft and kind. Marcus was bewitched by her almost instantly. Had he swung that way, she would have definitely been his type. Aether looked over to her, the two of them communicating something between them. Though their lips remained completely sealed. 

“The photo…on your phone…” Marcus started, unable to continue. Struggling to find the words to explain his interest in it. 

“Oh you mean this?” Aether said, showing Marcus the image again. It was of the Abbey from his dreams, though much less secluded looking. The image, filled with nuns and what looked like priests. A sprinkling among them of people who appeared to be wearing masks on the front steps. Their hands held up as if they were waving at them–a friendly hello to their far away friends. Instantly his interest was piqued, even more than before. 

“Where is that?” Marcus asked, watching as both Aether and Cumulus smiled at one another and turning back to him. Aether put his hand on Marcus’s shoulder, winking at him before he would explain. 

“That, my friend, is home.” he told him. 

“It looks so familiar…I think I have been there before.” Marcus continued, staring at the photo until Cumulus managed to recapture his attention. Resting her face on her hand and she continued on talking to him.

“Oh? Well, do you travel around much?” she asked.

“Not really, I have been here most of my life.” Marcus said, nervously chuckling with his words.

“Well now..that is interesting. You see…our home is in Italy. Not sure how you might have seen it if you have never left before, but hey you never know.” Cumulus said, looking over to Aether and giving him a wink. “Anyways… I just have to tell you…ah…” Cumulus began as she waited for him to give her his name.

“Marcus.”

“Ah yes…well Marcus, you have a lot of talent you know.” she continued, “...you play that guitar like a lover. I know a lot of people who could appreciate a talent like that.” 

“Really?” Marcus exclaimed, worried he might have misheard her. Feeling the heat of his anxiety building up inside him.  

“Really… I mean listen kid, I like your style and clearly Luss does too. Maybe you should come see the show our band is doing over at the Olympiastadion in Munich tomorrow night. I think our boss would love to hear you play and maybe we can talk more about the Abbey. What do you say? Entry on us—”

“Wait really?” Marcus asked him, thrilled at the prospect. The anxiety grew as he continued to desperately keep up his appearance. Then he realized something, “hey, isn’t that the Ghost show?” 

“Oh, so you’ve heard of us?” Cumulus asked excitedly. 

“I have…but I will be honest I haven’t listened to anything. Just heard about Ghost in passing. I would still love to come. I have never been to such a big show before…that is iif…if you will still allow me?” Marcus whimpered, hoping his admission hadn’t ruined his chances. 

“No worries…” We will have your tickets waiting for you at the box office kid…see you tomorrow?” Aether asked as he motioned for Cumulus to stand up with him. Grabbing his jacket, and helping her with hers, before they would be headed off. Marcus jumped up from his seat and nodded. The excitement coursed through him as he watched them push in their chairs. Finally now he might have some answers—and even if he didn’t, he might as well at least have a good time. 

“See you there.”

Notes:

The Hundekeller- Hound Cellar 

Fräulein- Unmarried German woman

Puppy-Welpe

Olympiastadion- Concert venue in Munich, Germany

[cyborg-franky]

Kinktober Day 4 - Love Potion

Ace x GN Reader N/SFW Dub c0n/One Sided/ mind altering substance. Word Count: 1,600

Sighing you looked over the dusty books and tarnished maps, pushing over a stack of the old tomes and wincing as they toppled off the desk, getting Ace’s attention. The island had been empty, devoid of all life except this tiny cottage in the middle of the woods, hidden away from the shore and prying eyes.

The thick layer of dust and thick cobwebs strung across every beam and tucked in every corner was enough to make you assume it was long forgotten. 

Ace had lit up every candle and lantern in the cottage, spreading a warm glow throughout the creepy little house. You and Ace had been on a mission, the sea turning sour forcing you both to seek shelter from the nearest island.

Even now you could hear the storm outside, the frail roof creaking and the loose window panes rattling in their frames. Ace kept looking up at every bang against the back door. His jumping made you jump and you sighed as you opened a large book, hearing the heavy cover thud against the table.

“Oh wow, Ace, look at this.” You mumbled and saw that instead of pages filled with words there was a cut-out with a bottle.

The bottle looked brand new, the glass spotless, no dust of scuffs, it was pristine and inside the glass bottle was a liquid that looked like red wine, so rich in texture as you lifted it up and swirled it around in the bottle.

“I bet its blood.” Ace commented as he stepped over and took it from you, how he tipped it upside down and watched its sluggish movement.

“It’s definitely thicker than wine but it’s not blood.” You scoffed and watched him pull out the stopper and sniff it.

Ace wrinkled his nose when a pink-tinged mist escaped into the air and he coughed a little, it was sweet smelling, it wasn’t wine nor blood he deducted and gave it another sniff. Like fruit and candy. His stomach grumbled and he wondered if there was any harm in taking a swig, it might sate his need to fill his stomach, at least a bit.

He pressed the bottle to his lips and you stared at him wide-eyed, you lurched forward to grab it out of his hand, to knock it to the ground or something “Ace! Don't you fucking dare!” You were too late though as he took a hefty gulp.

Licking his lips he nodded, the taste had been pleasant.

“Ace you fuckin’ what if that kills you?” You sighed an exasperated sigh as you dropped your arms down by your sides and wondered if you could at least get ahold of Marco or Deuce, see if the denden could connect.

“Oh, your such a baby.” He said with a laugh and watched you sit on the desk, digging through your bag to find the small snail.

“We will see who the baby is when your crying to Marco about a bad stomach.” You mumbled and managed to find the denden.

There was a smash of glass that made you drop the creature onto the desk, you stared in the direction of the windows, worried a tree had been blown over and a branch had comprised the windows. Narrowing your eyes you didn’t see anything, about to say something your attention returned to Ace who was no longer holding the bottle, the contents hissing on the floor and vanishing into the floor.

His eyes changed, they looked half-lidded as he stared ahead at you. He didn’t seem all there as he looked flushed, his freckled cheeks seemed to be on fire with blush and he fanned himself. 

“Ace?” You prompted and walked over to him, that was when his attention focused on you completely and he reached out for you.

You cried out when his lips were on your neck in seconds, open-mouthed and sloppy, drooling across your skin as his hands pawed at you, pushing up your shirt and grabbing at your chest, hands finding your nipples and running his thumb over them.

Crying out in pleasure and surprise you wriggled in his grasp, hands trying to fight him off as he sucked on the skin at your neck, causing little marks to appear as his mouth moved further down, claiming your collarbone to the same fate.

“Ace!” You hissed again and felt hot yourself, blushing at his forward actions, you glanced down and saw his heavy eyes focused on your mouth, how it moved when you gasped when you cried out his name.

“Please, what’s wrong with you?”  You asked him as he rutted his erection against your thigh.

“I can’t stop myself, that potion m-must have been something.” He replied, the words slightly muffled against the skin of your neck.

That made sense and as awful as this situation was, at least it was your boyfriend, at least you were used to him and you knew it wasn’t his rational thinking. You just needed to go ahead with it, maybe letting him fuck you while high on the mystery substance is what he needed to get it over and done with.

He pulled off your shirt in one motion which had you blinded by fabric for a moment, he was fast, he always was when it came to undressing you and himself. He’d pulled down your shorts and underwear, and had you pushed over the desk, books, and papers flying everywhere.

It reminded you of the one time you’d fucked in Marco’s office.

His mouth connected with your neck once more, kissing and bruising the skin, laying claim to every inch as his mouth kissed his way down your neck, your collarbone until he placed his lips firmly around your nipple and sucked.

You dug your hands into his hair and gripped, head falling back as you moaned, his hand already between your thighs and touching your sex, knowing just what you liked he played with you, feeling the arousal building, making you need him.

“I’m not ready!” You said, pleading in your voice as his erect cock prodded at your hole, rubbing precum across the entrance as you thrashed.

“Sorry, I– I gotta… Sorry,,” His apology fell flat, mingled with his desperate husky voice as he returned to sucking your nipple, lapping his tongue over the pert bud and pinching your other one.

You were aroused but nowhere ready for his thick cock. You gripped his hair harder when the tip of his cock breached your body, sliding in with resistance, your body arching as he sheathed himself fully inside, he at least waited for you to relax.

Ace had the sense to play with your sex as he fucked into you, working you up with his hand, he knew how fast you liked it, how firm. He let go of the nipple and kissed your shoulder, biting into the flesh as he managed to bottom out fully.

“Fuck, so tight.” He hissed, drooling on the bite mark you now had emerged on your shoulder.

You tried to think about the pleasure he was giving you as he started to pull out of your hole, dragging his thick cock as he did. He started to pick up his pace, the old desk you were fucked over creaking and the legs screeching on the wood as it was rattled.

His panting and the crying of wood filled the air, your moans gaining in confidence as the pleasure he was providing you with started to relax your body which meant your body started to relax, taking him better as he slammed into you.

Ace’s hips snapped against yours as he cried out his enjoyment in your ear, holding you tightly as he tried to finish as fast as he could, the desire to stuff you full of his cum and the want for this all to be over bubbling to the forefront of his mind.

Despite it all, you could feel your climax approaching, you let go of his hair, digging nails into his sides as you threw back your head and moaned. His hand on your sensitive sex worked double time as he fucked into you with an unrelenting pace, sloppy as he was getting overwhelmed by his desire.

The heat that controlled his body, unlike anything he’d ever felt, was starting to dispute the closer he got to cumming. With one final thrust as you cried out his name, gripped him harder with your thighs, body convulsing as you came.

He came with you, filling your hole with thick hot cum, unlike anything you’d felt before. There felt like so much more than usual and it felt so hot, burning you up as you moaned once more as his cock softened in you, slipping out.

Ace sighed, panting and looking at your entrance, watching the thick cum leaking from your abused hole. He blinked, his rational thoughts coming back before he looked at you. Fucked out with a blissful look on your face, he quickly gathered you up and kissed your face, kissing over the marks he’d made.

“I’m so, so, so sorry.” He winced and held you against his chest.

Wrapping arms around his neck you sighed and shrugged. “It’s okay Ace, I know that wasn’t you just then… but maybe we learned a lesson huh?” You said with a mumble and he stared at you with a confused look.

“We don't eat or drink random stuff we find just laying around, right?”

“I promise.” He said and kissed your cheek.

[bestiesenpai]

Dirty Little Secret - Toji Fushiguro

I love a good meanie :) this was inspired by a thrilling convo i had femme reader lads, everyone 18+ 12.3K words

content warnings are as followed: dubcon, blackmail, age gap, manipulation, noncon somnophilia, pseudo-incest, cheating, infantilization(?), mention of guns, drinking, choking, burning(w/ a cigarette? Idk how to explain), a lot of different pet names lol and Toji calls himself daddy

It all started with the messy, bitter divorce your parents went through, leaving your mother a struggling woman all on her own. You tried to help with bills, tried to tack on a few side gigs here and there and get a couple part time jobs but it just wasn’t enough.

Until she met Toji and all the worries you two had about money just suddenly melted away. He wasn’t outlandishly rich but somehow he made enough money that both you and your mother could quit all the jobs you’d had to take on.

Your mother was ecstatic, positively thrilled about the newfound freedom she has. She’s able to afford luxuries she’d never been able to before and there was no need to worry about pinching pennies and scrounging for every last meal. You could live comfortably, but there was something about Toji that rubbed you the wrong way.

There wasn’t one singular thing that drove you to disliking him, it was all just a culmination of things. His cocky attitude, the way he acted like he owned the whole house the first time he visited, how he seemed to be eyeing you up in a way far less acceptable for a man that was meeting his new step-daughter. As soon as his eyes landed on you, it was like your mother no longer existed.

They got married faster than you could blink, a rushed ceremony done at city hall with a few random witnesses watching her take the surname Fushiguro. Your mother was beyond happy, and while you were happy to see an easy smile on her face again, the knowledge that Toji would be living with you now hung like a dark cloud in the back of your head.

“Careful there doll, wouldn’t want you to break a nail.” Toji teased as he saw you pick up a moving box that was left in the living room. He was moving his and his sons belongings into the house and you’d been tasked with helping.

“Shut up.” Glaring at him, you grabbed the box in a huff and stormed up the stairs, stomping your way into the room that was your step-brothers, Megumis. You’d only met him once at a formal dinner and he seemed nice enough. Far different than his father but strikingly similar in appearance. He was away at university in another city, only visiting every other weekend if he felt like it.

Lingering in the empty room longer than you should, you tried to steer clear of Toji. The physical labour of moving boxes had made him sweaty, a nice sheen building up on his forehead and arms that highlighted the taut muscles underneath the skin and underneath the tight black t-shirt he was always wearing.

“Why don’t you go sit pretty on the couch, hm? A little girl like you shouldn’t be trying to lift such heavy things.” Catching you coming down the stairs, Toji was sporting his usual signature smirk whenever he saw you.

“There’s still a lot of stuff to bring in and I don’t want this to take all day.” Standing at the top of the stairs, you wavered. He wasn’t making any move to get out of your way or to come up the stairs and the two of you were stuck in a staring match.

“But you’re just so delicate, are you sure you can keep up?” Toji finally started moving up the stairs, a large box in his hand that looked to be no trouble for him.

“I’ll be fine!” You snapped at him, backing up and out of the way to let him pass you.

“You sure about that?” Stopping right in front of you, Toji held the box out of the way so he could lean close to your face, almost brushing his hair against your forehead.

“I’m sure!” Face erupting in a hot flush, you scramble away from him and down the stairs. You can hear the dark chuckle leaving his throat and the incident has your hands shaking as you go to the moving van.

Starkly avoiding eye contact with him for the rest of the day, you take the pizza your mother ordered for the family straight to your room and don’t come out for a good while. She knocks on your door not once throughout the night, too busy giggling stupidly in the living room with Toji.

“Good morning baby girl.” Toji croons when he sees you appear in the kitchen in the morning, a hot cup of coffee in his hands as he leans against the kitchen counter. Your ears burn at the nickname, but you ignore him and go straight to the refrigerator.

“Hey!” Shuffling back when he slams the fridge closed in your face, another shout is caught in your throat as he looms over you, large calloused hand keeping the door closed.

“You just gonna be rude and not say good morning to your new daddy?” The smell of coffee and cigarettes hangs on his breath, fanning over your face. He’s cornering you against the refrigerator, using his looming stature to force you against the door entirely.

“Go away.” You whisper, but you want to shout, push him away and stand up for yourself. But something in Toji’s stare and the way he carries himself has you withering.

“I don’t even get a good morning kiss?”

“Huh?” Your eyes go wide when he grabs your jaw, tilting your face up and holding it there so he can lean in and graze his lips against yours. Slapping your hands on his chest, you struggle to keep him at bay.

“Toji, have you seen my car keys?” Your mothers shout from the other room rips away the quiet, tense moment between you two. Toji takes a few smooth steps back, shuffling back into his place against the countertop right as she comes into the room.

“Yeah, right there.” Flicking his chin to the kitchen table, there lies her keys.

“Thanks.” Grabbing them, she takes a glance at you and then a double take, furrowing her brows and pointing vaguely at you. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? Why are you making that face?”

“I-” A tiny flicker of your eyes to Toji has your face burning all over again and any words are lost on you. “I feel a bit sick.” Ducking your head down, you rush out of the kitchen, the passing cry of ‘go lay back down then’ from your mother going ignored as you slam the door to your room and lock it.

Toji leaves sometime after your mother does and for a while you’re home alone. Finally able to eat in peace, there’s a few things you’ve been wanting to do ever since you met Toji, one of them being snooping through his things.

He was secretive with so many things, it was only right that you get a little intel on him. You barely knew what he did for work, the only thing he said he did was ‘freelancing’ and that was it.

Walking through the open bedroom door, you steered clear of the things you knew were your mothers. The old dresser she had and her section of the closet was still exactly the same as before Toji came into her life.

But now there was a new chest of drawers tucked away in the corner of the room, rich dark wood that contrasted with the light color palette of the rest of the room. There was also a safe tucked under the bed and one in the closet as well, you’d seen Toji bring those in himself.

Opening the top drawer, it was no shock to find folded piles of socks and underwear, a few black tank tops. The second had more shirts, the third was the baggy pants Toji mainly lived in and the fourth had more fitted bottoms.

But sticking out from between a few folded pairs of slacks was a thick file folder with your families last name on it. It was in pristine condition and once you opened it, you saw that so were the things inside it.

Detailed records of your bank history, notes that had everything about you on them; your favorite food, color, your typical daily schedule, who you hung out with and all their personal information, the places you frequented and all the jobs you’d held in your life.

“This fucking stalker.” Reading over notes clearly written in Toji’s handwriting, the contents of the folder made your stomach churn. Shoving it back between the pants, you stood up properly and turned to the closet.

The safe in here was buried under a stack of folded clothes waiting to be hung up. Toji’s side of the closet was relatively bare, with the only thing hanging up being the lonely suit he owned that he wore to get married in.

Punching in all the possible number combinations you could think of - all the phone numbers you knew by heart, your home address and every birthday - you came up empty. There was no way to open the safe in the closet, and you had to abandon it.

The safe beneath the bed was heavy, nearly breaking your back as you tried to drag it out into the open. It was a thin black metal box with a long rectangular shape and the same number pad as in the closet. Only this time, when you punched in the last four digits of your phone number, it opened with a click.

What you saw inside wasn’t what you were expecting. Sure, Toji was a mysterious guy with secretive habits and a job you knew nothing about. You had barely information on him, yet you still weren’t prepared to see all the guns he had stored inside the safe.

There were long shotguns, handguns, revolvers and plenty of ammo and holsters. Even with the slight wear and tear on some of the barrels, you could tell Toji took good care of them as nearly all of them were freshly polished.

“Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Just as you reached out and skimmed a finger across one of the handguns laying innocently in the pile, Toji’s flat monotone voice sounded behind you.

Ripping your hand away, your head whipped over your shoulder to stare at him in terrified shock. He shouldn’t be home, you hadn’t heard him come in or the front door open and close. Frozen on the ground, you struggled to find the air to breathe.

“Such a nosy little thing.” Toji commented, his eyes drifting to the open closet door and the dresser drawer that you’d left ajar. “If you were curious about daddy, you could have just asked.”

“Why do you have these things?” What were you referring to? The guns? Records of your every move, down to how long your phone conversations were late at night?

“They’re for work.” Pushing away from the doorframe, Toji sauntered into the room, dragging his feet lazily.

“But-”

“That’s all you need to know.” He cut you off with a stern look, kicking closed the safe.

“Why...why do you have all those papers about me?” Came your next question. Looking up at Toji, you were suddenly aware of how you were presented to him. Sitting on your knees, hands balled up into fists in your lap, looking up at him with wide scared eyes - and he noticed it too.

“You’re my little girl, why shouldn’t I know everything?” Biting his lip as he looked down at you, Toji had to stop himself from grabbing your hair and shoving your face into his clothed cock. Instead he flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders and used his foot to push the safe under the bed. Scrambling to your feet, you watched as the safe disappeared.

“What’s in the safe in the closet?” You were standing far too close to Toji for your liking, he was within less than an arm's reach of you and you could smell the dark woody aroma he liked to put on.

“Important shit. ‘Gumi’s birth certificate, passports, the usual.” Shrugging casually, Toji walked over to the dresser and kicked it closed as well. “Got some stuff for your mom and you in there too.”

Letting a lull fall into the conversation, you scurried from the bedroom when Toji went to close the closet door. You could hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath upon discovering your absence, but he closed the bedroom door shortly after and you could hear him go down the stairs.

Hours later and your mother informed you she wouldn’t be home for dinner. Something about meeting up with friends for an unexpected late night outing and staying out past dark.

Left to your own devices, you tried to avoid being detected by Toji as you milled around in the kitchen and fed yourself.

“Sweetheart, that you?”

Keyword being tried.

Biting back a harsh sigh, you emerged from the relative darkness of the kitchen and into the living room where Toji was lounging on the couch with no shirt on, all his muscles and scars on full display.

“There’s my baby girl.” Toji broke into a smile.

“Yup, I’m here.” Rolling your eyes so you could force yourself to stop ogling his body, you turned halfway back to the kitchen.

“Woah woah come back!”

“What do you want?” Not keeping this sigh at bay, you quirked a brow at him.

“Ya know your mothers not here and I’m getting awfully lonely sitting in this house by myself. Why don’t you sit with me?”

“No thanks.”

“That’s too bad, sweetheart, ‘cause I wasn’t asking.” You can feel his hand wrapping around your upper arm before you even hear him getting up from the couch.

“L-let go!” Thrashing in his hold does no good, you’re thrown onto the couch like a doll in no time and Toji sinks in next to you, spreading his legs wide and throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

“Your mother wants us to spend more time together, get better acquainted and whatnot.” Grabbing the beer he had on the coffee table, Toji drinks until it’s empty and he crushes it in his hand. “And what better time than now?”

Huffing and puffing, you adjust yourself on the couch and try to focus on whatever Toji has playing on the TV screen. It’s some cheesy action movie made way before you were born, and while it makes you groan at the cliche plot points, Toji is having a grand old time.

“You want a beer?” Toji asks, picking up a can and cracking it open.

“No.” Shaking your head, the last thing you’d want is to possibly get drunk and lose your senses around him.

“Oh, oops.” Upon hearing your no, Toji not so subtly tipped the can over and let it fall into your lap, the beer inside spilling out onto your clothes.

“Toji! What the-” Leaping up and tossing the can onto the coffee table, you could feel the cold liquid seep into the fabric of your pants and underwear, even stretching to the back of your pants.

“That’s too bad, my mistake! Better go get changed.” Toji laughed, completely unashamed of what he’d done. Flipping him off, you stormed away. “Put your pajamas on, it’s getting late!”

“Fuck you!” Angrily walking to your room, you ripped off the wet clothes clinging to you. You were tempted to stay in your room the rest of the night, but there was no doubt that Toji would come up and drag you back down to the living room.

“Aw, don’t you look cute.” He teased when you came back down in an oversized shirt and sleeping shorts. He had procured a blanket from behind the couch and it lay on the arm.

“Ugh, it’s still wet.” Even though he’d grabbed a blanket, he hadn’t grabbed a towel to sop up the beer in the couch cushions.

“It’s okay, you can sit right here.” Grabbing your wrist, Toji yanked you onto his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist as you fell into him. Throwing the blanket over you, Toji forced you to lay against his bare chest.

“Let me go sit in the other chair.” There was a perfectly good arm chair a few feet from the couch you could sit on.

“Now how could we bond if you’re so far away?” He chuckled, hiking you back up as you tried to slide off him. Biting your tongue against any further useless arguments, you tried to get comfortable in Tojis lap.

“Be careful now, baby, all that squirming might get me excited.” Toji whispered in your ear, gripping the flesh of your waist tightly underneath his fingers. Chuckling again at how your body went completely stiff, he settled back into the couch and watched the movie.

Begrudgingly focusing on it as well, it was almost inevitable that you relaxed into laying on Toji, the smooth up and down of his chest expanding with every breath lulling you into a sense of comfort.

“This movie’s stupid.” You grumbled as a commercial hit. Your arms were crossed tightly, having gotten riled up at one particular scene for how predictable it was.

“S’not stupid, it’s a classic.” Toji replied.

“Still stupid.” Shaking your head slightly, you let out a soft yawn.

“Aw, is it getting close to your bedtime?”

“Shut up.” It wasn’t that it was particularly late, but sitting in the low light of the living room, under a cozy blanket with a warm body underneath you holding you tightly, it was more relaxing than you thought. Coupled with the quietness of the TV and the slow even breaths Toji took right by your ear, who wouldn’t get a little sleepy?

“Poor baby’s tired.” You could just feel the mocking pout on Toji’s lips. Shifting his hands and grabbing onto your thigh, he turned you to sit sideways in his lap, legs across him and your head securely tucked under his chin.

“Not tired.” Trying to reason with him was impossible, and you gave up once the movie came back on. With a secure arm wrapped around your back and his other hand resting snugly on your outer thigh, Toji had you right where he wanted you.

“Still awake?” Toji asked ten minutes later and he already knew the answer. Your breathing had gotten quiet and you’d fallen slack in his arms, and when he rubbed your back you let out a soft, sleepy hum and snuggled deeper into him.

Careful not to wake you, Toji dipped his hands to the hem of your shirt and tugged it up so he could get under it. Trailing his calloused fingertips up your back, he felt the bumps and ridges of your spinal cord as he went. Pushing under your arm, he got to where he wanted: the soft flesh of your breast.

Cupping it in his palm, Toji bit his lip to hold back a soft groan. He’d wanted to do this since the day he started dating your mother and learned about you. From the very first picture of you she’d shown him he was hooked and every subsequent move he made after was calculated to get right to this very moment.

A soft uptick in your breathing let him know that you could feel what he was doing, but you did nothing else as he pinched your nipple and rolled it between his fingers.

Pushing you to lay back a little, Toji crept his other hand up your thigh. Your legs were simple dead weight to him and with a few nudges he was able to get his hand down your shorts and cup your sex.

“Be a good girl and get nice and wet.” Mumbling to himself he pushed his middle finger through your folds, coming to your clit and grinning wildly. Rubbing it with practiced precision, Toji kept his ears trained on the sound of your breathing and he was prepared to keep going even if you woke up.

Pressing a few kisses to the top of your head, he cooed at the delicate sigh you let out. You were getting aroused, Tojis finger was starting to get slicked up and glide easier against you.

Pushing his index finger against your clit, he worked you up even further. The movie was forgotten on the television, all of Tojis focus going to you and the way your brows scrunched up at the feeling of someone else’s fingers against your cunt.

You weren’t wet enough for Toji to push a finger inside, but he was fine with waiting for another time. Just playing with your clit and pinching your nipple was enough for him for now.

Pressing his nose against the top of your head, Toji let out a shuddering breath when you came in your sleep. A few desperate whimpers fell from your lips, and your face screwed up a little, your body clenching as pleasure rolled through your sleeping form.

Taking his hand slowly out of your shirt, Toji laid it back on your thigh and tried to collect his own breathing. Getting you to cum in your sleep on his lap had riled him up more than he expected, the thrill of making you come undone without your knowledge going straight to his head.

It wasn’t long after that your mother came home, gasping at the sight of your sleeping body in Toji’s lap and delighted that you were finally getting more comfortable with him. Not wanting to wake you, she snapped a few pictures for posterity and had Toji carry you to your room.

“You want me to what?” Staring at your mother like she’d grown another head, you couldn’t hide the disdain at what she had just proposed of you in the late morning.

“I want you to spend the day with Toji! He’s going into town to do some shopping and I think it’d be a great way for you two to get closer.”

“I don’t want to get closer to him.” The memory of last night made your cheeks burn. You were far more embarrassed about falling asleep in his lap than you’d ever be willing to admit.

“C’mon (Y/N), I saw you two together on the couch last night! It was so cute, I want you to have more moments like that with him.” Your mother gave you a pout, one just begging to humor her request. The desire to say no was right on the tip of your tongue.

“Fine, I’ll go with him.”

“Yay!” Clapping her hands together lightly, your mother turned away and started to gather a few things to start her own day.

“Let’s be quick, okay?” Ten minutes later and you were sitting in the front seat of Toji’s vintage camaro.

“I think we should take it nice and slow today.” Toji replied, firing up the engine and drowning out your thoughts with the loud roar. It was hard to look at him, so you kept your gaze trained to the passing scenery outside.

“Did you sleep well last night, baby?” He asked as the car came to a stop at a light. Toji was staring right at you, a wide smirk on his face. Pressing your lips together, you refused to look back at him. You might have slept well, but waking up with slick coating your inner thighs ruined the entire experience, whether good or bad at all.

“Why do you care?”

“Ha! Why do I care?” His sharp laugh made you jolt, turning to glare at him as the car started moving again. “You must have slept well, you were knocked out on my lap.”

“Won’t happen again.” You grumbled, watching his hand fiddle with the radio and turn it to a random station.

“That’s what you think.” Giving your thigh a quick pat, Toji settled into his seat. Driving to the shopping district he had in mind, as soon as you stepped out of the car Toji was by your side with a hand on your back. “I’ve got some business to take care of first, let’s go.”

“Don’t touch me.” Shoving his hand away, it was right back where it was in seconds. A low wave of annoyance washed over you, but you started walking in the direction Toji was taking you. The annoyed feeling only grew as you passed people by on the street and women openly stared at him, not giving a care in the world about the gold band on his finger or the fact that you were next to him.

And he didn’t seem to care either. You could see the way he would look back at some of the women, sending them easy smiles or holding eye contact longer than normal. Walking into a jewelry shop, you were finally away from their prying eyes, but the hand Toji had on your back only got firmer.

“Want me to buy you a little something?” Toji whispered, leaning close to your ear.

“Like what?” You challenged, looking across the shop floor. There were countless expensive jewels just lying in wait behind thick glass cases.

“Whatever you want, baby girl. Just point and I’ll get it once I’m done.”

“Done with what?” Looking at him incredulously, you saw him nod to someone waiting against a back wall.

“Business.” Patting your back, Toji went to talk to them, slipping into a back room and leaving you alone on the shop floor. Trying not to stand out, you found an open chair and pulled out your phone, already bored.

“Finally.” You said upon seeing Toji appear in front of you after nearly thirty minutes.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I was doing some negotiations.” Inspecting him further, you could see he was breathing a little heavier and there was just the slightest sheen of sweat above his brow.

“What, did you kill someone back there or something?”

“Almost.” He replied with a shrug. You’d meant it as a joke, but with the way Toji wasn’t smiling you couldn’t tell if he did too. Letting his eyes roam over the shop, he flicked his chin out. “Find something you like?”

“No.” Taking a step toward the door, you were tugged back by your sleeve.

“I bet you didn’t even look.” Toji chuckled, dragging you over to a case. “How about a little tennis bracelet, hm? We could add a little charm, how about a T?”

“I don’t want it, I won’t wear it.”

“Ah, sure you will.” Brushing you off, he waved over a sales associate. “Now, tell the nice worker what color you want, gold or silver.”

Walking out of the store with a pretty little bag in hand, you followed Toji to the next few stores he had to go into for ‘business’. Sometimes he was quick and you didn’t have to wait even a few minutes for someone to hand him a thick envelope that he tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket. Others, he’d slip into the backroom and you’d have to awkwardly wait around.

“Are we actually going to do some proper shopping today, or is this it?” You snapped after being dragged around for a good while. You hadn’t even wanted to come, but now you just felt like a kid being dragged around against their will.

“Relax baby, daddy’s done, he’ll pay attention to you now.” Toji teased, pinching your cheek and cooing at you.

“Whatever, lets go.” Swatting him away, you stormed off in a random direction, Toji’s laughter burning in your ears. It was your turn now to drag him from store to store, some you weren’t even interested in. Following you dutifully, Toji bought whatever you wanted regardless of price tag.

“Let’s go in here.” Toji stopped you right in front of a popular lingerie store. There were large adverts in the windows of scantily clad women dripping in lace and frilly garments, and there were a large number of people inside as well.

“You can’t be serious.” You blanched, watching in slight horror as he toed his way over to the front door.

“Cmon baby, you deserve something nice.” He said loud enough to have a few passersby giggle. Seeing your face turn from one of shock to embarrassment, Toji knew he had won. Following him into the store with your head down, you tried not to look at all the bras and panties displayed so prominently.

Taking a seat at one of the chairs near the front of the store, Toji kept his eye on you as you walked around. Seeing your fingers glide across silk and lace, pass mannequins in intricate pieces of lingerie, he couldn’t help but imagine you in some of them. He’d only gotten a taste of what you had to offer last night, and he already hungered for more.

“I think you’d look great in that.” He came up behind you as you looked at a bra and panty set, little red and white love hearts adorning lacy pink.

“Pervert.” Glaring over your shoulder, you tried to conceal that you’d grabbed a pair for yourself. “Go sit back down.”

“I get it, you wanna keep it a secret and surprise me.” Fishing out his wallet, Toji handed you the credit card he’d been using the whole day. “Take your time baby, I’m going to have a smoke.”

Making sure he left the store, you let out a sigh of relief at finally being alone in a place like this. It was bad enough he suggested it, but to have him watch you pick out underwear was downright mortifying.

Grabbing whatever you liked, you walked out with a sizable bag in your hand and a pretty long receipt. Toji was nowhere to be found outside the store, and as you scanned past the people milling about, he wasn’t on the street either.

You had his number, feasibly you could call or text him to find out where he was. But with a limitless credit card in your hand and newfound freedom, that was the last thing on your mind. He would find you eventually, say something snarky and tease you and then you’d be on your way to grab lunch.

“Excuse me, miss!” For a moment, you thought the gentle voice calling out to you as you walked down the street was Toji. But as you turn around and are confronted with a stranger, you’re reminded that Toji would never be so polite.

“Yes?” He was an average looking man, around Toji’s age.

“I couldn’t help but notice you walking around, you look so beautiful.” The man had a hopeful smile on his face, taking in your reaction to the sudden compliment.

“Oh, thank you.” Giving him a once over, you quickly spotted the silver wedding band on his finger.

“What’s your name? I’d love to take you out sometime.” Shuffling a tiny bit closer, the man was already pulling out his phone before he even finished the sentence.

“I’m s-”

“She’s not interested.” A heavy hand landed on your shoulder, yanking you back into a firm chest. There wasn’t a need to look up and see who it was, the distinct cologne wafting into your nose and the rough treatment was enough.

“Huh?” Bunching his brows together, the man looked confused between you and Toji.

“Huh?” Toji mocked, leaning towards him with a raised brow.

“I think she can speak for herself.”

“My baby doesn’t talk to insignificant flies like you.” Staring him down for a moment, Toji got him to turn tail and leave in a huff.

“I could have handled that myself.”

“Yeah, well I handled it better.” Turning you around, Toji smirks down his nose at you for a moment.

“What?” His look is unnerving, it makes your heart flutter a bit and that’s the last feeling you want to have for him.

“I deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

“A reward for what?” Scrunching up your nose, you recoil a little as Toji bends at the waist and presents his cheek to you.

“For coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress.” Tapping his cheek with one finger, he looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Don’t leave your daddy hanging, now.”

Looking him over, you weighed your options. It was only a kiss, an innocent little peck on the cheek. Where was the harm in that?

The harm came when, as you were leaning forward with your lips slightly pursed, Toji turned his head and kissed you square on the lips.

Jerking back in shock, you didn’t get far as Toji grabbed your chin to keep you in place. His lips were rough, dry and cracked and the scar on the edge of his mouth wasn’t helping in that regard.

Brushing his nose against yours, Toji didn’t keep the kiss going for long; even he had boundaries for being in public. Pulling away, he swiped your bottom lip with his thumb, grinning at your flushed face and slightly labored breathing.

“Daddy got you flustered?” He teased, taking the shopping bags out of your hand and holding them himself.

“No.” You reply a few seconds too late, your lip’s in a pout and your voice has a slight whine. Biting his lip, Toji scanned your face.

“God, the things you do to me.” Roughly grabbing your hand, he tugged you along down the street. “Let’s get some lunch, I’m fucking starved.”

“You’re back!” Your mother exclaimed upon your arrival, leaping up from the couch to hug both of you. She quickly hurried out of the way upon seeing all the bags Toji insisted on carrying in by himself, her jaw dropping in shock.

“Don’t gimme that look, babe, you know I had to spoil the little princess.” Toji laughed at her expression, dropping some of the bags into your hands and kissing your mother on the cheek.

“I-I’m just shocked...we never come back with that many bags when we go shopping.” Her voice was quiet as she looked between the two of you.

“You gettin’ jealous on me now?” Toji teased, poking her in the side and making her jump. “I was just following your orders, forming a closer bond with my new step-daughter.” Pointedly shielding the lingerie bag from her view, Toji passed it into your hands. “Maybe she’ll show you some of the outfits she bought, we even picked some out together.”

If by ‘together’ he meant he shoved a slew of tiny skirts and low cut tops into your hands in the dressing room and then bought them when you rejected all of them anyway, then yes, you could say you two picked some out together.

“Uh- yeah mom, I’ll show you some of the stuff later.” You nodded along, eager to escape the situation and hide in your room. Not waiting another moment after the words left your lips, you ran up the stairs and to your room.

Pouring out all the things Toji bought you, you couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy going out shopping with him. There was no limit to what you wanted, anything your eyes touched was yours in an instant.

“Knock knock.” Pushing open your door and swiftly closing it behind him, Toji held up the remaining bags. “You forgot some.”

“Thanks.” Reaching out to grab them, you didn’t get the chance as Toji set them down and stepped around you, grabbing the little bag from the first store you went to. Fishing out the velvet box, Toji opened it and dangled the dainty tennis bracelet from his finger.

“Put this on for me, will you? Wanna make sure it’s a good fit.” Dropping the bracelet into your hands, Toji chuckled when you struggled to get it on. “Need my help?”

“No I’m fine.” You said, pinching the clasp between your fingers desperately.

“Let daddy help you.” Grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer, Toji swatted your fingers away.

“Your fingers are too thick, how’re you ever-”

“Got it.” Releasing the bracelet, Toji watched triumphantly as it hung from your wrist. You barely mumbled a thanks before he was grabbing your wrist again, nearly pulling you chest to chest with him. “Now, what was that about my fingers?”

“N-nothing!” Slapping your free hand on his chest, your face burned terribly and only got worse as he laughed.

“No, no, go ahead and say it. My fingers are too thick, huh?” Grabbing your jaw, Toji slid his index and middle finger across your face until they came to rest on your lips. “Say ‘ah’.” Pressing your lips together firmly, you shook your head as best you could.

But Toji wasn’t one to take no for an answer and shoved past your lips, forcing your mouth open with his other hand and flattening your tongue. Clutching onto his wrist tightly, you looked up at him with watering eyes as his fingers slid too far back and choked you.

Growling at the sight of his fingers stuffed into your mouth, Toji dropped his other hand, grabbing your ass tightly in his hand and rocking your hips against him. Looming over you, Toji ripped his fingers from your mouth and slammed his lips onto you.

The kisses you shared before were nothing compared to this one. With a hand gripping the back of your head, Toji made sure not even a centimeter of space passed between you two. His lips molded to yours perfectly, mouths slotting together as he pushed his tongue in and claimed your mouth for himself.

Drool began to drip down the corners of your lips, sliding down your neck and chest and creating a glossy mess. It was getting harder to breathe the longer you went, your body quickly growing weak from lack of oxygen.

Gasping for air when Toji finally broke the kiss, your mind was spinning, barely able to focus on the fact that you were kissing your mothers husband and certainly not paying attention to the way Toji pushed you back onto your bed, body bouncing roughly on the mattress.

“God, I’ve been waiting for this moment.” Toji says with a sigh, climbing over your body and pressing his lips against the curve of your jaw. His hands pawed at your clothes, bunching up your shirt as he tried to get to your breasts.

“T-toji! Stop!” Letting out a scandalized gasp, your eyes flew to your bedroom door. Surely your mother would hear and come to save you.

“No need to be nervous, baby-” yanking down your bra, Toji palmed your breasts roughly, “daddy’ll make you feel good.” Sitting up just enough to yank your shirt and bra off, Toji held your arms down and stared lovingly at your chest, his cock twitching to life the longer he looked.

An argument had bubbled up from your chest, ready to spew out and knock some sense into Toji, but as he descended onto you, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and rolling it between his teeth, the words died just as quickly as they formed.

What was the use of telling Toji to stop when you knew he wouldn’t? There wasn’t a shred of doubt in your mind that if you yelled at him, told him it was wrong to cheat on your mother and fuck his step-daughter, he wouldn’t laugh straight in your face.

Fire back and ask why you think he cares about that? You’ve already seen the file he has on you and the lack of information he had on your mother. He’d already proven himself to be more than enamored with you and what kind of man would he be if he let something like ‘morality’ get in the way of what he wanted?

Moaning under your breath as Toji kissed and licked your chest, you had an argument with yourself brewing inside your head. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed the attention he was currently giving you. He was confident in what he was doing, so sure of himself unlike some of the people you’d been with. The knowledge that came with being older was surely showing itself now.

Especially in the way he rolled his hips against yours, getting you to moan out a little louder this time, the sound coming from deep within your chest.

“Sound so pretty, baby.” Toji groaned, peeling himself away from you to shed himself of his clothes and to take the rest of yours with it. Letting out a low whistle at seeing you completely bare in front of him, Toji slapped his hands onto your thighs, peeling your legs apart to stare right at your cunt.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The pure animalistic look in his eyes had you throbbing, both with need and embarrassment. No one had looked at you like that before, unadulterated and hungry. Shyness crept in and you flung your hands down to cover yourself.

“No hiding, little one.” Smacking your hands away, Toji laughed at the pitiful, embarrassed whine you let out. “Aw, is someone getting shy? Can’t handle daddy looking at your messy cunt?”

“S’not messy.” You pouted, but it was true. A steady buildup of slick dripped out of you, coating everything between your legs and even dripping down between your asscheeks.

“You’re my messy little girl, aren’t you?” Ignoring your light protests, Toji laid himself down between your legs, making a show of putting your thighs on his shoulders and squishing his head with them. “I bet you taste as good as you look.”

With one last wink, Toji dove between your thighs, his tongue already out and ready to lap at your folds. The first touch of the tip of his tongue to your clit made you jump, hands flying down to grip his hair as your eyes went wide.

Flicking it a few times, Toji wrapped his lips around the bud, sucking hard as his fingers dug into your thighs firmly. You moaned just as loud as Toji did, the vibrations from his mouth travelling up to the ones leaving your chest.

Toji’s dream of being here with you, having you laid out on your back with his face buried in your cunt, had only gotten stronger as time went by. He nearly lost it in the lingerie store, seeing you walk so innocently around all the thongs and delicate lingerie. He had to leave to smoke a cigarette and cool down or else he would have dragged you into the dressing room in front of everyone.

Lapping at your entrance, Toji shoved his tongue in, his nose bumping your clit as he did. Massaging your walls, he drank in your essence, easily getting drunk off the taste and feeling of your thighs crushing his head. Painstakingly letting go of one of your thighs, he brought his thumb to your clit.

“Toji!” You gasped and your thighs got even tighter around him. Toji could barely breathe let alone think about anything but making you cum on his tongue and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Shoving his fingers between your legs, he slid them down to the hilt and felt your walls clamp down onto both them and his tongue. Your essence was everywhere now and he was sure the scent of your arousal would linger on his skin for days.

Putting his tongue on your clit again, Toji fucked his fingers into you. The obscene wet sound was music to his ears, a song he hoped to play over and over. Your moans had turned into babbles, your fingers carding through his hair as the pleasure washed over you.

“F-fuck-” Barely able to get the word out, you came on Toji’s fingers, whimpering loudly as he sucked your clit harder. You were sure you had crushed him for good now with how hard your thighs tensed up around him, but Toji seemed more than okay when they finally relaxed and fell to the wayside.

“What a good fucking girl.” Toji was breathless and lightheaded himself but he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tease you, slap your quivering thighs with both hands and drink up your release. Your feeble hands were too weak to push him away, just a slight nudge on his forehead that he easily ignored.

Forcing air into your lungs, you got a moment's reprieve when Toji finally pulled himself away from your cunt. Your arms wound around his broad shoulders, pulling him into a half hug as your legs were hoisted up around his waist.

“You gonna let daddy take what’s his?” Toji whispered in your ear, blindly grabbing his cock and tapping tip against your clit.

“Yes!” You sobbed, nodding your head desperately. Glancing down between your bodies, you could see just how thick Toji’s cock was; his fingers surely did not compare.

Pushing the tip of his cock in, you could immediately feel the difference from his fingers. The stretch that his cock gave was unimaginable and you nearly broke into tears as he bottomed out.

“Hurts- s’too big-” Unwinding one arm, you pushed on Toji’s chest.

“Sshh, sshh, you’re fine.” He cooed, intertwining your fingers and pushing your hand onto the mattress.

“Toji…” Whining under your breath, you blinked away the mist of tears at your lashes and looked at him. “Daddy, please.”

The soft ghost of a smile on Toji’s face fell after hearing you call him daddy. His whole face fell, in fact, eyes going wide and pupils blowing out. The hand that was holding yours tightened, smashing yours into the mattress as his other flew to your thigh.

“Oh, you’ve done it now.” Toji could hardly get the words out before he was pistoning his hips, thrusting his cock into you at an alarming rate. He had intended on taking it a bit slow, savoring the moment more as he finally got to fuck you.

But that plan was gone and in its place was the plan to fuck you into the mattress, turn your brain and body into mush as he made you cum over and over again.

“Daddy! Slow down!” You wailed and in the back of your head you wondered if your mother could hear you, if she was outside the door just waiting to burst in on the two of you.

“Not a fucking chance.” Toji responded, voice muffled against the side of your neck. His tongue lashed out, hot and heavy against your pulse. Leaving bite marks along your skin, Toji growled into you, grinding his hips and getting a shiver down his back.

Already sensitive from your first orgasm, the second one came with no warning. Scratching your nails down Toji’s back, your feet dug into his back as your cunt clamped down on him. Any remaining sense you had, any thoughts about your mother or being caught were gone now, the only thing filling your head now was the drag of Toji’s thick cock against your walls and the way his balls slapped against your ass.

The sound of Toji fucking into you seemed to echo off the walls, mixing with the choked moans you let out and creating music to Toji’s ears. Every drag of his cock along your oversensitive walls, every thrust forward bringing another gush of your sticky release to coat his skin - all of it was heaven for him.

“Honey, have you seen Toji?” Your mother’s sudden call wafted down the hall as she came up the stairs, the familiar thud of her footsteps getting closer.

“Uh-” Your voice caught in your throat, fighting through the jumbled mess that was your mind to come up with a good answer.

“Better say something quick, I didn’t lock the door.” Toji smirked against your skin, forcing his hips to all but stop and grind painfully slowly against you, his skin just lightly catching your clit.

“I-I don’t know where he is.” Your tongue felt like lead, sitting stupidly in your mouth and barely forming the right words.

“Okay…” There was a pause as she trailed off and you could hear her right outside your door, feet shuffling a little as she thought of what to do next.

The sound of her footsteps trailed off and both you and Toji let out a gruff exhale.

“Finally.” He mumbled, pulling his hips back.

“Honey one more question, what do you want for dinner?”

“Pizza!” You screeched right as Toji snapped his hips forward. Burrowing your face into Tojis hair, you tried to stifle the squeals leaving your lips.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do.” Waiting until her footsteps completely rescinded, Toji sat up on his elbow and smirked at you.

“Guess we’re having pizza for dinner.”

“Shut up.” Pushing his face back into your neck you avoided his teasing gaze. Chuckling to himself, Toji nipped at your skin.

“Now, where were we?”

Crawling out your room nearly an hour later with sweat on your brows and unstable legs, you tried to conceal the cum dripping down your inner thighs. Toji refused to let you clean up, sliding a pair of shorts onto your legs and telling you it would be a waste to get rid of the gift he gave you.

Sitting down at the table without him, you were thankful to be the only one there. No one could see the way you were trembling and squirming with every squishy gush of cum that seeped out of you.

“Hi honey.” Joining you a few minutes later, none the wiser to what had happened upstairs, was your mother. Greeting you with a soft smile, she was about to open her mouth to speak again when the front door opened.

“There you are!” She beamed at seeing Toji walk through the front door. Your brow furrowed at seeing him come through the door instead of walking down the stairs. He’d made a comment about climbing out of your window and acting like nothing happened, but you didn’t think he was serious.

“Yeah, went on a walk.” He shrugged, stepping into the house and holding the door open. “And look who I found on the way!” With a fake beaming smile, Toji waved his hand behind him as Megumi walked through the door looking as unimpressed as the day you met him.

“Megumi, you’re home!” Clapping excitedly, your mother shot up from her seat and to him, giving him a quick hug and taking the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Mhmm. Nice to see you again.” Polite as ever, Megumi smiled briefly at your mother.

“Go sit down at the table, we’re just about to have dinner!”

“Okay.” Nodding slowly, Megumi set his eyes on you, raking over your form as he took a seat across from you. The silence between you two was thick and you could tell there was something hanging on the tip of Megumi’s tongue.

“Hi.” You whispered, briefly making eye contact with him before looking at the wood grains on the table.

“Hi.” Sighing out the word, Megumi kept his eyes on your face, observing the way you bit your lip nervously and kept your thighs tightly clenched together. When his eyes dropped down to see the tennis bracelet on your wrist, you thought smoke would pour out of his ears.

“Getting acquainted with your new step sister?” Sauntering into the space, Toji roughly ruffled your hair, laughing at the way you swatted him away before doing the same to Megumi.

“You could say that.” The younger man replied, his eyes slightly narrowed looking between the two of you. Loudly pulling out the chair next to you, Toji sat down and slid his hand onto your thigh under the table.

“Alright, everyone, time to eat!” Ever the hostess, your mother appears without fail with the pizza you’d said you wanted for dinner.

As you ate, you could tell Megumi knew something was up between you and Toji. He always seemed to make eye contact with you whenever Toji’s hand strayed too high up your thigh and his thumb grazed your soaked slit. He was far too keen, sending you questioning looks whenever you would clear your throat to cover up a soft moan.

Left to clear the table with him, you couldn’t make eye contact with Megumi at all. The silence between you two was overbearing, made even more so when you went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

“So, (Y/N)...my dad is fucking you, isn’t he?” Megumi’s abrupt question made the plate you had in your hands fall back into the sink with a loud clatter.

“W-what?” Staring down at the soapy water covering your hands, you could feel Megumi’s eyes burning a hole into your head.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you two at the table. And I saw him climbing out of your bedroom window.” Taking a clean dish out of your hand, Megumi peers his head into your personal space, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“And what if he is?” The lump in your throat was bigger than you expected, choking you as you tried to speak. This was it, now that Megumi knew he would tell your mother and life as you knew it would be over for you.

“Don’t cry.” He said softly, wiping off a tear on your cheek you didn’t even know was there. “My dad’s sick, taking advantage of you like this.”

“What?” Hiccuping softly, you rush to wipe the other tears off.

“I knew ever since he started dating your mom that he was into you, I’m sorry I didn’t try and stop him.” Megumi sighed heavily, shaking his head as if to chastise himself. “I’ll have a talk with him and-”

“N-no, don’t.” Sniffling the last of your tears away, you force your voice to be steady. “I can handle it.”

“(Y/N), he’s not a good man, he won’t listen to you if you just tell him to stop.”

“I know, I just-”

“Then let me help you!” Clearly growing agitated, Megumi’s voice rose and his palm slapped against the counter, making you jump. There was silence, then the shuffling of footsteps with Toji appearing in the kitchen entryway with a furrowed brow.

“What’s going on here?” Looking between the two of you, his gaze settled on Megumi. “You, speak.”

“I know what you’re doing.” Megumi glared at him. Refusing to back down, he remained locked in a stare with Toji as the man approached.

“Yeah? And what that might be?” Coming nearly face to face with each other, you noticed how close in height they were to each other, with Toji only a few inches taller.

“You’re taking advantage of (Y/N).”

“Ha, and who said that?” Flicking his eyes to you, Toji chuckled. “Cause I know it wasn’t her.”

“You’re disgusting, you know that? You’re married to her mother for God’s sake!”

“Whoop-de-fucking-doo, you’re so observant.” Spinning his finger in the air, Toji pushed Megumi’s shoulder. “What do you plan on doing about it?” Quirking a brow, Toji didn’t wait even two seconds for a response. “I know you’re just upset I got to her first, kid. Now all you’ve got is your little hand at night.”

“That’s not true!”

“Even if it’s not, keep your fucking hands off what’s mine.” Hooking an arm around your shoulder, Toji pressed a kiss to your temple. “If I catch you so much as jerking it when she’s around, I’m kicking your ass.”

“Fuck you.” Megumi spat, his fists clenched at seeing Toji touch you so casually. It boiled his blood to see his dad treating you like this; there wasn’t a doubt in Megumi’s mind that you weren’t suffering with him around.

“Sorry, not into boys.” Letting you go, Toji slinked away to the fridge and grabbed a can of beer. Leaving without another word, as he turned the corner Megumi slammed his hand down against the counter.

“That fucking bastard.” He snarled, hanging his head low and trying to calm his shaking breath. Slowly releasing the tension in his body, Megumi stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I need to take a walk.”

“Okay.” You whispered back, probably going unheard as he stormed out the back door. Leaving the rest of the dishes in the sink, you left the room as well, going up to your room and staying there for the rest of the night.

It’s deathly quiet in the house the following day. Any instance where Megumi and Toji are in the same room, the tension rises dramatically. Refusing to even acknowledge the others presence, Toji has already whisked your mother away for an impromptu date night at five pm, promising to stay out late with a biting tone directed at Megumi.

“Finally that dirtbag left.” Huffing as soon as the door is closed, Megumi slumped onto the couch. “I can’t stand him, I don’t get what your mother sees in him.”

“I have no idea.” You mumble, feigning disinterest and scrolling on your phone. In truth, whenever you had a moment alone during the day, Toji had come up to you and touched you, teasing you by cupping your ass or kissing you. All you wanted to do was go upstairs and relieve the burn between your legs, but no good excuse to leave Megumi alone came to mind.

“Some of my uni buddies sent me home with a gift, if you’re interested.”

“What is it?” Sending him a curious look, you watched him hop up from the couch.

“You’ll see.”

The gift in question was an unopened bottle of liquor one step up from the bottom shelf. It didn’t smell good when he opened the bottle and even mixed with some juice from the fridge, the burn as it went down your throat was horrid.

“Are you sure this can be called a gift?” You blanched, face scrunching up tightly in displeasure.

“When you’re on a budget like we are, yeah.”

“I thought Toji sent you money?” Swirling the liquid in your cup, you watched Megumi take a bitter sip.

“Why would I ever use his money?” Sure, Toji made sure Megumi’s bank account never hit below five digits, but that didn’t mean he wanted it or even asked for it. Leaving well enough alone, you turned on a random movie and kept drinking, keeping all mentions of Toji at bay.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get properly drunk, words slurring together and dumb drunk giggles shared between you. It was easier to get to know Megumi this way, his likes and dislikes and general personality; the harsh scowl on his lips was gone, replaced with a lopsided smile.

“I gotta take a leak.” Stumbling up from the couch, Megumi strolled out of the room, keeping his hand on the wall to steady himself. Flipping through your phone in his absence, a sudden text caught your attention.

(Toji): daddy’s bored baby, send me a little something

(Y/N): like what?

(Toji): I’d love to see you in that new lingerie

Giggling coyly as if he’d spoken the words directly to you, you kept a tight grip on your phone as you made your way to your room. Megumi and the movie on the TV didn’t even cross your mind as you closed your door and went straight to your dresser drawer.

It was a bit of a hassle getting your clothes off and then the new ones on, your vision was swimming and every few seconds you stopped to giggle at yourself and your lack of ability. Bumbling through sliding the lacy panties up your legs, you flopped onto bed and opened the camera.

Emboldened by the alcohol, you took several pictures of yourself for Toji. Nearly all of them were at least slightly blurry, some brazen shots of your cunt through the panties while others were tasteful shots of your breasts.

Sending them off with a few heart emojis and a little ‘sorry, I’m drunk’ tacked on, you clutched your phone to your chest as you waited for his reply.

“(Y/N), you in here?” Megumi threw open your bedroom door with no warning or second thought, his eyes bulging out of his skull seeing you spread out on your bed in lingerie.

“Gumi, get out!” Throwing your hands over your body, you let your phone fall to the floor. Stuck in a drunken stupor, Megumi didn’t leave the room, but he did look down at the text Toji sent you.

“Why is my dad texting you that he’s fucking rock hard?” Curling his lip in disgust as he read the message aloud, he scrolled up to see the previous messages, his mouth falling open at seeing your pictures.

“Megumi!” Snatching your phone angrily from him, you gave him a hard shove. “Leave!”

“(Y/N), don’t let him do this to you!” Megumi barely moved from the push.

“Just leave!”

“No! I won’t let him ruin your life!” Grabbing onto your shoulders, Megumi swayed slightly. “I know it can be exciting to get attention like this but- but don’t do it with him.”

“You don’t know anything.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you refuse to meet Megumi’s eyes. He’s silent for a beat, weighing whatever options are inside his head.

“I do know some things.” Licking his lips nervously, Megumi tilts his head and catches your eye. “I do know anyone is better for you than that nasty fuck. Even I’m better than him.”

“Yeah?” For some reason, you crack a smile for him. There’s something about how adamant Megumi hates his father that makes you laugh a little.

“Let me show you.” His voice drops and Megumi shuffles closer to you, the fabric of his t-shirt grazing your nipples through the thin fabric of the bra. The action, along with the way Megumi looks at you, has the heat between your legs picking up again.

You’re grabbing his collar and kissing him before you can take a full breath in, lips drunkenly smashing against each other as you stumble back onto your bed. Megumi’s hands go up and down your sides, grabbing and squeezing your flesh between his fingers.

Kissing down your neck, Megumi’s hand slides under your panties and he doesn’t speak on the fact you’re already wet enough that he can slide two fingers into your cunt with ease. Even if the fact does catch his mind it’s gone just as quickly as he grinds the heel of his hand on your clit.

Sloppily rutting into your thigh, Megumi lets out a pleased sigh when you tug his sweatpants down and free his cock. Jerking him off as you kiss, he swats your hand away when he finally gets fully situated overtop of you.

“Fuck.” You both groan as he slides in, your panties hooked to the side because both of you were too frantic to properly take them off. Megumi kisses you as he thrusts into you, noses bumping painfully together as you chase your high.

Even with Megumi looking exactly like him, you still find yourself wishing it was Toji above you. They sound nearly identical as well, Megumi’s groans a dead ringer for his fathers. Keeping your eyes squinted, you force the image of Toji to be the one in front of you and combined with Megumi messily rubbing your clit, you’re able to cum with a soft moan the same time as Megumi.

“Shit, I came inside.” When the glow of his orgasm finally subsided, Megumi pulled out of you with a hiss and slid your underwear back into place.

“It’s okay, I’m on the pill.” A decision you were happy about, remembering Toji had cum inside you as well. Sitting with you a few minutes longer, catching his breath and lightly petting your hair, Megumi comes to a slow stand.

“I’m going to take a shower, try to get some sleep.” Pulling your blanket over you, the two of you share a smile before he leaves. Your phone lays forgotten on the floor, all the ensuing text messages from Toji ignored as you fall asleep.

It’s not that he’s upset. No no, Toji could never be upset with you. He was more disappointed than anything. Coming home in the dead of night to an empty bottle of vodka on the floor and his son passed out drunk in his bed, and then coming to your room to see you still in the lingerie you’d sent pictures of with cum that wasn’t his smeared along your panties.

No, Toji wasn’t upset. But the way he ripped the blanket off your body could lead you to think otherwise. Staring at you, passed out and utterly helpless beneath him, the desire to ruin you had him rolling his shoulders. He was getting excited at the prospect of hurting you, teaching you a lesson in not sharing what was his.

Climbing on top of you, Toji spread your legs apart, a sick grin pushing his cheeks up. It wasn’t everyday he got to use his own sons cum as lube, and it surely wouldn’t happen again. But as Toji slid his cock into you and the squelch of it sounded around his cock, he couldn’t help but let out a deep, low laugh.

Lighting a cigarette over you, Toji goes slow in fucking your sleeping body. He doesn’t need to worry about your mother possibly wondering where he was; he had drugged her on the way back home. Megumi wouldn’t wake up even if you screamed, liquor was always a good nightcap for him.

Maybe Toji was a bit upset, because the longer he stared at you, the more irritated he became. He knew he would have to take care of Megumi later, smack the kid around a few times and send him on a train back to university. But with you, your punishment needed to be special.

“Wakey wakey, sweetheart.” He sang to himself, nearly dropping the cigarette dangling between his lips as he shifted forward and wrapped both hands around your neck. Slowly increasing the pressure, Toji’s eyes flew open in delight when you choked and sputtered to life.

“Toji?!” Your voice was practically none existent, there was hardly any air left in your lungs for you to make a sound. Your fingers clawed at Toji, struggling to be let go in your still drunken haze.

“Thought you could go and be a slut, did ya?” Leaning over you, Toji begins to pound into you. Although there’s a slightly softer give because you’re still wet, your cunt still burns painfully from the treatment and Toji refuses to be even the slightest bit gentle.

He lets go of your neck when your hands fall slack, clamping one hand on your waist as the other ashes his cigarette over your stomach, watching as it settles onto your skin.

“Le-let me go.” You force the words out between hard gulps of air.

“Why, so you can fuck my son again?” He cocks his head to the side and takes a long drag, blowing the smoke right in your face.

“How do you-”

“Cameras, baby. I put cameras all over the house and there’s a couple in your room right now.” Toji revels in your surprised expression and even more so in the pained one you give him when he takes another drag and puts the lit cigarette against your skin. You scream exactly how he wanted you to and he does it again and again.

“Toji! Toji stop, please-” You sob, trying to swat away the cigarette butt getting your hands pinned to the mattress instead. Looking down at your thighs, there’s several blooming burns taking shape, marring your skin and leaving bloody welts.

“Only if you stop being a slut.” Finally done with his cigarette, Toji flicks it onto your bed to be dealt with later. Planting both hands by your head, Toji sneers down at you. “Tell me, are you ever going to fuck someone else again?”

“N-no.” Tears cloud your vision and you shakily put your arms around Toji’s shoulders as he fucks you even harder.

“No what?”

“No daddy!” Fully wailing, you bury your face into Toji’s neck when he leans down close enough. “No no no no.” Your quivering little cries are all Toji needs to cum, slamming his hips against yours one last time before stilling completely. He breathes deeply as his seed mixes with Megumi’s, too much for your cunt to handle as it spills out when he pulls out.

“That’s what I thought.” Toji isn’t gentle when he removes himself from you. He’s even less so in removing your lingerie, ripping it to shreds with his bare hands and touting that it was ruined now. He leaves you alone for a few minutes, returning in only his boxers with a new shirt in his hands that he forces onto you.

Sitting at the head of your bed, Toji pulls you into his lap. His shirt does a good job of covering the burn marks littering your upper thighs, something you want to forget about sooner rather than later.

“I’m telling my mom.” The words fall slowly from your mouth, taking all your courage to say. Toji snorts, lighting another cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air.

“Life’ll get a lot worse for you if you become a little tattle-tale.” He says it calmly, meeting your eye when you pull away to look up at him. “Who do you think stopped all those debt collectors? Payed off this shitty house and filled not only your mom's bank account but also your fridge.”

“I-”

“Who’s gonna take care of her if I leave? You two certainly weren’t cutting it without me.” He’s right and you know it. The truth of the matter was that you couldn’t survive without Toji’s money and if your mother left him, the two of you would have an even harder time finding work.

The truth made tears burn your lashes and fall down your cheeks, hiccuping cries left your lips that were only slightly muffled by Toji pulling your head into his chest. Putting out his cigarette, he ran a hand down your back and cooed.

“Oh pretty baby, don’t cry. Daddy won’t do it again, he promises. So long as you promise to keep that little mouth shut and let him do whatever he wants. We got a deal?” Toji half nods your head for you, pressing a big kiss to your forehead.

“Daddy, m’tired.” Sniffling loudly, you force the tears to stop falling, biting your lip to stem the flow.

“Let’s go to sleep then.” Shuffling you under the covers, Toji follows suit. He smells strongly of cigarettes, the scent overtaking you as his head hits your pillow. Pulling you against his body, Toji grips your ass tightly. “Goodnight doll.”

“Goodnight.” Biting back another wave of tears, you push your head into Tojis chest and will yourself to go to sleep.

Being awoken with your step fathers hands around your neck had been scary and was imprinted on your mind for the rest of your life. But waking up in the morning with your legs over his shoulders and his face buried in your cunt was surely a memory that would stick with you as well.

“There she is.” Toji grinned, his chin glistening as he looked up at you. “Took you long enough.” Shoving his tongue deep into you, Toji stifled any opportunity for a response. Your heels dug into his back, hand shooting out to grip his messy bedhead. With how sensitive you were already, he must have been between your legs for a while.

Sucking on your clit, Toji groaned as you gripped his hair painfully hard, your back arching high off the bed as you came. Your body thrashed around, hands trying to pull Toji closer while also pushing him away. Pulling his mouth away, Toji rubbed his fingers against your clit in the absence of his tongue.

“Good morning, princess.” Laughing when you smacked his hands away, Toji sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, making a show of licking off all of your slick that coated his face.

“G-good morning.” Breathless from the ordeal, you dumbly kissed Toji back when he knelt down and captured your lips. You could taste yourself so strongly on his tongue and smell yourself on his skin.

Breaking the kiss, Toji helped you dress for the day. He didn’t make any mention or acknowledge the marks on your legs, only giving them a flitting glance as you pulled on some pants.

Walking down the stairs together, to your horror Megumi was already in the kitchen when you walked in. He glared angrily at Toji, giving the man a wide berth as he moved about the space. Slinking to the farthest wall, he sent you a pitying look and took a sip of the coffee in his mug.

“Good morning!” Your mother announced her presence with a loud yawn, barreling into the kitchen with terrible bedhead and a stumble to her walk.

“Good morning mom.” You couldn’t look her in the eyes, keeping your head bowed as you returned her greeting.

“Morning honey.” Toji smirked, kissing your mother right on the mouth and keeping her there for a few seconds.

“Get a room.” Megumi mumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes at the two.

“Toji, what’s that taste in your mouth?” Smacking her lips together as she pulled away from the kiss, your mother furrowed her brows. “Is that a new gum or something?” Making direct eye contact with you, Toji snorts and pulls her into a hug.

“Yeah, something like that.”

[xxlost-cityxx]

ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS

Ship/Characters: Top!Kirishima Eijirou, Bottom!Bakugou Katsuki

TW/CW: camming(Bakugou's a camboy), rough anal sex, anal fingering, choking, spanking, begging, crying, overstimulation, praising, degrading, enthusiastic consent

Summary: Bakugou's famous for being in the top 3 best doms for a camboy porn site, but as he tries to out rank an up and rising couple, his fans get to see the moment he realises he's a submissive bottom

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Katsuk has been a camboy for a little over 2 years now, starting right off the bat once he graduated high school. As he was 18 and living on his own and with a low paying job, he quickly realized he needed another source of income to live even slightly comfortably in today's world. Then came a random ad that just so happened to catch his eye, a porn site catching a lot of popularity, a few cam stars seeming to live a life of luxury from simply filming themselves for anyone to see. 

Katsuki had to try it out. 

He's had his fair share of horny old men groping him out in public, so why not get paid for them to watch him instead? 

That plan was one of his best ideas yet. He rose to fame so quickly he choked on water after posting his 4th video ever, seeing that his rough, aggressive attitude turned a lot of people on. A lot meant 14,000 at the time. A month into camming and he was making over 54,000 yen a week! And now, with nearly 500,000 perverts at his mercy, it was much more. He started live streaming last year, and it went amazing. Until a new couple joined the camming business. Suddenly 'loving boyfriend rails his curvy brown haired slut' was all anyone wanted to see. This broccoli headed bitch stole half the damn site from almost every other cammer out there! 

So there was only one thing Katsuki could do now. 

He had to fuck someone on one of his streams. 

He blew up the first time he fucked a flesh light, degrading the inanimate object like no tomorrow, easily being labeled one of the best doms out there. So the only way to get back on top was to dom a real person. 

But he wasn't going to fuck one of his weird ass fans, god no. He needed to find someone close to him who would keep their mouth shut. 

After brainstorming and browsing the most popular porn categories, he got an idea. The best way to narrow down his options for what type of person he'd need is by his audience. He quickly went to his profile insights, his eyes narrowing as over 60% were females. He quickly smirked, easily going back to the most popular categories and filtering out what he didn't want to do and what his audience wouldn't be into. And the one that came out ontop, was gay shit. Katsuki was going to dom a guy. And if it meant coming out on top over all the useless cammers, he'd fuck the shit out of a twink. 

"Sorry man, I would've considered it back when we first graduated, but Hitoshi and Kyo would rather stab you than let me take your dick up my ass." Denki said, casually sighing and taking a sip of his coffee. The elders around the coffee shop gasped, giving nasty side eyes which Katsuki couldn't care less about. "What!?" He nearly shouted, Sero and Mina covering their mouths to prevent any laughter from coming out to the point their faces were turning red. 

"Why not ask Sero-" "-Oh hell no! I'm not letting Katsudon fuck me on camera!" Sero shouted, ignoring Bakugou's glare from calling him Katsudon. 

"You really need to fuck a guy for this? Why not stick to your usual content? No.2 is better than much else, right?" "Hell no! I'm the best and I'm going to prove I'm the fuckin' best! Denki's the only twink I know, so help me find another!" Katsuki yelled, a few families being rushed out of the shop. 

After going through everyone that fit Bakugou's qualifications. They had nothing. Bakugou was ready to tear someone's head off at this point. After doing so much research, he didn't have the final piece. 

"Hey Mina, you're a chick. What do you suggest 'suki do?" Denki sighed, folding in on himself. "I mean, we do love our gay shit man." He said in an inhale. "But why not get fucked instead? We know way more doms than we do twinks." She said, tilting her head. "Oh- Hell no!" Bakugou shouted, Sero wincing. "I'm the best fuckin' dom on this shitting porno site and I'm going to prove it!" "Sounds like a bratty bottom to me." Sero mumbled. 

After more shouting and arguing. Kirishima finally arrived. "Sorry, my last client had a lot of knots in their back and thighs! Took a lot longer than I expected." He said with his happy smile, still wearing his scrubs and smelling like coconut oil. "Eiji~! Gimme a deep tissue massage!" Denki whined, rushing over and jumping face first into the bed. "He just gave massages all day dude, give him a break.." Sero mumbled, shaking his head. 

And it was like a light bulb. His brain flashing to massage porn intro's being in the top 100 categories. "Kirishim!" Bakugou shouted firmly, standing up straight. Kiri froze, slowly turning to look at him with fearful eyes. "Y-Yes…?" "Let me fuck you for my cam stream." And it went dead silent. 

And that's how they're here. Setting up the ring lights, almond oil on the shelves and a small white towel for Bakugou to cover his ass with. The plan was that Eijirou would get handsy during the massage and Katsuki would turn around and start domming him. Kirishima is bigger than Bakugou in the height and muscle department, but that was only going to make the plot better. Eijrou definitely wasn't telling him something. After hesitating to agree in the first place, and only after Bakugou promised a share of the money, Kirishima was just so...unnatural at this situation, his movements starting off as more dominating until he took it down to a submissive level.   

Katsuki started the live, giving his quickly joining fans a cocky smirk before standing up, walking back and laying down on the black table. 

The comments were filled with surprise and questions as to who the red haired hulk was beside the table, but they went unanswered. 

Kirishima grabbed the bottle of almond oil, pouring some into his hands and quickly starting on Katsuki's thighs, gently rubbing into the muscles with experienced ease. 

Bakugou's eyes widened at the feeling, his core already getting hot with desire. And as Kirishima's fingers went under the towel to his inner thighs, he fought a gasp. Comments filled with perverted comments telling the redhead to get more handsy and to give the blond a hand job with all the oil. 

But as Eijirou put a knee on the table and nearly climbed over Katsuki to perfectly get his back, Katsuki started panting at the feeling. It wasn't the massage that was getting him. It was the feeling of Eijirou's crotch rubbing against the thin towel, his cock slightly hard underneath his black scrubs. 

As it was about time for the script to move onto Katsuki domming Kirishima, Bakugou was stifling whimpers of shock and embarrassment. His cock aching for him to fuck Kirishima…..actually. His body was aching to be fucked by Kirishima. 

As Katsuki was turned around, His eyes were teary, his fans taking quick, shocked notice and flooding the comments with surprise, degrading, perverted insults about how he looked like a twink instead. 

Kirishima's eyes slightly widened at the sight, and as Bakugou swallowed his embarrassment and shock, he focused on his arousal and his own perverse desires. "F-Fuck me….instead.." He whispered, his eyes slightly squinting and blurring with tears. 

Before he knew it, Eijirou was leaning over top of him with a slick hand around his neck. Bakugou couldn't help but moan at the pressure, his stream struggling to keep up with the influx of viewers and comments about the top 3 best doms getting put in his place by a rando. 

Bakugou's mind wasn't on the donations anymore, not on the follower count or his ranking at this point. He was gasping for air as Kirishima roughly kissed and bit at his body, keeping an iron grip on Katsuki's neck. "Oh fuck yes- Was hoping to god I would be able to fuck your tight ass one day-!" Kirishima breathed against his skin, licking up his nipple to his jaw and nipping at him. 

He suddenly ripped himself off the blonde, walking over to the camera and grabbing it, making a winky face at the viewers as he moved the camera to get a better view of Bakugou teary eyed, flushed and a line of red, darkening hickies and bites. 

He got back on the table, roughly gripping Katsuki's thighs and harshly pushing them apart, an action that would probably make some other guy pull a muscle. He wrapped his arms around his spread thighs, pulling his hips up to meet his crotch, the pale skin against his dark black scrubs finally letting Bakugou and the viewers know what the newbie was packing, and it was a lot. 

"H-Holy fuck-" Bakugou whispered out as his towel was ripped off of him, oil being grabbed off the table and the cap popped open. Kirishima paused, looking up to Bakugou, a silent plea for last minute permission. Katsuki's red eyes met crimson, and he swiftly nodded his head, accidentally earning more donations from the show of submission. 

Eijirou lathered his fingers in oil, tracing the blond's pink hole carefully, giving the camera another adjustment so the viewers could see his perfect view as well; a red faced, teary eyed dom with his tight ass being slicked up so nicely. 

The oil made Katsuki's muscle relax easily, becoming soft under the thick tanned finger, and as he swiftly plunged in the singular finger, Katsuki gasped with shock, his eyes going wide at the foregin feeling. 

Kirishima slowly pumped his finger, adding slightly more oil every time his muscle got a bit too tight, slipping in more fingers every time his rim was soft. It felt like such a short amount of time between preparing to dom his best friend to being finger fucked by him. Eijirou's forearm had veins slightly protruding as he slammed his fingers into his friend at a pace that made vibrators look pathetic. Katsuki's pretty little back was arched so nicely, his muscles flexing and his toes curling, tears falling from his eyes as moan after moan was ripped from him. 

"P-Please! I can't! I can't take it anymore!" He finally sobbed, shaking his head at the man's brutal pace, purposely avoiding his prostate after hitting it every couple times. 

Kirishima smirked, slowly sliding his fingers out only to slide his thumbs inside, stretching the soft muscle as he pleased, showing off the blond's perfectly hot pink insides, his swollen rim slick and twitching. "So nice and pretty for me, hm? You wanna take my fat cock for the first time? Expose how much of a slut you are for cock? For my cock?" Kirishima said seductively, moving the camera again. 

Katsuki nodded his head rapidly, his eyes glued to the hard to see bulge under his black scrubs. "Use your words, baby." Eijirou said firmly, palming himself. "Y-Yes- I want it-! I w-want your fat cock-!" He said, face flushing with embarrassment again. "Good boy~" He cooed, finally grabbing the hem of his pants and pulling them down. 

It was almost like he struggled to pull the front down far enough, his cock just kept following, and once it finally got over his tip, his penis sprung up to lightly slap against his stomach before it weighed itself down. The camera got Bakugou's surprise and shock perfectly, the comments finally going quiet, almost as if everyone had to take in what they were seeing as well. 

Kirishima grabbed the base of his cock, lifting it and letting it slap against Bakugou's hole, earning a slightly muffled whimper from the blond. He gently moved his hips, letting his cock slide smoothly against his hole, his tip teasing the smaller's balls. The comments were filled with encouragement and orders to get on with it. 

Kirishima chuckled darkly, letting his tip catch on the rim, slowly pushing in. Bakugou's eyebrows furrowed before his mouth dropped and eyes widened with the pressure. He let out a guttural moan, his legs starting to shake. 

As Eijirou bottomed out with a groan, Katsuki was shaking and whimpering, his own well endowed cock red and dripping precome. 

The redhead pulled out before slamming back in, the blond shooting up with shock only to be met with a hand on his neck again, pinning him down as the Kirishima harshly forced his way between Bakugou's legs even more, only giving the blond a couple seconds to adjust before he started snapping his hips into the smaller man's ass. Bakugou took in one breath of air before lewd moans poured from him, his voice cracking every time his skin was slapped with another brutal thrust. 

"Agh- P-Please-!" Katsuki nearly screamed out, Eijirou grabbing the back of his knees and pressing them back to meet his shoulders, effectively putting him in a mating press. "Please what, baby? Tell me what you fucking want!" Eijirou growled out, groaning as Katsuki's tight, slicked up boy cunt tried to milk him, pulsing and sucking him in with every movement. "I-I want it harder! Please- Please fuck me harder! Give me more!" Bakugou nearly sobbed, looking at where their bodies were connected with teary wide eyes. "Such a fuckin' slut-! Making all these people think you were a fucking dom, only to start begging for the first fat cock you see! Want it harder? Wanna feel my fat dick in you for days?" He growled, eagerly moving to grab Katsuki's ankles and awkwardly spreading them over Katsuki's head before turning him, ripping his cock out of his pillowy ass and nearly picking the blond up by his ass, grabbing the nape of his neck and forcing him on his knees with his head down. 

He slammed back in, the blond nearly screaming once again as he set another brutal pace. "Y-Yes! Please, god yes! Fuck me more! Don't stop!" Katsuki sobbed, drool and tears staining his lewd face. "Wouldn't fucking dream of it! You love having your little boy cunt fucked, huh? Love how I fucking ruin you on this dick?" Kirishima growled, slapping a hand down on his fat ass, groaning loudly at the sight of all the excess muscle and fat jiggle even more. 

Katsuki's ass slapped against Eijirou's abs every time he slammed into the boy, his back muscles looking so pretty at this angle. 

"Oh shit- I'm gonna cum! Please make me cum! Don't fucking stop~!" Bakugou moaned, arching his back and lifting his ass up higher so Eijirou could hit his prostate at the best angle. "Haven't even touched your cock and you're gonna cum? Fucking do it! Cum on this cock, make it yours and I'll fuck you every day!" Kirishima promised, sharpening his thrusts to where all Bakugou could do is claw at the padded table and scream, staring into the camera as his orgasm was building higher and higher. 

"I- Fuck! I'm fucking cummin'!" Bakugou screamed, his body shaking under Kirishima as his thrusts went unbroken, hurtling Katsuki into overstimulation. He started screaming for relief, but as Kirishima planted his hands into the curvature of Bakugou's spine, he started thrusting purely for his own relief. Groaning and growling above a sobbing Katsuki. "S-Stop! I can't! Slow down~ Please!" Katsuki begged, his cock trying to harden again. His body was on fire, every nerve fried with pleasure he'd never experienced, and Katsuki knew he was addicted. 

"Almost fuckin' there! Gonna cum in your ass- Claim you, make you mine!" Eijirou groaned out, his balls drawing up tight as his own climax ripped through him, filling up the man's stomach with his cum. 

He slowly pulled out, Katsuki in the same position even after Eijirou let go of him. He grabbed the camera, pointing it at Bakugou's gaping and cum filled hole, watching how he pulsed against nothing, forcing the cum to leak out of him despite his angle. 

Not only did Katsuki make absolute bank while taking monster cock like a slut, he took the No.1 spot by over a thousand followers and ratings. 

[watchmegetobsessed]

Drum it out - Harry Styles

a/n: hiya lovelies! im bringin an OC fic this time only because i had a strong vision about the girl and thought it would be best to have her as one instead of Y/N this time, but hope you’ll enjoy it regardless! Remi Devon is a baddie, i like her!

pairing: Harry x OC

summary: Harry is forced to find a new drummer since Sarah is about to become a mom, but no one seems to be good enough to replace her. It is until he meets Remi Devon, the woman who completely takes his breath away from the moment he sees her on stage.

word count: 7k

warning: NSFW content, some slight spanking

masterlist

“Don’t worry, you’ll love her just as much as I do!” Sarah smiles at Harry, giving his arm a gentle squeeze as they make their way into the small but cozy looking bar. Harry is skeptical, mostly because for him, no one compares to Sarah and if it wasn’t for her pregnancy, he would do anything to make her stay in the band. But he is so happy his two friends are starting a family together, it’s only that Harry is now forced to look for a new drummer as it’s getting harder for Sarah to keep up with the hectic lifestyle they’ve been living. Her bump is now pretty obvious and it’s only a matter of time until she can’t sit behind her instrument.

They’ve been trying to find someone to replace her during the second half of her pregnancy and at least the first year after she gives birth, but no one seemed good enough. Truth is, and Harry knew it damn well, that his problem was always the same: they weren’t Sarah.

Now she has dragged him to check someone out, a girl Sarah knows from years ago and who was told to be a mind-blowing drummer, though Harry has doubts about that.

“Sure will,” he hums, not too convinced about it.

The bar was previously a small theater, the seats have been taken out on the ground floor, replaced with tables and stools around the sides and a dance floor in the middle. The gallery is used as a kind of VIP area, this is where the two of them are right now, sitting at a small table in the front corner so they have an amazing sight of the stage where a local band is about to start very soon. Sarah said Remi, the drummer in the talk, is just a jump-in for the night for a friend, but it was a great opportunity for Harry to check her out.

“You know, she beat me at an audition a while ago. This super cool rock band was looking for a drummer for their mini-tour in Canada, because their drummer broke his leg and we both tried for it. There were still some people waiting to audition when she went in and she blew their mind so much, they just ended the audition right there,” Sarah tells him, the story still holds a dear place in her heart. She and Remi used to be close friends, but got a little distant as life took them to different paths. Now they are meeting up every few months when they are in the same city, catching up on everything since they last saw each other, sharing their equally exciting stories.

“Really?” Harry asks with genuine surprise as he takes his beer from the table and glances down at the stage. Everything is set up already and his eyes move to the shiny looking drum set at the back. It’s hard to imagine himself finding someone as good as Sarah, for Harry she has been the etalon ever since they met. But now he is forced to find someone even though he doesn’t want to, not even a bit.

“Yeah. She is the kind of girl that just turns heads wherever she goes without even trying.”

“You think I would get along with her well?” he asks, turning to face her just in time to see the wide smirk on her lips as she nods.

“I think you two would make an epic duo, H.”

“Alright, now I’m interested,” he smiles softly.

“She said they will play a lot of covers.”

“What kind?”

“You’ll see,” she smirks, sipping on her lemonade, a hand going to slide down on her stomach.

The dance floor is not packed, but there are a lot of people, seemingly most of them are here specifically for this band called Striped Shoes, Harry hasn’t heard about them until now but he is always happy to discover new music.

Soon, the lights go down, darkness falling to the theater, the only light is coming from the bars at the back. Then a spotlight turns on and a guy is standing in the middle of it, cheers erupting from the people as he starts playing the guitar and Harry immediately recognizes the song: Smells like teen spirit by Nirvana. Just a few riffs later all the other spotlights come on, each of them illuminating a member of the band and Harry’s eyes flick to the drum set where the only female on the stage is sitting, he catches her the moment she starts playing, the vibrant energy lingering around her almost knocks him off the stool even from this far away. Her hair barely reaches her shoulders, it falls to frame her heart shaped face in soft waves, the roots are a darker color than the rest that’s an odd shade of mahogany, but it suits her perfectly, Harry thinks. She has a few tattoos littered across her arms but not a full sleeve on any of them. They are on full display in the shirt that’s sleeves were seemingly ripped off, the fabric is raw on her shoulders. It seems to be some kind of old band shirt but Harry doesn’t recognize the logo on the front. Her legs are wrapped in ripped jeans and Harry is immediately mesmerized by how steadily she keeps the rhythm while absolutely nailing the song.

She makes it look so easy yet fascinating, her head snaps back a few times, a satisfied grin stretching across her lips as she enjoys the music, clearly a fan on it. She doesn’t miss a beat and flows into the next song that’s an original from the band as if the two songs were the same while she had to switch up the rhythm entirely through the transition.

Harry feels starstruck, watching this woman take the whole show, in his opinion, while simply sitting behind the drum set, playing like no one he has ever seen. She puts all of herself into it and that’s why she manages to outshine everyone else. Harry knows how hard it is for a drummer to get the same kind of attention as other members, but Remi makes it seem like it’s the natural, like drummers are the front people without a doubt.

When the cover version of Rock and Roll by Led Zeppelin comes on, in a way more hard rock version, Harry almost fears the stage is about to catch on fire. The song already has amazing drums in it, but the band gave it even more attention, giving a chance for Remi to show how amazing she really is.

“So? What do you think?” Sarah shouts over the music and Harry suddenly realizes he is not alone. He managed to zone out on the drummer without even noticing.

“She is… amazing,” he admits truthfully, in complete awe of what he is witnessing. This is music. This is passion. This is exactly what Harry always looks for in musicians and Remi has a whole lot of it.

They push the short drum solo a little longer at the end and Harry watches as Remi finishes the song standing, playing so hard that with the last hit, one of her sticks simply snaps into two, flying across the stage as she is breathing hard, skin glimmering from the sweat, her hair a complete mess from all the head shaking she’s been doing, but Harry thinks that it’s the hottest thing he has ever seen in his life.

Sarah knows she finally found her replacement, judging from Harry’s look she knows he is a sucker for Remi so she just lets him enjoy the rest of the concert.

When they play their last song and they all gather at the front of the stage to bow in front of the audience, Harry finds himself standing as he is applauding the band, but especially Remi who doesn’t even know Harry Styles is now a fan of hers.

“Let’s talk to her, shall we?” Sarah suggests once they disappear from the stage. Harry nods, finishing up his beer before the two of them head backstage.

Sarah has been put on the list since she previously let Remi know she would be coming. She was ecstatic to see her old friend, however was not told that Sarah would be coming with someone else so when Remi spots the two of them walking down the small hallway at the backstage, she is surprised but not shocked. She knows Sarah has been working with him for a long time now, but she wasn’t expecting him to be here tonight.

“Hey! There you are, mama!” Remi jokes with a heartfelt chuckle as she hugs her old friend. “Already looking like a milf!” she teases, earning an eye-roll from Sarah.

“Rems, I want you to meet Harry. Harry, this is Remi Devon.”

Remi’s eyes meet Harry’s piercing green ones and for a moment, Harry feels his stomach drop. She is even more breathtaking up close, in her simple but very fitting outfit, hair pushed back from her face carelessly she is easily the first woman ever to make Harry nervous to the point where he is having a hard time to even talk.

Remi holds out a hand for him smiling warmly and he luckily takes control over his actions and shakes it before it could get awkward.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. Heard a lot about you,” she chuckles softly.

“Hope you believed only the best,” he nods with a shy smile.

“Oh, of course,” she winks and Harry swears he felt his heart skipping a beat.

“We actually have something to talk to you about, Rems. Do you have some time for us?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah, just let me wash my face and I’ll be right back. There’s a small green room on the left, feel free to wait there,” she nods and disappears a moment later.

Sarah and Harry move into the room as Remi told them to and just a few minutes later she storms inside, a new shirt hugging her torso, a simple black one, but it’s tight unlike the one she wore for the concert. She sits into the armchair while Sarah and Harry have taken the small sofa.

“Alright, I’m all yours,” she smiles at them crossing her legs. Harry knows he should be the one to bid the offer, but it seems like he is not finding his words just yet. But Sarah is quick to talk when she realizes Harry is at a loss of words.

“I brought Harry today because I wanted him to see you play. We are currently looking for someone to take my place shortly,” she explains, placing a hand to her bump. “I know you’ve been freelancing lately so I thought you’d be interested in working with the band and of course Harry.”

“Oh!” She seems genuinely surprised at the offer. “So this was kind of my audition in secret?” she chuckles.

“You could say that,” Sarah smiles.

“And how did I do?” she asks, eyes meeting Harry’s gaze that hasn’t left her face since she arrived.

“You… definitely passed. The best I’ve seen so far,” he tells her and the smile on her face is worth everything for him. 

“So what does this mean exactly?” This time Harry answers, finally finding his voice.

“If you are not too busy in the upcoming time, I would love to have you as my drummer,” he states, handing her the offer on a silver plate, basically.

It’s an offer most musicians dream of, so Harry thinks she’ll accept it right away, but of course, Remi is not like others. 

“I’ll be needing some more details before I give you my answer though,” she smiles.

And that, she gets. A few days after the concert Remi meets up with the rest of the band and Jeff to talk about all the details. She clearly wants to know what she is jumping into and Harry respects that. At the end she accepts the offer and as Harry watches her sign the paperworks, a huge wave of satisfaction and excitement washes over him. 

***

The public imagines Harry as the picture perfect human being who is always at his best, never making any mistakes, but that’s far from the real truth. He is as flawed as anyone else, it’s just that not many get the chance to see him in this state.

His bandmates are among the few privileged ones that are bound to see all his ups and downs as well and since Remi is part of them now too, she has witnessed his bad days since they have started working together.

Harry’s growl is heard in the microphone when he is supposed to be singing and the music soon comes to a halt. It’s probably the tenth time he is messing up the exact same part because his head is just not at the right place. He knows he should be at the top of his game, not wasting his colleagues’ precious time, but he just can’t bring himself away from the heavy thoughts that’s been occupying his mind lately. There are days when he is as free as a bird, not a worry in the world, but sometimes everything comes down at once and he feels like crumbling under the weight of his own career.

“Sorry guys,” he apologizes into the microphone, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he closes his eyes for a few seconds to collect himself. The silence in the auditorium where they are currently rehearsing for tour is harsh, everyone is tired and they can feel the nerves creeping up on them about the upcoming tour and making sure that everything is perfectly in place for the first show.

Remi looks around from behind her drum set, holding her sticks in one hand and she doesn’t like what she is seeing. A group that’s always so happy and carefree is now just a big ball of stress, this is not right. 

“Guys, why don’t you all wrap it up for today, I’ll stay here with Harry and help him get it right,” she offers.

“How do you want to practice without everyone else?” Mitch asks, not at all in an offending way, more like out of curiosity.

“I’ll find a way,” she smiles softly and he doesn’t push it further. 

As the rest of the band is packing up, leaving slowly, saying their goodbyes Harry is sitting on the floor next to one of the speakers, head hanging low, deep in his thoughts. Adam is the last one to leave the place and once it’s just the two of them, she stands up from behind her set and walks over to the desperate man.

“Get up,” she orders, not in a bossy manner, more of a ‘do what I asked, I’m trying to help’ way so Harry obeys. Standing up he towers above her, almost a full head taller than Remi, but still, sometimes she can make him feel so small.

Harry has noticed that her energy is making her push the air out of his lungs sometimes, just the way she stands, looks, moves around a room, it’s making her appear like the ruler of everyone around her. He has often found himself just staring at her from afar since she has joined the band and even though she has caught him ogling her a few times, he just still can’t bring himself to stop admiring her. He definitely has a fat crush on the new addition to the team, however now his feelings are pushed aside, their place taken by his anxiety and worries.

She takes his hands and pulls him to the middle of the stage, putting the microphone stand to the side so they have some space cleared out around them. She then turns to face him, a warm smile tugging on her lips while he is rather curious about what she has on her mind.

“Scream,” she simply tells him, his eyebrows immediately knitting together in confusion.

“Wha’?” 

“Scream,” she repeats, but he is still lost about the situation. She chuckles a little before taking a few steps away from him, twirling around her heels before stopping facing the area where the audience is supposed to be during a concert. “Whenever I feel like I’m locked, like everything around me is so suffocating that I can’t even function normally, I take a minute and just let it all out,” she explains before taking a deep breath and hunching over, the most eardrum-breaking scream bursts out of her, making Harry jump a little.

She holds it long, until her throat is cracking up and she runs out of her breath, then the scream dies and she takes a deep breath, filling up her lungs again. Harry stands there, completely stunned, thinking that if anyone heard her now, they are surely convinced she is being tortured here. 

When she turns back to face him again, she is smiling as if nothing just happened, like it’s the most natural thing to randomly scream from the top of her lungs on a casual Wednesday night.

“Now it’s your turn,” she tells him, but Harry doesn’t feel like it’s gonna be his thing at all. But he still turns to the side, clears his throat and lets out a not too forceful shout that’s quite saddening compared to her scream. “Oh, come on, I’m sure you can do better, Styles,” she chuckles, hands on her hips as she tilts her head to the side.

“Is this really necessary?” he questions, eyebrows still furrowed at her.

“Very much. Now come on, do it!”

“Remi, I--”

He doesn’t have the chance to finish, because she screams at him, knocking the air out of him once again, making him flinch at her sudden action.

“Scream!” she then snaps at him.

“I don--”

“Scream!” she repeats forcefully and Harry gives up. Taking a deep breath he lets his voice out in a hoarse scream that’s way more vibrant than his last attempt. “Yes! Again!” she grins nodding and he does it again.

And then again and again, until he feels like his chest is completely empty, like nothing is keeping a tight grip on his insides anymore. He is panting, mind racing as he realizes how much better he is feeling now, meaning that Remi’s technique worked.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, smirking, her arms folded on her chest.

“Fucking awesome,” he chuckles out of breath, running his hands through his messy hair. 

“Great. You think you can handle going through the song now without messing up?”

“I… think?”

“Alright, grab your guitar and I’ll give you the beat.”

She moves back behind her set as Harry grabs a guitar, throwing the strap over his head, turning to face Remi behind him as he places the microphone stand in front of him.

“I’ll go softer on the beats, you just do your thing okay?” she tells him and he just nods, fingers already on his guitar.

Kiwi sounds a whole lot different with just the drums playing weakly and only one guitar playing, but it’s not what matters. Harry finally manages to go through the song without messing anything up.

When the song ends and the music is replaced by silence, Harry can’t help the grin stretching across his face.

“I fucking needed that,” he sighs, his head falling back for a moment as the last bits of euphoria settles in his body.

“Want to go over something else?” she asks, turning back and forth to the sides on her stool, playing with the sticks, twirling them between her fingers easily.

“You sure don’t want to go home like the others?”

“Let’s see what choices I have. I can go home and watch an entire season of Love Island on my own, eating leftovers from two days ago or I can stay here, play music with a hot dude. I think I’m fine with the second option.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up at how simply she just called him a hot dude, his heart fluttering in his chest again like the first time he saw her play, only difference is that now her eyes are piercing on him and it’s just the two of them in an empty room. He is already having thoughts that should probably be pushed down.

“Did you just call your boss hot?” he teases her then.

“I don’t think you’re my boss,” she scoffs. “You need me here more than I need to be here, so I think I’m the one having the higher ground,” she points out and Harry knows she is so damn right. “Besides, I know you find me hot as well.”

He is quick to blush at her words, but that doesn’t stop him from questioning her.

“What makes you think that?”

“I see you staring, Harry. I’m not oblivious or naive. I know you like checking my butt out every time I’m fixing my set leaning down,” she chuckles and now he is certain his ears are a deep shade of red, he was caught more often than he thought, it seems like. “Also…” she smirks slyly. “If you think you hid your hard-on cleverly the other day when I played my solo, you are wrong.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry mumbles, cursing himself for being such a horny teenager around her, but he can’t help it. The woman is the epitome of everything Harry finds so fucking attractive, it’s like she was made for his imagination specifically. “This, um, this is a little awkward, but I’m sorry--” “Oh, don’t be,” she chuckles. “I’m just lucky I’m a woman and my arousal can’t be seen that easily,” she comments and Harry almost chokes on his own breath.

Did she just admit she has been turned on by him before? When? What did she think about? What was it that made her turned on? Harry needs answers, however he is not given the chance to get them.

“Alright, you can choose two more songs we’ll go over and then we are off,” she simply says, as if they weren’t just talking about being horny a moment ago.

“Uh, maybe Only Angel and, um, Lights Up?” he prompts, trying his best to regain his composure. 

“Cool. Let’s do them.” And with that, she switched back to work mode without batting an eye.

***

It feels like the crowd will never stop screaming. It just keeps going and going, people are probably losing their voice, but the screaming just continues as Harry stands at the front of the stage, his adrenaline jumping to the sky, eyes roaming around the full arena. He throws a few more kisses, placing his hands to his chest one last time before turning around and heading off the stage, his eyes meeting Remi.

She is not wearing her usual clothes, instead, she is now sporting a pair of high-waisted dress pants in a lavender color, a white top tucked into it, her matching blazer thrown to the floor, she probably got hot the moment she started playing. Her tattoos are on full display and she looks just as sweaty as Harry feels. But still, for him she is a sight he would love to look at for the rest of his life.

Their eyes meet and she smirks at him, eyes glimmering from the high she experienced through the concert, it’s a feeling they all share every time they perform together and it’s clearly like a drug neither of them wants to come clear of.

“Good job, Rockstar,” he reads her lips saying and he laughs, winking at her.

Ever since their one-on-one rehearsal, things have felt to change between them. It’s like a barricade that’s been lying between them has come down and they are feeling much more free around each other. Secret glances, touches and flirty comments are their usual and they don’t care that the people around them are starting to catch on it as well. They love the game they are playing and neither of them plans on stopping it.

Harry stops at her drum set, holding out a hand to help her up and walk her off the stage, knowing well she doesn’t feel the most comfortable in her stage clothes and feels a little too restricted by the end of the concerts, but she understands that her style does not go well with the look they are going for. 

She snatches her blazer from the floor and gladly takes Harry’s helping hand as he walks her off the stage, her Gucci boots feeling a little too tight at the moment.

“One of these days I’m gonna rip these pants off,” she jokes, pulling on the tight waistband of them.

“Just make sure I’m around when it happens, Darling,” Harry teases, making her laugh as they walk backstage, everyone congratulating them and the band following behind on their way.

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Very much,” he admits without shame, the blushing long gone from his cheeks and ears. The buildup has changed his nervousness around her lately and he is enjoying the teasing and flirting all too much. 

The whole team agrees that tonight’s show was exceptionally good and that it deserves some celebratory drinks. A few blocks away from the hotel where everyone is staying there’s a cozy looking bar and the rather loud lot occupies half the place as they flow in and start ordering their endless rounds of drinks. 

Harry is sitting at one of the tables they have taken up, going strong with his third beer of the night, half zoned out of the conversation with the small group he is sitting in. His eyes are fixated on Remi’s figure who is standing at the bar with Charlotte, unlike every other female around she is not sipping on some kind of fancy drink or a cocktail, she went straight for the crafted beers the place had to offer. She has changed her stage clothes, wearing her usual tight black jeans and a sheer top with a simple black sports bra underneath it. Harry can’t stop his eyes from raking down her body, taking in every curve, tattoo and tiny detail about her and he thinks that there is not one thing on her he doesn’t find attractive. 

Her eyes find him, a playful smirk playing on her lips Harry has been thinking way too much about lately, and she cocks an eyebrow at him in a way that yells at him: Like what you see, Rockstar?

As an answer, he just simply shrugs with a growing smirk until she turns back to Charlotte, who is still talking to her, she hasn’t even noticed that Remi was focusing somewhere else for a moment. Remi laughs at something her bandmate said and Harry wishes he could be closer to hear her voice, he has grown quite a liking to her laughter, he has been trying to crack as many jokes lately as he can just to hear it.

He takes his eyes off her just for a second when someone at the table asks him something. He mumbles his reply and reaches for his beer as his gaze shifts back to her figure, only to find that Charlotte is not gone and a not so friendly looking guy is behind her, clearly trying to chat her up.

The dude is standing way too close to her for Harry’s liking, leaning in to talk to her, but she keeps backing away, however he does not care about that. She is clearly not enjoying the exchange and when the guy reaches up to her face Harry is quick to jump to his feet, ready to go to her rescue. But it’s not needed.

Just as he takes one step towards the scene near him, he witnesses as Remi grabs the bloke’s hand before he could touch her face and with a strong and quick move, she twists his arm behind him, keeping the guy on his toes as he is trying to escape her deadly grip on his wrist, his hand pushing into the middle of his back.

Harry’s mouth hangs open as he watches Remi tell something to the guy in a not too friendly manner before letting him go and the man flees before Harry could blink twice.

“That was impressive,” Harry tells her, walking up to her at the bar. Remi just shrugs, gulping down the rest of her beer. 

“I know some tricks.”

“How come?”

“Grew up with three older brothers, had to learn how to defend myself when they decided to attack me out of nowhere.”

“Three brothers? That must ‘ave been wild,” he huffs impressed.

“I surely didn’t have a girly childhood, I’ve always been kind of a tomboy,” she shrugs again. As a teenager, she often wished she would be like the girls in her class, but later on she realized how big of an advantage it is that she speaks the boys’ language so easily.

“I think it just made you… badass,” Harry smirks, leaning against the bar counter.

“Is that what I am?”she arches an eyebrow cockily. 

“Definitely. A handful, but the good kind.”

“Oh, just be careful, Rockstar. I might think you are trying to get into my pants,” she chuckles and as Harry hears her laugh he can’t stop himself from taking it further. She is too intoxicating.

“And what if I am?”

Remi doesn’t seem surprised at his comment, not even a bit. She is clearly enjoying the flirting once again, but when she answers, he surely is the one who is surprised.

“Then I gotta say you are working way too slow. I’m losing my patience.”

His eyebrows rise, lips parted as he stares back at her, the words that left her lips pushing the air out of his lungs once again, he is done for her. Utterly and completely. He wants to say and do a million things, but then settles on just one simple question.

“Want to get back to the hotel then?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she smirks and simply heads towards the door without another word spoken. Harry is quick to grab his stuff from the table and catch up with her at the exit. 

The crispy night air feels a little sobering as they both step out of the bar, heading to the nearby hotel with rushed steps, keeping their silence but they both are grinning madly. When their eyes meet they can’t push down the laughter and Harry grabs her hand before he starts running, pulling her after himself.

By the time they reach the hotel they are both out of breath, adrenaline running high once again as what’s been building up between them since the first time they saw each other is finally about to bloom fully.

Remi pushes the button for the elevator and as it moves down painfully slowly Harry’s hands find her hips, pulling her back against his chest. His lips tease the soft skin on her neck, peppering kisses everywhere he reaches while his fingers dig into her skin under her sheer top. She leans against him, head falling back to his shoulder and she pushes her bum against his crotch, a whiny moan escaping his lips that makes her smile in satisfaction. 

“Fuck, Remi,” he breathes out, eager to finally have her all to himself and make all his fantasies come to life. The elevator finally dings and as the door slides open Remi turns in his arms abruptly and grabbing onto the collar of his shirt she simply pulls him inside, hand snapping on the button of his floor and just as the door slowly slides closed and they start moving up, her lips finally crash against his.

They are kissing hard, eager to take as much from each other as they can, they are both greedy, wanting the other all to themselves, the heat of the moment lighting up the small elevator. His fingers rake through her hair, grabbing a handful of it in each of them while one of her hands slide down his upper body until it stops on the obviously growing bulge in his pants. Harry moans shamelessly when she gives his erection a teasing squeeze and she smirks against his lips, satisfied with how easily he reacts to her touches. 

Harry melts into her, wanting to devour every bit of this moment with her, he is seeing stars when she takes his lower lip between her teeth and tugs on it. A hand flies down to her ass and he squeezes it hard without shying about how much he is enjoying touching her.

The elevator reaches their floor and once again he grabs her wrist and starts pulling her down the hallway towards his room. Her lips are glued to his neck when he is trying to get his keycard from his back pocket and open the door, but when he finally succeeds, they basically fall into the room, tangled into each other and the door snaps closed behind them. 

He is quick to push her against the door, lips attacking her neck, nipping and sucking on her skin until he is sure a mark is left on her. 

“Off with it,” she pants, her hands tugging on his shirt and they work with all four of their hands to unbutton his shirt until it flies across the room. Remi pushes on him, hands spread across his hot chest as they get farther inside the room. The bump into some furniture on their way, lips glued together again until they finally reach the bed and fall right onto the perfectly made sheets. They are both showing dominance so it’s a constant fight for the lead between them, rolling around until at last Remi ends up on top, strangling his lap. She straightens up and grabs the hem of her shirt, getting rid of it fast before she does the same with her sports bra, baring her upper body completely to Harry’s greedy eyes.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, pushing himself up until he wraps his arms around her, mouth meeting her chest, littering her heated skin with sloppy kisses until his lips reach one of her nipples.

“Yes!” she moans as he starts playing with it, his hands coming to cup her breasts, massaging them continuously before his mouth moves over to her other nipple, giving it the same attention. 

Harry uses her momentary weakness and turns them over, his crotch coming in contact with her center as he pushes his hips between her legs forcefully. He kisses down her stomach before he leans back and works fast on the buttons of her jeans. The tight material hugs her legs stubbornly, but he is eager to get rid of them and he soon succeeds, leaving her in just a lacy black thong. He undoes his own pants in a heartbeat, pulling them off and throwing them to the side before he gets on top of her again, kissing her lips so hungrily as if it hasn’t been just a few moments since he kissed her last. 

She whimpers under his touch when he moves a hand between her thighs, running his fingers along her clothed folds, her arousal already soaking the fabric. He doesn’t hesitate to slip his hand into her underwear, her juices wetting his wandering fingers and he teases her hole and clit playfully.

“You better not fucking tease me, I don’t like that,” she pants, her dark eyes meeting hers and he can see the threat behind her words, she is not joking.

“Then what do you like?” he breathes out, eager to please her so much, she’ll forget about everyone else she has ever slept with.

She doesn’t answer, instead, a devious smile tugs on her swollen lips as she pushes him off until she is able to move. Harry is now kneeling on the bed and watches as Remi pushes her ass up into the air, back arching perfectly, her thong looking so delicious on her round butt and when she pushes herself back so her behind meets her throbbing dick in his briefs he could cry from the sensation. His hands immediately grab onto her asscheeks, pulling her even harder against himself.

“Smack it,” she breathes out, glancing over her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Do it,” she nods and Harry doesn’t need more encouragement, he lifts a hand up and smacks her ass so it leaves a little redness after it. Remi moans erotically, enjoying herself fully and seeing how much it turns her on, he smacks the other cheek as well.

“You are gonna be the death of me,” he whines and pushing down his briefs his erection finally springs free, he grabs it with one hand, stroking himself a few times while his other hand is keeping a tight grip of her ass.

Remi wants to see him naked, so she quickly pushes herself up to her knees and turning around her eyes fall on Harry stroking himself. Hunger fills her eyes as she launches forward, lips meeting his while her hands simply take the place of his on his length, doing the job for him.

“I’m on birth control. When were you last tested?” she mumbles against his lips before leaning back so she can get rid of her thong and Harry does the same with his underwear.

“Three weeks ago, haven’t been with anyone since and I’m clean,” he mumbles in a rush.

“I’m clean too. You can ditch the condom if you want to.” “I wanna feel you,” he pleads desperately as she lies back on the bed and he gets on top of her again.

“All yours,” she smirks, spreading her legs wide for him, the sight in front of him is easily beating any art he has ever seen, he thinks. 

He positions himself to her entrance, but doesn’t push into her just yet, leaning down so his lips brush against her ear as he whispers into it.

“Let’s see if you feel just as amazing as I imagined.” And with that, he pushes into her with one swift movement, stretching her all the way until his whole length disappears inside her.

“Fuck, Harry!” she cries out, back arching at the sensation. He sucks on her neck once again as he starts moving in and out, fitting inside her so perfectly, he is convinced she was crafted just for him. 

He is going fast and hard, their pants and moans completely filling the hotel room and they can only hope they can’t be heard by anyone right now. She circles her legs around his hips, the angle he is reaching making her toes curl behind his back.

“You feel so fucking good,” he chokes out, face contorting into a blissful frown as he is getting closer to his orgasm with each thrust.

“I want to be on top,” she gasps, already pushing on and this time Harry doesn’t hesitate to obey. He rolls to his back, pulling her with him so now she is on top. Her hands come to rest on his stomach as she starts riding her, circling and lifting her hips so perfectly, so breathtakingly that Harry could cum just from the sight of her bouncing on him, but the feeling is making it a mind blowing experience. His fingers dig into her hips as she is starting to move faster and faster, before Harry starts bucking his hips up to meet her rhythm as well, going so deep into her, he is having a hard time deciding where she ends and where he starts. They are completely merged together in one hot mess. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” she screams gasping, her head falling back as she doesn’t fall out of her rhythm, still being such a drummer even in the bed, dictating the beat. 

Harry pushes himself up into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her so he can push her naked chest against his, their sweaty skins sliding against each other relentlessly, creating friction.

“Scream my name when you cum,” he orders, his lips finding hers once again, but it’s a messy kiss, their teeth are clanking, noses are bumping together as they are both nearing their high.

“Harry, oh fuck!” she exclaims and with her next movement he can feel her clench around him.

“Louder!” he growls on the edge of his own orgasm.

“Harry! Harry!” she screams shamelessly, throwing him over the edge, a guttural moan bursting from him as they both fall out of the rhythm, satisfaction washing over them in waves.

“Oh shit!” she breathes out, lips against his as she keeps him close with her hands on the base of his neck. 

“Fucking Hell, Remi. I think I almost had a heart attack,” he breathes out with a soft chuckle making her laugh as well. She pulls him into another kiss, but it’s way slower now, the hunger and greed taken by their pleasure, now it’s time for something softer.

When they fall back to the bed, arms and legs tangled as they are still trying to stay close to each other, Remi looks up at him with a tired smile.

“So, was it like you imagined?” she asks and he chuckles softly.

“A thousand times better. But now we have a problem on our hands.”

“And what would that be?”

“Now I’m hooked. I won’t be able to stop thinking about you, not that it hasn’t been the situation since the start.”

Remi chuckles shortly, pushing herself up enough so she can look comfortable at his flushed out face. 

“Well, it’s a good thing we are kind of locked together for months.”

“I’m one lucky man, aren’t I?” he smirks, so full of himself before he pulls her back down, kissing her like they have all the time in the world on their hands.

[mr2swap]

They don't make them like they used to.

"things are not done as before" those words came out of my mouth involuntarily, it was a puppet a simple voice in my own head, I can see, I can feel, I can taste but I could not control any of my actions.

When my rep booked me a meeting with a bunch of superman fans I didn't think it was going to be in a fucking nursing home but I guess it's good publicity for me and my new movie although I was expecting at least a welcoming committee or some paparazzi to photograph my arrival in my luxurious car.

The place looked like any other nursing home in the country, from the first moment I entered that place I knew something was wrong as soon as I entered that damn place, there were only elderly people, usually in a nursing home of old people that would not be a problem but there was no sign of any nurse or any old woman they were all old and disgusting men.

It was a good thing I was an excellent actor and none of them could tell how sick I was of the smell of a bunch of slowly rotting old decrepits. They had prepared a small exhibition of memories of Christopher Reeves and the old superman, somehow the look of that hundred old people bothered me, they somehow felt disgusted or disappointed.

after greeting the organizers who were just a couple of older people. They gave me a "dressing room" that was nothing more than a dirty and almost empty room with a mirror and an uncomfortable wooden chair, however there was something that really called me attention was a classic superman suit, and as much as I tried to reject the old suit those old men really insisted that they put it on me I must have suspected at that moment that something was up but I just wanted to finish my work and get out of that fucking place as it was possible.

examine the old superman suit it was not only an old suit but also one that Christopher Reeves used the old superman, I felt very strange wearing the suit of a dead man but when I started to put on the little lycra suit that was comfortable perfectly to my skin I couldn't stop, it was like I was in some kind of trance since I slipped my leg into that suit.

When I regained full control of my body and came to, I was in front of the mirror wearing that much simpler and more comfortable suit than that suit I used to wear in recording centers, something strange began to happen to me, my hand began to move as if had a life of its own I couldn't control it and my hand went straight to my crotch, touching my huge cock without me being able to stop it.

the rest of my body disobeys me I no longer had any kind of control over my body, the only thing I could control was my head -HELP! SOMETHING WRONG IS HAPPENING I CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF!!! - I yelled trying to alert the old people who were outside but no matter how long I waited there was no response.

if you want to see the rest of the story and see more of my stories please take a look at my patreon page it would help me a lot

[randomrosewrites]

Bittersweet Dreams

Every night, your mind is plagued with visions of an old Liyue. She blesses your nights, like a guardian angel, but you never remember her face or name when the sun rises again.

Pairing: Ganyu X GN reader Words: ~5K Warnings/ tags: Memory loss, reincarnation, blood and injury, death, fluff and angst, happy ending, implied sexual content a/n: I never thought much of Ganyu, until I dreamt of her one night (which unspiringly inspired this fic) and now I'm hooked. Patiently awaiting her rerun.

She comes to you in a dream.

You can tell it’s her from the feeling of it. Warm. Comfortable. It loosens your muscles (if you even have muscles in dreams) and puts your mind at ease. It makes you sleepy, wanting to lie down on the soft hills of grass under the shade of a tree to take a nap.

You don’t know exactly where ‘this’ is, whether or not it’s in the fields of your home, Liyue, or some other place. It looks like Liyue, with the craggy mountains behind you, and the bubbling stream running down the hill. But it feels different.

Then, you see her.

You don’t know what – or who – she is exactly, because you can never get a clear view of her. Everything blurs around her body. But you know she’s there, know she’s waiting for you. Sitting in a pocket of empty grass, sounded by glaze lilies, feet tucked underneath her as she naps.

She starts when you approach, uncurling herself to sit up properly. She smiles. She says your name – at least you think it’s your name, it feels like your name – and pats the spot beside her.

You wade through the flowers and sit down, so close to her that your legs are touching. It’s rather close even for friends, but with her, it feels right. How it should be.

She never talks much. For a dream or a vision, she never has much to say. Only whispering in a soft voice about how pretty the flowers are, or how beautiful the day is. The silence is good. A brief period of peace.

(Peace from what? You always wonder when you wake, but no matter how many times you re-enter the dream, you always forget to ask.)

This dream always ends in the same way.

“You should get some rest,” she says.

“What about you?” you always respond, the words feel foreign in your mouth – like they’re not yours.

She shakes her head. “I’ll be alright. Rest, and have peaceful dreams.”

You rest your head in her lap, as you’ve done a thousand times before. Her hand cradles your head, brushing through your hair lovingly.

“Who are you?” “Why are you doing this?” “What is this?” – You always want to ask, but no matter what you try, the words never come out, tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.

Just like every time, your eyes grow heavy, your body grows weak, and you close your eyes, falling asleep once more.

…

..

.

When you wake, you’re never in the flowery fields anymore, but in bed staring at the ceiling. The hum of noise vibrates through the wall, employees at the Inn already getting up to do their daily tasks.

You sigh and rub your eyes, rolling around for another ten minutes before finally getting up.

By the time you dress and leave your room, you’ve forgotten all about the dream.

---

“Good morning, Mrs. Goldet,” you great sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

Verr Goldet looks up from the counter and nods. “Good morning, sleep well?”

You give the cat laying on the counter a few scratches. “As good as always. I had a nice dream.”

She blinks slowly. “What did you dream of?”

You turn away, heading out of the doorway to start your chores. “Her. As always.”

As you disappear, Verr Goldet’s brows furrow and she frowns. It dissolves the second a customer walks into the lobby, ready to check in.

---

You’ve been working and living at the Wangshu Inn for a while now. Free room and food for helping out every day, with Sundays off. It’s a good deal.

You do odd tasks around the Inn, helping out in the kitchen, moping the floors whenever travelers track in mud from the marsh – things like that.

Days are spent polishing the balconies, evenings are spent wiping down dinner tables, and you when the moon is high in the sky, you sleep.

And dream.

---

There are many people in the crowd, packed tight together under the hot midday sun. Guili plains is alive in celebration. Booths are set up on either side of the streets, the smell of delicious food wafts through the air, and colorful decorations hang everywhere. You push through them, scanning the sea of heads for a particular person. She’s not hard to miss, but everywhere you turn, she evades your sight. Anxiety begins to bubble in your stomach – the speech will start soon, and you want to be with her when it begins.

A cold hand falls on your shoulder. Turning around, you sigh with relief.

“There you are,” you yell over the noise of the crowd. “I thought I’d lost you.”

She smiles, showing off fresh Qingxin flowers in her hand. “Sorry, I was distracted by a stall. Would you like some?”

You take her free hand and kiss it. A red blush forms on the apples of her cheeks. “They’re all yours.”

Hand in hand, the two of you make your way towards an elaborate stage, raised high above the people, crafted out of rock and decorated with gold. Many people are gathered around, waiting patiently, holding umbrellas to protect from the sun or fanning themselves off with whatever they have. The two of you take your seats just as the theatrics begin.

There’s a cry, and a point of fingers as the audiences’ attention is turned towards the sky. Hailing in rays of light are two of the Adeptus, taking the form of cranes. One of them a gold and orange, the other blue and white.

Cloud Retainer, you’ve heard (?????) call her Adeptus.

They land on stage and spread their wings out in a flourish.

“People of Guili,” Cloud Retainer begins. Her voice ringing out like a crystal bell. “On behalf of all the Adepti we would like to welcome you here.”

“We hope you have all enjoyed the festivities,” the gold and orange bird speaks next. “Today’s celebration marks not only the anniversary of the creation of Guili, but to also pay homage to the warriors that have fought and are still fighting in the ongoing war. Because of the date’s significance, the Lord of Geo and Lady of Dust have decided to bless all of use with their presence.”

The two birds spread their wings once more. Cloud Retainer raises her head high in the air. “People of Guili, I now present to you, the Lord of Geo – Morax and the Lady of Dust – Guizhong.”

At the mention of their Gods, the people break into a round of applause, this only increases when a man and woman appear onstage, and everyone rises to show their respects. They’re both dressed beautifully, in fine silk-robes, adorned with smears of make-up around their eyes. Your goddess looks divine, accepting the praise with a warm smile. Morax, on the other hand, gazes out towards the crowd, sharp gold eyes piercing anything in his sight.

Morax – though you have nothing but respect for him – has always been a bit enigmatic to you. You can’t imagine what your Goddess sees in him. But their companionship has what lead you to become acquainted with her, so you’re not complaining.

Morax steps forth on stage, raising a hand. The crowd goes silent instantly.

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Morax’s voice is rich and calm. Beside you, your companion is sitting at full attention, gnawing on her bottom lip in anxiety. She startles as you place a hand over hers. She smiles thankfully, some of the tension leaving her, before returning her full attention to the couple on stage.

“This land has seen many years of fighting,” your Lord’s words are wispy yet firm, just like dust being blown through the wind. “Many, many people have suffered at the bloody hands of war. Such heinous acts stain the land red, spreading sorrow on every inch of the earth.”

She gathers a breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is strong, that of a warrior who has fought in battle. “But not here. Guili will be – is – a place where there is respite. It’s the beginning of the future, a future where the monsters of today are nothing but a kids-bedtime story in the future.”

Guizhong touches her chest with one hand, the other extending out towards the crowd. “I make this vow to you now – my precious people – we will fight to protect the lives of each and every one of you. I promise you security, prosperity, and peace. One day, the bloodshed will end, and I promise you, when that time comes, when the dust has finally settled, we will lead you into the new age of Liyue. To this, I swear on the very ground I walk upon.”

There is nothing but pride, joy, and determination emanating from the crowd, applauding the Lady’s finest speech. Even Morax is smiling at her, the small corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

Cool fingers squeeze yours. Looking over, there are tears in your friend’s eyes. She blinks them away, the wind tousling her blue hair.

She’s beautiful. Your heart squeezes painfully as you fight the urge to lean over and kiss her.

You squeeze her hand back, letting all of your hopes, feelings, and things unsaid pool between the two of you.

---

There is an Adeptus at the Wangshu Inn.

You know little of the Adepti, but seeing the boy (being?) in front of you, there’s no doubt in your mind that he is one.

His sharp eyes slide over to meet yours, run up and down your person, before returning to your face, then back to staring at the marsh.

“Sir Xiao?” you ask. “I’ve brought you dinner.”

Xiao doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. You were warned he would be like this - bitterly stubborn and unresponsive.

You settle the plate down by your feet. “It’ll be here if you feel like eating.”

You wait a minute longer, but Xiao doesn’t make a peep. You sigh and turn to go back inside.

“Do you remember Guili?” he whispers suddenly, so quiet you nearly mistake it for being the wind.

You spin around. “Do I what?”

“Guili. Remember Guili.”

“…Remember? It’s an ancient ruin,” your brows furrow as you frown. “I’ve only been there maybe once or twice, passing by.”

A painful second goes by.

“Why, am I supposed to know something about it?”

From what you can see of his face, Xiao grimaces. “Nothing, just – just forget it.”

“You can’t just-”

“I said forget it,” he snaps, his voice cracking at the end of his words. “You don’t – I thought you – ” He rubs his face with his hand, breaths deeply. “It’s nothing. Please just leave.”

He gets up suddenly and leaps from the balcony before you can even speak. Leaving both the tofu and you alone on the balcony, a cold ache spreading through your heart.

---

She’s nervous, you think. Abnormally so.

Jueyun Karst is safe, kept watch over by Morax’s Adepti and the Qilin in the clouds. Only select few are allowed up where you are – (There was a smug steak of satisfaction when Cloud Retainer begrudgingly let you traverse her abode atop the mountains, Ganyu smiling gleefully as she held your hand.) – and even less are allowed to set foot on the sacred lands.

She’s been shifting for the past hour, unable to focus on conversation and jittery. Ever so often, she rubs her hands over her horns in a pacifying motion, then as if realizing what she’s doing, abruptly tears her hands away.

“Is the upcoming battle bothering you?” you ask, finally, not being able to stand her fidgeting much longer.

She stiffens, surprised that she’s been found out, and dips her head in embarrassment. “Oh. No, it’s not that…”

“…Ok. If not that, then what?”

She swallows thickly. She turns to you, taking both of your hands in hers, refusing to meet your eyes.

“I was wondering…I mean I hope,” she starts, nervously. “That after this is over…all of it…that maybe…you’d, um…”

You’re patient, gently prompting her, “I’d?”

“W-well, that we could…?” she trails off, squeezing your hands again. “That this…could be s-something more.”

Oh. Oh.

Your chest heats as you lean forwards, whispering her name to the wind. She squeaks raising her head.

“I like you,” you sigh, unable to stop the loving cadence in your tone when you say it. “A lot. So whatever concerns you have just know that…anything you want is…it’s all good.”

She’s silent for a moment as your heart pounds against your ribs. Slowly, she tilts her head towards yours, resting your foreheads together. Her cheeks are so hot, unlike the cryo vision strapped to her side.

“I like you a lot, too,” she says. “I don’t really have…any…experience with something like this but um…I’d like to try.”

Your heart soars, leaps, and does a flip twice over. You smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “Can I ask you a question, now?”

She blinks, nodding her head.

“May I kiss you?”

She wets her lips with her tongue and nods again, vigorously.

You close the distance, firmly kissing her lips. They’re soft and plush, warmer than you’d imagined. (Because you have imagined this, many, many nights before.) A mix between a gasp and a pleasured sigh escapes her, the noise only heating you up further.

When you pull back, she’s turned three different shades of pink and her eyes are glazed. You rest your head against hers and wrap your arms around her waist, feeling the curves and dips of her body, squeezing at the skin there.

“Good?” you ask.

She nods, tucking her head onto your shoulder. “Mhm.”

At some point, you lie down together, tangled in limbs, listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing and heart beats as Liyue’s night sky sparkles with constellations.

It’s only much later, when you hear the screams, that you realize peace is fleeting in this world.

---

You pant heavily, setting the last box down on the ground and flop on the stairs. Five in total, weighing gods know how much. Each one filled to the brim with legal documents from Liyue Harbor. You had suffered through carrying them one-by-one up the stairs as the elevator had conveniently decided to break this morning.

You push the box with your foot, sliding it with the others against the wall. If this is how much paperwork the Inn gets, you don’t even want to know how much paperwork the Qixing have to deal with. (Then again, it was the Qixing that dictated the laws, so perhaps it was well deserved.)

Verr Goldet had taken one look at them and called it an early day, leaving you to handle closing.

At least your day is done now. You hang the keys up in their proper place, pet the cat goodnight, and begin blowing out the lanterns.

“Um…excuse me?”

The sudden voice startles you, turning towards the entrance. A figure stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight. You can’t make their identity out.

“Could I speak to Mrs. Goldet? It’s about the recent delivery of paperwork.”

“Mrs. Goldet is away right now; I could take a message?”

The person nods, steps through the threshold, and your mouth goes dry.

She’s tall. Eloquently dressed with hair the color of Glaze Lilies. It frames her face, falling down her back in delicate curls. As you stare, stary eyes blink back at you in shock.

She seems familiar.

“I’m…sorry…” she says, turning away quickly. “I-I’ll just come back tomorrow-”

The tassel of her outfit swings as she does a complete 180. Her hair is furled out, exposing the smooth expanse of her back. The sight sends a throb to your temple, the scene feeling reminiscent of…something.

Your head is aching.

“W-wait!” you reach out and grab her arm, catching on the cuff of her sleeve. The motion rattles the necklace around her neck – no, not a necklace – a bell. The chime crisp like morning frost, soft like the way she feels, like the way she-

Pain bursts from your temples, piercing both sides of your head. You cry, loosing your grip in the process. There’s a muffled yell before the world blurs, spins, and sends you tumbling down, down, down, into the dark.

And then, there’s a hallow nothing.

---

She comes to you in a dream, but Liyue is not as it once was.

There is fire everywhere you look, the ground scorched by flames or destroyed in the aftermath of intense fights. The air is thick with smog, choking you with each gasp you take. One of your legs isn’t working and blood pools through your fingers pressed tightly against your side. You don’t know how much further you can make it.

You hobble through destroyed fields, corpses littering the ground, blood seeping into the earth. All of the glaze lilies are gone, wiped out in the destruction.

You cross the river on one leg. You slip on a rock and lose your footing, collapsing into the water. It’s freezing, the sensation colliding with the burn of your wound. You shiver and suck air through your chattering teeth, dragging yourself using your arms. Your side screams in pain at every pull, black spots dance in your vision. You grit your teeth and dig your fingers into the dirt, pushing forward.

Not yet, you can’t die just yet.

You exhaust yourself at the edge of what used to be the flower field, rolling onto your back and wheezing at the sky. This is as far as you’ll go. Mud soaks through your clothes. You dig your fingers into it, grounding yourself from the searing pain.

You hear the chime of her bell before you see her, crisp and pleasant, soothing your mind. She cries out your name, fear and desperation in her voice. You call back, a cracked, soft groan.

The bell draws closer and she rushes to your side, kneeling in the dirt. Her hair’s a mess, dirty and singed. Her sleeve is torn, blood dripping down her pale forearm. She pulls you onto her lap and rushes to tend to your wounds, pressing a hand to your side. She’s never been a healer, only a fighter. A strong fighter. Stronger than you could have ever hoped to be.

“You’ll be fine,” she says to herself more than you. She nudges you gently. “Please stay awake just a bit longer.”

You take her hand and squeeze it tight. Smiling takes all of the will you have, and even then, it’s weak. “It’s alright.”

She shakes her head. Her eyes – such pretty eyes – wide and filled with tears. “Please don’t go. I can’t…”

“Morax,” you croak. “There’s still him.” Your goddess, Guizhong might be gone, but he’s still alive. As enigmatic as he is, you know she’ll be safe in his care.

“I care about that!” she shouts, for the first time ever, her anger directed at you. “I’m not talking about a god to follow, I’m talking about you!”

She’s sobbing now, her eyes swollen red, teeth clenched tightly through her gasps. She curls around you, fingers grasping at your bloody clothes.

You lean your head into her, offering what little comfort someone dying can offer their partner.

“I’m sorry, Ganyu…” The life is fading from your body, your fingers and toes are so, so cold. “For leaving you like this…”

She gives up on the wound, wrapping her arms tightly around you, burying her head onto your chest, over her heart. Pitiful whimpers leave her mouth, awful sounds that make your heart ache.

“I love you,” she confesses, the words coming out as a sob. “I love you.”

Your heart squeezes. “I love you too, please…”

But the words don’t come. The ache in your side is almost unbearable, growing worse and worse with each shallow breath you manage. You fight to keep your eyelids open, but you’re so tired. And sleep has never been more appealing.

“Rest, now,” she coos, combing your matted hair from your face. You feel the small, delicate press of chapped lips on your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The void calls, gathering you into its arms, wrapping you in a warm bundle; warning you that your time’s up. You fight against it a bit longer, mustering up the last of your consciousness to tell Ganyu – you friend, partner, lover, one final thing.

“Forgive yourself.”

She bites her lip, fresh tears forming in her eyes. She nods. You’re relieved.

Her form wavers, and you know you can’t stay any longer. You let your eyelids close, your breathing slows, and you give yourself to eternal sleep.

…

..

.

“Sweet Dreams…” she whispers after a long while, in a soft, saddened voice.

---

You wake up alone, sweating in your bed, in tears, and remember.

---

The climb to Quicing Village is long and straining. You could have taken the path to the west, but stubborn as you were, wanted to save time by scaling the mountain.

You don’t know what drew you to this place, only a tugging at your heart forcing you forward. A firm belief that you’re heading where you need to go.

It’s easier the further up you go. You’ve done this before, in another life, as another person. You remember scaling mountains all the time, just to pick the freshest Qingxin petals for her. You used to eat them together, on the tops of Mount Azjong, legs dangling in midair, watching the birds go by, the wind nipping at your skin.

It’s not long before you reach the top, where the path dips to overlook the village. Fields of red, blue, and yellow stretching over the lands.

You let yourself wander, talking to the villagers as you go. Everyone is so nice, excited to talk to a new stranger in town. The air’s so fresh and the grass is so green, it reminds you of those days in the fields of glaze lilies.

You almost stop breathing when a familiar scent flows by on the wind. Sweet, fresh, cool. One you’re very well acquainted with. You rush forward, running towards the smell faster than your legs can carry you.

She’s sitting in a field of flowers. Just like the ones in your dreams, except there’s only one glaze lily, resting by her knees and cupped in her palms. You slow down and take the stone paths carefully, as to not to disturb the environment.

You stop just behind her, clearing your throat. She startles with a jump, turning around. Your face heats in embarrassment.

“Ah…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Her lips, which are slightly parted, close. She shakes her head. “It’s quite alright…I was just enjoying the day.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

She pauses, then nods wordlessly. You settle down in the grass beside her, a visible gap between the two of you. There are many things you are unsure of. Does she even want you here anymore? Does she just want to forget what happened?

“[First] is your name, correct?” she says eventually.

“Oh – yes, it is.”

She nods, staring out over the river. Another silence befalls you.

“I’ve dreamt of you,” you blurt. “For a while. It comes back in chunks. The memories of my past.”

“That usually happens with reincarnation. The soul is the same but the body and mind doesn’t remember, plagued by shadows of a past life.”

You swallow down your nerves, trying not to focus on how your voice shakes. “In that past life, were we…were we…lovers?”

Her fists clench on her lap. She takes a shaky inhale and nods.

“Oh…” Is all you can say. You knew – know? But to heart it out loud is…

“You look just like you did all those years ago,” Ganyu murmurs sadly. “I’ve never forgotten your face.”

A heavy, hot weight settles in your chest. “How long has it been?”

“Thousands of years…since before the Arcon war,” Ganyu rubs her eyes with her palm. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

You wait until she composes herself before you speak again. “I remember in the past, you asked me to share a future with you.”

Ganyu turns to face you, and desire flares up inside your chest. Dark and powerful, urging you to pull her close and into your arms.

“I did.” She says.

“I’m not…the same person from the past. I don’t know who or how I was, and I don’t know if I’ll ever return to remembering anything. But…”

Cool fingers rest on your lap, you shudder at the touch. Ganyu smiles gently, and there’s a feeling of deja-vu when she says. “But…?”

“But if you’ll have me, I would like – I’d really like to – to try. With you.”

Ganyu scoots to the side, until your thighs are touching, and hums softly. “I think I’d like that, too.”

You let out a shaky, relieved breath and squeeze her fingers tightly. She smells sweet and floral, the scent overwhelming your body, making your head drift and spin. You’ve never smelled anything more right.

“I hope this isn’t rude, but you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

She flushes deeply, smile spreading across her face. “You told me that before, thousands of years ago, when you first met me.”

You smile back, tucking a piece of stray hair from her face. “Well, it’s true.”

---

As much as two immortals (???) might have just rushed back into dating, neither of you wanted that.

You two talked. A lot. About your current lives and past. You talked about Wangshu, about your occupation, about Xiao. (“Don’t mind him,” Ganyu had said. “Xiao’s always a bit cold, even to the other Adepti.”) Ganyu talked about the harbor, about your past lives in Guili.

You might not ever get your memories fully back. But even if you don’t, you feel surprisingly calm and accepting of it.

At the end of the day, after both of your throats were hoarse from conversation and your eyes wet from emotion, you both decided to part ways.

She returns to Liyue Harbor. You return to the Wangshu Inn.

Temporarily, you promised, until you figured yourself out. Liyue Harbor is daunting, the populated streets reminding you too much of Guili, of memories you can’t remember, that make your head ache terribly.

You stay at Wangshu. In the mornings, you mop floors, dust paintings, and help fix the elevator. At evenings, you go to the top floor and eat plates of Almond Tofu with Xiao, staring longingly towards the Harbor.

And at night, when you go to bed, you don’t dream of the past, but of your future.

---

One day, when you return to an empty room, and your heart aches with loneliness and the desire to see her becomes too painful to bear, you decide it’s time to go.

---

Liyue is calm, today.

The clouds drift by idly, whisps of white against blue as birds soar on the random wind currents. The sun shines high in the sky, slowly making its way across the map.

“Stop moving,” you grumble, locking your arms tightly around her, burying your face into her chest.

Ganyu chuckles, carding her hands through your hair. “I’m sorry, did I disturb you?”

“Yes…I was having a good nap.” Which is true. Ever since your reunion, you’ve been sleeping more soundly than you ever have in years. Perhaps it’s because you don’t dream of the old anymore, don’t float through your memories like a puppet being pulled on a string.

“You’ve had enough time to rest, I think,” she says tartly. “Thousands of years’ worth.”

You lift your head and pout. “You’re so cruel,” But your words don’t hold any bite.

Ganyu smiles mischievously. Her hand trails down your spine, drawing a shiver from you. “Do you think it’s unfair? To not indulge me after I’ve waited for you all this time?”

You drag yourself up to be eye level with her. Your hand cups the back of her head, trailing up to the base of her horns. A gasp escapes her lips and her eyes flutter when you tenderly pet them.

“If you wanted my attention,” you whisper, lips an inch from hers. “You could have just asked.”

Ganyu pulls you down by the neck, sighs and gasps being lost to the wind.

---

Much later, when the two of you were sweating and grass was stuck in both of your hair, you lay together, dozing under the night sky. Ganyu lays curled to your side, feet tucked underneath her, a content purr vibrating from her throat. You wonder if all Qilin do that.

As you pet her hair, fingers rubbing curiously over her empty ring finger, a deep feeling of content seeps into your bones.

You’re home, at last.

You kiss her forehead, joining her into a peaceful dream.

[xseaxwitchxkpop]

NSFW Alphabet: Sub!Yeosangie Edition

A/N: I couldn't wait I had to do this now lol what is patience??? Also forgive any mistakes I wrote this at like 2am lmfao

-------------------------

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Doesn't matter what kind of sex it was, he will always be a content and giggling baby boy afterwards. He absolutely needs nose kisses and boops as rewards, like a cat, and needs to bury his face in your neck so he can smell your scent as a way to calm him and bring him back down to earth. He will also love it when you gently thumb his cheekbones!

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part on him is probably his hands just because he uses them so often to hide his face when he's flustered. His favorite body part on his partner would probably be the neck because he is another one of the members that values intimacy and there's something very sensual and intimate yet very possessive about his face and head buried in your neck.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He doesn't really have a strong preference for cumplay of any type and he doesn't have a strong opposition to any cumplay either. So long as you're having your way with and he's living his best sex life, he doesn't care if you spit his load in his mouth and make him swallow it or if you cum in ass with your dick or fake cum

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He'd only have kinky sex as a submissive with a partner he loves and trusts dearly so he's pretty open about want he wants and doesn't really have much of a dirty secret to keep. However, if you pull at his teeth hard enough, you will find out that the one fantasy he has been keeping from you is that he wants you to have him use a hollow dildo on you during his caging period for that extra layer of humiliation and degradation...plus you don't have to be punished when he is also being punished during this fantasy

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's had hook ups in the past, not a high count or anything, maybe like 5 or 6, but those were always relatively vanilla and/or had him in a more dominant position which he wasn't a big fan of. He knows what he's doing when pleasuring you, that's for sure, but in a solid relationship, he learned to let himself go and found that he absolutely CANNOT go back to even a shadow of a dominant position in bed.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

His favorite position is definitely cowgirl, with you on top. He loves that with this position he has easy access to your thighs and ass, the ease with which you can choke him lightly or more intensely, and the sheer amount of control you have in this position while allowing him to touch you because that's how he grounds himself, always has to be touching some part of you or you touching some part of him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Sex with Yeosang is light-hearted most of time, very warm, very giggly, very cute, and very humorous. He likes cracking jokes or delivering some dry wit and sarcasm in the bedroom because that's just who he is and he doesn't see why that can't translate to the bedroom. Because of this, I feel he would prefer gentle domination and a partner who should know how to banter well both outside and inside the bedroom. He does like it slow and sensual sometimes, but if he's in a very soft mood, he'll prefer sensual touches rather than sex itself. On occasion he does like it rough and fast, but it's gotta be a VERY specific mood for him.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Like the others, definitely trims but just calls it a day at that. He doesn't really bother with shaving all the way and doesn't care if you don't either.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Another member that values intimacy to the highest degree! Humor is part of how he connects with people and navigates the world, so the same is to be said in the bedroom. He loves when you make him a giggly mess with humor in the bedroom with and feels more connected each time. Surprisingly, he doesn't shy away from eye contact and he actually really likes it because it adds another layer of intimacy to the experience! Also forehead kisses...you might be the dominant one, but there's something so sweet and reassuring and very intimate yet possessive about subs giving their doms/dommes forehead kisses and that's exactly what he does to you! Every single y'all have sex, without fail, no matter how kinky or light.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

The only times he really jacks off is either guided masturbation from you or if he is intensely horny to the point it is literally interfering with what he has to do that day in which he'll just get it done and over with in the shower or a quick one in the bathroom. This has nothing to do with rules put in place, he just doesn't have a high sex drive despite his incredibly dirty humor.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He's open to trying most things, but not as many things as San. Some of Yeosang's kinks would include choking, biting, hair pulling, light restraints, sensory deprivation, voice kink, temperature play, edging, pegging/anal play, caging, light nipple play, marking, and nail scratching.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Literally any place he can comfortably lay flat because his fave position is cowgirl. One of his top favorites, however, is a rather large ottoman that he has to prop himself up on by the elbows when he leans back in a sitting position so you have to kind of sit on his lap and this forces him to use his lower body strength because he also has to fuck into you if you're fucking him in this position. Also don't forget, when the mood hits him, to rail him on a table or counter or coffee table or on a balcony window with him wearing a skirt and oversized sweater!

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You commanding him to do something with a gentle and sweet voice gets him going like nothing else. The best part is that you can do this in public very blatantly and none would be the wiser save for you and him. What also really turns him on is when you're very attentive and can read him easily without having to ask or say anything; you do that, he will pounce on you and be the best service top you could ask for.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Touch deprivation. I know I said he is into sensory deprivation and he is -- just more so in the sight, hearing, and scent departments, those he can handle. If he can't feel you somewhere on his body, whether you touching him or vice versa, he will freak out and immediately get pulled out of sub space, even if he's very deep in it (and being pulled abruptly from sub space or dom/domme space is very harsh on the psyche and can take minutes to DAYS to rectify and heal so is a very big no-no in the BDSM community). He also does not like to share at all; you are his and he is yours, no negotiation. He's a very possessive submissive because he trusts you with a side of him that maybe one or two other people know about and that is his safe space -- he cannot have others enter that space because he would no longer feel safe.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

If asked what heaven was, he would respond with you sitting on his face and tugging at his hair. That's his favorite position to give you oral! He also really likes when you go down on him because one wrong move and you could easily bite his dick...it's the power you yield with nothing but your mouth on his most intimate parts and a hand on his thigh and another on his abdomen.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

As I've pointed out earlier, light-hearted sex is what he likes best, so the pace is...moderate? There's nothing pushing y'all to be fast and rough and there's not an air of heavy emotion and lustful passion for each other so y'all just go at a pace that's matches whatever happy and joyful mood and banter is happening. On the rare occasion he does want it rough and fast, he wants to be brutally fucked until he can't think, can't make a sound, tears staining his cheeks, asshole gaping, and drool running down the sides of his mouth, panting to try to catch his breath.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He really doesn't like them. He prefers taking his time and having what could be called "care-free sex."

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He likes experimenting with new things every once in a while, but for the most part, he likes to stick with what works and if something new works well, he adds it to his rotation.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Can go two or three rounds, depending on his mood and level of exhaustion. With rough and fast sex, he can only take one round unless you decide to overstimulate him (which is every time) in which you can draw out two orgasms, one after the other. But then he is spent and it's aftercare time!

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He's got a set of dildos and anal plugs, mainly to prep himself for you, but you'll sometimes use them on him to fuck him with unless you're using a strap on. He also has a couple of cock cages because he's into chastity and a couple of cock rings for fun, but other than that, he prefers good old touching and teasing with what you and he were born with.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

His teasing comes in the form of banter and benign insults, hoping you'll engage and respond with a hand on his throat or a quick dick grab. Other than that, he isn't much of a tease -- if anything, his partner is the tease to him because it's so easy to make him flustered.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He's certainly not the loudest in the bunch, but if you hit his spot just right, he'll be moaning so fucking loudly that it could be heard on the planet Mars. For the most part, though, he just pants and lets out whimpers here and there, most of his enjoyment is shown through his body language and facial expressions.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He absolutely lives for wearing lacy lingerie beneath his clothing just for you. He doesn't so this as often as he'd like to because of his job as an idol, but when he can, he takes full advantage and wears a lacy bralette AND lacy underwear that does nothing to support his dick btw.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

His length is average but he is on the girthier side which caused you to have to work yourself open and up to his size. The first time he dove into you wasn't terribly painful, but there was a bit of a sharp pain that quickly disappeared into pleasure.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

I'd say he probably has an above average sex drive, but not necessarily a high one. He is a healthy male who is in damn good shape, so it goes to say that his sez drive might increase a bit because of that. Anyway, sex itself isn't frequent but there are loads of sensual touches all the time -- he can't get enough of you in that sense.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

The atmosphere created with the typical light-hearted sex y'all engage in added with the sleepiness of post-orgasm bliss makes for a perfect concoction of sleeping medication. You're warm and content, he's warm and content, so y'all fall asleep in each other's arms. For the rough and fast sex, though, you have to make sure he doesn't fall asleep immediately so he doesn't go into sub drop, so you do your best to lightly tap him on the cheek and keep him talking, hydrated, and fed.

[itsallyscorner]

Hi!!!!!! Could I request a Bucky Barnes x reader? One where Bucky has grown his hair out insanely long due to being so busy and he never notices because he’s always putting it in a bun. Until he and the reader have a night alone ;) and they take his hair down only to realize how long it is, ending with Bucky racing to find scissors and chop his hair off back to his shoulders lol.

Omg yes! I love writing about Bucky and his luscious hair🥺 Thank you for the request love and being so patient, I’m so sorry it took so long! Happy reading💕

💌.

Hair Too Long

Warnings: a sprinkle of smut.

(Gif from Pinterest)

The amount of excitement and anticipation could be felt in his body as soon as he woke up. Bucky has never felt this way before, he just wanted to bounce off the walls from how jumpy he was feeling. You were finally coming home today. You have been away on almost a month’s long mission with Natasha, and you were finally coming back home today! Bucky had been at the tower with the rest of the team who weren’t on missions or were busy. He’s missed you terribly. His days seemed gloomier and the bed was lonely without you. Though it was quite embarrassing at how whipped he was for you, he could care less. Not only had he not been able to see you but he couldn’t even call or text you. He missed his babydoll. He missed your scent, your voice, your warm skin, even the way you would hog the blankets in the middle of the night. He couldn’t wait for you to come home. He just wanted to get in bed with you and hold you for as long as you’ll let him.

“Are they back yet?” Bucky entered the kitchen to be greeted by Steve and Sam. Sam was cooking breakfast while Steve used his IPad to look at the news. Sam spared a glance at Bucky but took a double take when he saw the super soldier’s attire.

“Um, no.” Sam slowly turned back to the pan, poking at the sizzling eggs.

Bucky had moved to sit beside Steve, who’s also noticed the way his friend was looking.

“Hey Buck, when was the last time you showered?” Steve kindly questioned his friend turning his iPad off.

“Or changed clothes?” Sam quickly added as he plated some bacon.

The two men weren’t oblivious to Bucky’s change of nature when you left for the mission. Bucky barely left his room, only leaving when he had to train, eat, or when someone needed him. Ever since you left for the mission he hasn’t joined Steve and Sam on their daily morning jog. He woke up late and would eat breakfast during lunchtime. Now here he was, long grown out hair sticking together due to the oil its collected over the last few days and wearing the same clothes he was wearing during the weekend. Today was Wednesday.

Bucky’s eyes panned at the two men in front of him, looking down at his clothes. “Uh, yesterday...”

“Bullshit.” Sam glared at Bucky before violently sliding a plate of eggs, bacon, and a stack of pancakes at him. Bucky turned his head to Steve who shook his head.

“I’m sorry Buck, but you’ve let yourself go ever since (y/n) left for her mission.” Steve shrugged as he took a piece of bacon from Bucky’s plate. Which earned him a smack on the wrist from Bucky’s bionic arm.

Steve yelped as he held his hands up in surrender, “It’s just an observation! Ever since she left you’ve been cooped up in your room every day. Buck, this is the most I’ve talked to you this whole month!”

Bucky sighed as he shoved a spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, “Okay, maybe I have let myself go. I just miss her.” The dark haired man frowned at his bacon. You weren’t that big of a fan of bacon, instead you preferred sausage on the side of your eggs and pancakes.

Steve sent a look to Sam who just rolled his eyes at their lovesick friend.

“You know, if she ever finds out that this is what you become when she leaves, you’ll never hear the end of it.” Sam motions to Bucky’s clothes and hair.

“Would she really be mad?” Bucky asked the two.

“Punk, (y/n) wouldn’t want you to mope around like some lost puppy every time she leaves. Like, you could miss her, but you need to take care of yourself. You can’t always lock yourself in your room when she’s gone.” Steve advised him.

“Yeah and you can’t always forget to take a damn shower every time she leaves.” Sam muttered under his breath. Bucky grunted at him, roughly kicking Sam’s ankle under the table. Sam hissed as Steve continued to give Bucky advice.

“Listen, the quinjet comes back in an hour or two. If I were you I would take a shower, change your clothes, and clean your room before she gets here.” Bucky nodded along, agreeing with Steve’s suggestion.

“Maybe change the bedsheets too.” Steve added. Sam snickered, “I bet they stink.”

“Keep talkin’ and I’ll make sure your wings don’t work the next time we’re on a mission together.” Bucky threatened. He turned to Steve, “You’re right, she wouldn’t want to see me like this.”

Bucky stared at his food before quickly getting up, “I gotta take a shower.” With that he rushed out the kitchen and back into his room. Steve and Sam looked at the direction Bucky headed and heard his door slam shut.

“Man, he’s whipped.” Sam mused as he began to eat his breakfast.

~⏰~

Thirty or so minutes had passed and Bucky had already taken a shower. His hair was now soft and silky as it brushed past his shoulders, longer than it was when you left.

“Stupid sheets. Stay.” He demanded the dainty bedsheet underneath him. He was currently sprawled out on the bed, both knees keeping the corners of the bedsheet from sliding off. His arms flexed as his hands tried to get the ends of the sheets over the corners of the mattress.

The sounds of grunting and constant cursing caught Wanda’s attention. Curiously, she peaked her head into your and Bucky’s shared room.

“Do you need some help?” Bucky jumped when he heard her voice, causing the bedsheets to fly off the mattress. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, sighing in frustration.

“I just want (y/n) to be comfortable when she comes back from her mission. I just want her to relax in bed cuddled in some new sheets, but NO. They just won’t stay!” He motioned to the pile of pillows, sheets, and comforter on the rug. The younger woman held a hand up at him.

“I know. Why don’t you toss those old sheets in the wash, I’ll make the bed.” Wanda ushered Bucky towards the dirty sheets as her hands began to glow red. He thanked her before gathering the sheets and making his way towards the laundry room.

While he was shoving the sheets in the washer, his hair kept getting in the way. The ends tickled at his face and got in the way of his vision. Patting down his pockets he felt for the round band that he kept in his pockets. When he found it, he bent down and gathered his hair into a ponytail. He got the band ready, twisting and twirling his hair until it looked like a donut. He secured the bun with a content noise before returning to the task at hand.

You had thought him how to make a bun. One day he saw you do it so effortlessly and wanted to learn so he can do it with his hair. It took many tries, but by now he felt like he finally nailed the perfect bun.

Bucky returned to his room to see the bed was fixed neatly. The pillows were set up in a way that looked like the ones on display at Macy’s and the sheets were smoothed out with not a single wrinkle in sight. He made a mental note to thank Wanda once again for fixing the bed. He looked at the time before cleaning up some random clumps of mess that caught his eye. When he was done he sat on the desk chair instead of the bed. Now all he had to do was wait.

~⏰~

“Mr. Barnes, the quinjet has arrived. Ms. (Y/n) has entered the building.” FRIDAY’s voice echoed in his room making him jump. Bucky hopped to his feet and took a quick glance at the mirror. He was sporting a five o’clock shadow and his hair was up in a man bun. A few stands had fallen out form the tie, causing him to redo his bun.

He rushed out his room, already hearing your soothing voice from down the hall. His loud footsteps can be heard from the kitchen causing the others to chuckle.

“Here he comes.” Sam snickered, nudging your shoulder.

“He’s been miserable since you left.” Wanda mentioned an amused look on her face. Suddenly, Bucky appeared from around the corner. His face lit up and his eyes were filled with joy as he practically charged at you. His thick arms wrapped tightly around your frame as his nuzzled his head into your neck.

From over Bucky’s shoulder you saw Steve smiling fondly at the two of you. You pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple as you ran a soothing hand along the expanse of his back.

“Hi honey, how’ve you been?” The sound of your soft voice made Bucky sigh in content. He was glad to finally hear your voice and to actually hold you. The feeling of you brought him comfort. You were like his safety blanket and now that you’re back, he felt as though nothing bad can happen in the world.

“I miss you, doll.” He replied quietly so only you can hear. You pulled back and took a look at him. You’ve noticed his beard was coming back and his hair was up in a bun. His hair was neatly pulled back, allowing you to get a good look at his face. You smiled at his hair, pulling onto his hand.

“Well I’m here now, you don’t have to miss me anymore.” You led him down the hall and back into his room. Bucky followed you without any protests. You entered the room, the neat bed catching your eye.

“Who helped you with the bed?” You ask him. Bucky shuts the door behind him before making his way to you and taking the duffel bag from over your shoulder. He places it on the floor before pulling you flush against his warm and cozy chest.

“Wanda saw me struggling and ya’ know.” He made a goofy face making motions with his hands that mimicked Wanda’s. You chuckle, understanding what he meant.

You breathed in his scent. The smell of his shampoo entering your senses. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tiptoed. Bucky noticed what you were doing and bent down, making his lips closer to yours.

One of his giant hands cup your cheeks as he takes a moment to take in your features once again. Nothing had changed, you were still beautiful. Except for a small scratch along the apple of your cheek, he frowns at it as his thumb brushes over the healing scab.

“What happened here, doll?” His voice is low as his plush lips press gently against the scratch.

“Hand to hand with one of the punks that work with Jasper. Almost had my eye poked out.” You joked, causing Bucky to send you an unamused look.

“Hey, that doesn’t matter. I’m here, right? I just want to be with you right now.” You mumble against his lips. He hums before crashing his lips onto yours for the first time in weeks. Your lips move in synch while your hands grip at each other.

Pulling away for air you shrug off your sweater, “Wanna take this to the shower? I could use one.”

“I mean, we’d be saving water together, so sure. Anything that helps the planet.” He jokes. You pull off your shirt, pants, and boots, leaving you in your undergarments. You walk into the connected bathroom to see that Bucky had started the shower. There was some light steam coming from the water and you just couldn’t wait to hop into it.

Bucky presses himself behind you as you enter the shower. You feel his length against your backside as he presses scattered kisses onto your shoulders and the back of your neck. You moan as his hands wrap around your front, his hands enveloping around your breasts and squeezing them.

“Baby, missed you so much.” You turn in his arms and you’re stunned to see his hair still in a bun.

“Buck, why’s your hair still up?”

“I forgot to take it down.” He quickly pulls the tie from his hair and throws it out the shower. You run a hand through his dark locks, admiring how long it’s gotten since you’ve been gone.

“It’s so long.” You giggle as Bucky shakes his head to ruffle his hair. A toothy grin is on his face as he pulls you close again.

“You like it?”

“Yeah I do.” You muse before pressing your lips together again.

The two of you get frisky in the shower. The heat of the shower competing with the heat of your aching core. Your back was pressed against the cool tiles of the shower while Bucky held you up, your legs wrapped around his slender waist.

Bucky groans for the tenth time when his hair gets in the way once again. The hair getting tangled in yours and Bucky’s lips. Bucky sighs when he pushes his wet hair back again, not understanding how yours was staying in place. He suddenly places your feet back to the shower floor and opens the glass door.

“I can’t with this shit.”

“What are you doing?” You peak your head out of the shower to see him, butt naked with everything hanging out, as he rummages through a drawer. He pulls out silver scissors and gathers his hair into a pony tail. Before you can protest against his actions, the scissors snip at his hair. A chunk of his hair falls to the floor.

Bucky looks at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair. He nods at himself, happy with the new length. His hair stopped right above his shoulders, back to how it was before you left.

“Bucky—“ You’re about to say something but Bucky is already hopping back into the shower and pinning you against the wall.

“Now, I could finally show you how much I missed you without my hair getting in the damn way.” His shoves his head into your neck, sucking and nipping harshly at the skin. The troubles of his hair long forgotten now that his focus was on you and only you.

[angry-geese]

Fireside

Leone Abbacchio x Gn!Reader

Warnings: sfw. mentions of violence and injury. pre vento aureo

Notes: how Abbacchio met his s/o + some relationship fluff

When Abbacchio heard that there was going to be a new member of Bucciarati's gang, he was less than thrilled.

Abbacchio hated when the group expanded. He hated the new faces, the new names to memorize, and how didn't know them yet. He had no way of knowing if they were reliable or not. He hated change. Every day for him was on repeat: get up, work for Bruno, drink himself to sleep. He was content with the way things were. He's never eager to see something change.

If you had any say in the matter, you would have never joined Passione. After a debt brought on by your family, you found yourself running out of options. It was join or die. You would be assigned to Bucciarati's gang after passing Polpo's test. The stand you gained wasn't strong enough for you to join the guard, or even the hitman team. For that, you often considered yourself lucky. Things could always be better; its them getting worse that worries you.

Passione was nothing like the old mafia movies you watched as a kid. You're not quite sure what you expected, but this was a lot worse.

Bruno was a decent leader- his teammates respected him and he only tried to kill you once. Compared to some of the others, you had it easy. Narancia and Mista warmed up to you rather quick. They were a bit hyper for your liking, but soon grew on you. Fugo took longer to come around, but eventually got used to you. When Abbacchio first laid eyes on you, he couldn't figure out why you were there. For as new as you were, you held your own pretty well. You weren't outright weak, but it was clear you had not been in the life for long. It was impressive, but not enough to say anything about it. Compared to the others, you were reserved. That didn't mean you were quiet. If the others got you going, you could be just as loud as them. Nobody was spared from your and Narancia's pranks. You grew into your stand. Bucciarati made the transition easier. They quickly became family; your annoying brothers and adoptive father.

Early on Abbacchio was a real prick.

Overall he was hostile and prickly. His personality was hard to get along with. In the beginning you kept your distance. You quickly became too consumed with work to worry about him, and pushed him to the back of your mind. Abbacchio gave you a week before you either broke down, or were killed. For him to respect a newer member, they had to prove themselves to the gang.

You lasted longer than he expected you to.

Over the year that you would work for Bucciarati, you had only been assigned on a handful of jobs with Abbacchio. Your conversations had been few, and only in passing. It pissed you off just a little bit. While you weren't the most personable either- at times you were outwardly hostile- you figured he'd have come around by now. With as aggressive as you could be, it shocked him just how easily you charmed the others. To him, it almost felt artificial; it was a skill bred from the need to survive in Passione's underground, not true charisma. He never failed to let you know that you hadn't proved yourself to him.

You two were only sent on the same assignment together because everyone else was busy. Despite your reservations about Abbacchio, there wasn't much you wouldn't do for Bruno. It was only one job. If it was that bad, you'd ask to not be partnered with him again.

Your job was to retrieve a dead drop, then return to the hideout. It wasn't anything high-stakes. Abbacchio sat the entire car ride in silence. It wasn't hard to tell when he was having a rough day. He was never the most talkative, but he always participated in whatever conversation the others were having- if only to insult them. Today he was quiet, which didn't seem like a good sign. If someone gave you an inch, you'd take a mile. Getting them to talk was a way to get the ball rolling. Any polite conversation you tried to have was shot down with a glare, so you quickly scrapped that idea. You figured he was hungover, and thought it best to leave him alone.

You suppose it was better than him complaining. There was only so much you could put up with.

It was really no fault of your own that things went wrong. Expect everything that can go wrong, to go wrong. The mission wasn't supposed to be high-stakes; there was no reason why another group would be after the dead drop. A rival gang spotted you and went for the package. Abbacchio took it and ran while you tried to hold them off for as long as possible.

As you were heading back to the car, you were cornered.

The kid couldn't have been much younger than you. He aimed a gun between you and Abbacchio, who was only a few feet behind you. He gives you two no time to respond, and only hesitates for a moment when he pulls the trigger.

He missed.

You still don't know how he missed, only taking a moment to thank whatever higher power that just saved your ass. That didn't stop your short life from flashing before your eyes. The bullet struck the ground just a few feet behind you, sending up a spray of dirt and rocks. Part of him couldn't believe that someone was willing to take a bullet for him. Really, you were just trying to protect the package, but it was probably better if he didn't know that.

On the trip back home he scolded you for being so reckless. Since the kid missed, you saw no issue in it. What he feels isn't a sense of pride, more than it is guilt.

He found you less annoying than he'd ever admit.

Whatever you did, it planted the seed of affection within him. Admittedly he was the last place to nurture feelings, and akin to planting flowers in a barren desert while refusing to water them, it didn't stop it from blooming.

There was a mutual respect between the two of you. The man was a mess, and rarely sober, but began to pick himself up a bit. This did not go unnoticed, though the others rarely mentioned it. You would go on to be assigned more jobs together. He was getting less and less vocal about how much he disliked you. While you didn't talk much, you spent a lot of time together. He often found your presence comforting. He'd grown to not only tolerate your company, but enjoy it. The two of you would never admit to being friends- he was too stubborn for that- but that's what you seemed to be.

On late nights he'd walk with you to your apartment. He claimed he didn't want you to get mugged, and that you lived in a bad part of town, but the act was dropped when you mentioned him being chivalrous. You would invite him in for a drink or two. While you didn't want to encourage his bad habits, he never said no to a glass of wine. He never said no to you. You'd had gotten used to being around him. The little spare time you had was spent with him- not doing anything in particular. It never had to be anything special, often times you just lounged around the hideout together.

One night he was out for a job later than usual.

He insisted on taking this one alone. Bruno raised an eyebrow to that, but made no comment on it. Abbacchio had been in a bad mood all day, and while they couldn't prove it was you, the others had the sneaking suspicion it was. You argued. Often. It was rarely serious. He showed his affection by bullying people. What he threw at you, you would send right back.

As much as you didn't like him going alone, you didn't fight it. Mostly out of spite.

By then the others had gone to bed- or gone home for the night. It was only you left at the hideout. On the few nights he'd go straight home, he'd shoot you a text. There wasn't any particular reason you stayed back for him. Maybe it was a gut feeling. It felt a bit childish to wait by the door. He was your partner and you weren't eager to see him sent back in a pine box. Unfortunately, he was important to you.

By the time the door opens, you're dozing off. You're on your feet the moment you hear it.

"You scared the hell out of me." You say.

"The front door. Scared you." He says.

"You scared me," dramatically you roll your eyes, "asshole. You always tell me when you'll be gone this late."

His heart races when you give him a once-over for injuries. While you don't touch him, the way your gaze travels over his body makes him a bit anxious. On his best days he doesn't want to be looked at, on his worst its unimaginable- he just doesn't want to be perceived. If he had any say in it, he wouldn't care about how you saw him. But you make him worry about how others view him.

"This isn't your blood I hope." You say.

Slowly he nods.

You motion for him to sit, before grabbing the first-aid kit from the other room. The wound looks better when all the blood is cleaned away, and doesn't appear to need stitches. Gently you set your hand on his. It's rather cold. When he doesn't pull away- or show any sign of discomfort- you wrap your arms around his neck.

"What are you-"

"Just let me have this." You say. "We don't have to talk about it ever again."

His arms awkwardly wrap around you, his head resting in the crook of your neck. He can't remember the last time someone has held him like this. The smell of your shampoo is comforting. His heartbeat drops for a second before picking up in pace.

"I was worried about you." You say.

No matter how many times he goes over it in his head, he still doesn't believe it. It's not that he doesn't feel the same way- he's head-over-heels for you- but he's in denial about it.

"I love you."

It's under your breath, and so quiet that he almost has to do a double take.

"Say it again..." He says.

"I love you."

He doesn't believe it, but he's so content in your arms he won't question it. He could die happy in this moment.

It would take the others weeks to realize you two were dating.

To their credit, it was sooner than you expected. Not much changed when you made things official. Abbacchio wasn't a fan of pda. They were only tipped off because of Narancia. The prank was harmless- he did that sort of thing all the time- but god it pissed Abbacchio off. Nobody had seen him that mad in years. When you told him to calm down, and that it didn't bother you, he sat in the corner to brood.

You moved in together not long after that. The change felt natural, and took little effort from either of you. It was easy to settle into a routine with him, seeing as you spent so much time at his apartment anyway. Abbacchio always woke up first, although he stayed in bed until you woke up. He's not sentimental- nor will he ever admit to be- but he never passed up the opportunity to watch you while you were so at peace. His nightmares existed long before Passione. He rarely slept, and usually got four hours on a good night. Sleeping next to you helped.

On the rare days off you had together, you spent your time lounging around your apartment. When he was sober, he was a decent cook, and often made dinner for the two of you. He preferred dates at home, over going out in public. He'd bring you coffee while the two of you would watch Italian soap operas. If he was feeling particularly soft, he'd let you braid his hair. Physical touch was something he was still getting used to. It's not that he didn't like it; it was unfamiliar to him and that made him uncomfortable. If it made you happy, he'd try it, even if he personally didn't see the appeal.

He often finds himself thinking about the future. Before it never seemed too bright. Thinking about his past is an almost immediate slope into self loathing. He wasn't all better, but he was healing. Both you and Bruno made sure of that. There wasn't much that he wouldn't do for you.

Every day he wakes up slightly more in love than the last.

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Should have known better

Prompt: when ur reading fanfic and one character was cooking and the other comes up to them and they start making out and everyones like starting to take their shirts off and the author STILL hasnt mentioned anyone turning off the stove

My first attempt at Dickinette. I hope I did it justice!

Here’s my favourite ratatouille recipe! It’s amazing!

Ao3

—————————

Warnings: mild sexual content & mentions of gun violence, gangs, bullet wounds, fire hazards and unplanned pregnancy

The keys jangled as he took them out of his pocket, the lock clicked open and the old apartment door creaked. He took two steps into the hall, dropping his bag with a thud and closed the door behind him. Running a hand through his long, sweat slicked hair he sighed. Today had been a long day.

A deep inhale inflated his chest, but the black police vest he wore restricted it’s full extension. The smell of a wonderful home cooked meal made his stomach growl. Ratatouille, his favourite.

His heavy boot laden feet created echoing footsteps as he walked into the grey tiled kitchen. His wife stood at the stove humming, the google pad’s screen was lit with the ingredients list. She scooped and flipped the squared vegetable mix before putting the lid upon it for the meal to soften. She turned to her sketchpad, inspired by something unknown. Drawing captured her full attention, her brain’s need to replicate the idea on paper outweighed her focus on her surroundings.

He should have known better. He grew up with vigilantes and superheroes. He should have know never to sneak up on someone, especially if they knew how to fight; although this rule doesn’t count for villains (they know what they did).

For Marinette, it had been a long day of ripped seems and designer’s block.. It was nearing on eight when she finally started dinner. Looking at the clock she sighed, ‘Dick’s working late again.’ She hoped he wasn’t caught up in the shooting across town. Two gangs had a disagreement over territory and many civilians got caught up in it. She wanted to help but she had been banned from heroine duties for the time being. Her last ladybug adventure resulted in a bullet to her leg, which was still healing.

Dick took her to the hospital stating she had gotten caught in the crossfire (which now reminds her they need to restock the medical supplies), and they discovered that she was four weeks pregnant.

In present time she was still well within her first trimester, just starting her second month; and she was feeling it too. Vomiting each morning wasn’t fun, more so when it started happening more frequently throughout the day. Their midwife reassured the young couple that it was completely normal, but if it keeps up to come back as it may become hyperemesis gravidarum which will harm the baby.

Baby.

She was still trying to wrap her head around it. She had turned twenty-four last July and Dick was only older by a year. They weren’t planning on this and they had taken all of the precautions to prevent it. Yeah sure, they were married but it hadn’t even been two years! Her worry for the future faded as she reminisced on her husband’s reaction to the discovery. He was shocked for a few seconds before jumping up and down like a toddler who got a toy, beaming with joy. Tears of happiness pricked his eyes, threatening to spill on a moments notice.

Another symptom that weighted upon her was fatigue. She was no longer a teen who could challenge the world with a pen and a cup of coffee. She was a tired, pregnant adult who had to give away her coffee maker due to the temptation being too strong. No more late night or all-nighters designing clothes and completing commissions. She had to lessen her commissions due to the stressful nature of them but working from home, in her own studio helped. It had been a month since she found out and now she just wanted to hibernate due to lack of energy.

Putting down the spatula, she scooped up the pen, suddenly inspired by the mix of colours; an autumn playsuit came to mind. Biting her lip as she drew, neglecting her surroundings, the blare of the news channel becoming white noise.

She should have known better. She was a superhero, albeit she was benched at the moment, but still! The first rule of ‘herodom’ was to always do the right thing, but the second rule was to always be aware of your surroundings.

Arms wrapped around her waist, a small gasps left her mouth and her elbow drove straight back into her captor’s chest. A masculine groan came from behind her, but she paid it no mind as she tried to get out of the man’s strong grip.

“Mari, Mari! Calm down it’s me” Her husband said breathlessly. Her jab winded him, although it was softened by his police uniform, Marinette’s miraculous strength was powerful to say the least. He just wish he didn’t have to be on the receiving end of it.

“Ma moitié! Why would you do that!?” Her anguished cry caused him to hide his chuckle in her neck. Her heartbeat made its presence known within her chest and her breathing was still shallow. Turning within his embrace, she faced him with a pout on her face, “You jerk, you scared me!” She whimpered, her pregnancy hormones had blurred the line between her emotions causing her mood to flip like a switch.

Dick looked down at her with a guilt riddled face. “Shoot Mari, I’m sorr-“

Before he could finish apologising Marinette tugged him down and connected her lips to his. She leaned back into the countertop, cupping his cheek and jaw with both hands. Dick eagerly followed her lead.

He picked her up, his hands moulding the flesh of her thighs. He had done this before, but took extra precautions this time due to her still healing leg injury. He moved her away from the countertop and sat her upon the plush couch. He hovered above her, lips only splitting for a millisecond for air before closing the gap once more.

Marinette pushed on his shoulder and swiftly flipped him so that she was on top. The quick motion caused his head to slam back into the wall, the noise halted their make-out session. Her eyes widened, the cloud of lust had evaporated and rained down on her parade. She apologised multiple times to him, eyes watering in the process.

Dick just laughed before pulling her back in for another kiss. In contrast to the sloppy wet kisses before, the gentleness off Mari’s lips now made him feel like he was made of glass. She filled it with her remorse over hurting him. But as the kiss continued it shifted back to the momentum and passion they had before.

Her hands trailed up his chest, she shivered into the kiss; he had just taken off her shirt, leaving her in her bra. His thumb brushed under the mound of her breast, he felt her furious heartbeat through he skin.

Her focus lowered to his bare neck. Placing kiss upon kiss there and biting occasionally, leaving a trail of pink marks for his colleagues to see during his neck shift. A hand ran down her back as it arced, pushing her bosom into his chest.

They broke apart, foreheads pressed together, bodies flushed against each other’s. She peppered his face with kisses, “I love you”s were stated after each. He returned this action with the same fervour.

Something was wrong though. It was a sudden onset plaguing thought that something wasn't right. They had tried to ignore it but it had become like a tugging string tied around their hearts, signalling an oncoming danger. Wordlessly the two scanned the apartment, neither wanting to part from their entanglement.

Confused the two looked back at the other. Neither finding what set off the warning sensation. As their eyes connected, realisation washed over them like a bucket of ice water. They inhaled the burnt air and scrambled apart; both exclaiming “Fuck!”

Running into the kitchen, the tiles were cold against her bare feet. Dark unventilated smoke hung in the air. Upon entry to the room it was a wall of heat, it was a wonder the smoke alarms hadn’t gone off yet. Dick grabbed a nearby tea towel and swatted at the smoke, he shuffled towards the burners, mouth and nose hidden within his elbow.

Marinette opened all nearby windows, she hoped that the neighbours on the floors above didn’t question the smoke. The couple worked together to set up a system of fans to push out the smoke from the kitchen.

“If Alfred were here he would kill us.” Dick solemnly nodded in reply, ‘we should have known better’. He scraped the burnt black char into the bin, while Mari held the pan. Once the pan cooled down enough it went into the bin too, there was no saving it.

Dick tied up the yellow bin bag and placed the spatula into the sink. “Soooo... want chinese? If you’re up for it, it’ll be my treat.”

Her stomach growled as her eyes flicked to the clock, it was almost nine and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast at seven. She nodded, “sounds good let’s go!”

She walked towards the door, hand on the handle when she realised that he hadn’t followed her. Turning back around she saw him staring at her, cheeks flushed, unmoved from his position next to the bin.

“Um babe?”

“What’s wrong Ma moitié? I thought you wanted Chinese.” Her head tilted, confused at his actions.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking away. “Babe you’ve forgotten your shirt.”

“Shit” left her lips as she bolted back to the couch, vaulting over a counter much to Dick’s disapproval. She heard him scolding her from the other room, but was too hungry to care.

Walking back to him, now appropriately dressed, she grabbed his hand, pulling him out the door. He just sighed, following his crazy wife, throwing the bag into the complex’s dumpster on the way to the car.

No one was getting in between her and her noodles.

[mianavs]

Gezellig

You were the warmth that only another person could give

Kenma x f!reader

a/n: kenma is definitely my comfort character~

wc: 1.8k

It started with an apple pie recipe.

Kenma was editing his latest play-through video for a new video game when the craving for his favorite food creeped up on him again. He considered going to the nearby bakery that sold decent mini apple pies but a glance at the clock on his computer put an end to that idea—it was midnight and the bakery had been closed for three hours.

Normally Kenma would have settled for the day old pastry on his kitchen table but the craving for apple pie had plagued him for a while now. The reason? His neighbor had baked one a couple days ago and Kenma couldn’t stop thinking about the delicious aroma that had seeped through the walls into his unit.

A hasty thought crossed Kenma’s mind and he got up from his gaming chair to wander into the kitchen. He scanned the counters until his eyes landed on the two large apples Kuroo dropped off along with other groceries Kenma let spoil more often than not. The presence of the main ingredient spurred his impulses and Kenma fell back onto his couch as he scrolled through YouTube for an easy apple pie recipe. His perceptive eyes were immediately drawn to the golden crust of the pie on your thumbnail and his fingers clicked on your video without a second thought.

In the end, Kenma never got to making the apple pie and instead binge-watched every video on your ASMR cooking channel until he passed out at five in the morning.

Kenma knew he was obsessed when he turned on the notification bell on your channel. He loved the simplicity of your videos. There wasn’t any cheesy background music or obnoxious text. Your videos were intimate and comforting with the natural sounds of your cooking or baking and the high-quality recordings. More often than not, Kenma found himself unwinding to your content after a stressful meeting with the board members or a difficult gaming session. In fact, the more he watched your videos the more he found himself closing his eyes and imagining himself in your kitchen listening to the sizzling of the sautéing vegetables or the whir of your mixer combining the ingredients of a cake. It wasn’t necessarily hard to do since the layout of your kitchen was very similar to his own.

He should have found it suspicious when his neighbor’s cooking seemed to predict the video you would upload next but Kenma wasn’t one to dwell on unnecessary things like that. So when his neighbor cooked a delicious smelling recipe, Kenma would crave it the next day and ordered it to eat while he watched your nimble hands cook a similar dish.

In the two years Kenma had lived in his unit, he’d never crossed paths with his foodie neighbor. Although considering his line of work, Kenma supposed it wasn’t too surprising. He spent most of his time in his office and only when out when necessary. So when his doorbell rang and it wasn’t Kuroo with groceries or takeout but a young woman with a sheepish look on her face, Kenma froze like a deer in headlights.

“Hi! Umm…I’m your neighbor,” she introduced herself and awkwardly held up a small bowl. “Do you have some salt I can borrow?”

“Uh…yeah, come in.” Kenma replied stepping aside to let her in. There was a softness about her demeaner that drew him in and it wasn’t until her eyes blinked at him in confusion that he realized he’d been staring.

“T-this way.”

As Kenma led his neighbor to the kitchen he wracked his brain for the location of the salt container Kuroo had bought for him to use despite never having cooked a meal in his life. It took a couple of tries flipping through cupboards before he found the large salt container and handed it to his neighbor.

“Thanks!” She accepted it and began pouring some into her bowl. “Y’know your kitchen is a lot like mine but way cleaner!”

“I don’t really use it,” Kenma admitted. “I find it kind of intimidating…cooking.”

“It is at first but it gets easier the more you do it.” She smiled as she handed the salt back to Kenma and he couldn’t help but admire the way her entire face seemed to smile. Her eyes crinkled into crescent moons while the apples of her cheeks framed her gummy smile endearingly.

“I guess that applies to a lot of things.”

“Yes, it really does! I’m a firm believer in practice makes perfect.”

With that she thanked Kenma profusely and apologized for the intrusion before slipping on her shoes and walking out the door. While it may have only been a few minutes, the impression she left on Kenma lasted much longer. He went outside more just so he could run into his nice neighbor who would always strike up a conversation with him about anything. And while he was normally not one for small talk, it never felt forced around her. She had a knack for making even the dullest subject a compelling topic and Kenma quickly looked forward to those moments outside their apartment complex, in front of the convenience store, or outside her unit.

But even those short conversations Kenma has with his neighbor reveal very little about her. So when Kenma gets a notification from your channel and opens YouTube, he drops his phone when your thumbnail picture isn’t food but rather his neighbor that he’d grown fond of. Kenma’s eyes dart to your shared wall as he comes to terms with the fact that his favorite content creator and his pretty neighbor are the same person. It takes a couple of minutes for the initial shock to pass and another twenty minutes for him to play the video in the comfort of his office and with his headset on.

You’re all smiles as you announce a giveaway to celebrate one-hundred thousand subscribers. You introduce each of the five prizes and explain each one in detail. They’re all cooking tools from one of your sponsors that Kenma recognizes from your previous videos. When you’re describing the rules to enter, the similarities between your apartment and his are glaringly obvious now and Kenma can only shake his head in disbelief. The video ends too quickly so he watches it another ten times almost convincing himself that it’s to understand the rules of the giveaway and consider each of the products despite knowing he’d never actually enter.

A week after your giveaway video, Kuroo comes over with food and drinks after a business trip. A meal and a couple of beers later, Kenma opens up to Kuroo about you and the fact that you’re not only his favorite YouTuber but his neighbor as well. The liquid courage spurs him on and Kenma talks about your gorgeous smile, soft-looking hair, and your laugh that goes from a giggle to a cackle within a matter of seconds. Always the observant friend, Kuroo notices the persistent smile on Kenma’s face as he goes on about you and urges his best friend to ask you out on a date. The thought of spending hours with you is enough to get his heart racing but his insecurities never fail to rear their ugly heads and Kenma dismisses the idea as quickly as it comes up.

Kenma drinks even more to drown his insecurities and fantasies of you while Kuroo drinks with him knowing it’s best to support him quietly like this. When the last drop of alcohol is consumed, the two friends are completely drunk and Kuroo crashes in the guest room while Kenma stumbles to his room and collapses on his bed as the world spins around him.

Your image comes to mind but it’s too hazy for Kenma’s liking so he pulls up your giveaway video and watches it for the hundredth time. You’re so happy about your channel’s milestone that Kenma can’t help but smile like a fool as you thank your subscribers profusely. It’s with lowered inhibitions that Kenma is able to scroll to the comment section and write out how much your channel means to him.

The sound of multiple notifications stirs Kenma awake to a terrible hangover. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and focuses on his blindingly bright screen to see what the fuss is about. There’s a message from his publicist asking if he’s okay but before Kenma can reply he gets a notification from your channel; however, it isn’t the typical one that lets him know you’ve uploaded a video. The notification is a heart reaction to a comment and Kenma’s heart is in his mouth as his shaky finger taps on your giveaway video.

He doesn’t have to scroll far to find his comment because it’s the first one with ten thousand likes and three hundred comments to boot. Completely mortified, Kenma reads through the comments that have a wide range of reactions. Some gush about how cute it is for Kodzuken to fanboy over your channel while others express their disappointment that their favorite gamer actually likes cooking ASMR. While they are unnerving, it isn’t the comments that worry Kenma but the little red heart you’d left on his comment.

While he doubts you knew who he was before, this comment and the crazy feedback will definitely pique your interest enough to look him up and find out who he really is. Scared of facing you, Kenma holes himself up in his apartment. To get you out of his mind, he buries himself in work and video game streams and turns off the notifications for your channel.

After a week of not hearing anything from you, Kenma thinks he’s in the clear until one evening he opens his door expecting his takeout only to find you.

You’re a sight for sore eyes and Kenma’s heart hammers in his chest as your eyes soften and you break into a smile. The aroma of cinnamon and apples wafts up to his nostrils and you raise your mitted hands to reveal the same pie that had drawn him to you in the first place.

“Your fans mentioned you like apple pie,” you explain with a chuckle. “And I still owe you for the salt.”

“My…fans?” Kenma asks, still stunned you’re talking to him despite the comment fiasco.

“Yeah, you see I needed a reason to visit my neighbor and ask him out. Luckily, he’s a famous streamer with lots of fans.” Your confidence almost hides flush on your cheeks that deepens the longer Kenma stares at you in shock.

“…Unless you don’t want to go out-“

“I do!” Kenma blurts out. “More than anything.”

Your entire face breaks into a smile. “Well then how about a pie date?”

With a stomach full of butterflies, Kenma lets you into his apartment for the second time only this time he knows what he feels for you and is comforted by the fact that you feel the same way.

[somanyerikas]

Nostalgia sells - or does it? About BBC’s rehiring of a previous showrunner for Doctor Who as a marketing strategy

All, right, this is the one where I deal with my issues about RTD’s rehiring from the standpoint of BBC’s business strategy . Brace for passive agression, swearwords, brief history of british television and numbers. So, so many numbers.

Allright, so I already wrote a post about my problem with RTD’s (re)hire from the creative standpoint (it’s here in case you’re interested), but hey, I can bitch about it all I want, but we all know what caused the BBC to make this decision, right? You’ve heard about it for sure. The Dropping Ratings. You’ve read about it on so many posts, lots of them probably oh-so-gladly conflating this fact with their own opinion about the deteriorating quality of the show. (Don’t worry, we’ll get to that.) So Obviously the execs at the Big BBC Quarters needed to do something about it, and what better way to go than rehire a guy who’s run at Doctor Who is a warm childhood memory for so many in it’s fanbase? After all, it’s what we’re seeing nowadays: from Star Wars return to wave of 80′s nostalgia to every old blockbuster star doing a comeback, there is but a single conclusion - nostalgia sells.

Or does it?

Part One: Moving with the change; or very much refusing to.

Let’s start this off with some facts about the ratings for Doctor Who. (Well, I warned you there’s gonna be numbers, didn’t I. Stick with me, I’m going somewhere with this I promise.) In it’s beginnings, in the sixties and seventies , the series flown high, averaging a viewership from 8 up to 10 million viewers per season. Collin Baker’s series 17 brought in a record of 11.21 milion viewer asses in front of a good ol’ TV screen, real champagne opener here. But, as it happens, things were downhill from here. During the eighties, the rating started dropping steadily, reaching an all-time low of 4.15 milion couch-warming bottoms in 1989, the last season of the classic era. 

Years passed, 16 of those years to be exact, and here comes our saviour RTD. Under his wings, the revived series premiered, bringing in over 10 milion viewers to the premiere episode of season 1, Rose. A viewership this high did not last for long, but still, RTD’s seasons averaged between 7 and 8 milion viewers per season, which seemed pretty respectable. But then, as the story likes to repeat itself, not unlike the bbc execs just did, along came the decline again. Ever since 2010, the ratings began steadily dropping again, from 7.95 in 2010 to 5.46 in 2017. Then DW experienced an unexpected peak in 2018 with the premiere of Jodie Whittaker’s first season, which averaged 7.96 viewing asses, but then continued the dropping trend on the next season, averaging 5.40 viewing butts.

So what went wrong?

You see, part of the reason that Doctor Who was bringing in such great viewership numbers in the 60′s and 70′s, was that, to put it simply, BBC did not have much competition. Or, to be exact, only had one competitor. ITV was literally founded in order to break BBC’s monopoly over British television. But in the 80′s, with the launch of Channel 4 and Sky, the british viewers had more and more options to choose from. So logically speaking, they no longer had to watch BBC’s programming just because there was nothing else on. There was more and more new programes to boredom-watch. And here’s something y’all need to know about the tv industry: the boredom-watchers, the casuals? That’s the most important demographic. As hard as it might be to swallow, us hardcore fans, forum dwellers and Ao3 gremlins, we’re not as big of a group as we’d like to think. Loving fans are important to the tv execs as providers of word-of-mouth advertisment, but the real numbers come from the casual, everyday viewer who will just put on the next episode cause the other one was kinda fun I guess. Or more fun than the other options, anyway.

And this is why, by the way, when someone is conflating low viewership with the show Dissapointing The Fans, they’re full of shit. I’m sorry, but we’re really not that much of a force here, definitely not enough to make such a big impact on the numbers. Another factor, that some of you probably noticed already, is that the numbers I’m quoting are from british tv only, while the online fandom is very much international, so our opinions matter even less to the british execs, I’m sorry again, hard pill to swallow I know, but true nonetheless.

But I digress. So, to sum up the previous paragraph, Doctor Who’s viewership decline in the 80′s was the effect of the changing landscape of the TV industry, with which the BBC struggled to come to terms with.

Sound familiar?

Let’s move on to the 2010′s, shall we?

2010 was is actually a good marker of a year to choose, because it marks one important thing that begun a big change in the industry. This was the year in which Netflix expanded their services overseas, from being a DVD rental company to providing VOD services. Over the next decade streaming services grew in importance, from being an add-on to your cable TV that you didn’t really want but they were throwing it in for cheap, to very much self-sustainable media services you might very well buy instead of buying the cable. And if you look at the numbers for Doctor Who viewership declining over the last 10 years, that’s precisely what’s been happening. It’s not that people don’t want to watch Doctor Who on tv, they don’t want to watch tv in general. Do you know what was the most popular channel in Britain this year? Can you guess? Fucking Netflix that’s what. It’s just slowly-yet-steadily ceasing to be the way we use home entertainment anymore. Again, not much to do with the audience approval, because for that matter, let’s see about the specific episodes that saw the spikes in viewership. 

Rose, which i mentioned at the start of it, was for the longest time the unquestionable queen when it comes to viewership, at 10.81 milion. The next episode, The End of the World, pulled in 7.97 - almost 3 millions worth of lost viewer-butts in one week? Is it because it was so much worse than it’s predecessor? No, it simply did not have the smell of Newness, the Event You Must See, and as such brought forth less of the casual viewers who were simply curious about The New Thing. The next season followed the similar formula, peaking at the premiere, when the marketing was at it’s strongest, going down during the season, sometimes rising slightly for the finale, sometimes not. The most popular episodes are, of course, the specials - yet again, the vibe of The Event To Be Seen worked here, but one more thing working to their advantage is they often aired in spaces between seasons, serving as both a long-waited Crumbs of Content for the fans, and the basically stand-alones for the casuals. Do you know what the single most watched episode of revived DW is? No, it’s not Tennant’s goodbye with the role (yeah I know, I thought it had to be that as well). It was Voyage of the Damned, between seasons 3 and 4. The perfect standalone for the casual watcher. And last but not least, you know one more special feature that brought, maybe not as much, but definitely more than expected? The 1996 movie Doctor Who, with 9.08 million. Again, a perfect standalone.

But the standalones aren’t the only way to grab the viewership. The currently-highest viewing non-special episode of DW? The Woman Who Fell to Earth, Jodie Whittaker’s introduction. In 2018 no less, in the year when the streaming was the ruler supreme, this episode brought a whooping 10.96 million buts to the good ol’ TV again. Let me reiterate: this episode brought in more viewers than Rose did in 2005, while having WAY more competition and way less favorable circumstances of release that RTD’s debiut did. Not only that, it managed to bring on some numbers for the entire season as well, not as good of course as the premiere (because again, the Event vibes faded), but still brought a better average than the last six seasons did. (Again, let me reiterate: more than the last SIX seasons. More viewership than any series since 2010, since the Streaming Wars.) So clearly, this must be the way, right? Catering to this Weird New Trend, that saw directors notice there do in fact exist other actors than white men, that surely brought in some profit, even Marvel does it now, right? Out with the old, in with the new!

Part 2 The Deceitful Charm of Nostalgia

Well, it turns out the whole Doing New Things deal didn’t work out that well after all, now did it? The second season penned by Chibbnal averaged 5.40 milion, that’s 2.5 million drop from the previous one! It must mean it didn’t work, right? Well, yes and no. As much as the refreshment of the formula as simple as Let’s Put A Woman In It absolutely worked for one season, it very visibly did not hold up for longer. An Event-Episode is something that can still happen on TV, Event-Series? That’s pretty much reserved for streaming now, if you think about it, and it’s honestly kind of a miracle that Series 11 did as well as it had. Two consecutive Event-Series on network tv? Flat out impossible. 

So how to make those ratings great again? How to get those butts in seats of the Good Ol’? Well, the execs of the BBC have a plan for that. They brought in a devouring beast, and it’s name is: Nostalgia.

Without a doubt, there is a number of people who feel nostalgic about RTD’s era of Doctor Who. It’s a lot of people’s fond childhood memory, or the series they started with, and judging by the numbers, there should be quite a lot of them. So the new plan, as it appears, is to get to those who maybe lost interest in the show and lure them with the promise of the thing That Is Totally Like The Thing You Used To Love, Remember? (This is why I don’t actually think that RTD will be allowed to do anything new and interesting, that’s not what they hired him for. And that’s why I think this is bad from the creative standpoint.) So there are two questions here: One, will the people be lured? And two, for how long?

Nostalgia as a marketing strategy is something that you’re probably sick of seeing already (I know I am). But it has very much been effective on many levels, especially the eighties-baiting, Stranger Things style, can bring a new IP up to relevance. But what about old IP’s that want to have a comeback? 

It’s kind of dificult to find another TV show that I could compare to Doctor Who. Most series that have been running for that long are mostly soap operas, that operate on slightly different rules, and are also targeted to a different audience. So as much as the movie series is still not exactly the best comparison, when I think about a big IP, campy sci-fi, family-oriented (at least in theory) on its path back to relevance, I think about Star Wars, obviously. The Force Awakens gambled on that nostalgic feeling and won big, but the next two movies, while still financially successful, were nowhere near the astounding success of the first one. And that’s because - you guessed it - it created the Event You Must See again, The Great Comeback, but merely two years later, the comeback became old news. So what we can gain from that is that nostalgia can create an Event as well as a new trend, if not better. But the question remains: how long will that last?

That is, after all, the main difference between a movie franchise and a TV series in the traditional, network TV sense of the word: movie franchise must bring in the viewership every year or two, and TV series must bring in viewers every week for at least two months. Is RTD’s Nostalgia Vibes enough to provide for that?

I’ll say this: I’m absolutely certain that the 60th anniversary will be very popular. I still don’t think it will break any records because, as I’ve been trying to explain for this whole post, it is not 2007 anymore no matter how much the tv execs would like it to be. But ironically, the almost-certain success of the special is the very thing that could undermine the effect of bringing their precious Nostagia Boi back onboard. Remember, the first Event Episode is The Big Oof. That’s the one that gets asses to the Good Ol’, if anything ever does. After the first big event one, that’s the point when things start going down. They’re wasting their Special Event Boi for something that already would be an event, dear fucking gods, I hate your plan and I would still execute it better. Either have RTD be the Anniversary Guy and then hire someone new, use that hype and keep it going, OR have RTD come in after the anniversary, then at least you get the Event Effect for the premiere of his first return season. Fukin’ amateurs.

But even if they did that, here’s the thing: do you think that the people who departed from the show years ago actually want to watch another three to five seasons of The RTD Show? I mean, I’m sure the thought warmed some hearts, for sure. A number of people will definitely gladly watch the anniversary, probably the first few episodes of the first return to the basics, but after that? In the world when, due to streaming, they have an easy way to revisit the actual thing they’re nostalgic towards? I honestly don’t think so. And you’re not really gonna get many new people by going back, if that nostalgia factor isn’t there. And then there’s casual viewers, the backbone, as we established. And here’s the thing: lots of those people don’t even know who the current showrunner is, cause they’re not Terminally Online like we are, and the second thing? Lots of those people ARE JUST NOT WATCHING NETWORK TV, IM SORRY GARRY. They’re just. They’re just not. I don’t know how to spell it out better. Even my mum has netflix now. Your biggest base is in another castle mate, gotta get moving and gotta get moving quick, cause here’s another thing: all the nostalgia in the world will not do SHIT for you if your target, people who were kids/teens when the RTD era was airing, PROBABLY DON’T EVEN HAVE A FUCKING TV ANYMORE CAUSE THEY MOVED OUT OF THEIR PARENTS FLAT AND LOTS OF YOUNG PEOPLE JUST DON’T BOTHER. Just. I’m sorry but you’re trying to resuscitate a decade-deceased corpse there buddy. It just won’t work. The times have changed and you gotta swim or drown, and it’s just not gonna be 2005 again, no matter how hard you pretend it is. It’s not your content it’s your business model. Just push more marketing for your iplayer or whatever, focus on streaming as your primary not your secondary cause that’s just what it is now, and maybe don’t rely on the viewer-counting systems of the yesteryear to evaluate your business. Or else you’re gonna get stuck sacrificing the creative growth of your show for a marketing strategy that probably won’t even fucking WORK.

There, I got it of my chest. Feel free to reblog, and also: you somehow got to the end of this, congrats! I’ll make numbers nerds out of y’all yet.