#metal wall cladding coating

[claddingsprayers]

Cladding Sprayers: Transforming Surfaces with Precision

If you've ever marveled at the gleaming exterior of a modern building, there's a good chance you were admiring the work of cladding sprayers. Cladding sprayers are the unsung heroes of the construction and renovation industry, responsible for giving buildings a fresh, polished look. But what exactly are they, and how do they work their magic? In this article, we're going to dive deep into the world of cladding sprayers, uncovering their secrets and exploring the artistry behind their precision.

Unveiling Cladding Sprayers: The Artist's Tools of the Trade

Imagine you're an artist about to create a masterpiece. You need the right tools to bring your vision to life. Cladding Sprayers are the brushes and canvases of the architectural world, allowing builders to transform the appearance of structures. These high-tech gadgets take on the challenge of beautifying buildings, just as an artist would create a stunning painting.

Cladding sprayers are specialized machines designed to apply a protective or decorative layer to a building's exterior. This layer, known as cladding, can be made of various materials, including stucco, plaster, or textured finishes. The choice of cladding material can dramatically impact a building's aesthetics and durability.

The Precision of the Art

Cladding sprayers are prized for their precision. Just as an artist delicately applies each brushstroke to a canvas, these machines evenly and meticulously distribute the cladding material over a building's surface. This precision ensures that the final result is not only visually appealing but also long-lasting.

Unlike traditional hand-application methods, cladding sprayers can cover large surfaces quickly, reducing both time and labor costs. It's like a rapid-fire artist, painting with efficiency and consistency.

How Do Cladding Sprayers Work Their Magic?

Understanding the inner workings of cladding sprayers is like peeking behind the curtain at a magic show. Let's demystify their mechanisms and reveal the secrets of their sorcery.

The Core Components

At the heart of every cladding sprayer is a powerful pump. This pump pressurizes the cladding material and pushes it through a hose to the nozzle. The nozzle is where the real magic happens. Just as an artist's hand guides the brush, the nozzle directs the cladding material to the building's surface.

A Symphony of Precision

The process is akin to a finely-tuned orchestra. The pump is the conductor, setting the rhythm and pressure, while the nozzle is the soloist, delivering the material with pinpoint accuracy. This symphony of components results in a flawless application of cladding, covering every nook and cranny of the building's exterior.

Versatility in Action

Cladding sprayers are incredibly versatile. They can handle various materials, from lightweight coatings to heavy mortars. This flexibility allows builders to choose the perfect cladding material for their project, just as an artist selects the right colors for a painting. The end result is a building that is not only aesthetically pleasing but also well-protected from the elements.

Why Cladding Sprayers Matter

Now that we understand the mechanics of cladding sprayers, let's explore why they matter in the world of construction and architecture. To do that, we'll pose a few questions:

Why is the exterior appearance of a building so important? Just as we judge a book by its cover, we often judge a building by its exterior. A well-clad building can enhance its curb appeal, making it more attractive to potential tenants or buyers.

How do cladding sprayers contribute to sustainability? These machines reduce material waste and energy consumption, making them eco-friendly choices. Like artists who repurpose old canvases, cladding sprayers make efficient use of resources.

Why are cladding sprayers crucial for renovation projects? When breathing new life into an older structure, cladding sprayers offer a cost-effective way to refresh its appearance without the need for extensive demolition. It's akin to giving a classic painting a touch-up instead of starting from scratch.

What role do cladding sprayers play in weatherproofing buildings? Just as an artist applies varnish to protect their work, cladding sprayers create a weather-resistant shield that guards against the elements, increasing the longevity of a building.

The Evolution of Cladding Sprayers

Like any art form, cladding sprayers have evolved over the years. Today's machines are a far cry from their predecessors. They are more efficient, precise, and user-friendly, making them a must-have for any construction project.

Technological Advancements

Advancements in technology have allowed cladding sprayers to become smarter and more intuitive. They can now be programmed to adjust the flow rate and pressure, ensuring a consistent application. Think of it as an artist who can customize their brush strokes to match their vision perfectly.

Eco-Friendly Innovations

The world is increasingly focused on sustainability, and cladding sprayers are no exception. Many modern machines are designed to reduce material waste and are compatible with environmentally friendly cladding materials. It's like an artist who uses eco-friendly paints to create a masterpiece.

User-Friendly Designs

Today's cladding sprayers are designed with ease of use in mind. They are lightweight, ergonomic, and offer adjustable handles for comfortable operation. This user-friendliness ensures that even novice users can achieve professional results, much like how an artist-friendly canvas and high-quality brushes enhance the creative process.

The Art of Cladding: Applications and Aesthetics

Cladding sprayers are not limited to a single type of building or project. They find their place in various applications, each requiring a distinct touch of artistry.

Commercial Buildings

In the realm of commercial buildings, cladding sprayers are indispensable. They can transform the façade of shopping malls, office complexes, and retail outlets. Just as a skilled artist tailors their style to suit the subject, cladding sprayers can adapt to create the desired aesthetic for the business.

Residential Homes

Homes often benefit from cladding sprayers, especially in areas prone to harsh weather conditions. The application of weather-resistant cladding not only enhances a home's appearance but also provides a protective shield against the elements. Think of it as putting a protective frame around a cherished painting.

Industrial and Manufacturing Facilities

Even the most rugged industrial structures can benefit from cladding. These machines can provide a durable, corrosion-resistant coating that extends the life of the facility. Just as an artist might apply a sealant to protect their work, cladding sprayers shield industrial structures from the ravages of time.

Renovation Projects

When reviving older buildings, cladding sprayers offer an efficient way to rejuvenate their appearance. They can give a fresh, modern look to structures that have stood the test of time, much like how an art restorer carefully brings a classic painting back to life.

Choosing the Right Cladding Sprayer

Just as an artist selects the perfect brush for a particular painting, choosing the right cladding sprayer is crucial for achieving the desired results. Here are some factors to consider:

Project Size: Consider the size of your project. Larger projects may require more powerful sprayers with higher flow rates, while smaller projects can be completed with compact units.

Cladding Material: The type of cladding material you intend to use is a significant factor. Ensure the sprayer you choose is compatible with the material you plan to apply.

Ease of Use: User-friendliness is vital, especially if you have novice operators. Look for machines with adjustable handles and easy-to-understand controls.

Maintenance: Just as artists need to clean and maintain their brushes, cladding sprayers require maintenance. Choose a machine that is easy to clean and service to prolong its lifespan.

Conclusion: The Artistry of Cladding Sprayers

In the world of construction and renovation, cladding sprayers are the artists behind the transformation of buildings. They bring precision, efficiency, and aesthetic beauty to structures, much like a painter brings life to a canvas. These versatile machines offer a myriad of benefits, from sustainability to weatherproofing, making them an indispensable tool in the construction industry.

Just as artists adapt and evolve their techniques, cladding sprayers have seen significant advancements, becoming more efficient and eco-friendly. They have become user-friendly, allowing even novice operators to achieve professional results.

Whether it's a commercial building, a residential home, an industrial facility, or a renovation project, cladding sprayers play a pivotal role in enhancing aesthetics and ensuring structural longevity. Choosing the right cladding sprayer is essential for a successful project, much like an artist selecting the perfect brush for their masterpiece.

In the end, the artistry of cladding sprayers is not merely about machinery but about the transformation of spaces, the protection of structures, and the creation of beauty in the world of architecture. Like an artist's brush on canvas, these machines leave their mark on buildings, making them not just functional but truly works of art.

[maxroof111]

Roofing Solution Providers in Pune | India

Roof cladding is the procedure of adding a waterproof covering. It happens to be added to the top of your roof. Installing this is mostly done to keep water from collecting inside your house and on your roof. Systems for wall cladding and roofing serve the twin purposes of protecting and improving a building's external appearance.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Metal & Leather [Loki Odinson x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Prince Loki can't get to you soon enough after an arduous battle. (Yes, another one of those!😇) w/c 1.2k Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut/Fluff. Mild angst. Mild descriptions of injury. Loki x female reader.

The Einherjar’s roar swells higher, heating the cool night air. You run to your balcony overlooking the balustrade as Loki strides towards his mother and father standing poised at the furthest reach, waiting to welcome him: to congratulate him.

The crowds go crazy as Odin hands him something. One abrupt bow, Loki wrote in his letter from the victorious battlefield. One abrupt bow, and I make for my true reward without delay. Do not come to the ceremony. The underline had ripped the paper.

“Is that an order?” you’d asked the empty room while you imagined the wolfish glint of his smile as he wrote it. And now, he was finally here. He was finally home. The nights were long on the realm’s furthest battlefields, and although his victory had been by all accounts swift it still took weeks. Thirteen, to be exact.

Now, you can see the flutter of his cape as he makes a show of turning and striding from the dais where Odin and Frigga stand. He’s coming.

You turn, perching on the stone. You didn’t bother getting dressed properly, just a chiffon open-fronted robe tied loose at the waist. Warm air sighs over your skin as you wait, and wait. The main event is right here: and it starts in five…four…three— There’s an abrupt knock at the door. “Come,” you call sweetly. Loki pushes it open. His chin is lowered to the glint of his metal breastplate, his shadowed eyes swimming with promise in the flickering gloom. The hand curled around the ceremonial spear he just received from Odin tightens when he sees you, and his lips curl in a smile. Dark hair spills over his exaggerated, armour-clad shoulders and with a low whisper, the spear vanishes.

“The demon-brothels of Musselheim left much to be desired,” Loki sniffs with a sarcasm that can’t mask the affection in his eyes. “Heated in the most inconvenient of ways.” You search his face, noting the glint of his eyes and the twitch of his thin lips. “You’re terrible.”

He strides across the room, cape blooming like ink through water, and gathers you in his arms. “And I’m yours,” he replies as he dips and lifts your legs around his waist. "Aren't you glad, darling? In all my terrible, terrible glory."

The heat still hangs on his leathers from the Bifrost.

His lips slam into yours at force, the thud of his boots and the crisp rustle of his cloak making your thighs tighten. He nudges you higher, and eager fingers slip past his temples, fisting his hair, noting the ghost of bruises that shadow his face. Loki’s fingers pull at the ribbons holding your robe together, their slither between his calloused fingers and the nip of Asgard’s night air against your nipples flooding your brain. He’s home, he’s here, he’s safe. Thank you; thank you.

Your pussy slips against the metal buckle flush to his abdomen, and Loki’s kiss wanes. He pulls back as you’re rested on the wide flat of the balcony wall, towering over you like the victorious god he is. You reach to brush his tabard aside, but a hand flies out to stop it.

“No,” he says hoarsely, and for the first time you see the raw abrasions on his knuckles, the purple cloud edging from his wrist armour. He trails a finger down the valley of your throat, between the swell of your breasts. “My love..” The softness of his voice so at odds with the battle-weary figure he cuts. He never thinks you want him like this. Not at first: coated in the evidence of his destruction. You reach tentatively for his leathers, and this time he lets you brush the flap aside. Loki of Asgard stiffens as you unlace him, pulling him closer, kissing him deep. “My love,” you whisper against his heated, gritty skin. A shiver wrenches through him. When Loki returns from war, all the lust he’s re-directed bubbles over. This time is no different. You feel his fingers run over your hair, grabbing a clutch, tilting your head back. Loki’s mouth descends on your exposed neck: biting, sucking, groaning his need for you against the delicate, willing flesh. There’s a smack of metal against leather, a grunt as he positions himself between your spread legs. The balcony stone scrapes against the back of your thighs as he places a palm on your lower spine, protecting you from the drop. And then, he’s inside you. His cock claims the deepest part of you, and Loki swears as he bottoms out with a decisive thrust.

With one hand hanging against his neck, and the other gripping the belt slung over his shoulder, you ride the devastating thrusts he delivers with each jangling snap of his hips. Loki’s cock, and his love, are the missing pieces of you—the parts he takes whenever he leaves to fulfil his duty. But this is his duty, and you both know it. Ragged gasps scrape from Loki’s throat, his fingertips clawing against your back so desperately you know the truth of his desire will be marked on you by the night’s end. Purple, blue; just like the evidence of violence painted on his skin.

He curls close, and you wrap both arms around his neck, pulling the god’s face closer into the curve of your shoulder.

Loki’s illusion has wavered. His hair is matted, crisped with sweat and battle and bifrost and you inhale deeply, willing your love for him to wash it all away. His thrusts are sloppy now, out of time with the fiery grunts blasting against the shell of your ear. He smells like metal, and leather – and gods, you never want anything else.

“I’ll always come home to you,” he says, and you know he’s picturing the enemies he had to slay to get here. He never tells you everything of what he’s seen—but it changes him. It makes his love fiercer. The crowd packing the balustrade cheers at the conclusion of some speech: Thor’s, probably. But Loki’s body draws like a bow and you feel the tighten of his jaw against your neck. “I can’t stop it,” he pants, and you buck harder against him. There will be time for your pleasure later—Loki will make sure of it. In the baths, in the bed you share, in the blankets and pillows strewn through slats of amber sunlight on the endless days with him by your side. For now, in the torch-lit gloom where he wears the stains of hard-won victory, he needs this: he needs you. And right now, your pleasure is bringing his home.

The tunic, warm from your friction, scrapes your inner thighs as he seals his cock inside you once, twice, three times. On the fourth, he holds the throbbing tip at the entrance to your slit, his wild eyes meeting yours. “All for you,” he gasps, and his eyebrows peak.

Everything: he means everything. The sacrifice, the vulnerability he shares— the fact you’d only need to ask and he would tear the sky down in your name. Your lips touch, and he groans happily as he sinks inside a final, lingering time.

The force of his cum hits the back of your cunt and his whole body tightens. A tremble works through him while the grip on your back falters, and his knees wobble. He pulls you close, groaning his climax into your mouth; the heat of his breath and the fury of his love rippling across every nerve in your body. Below, drums begin: lyres, chanting, prayer. “You’re home,” you whisper, slotting your nose at the side of his. “You’re safe.” “Home,” he murmurs as the cool metal at his abdomen chills your flushed skin. He thrusts a final, gentle time, and you cross your ankles at his lower back, sealing him close. Loki smiles, “That’s all I ever wanted.”

❤️Tags in comments! x Next story will be Wednesday 18 Sept as I'm on holiday next week🌄

[redvdress]

TONGUE PIERCING

A/N: i found this prompt everywhere here so i thought about doing my version of it, i have already a few piercings and i’d love getting a tongue one (dabi i’m waiting for you). this is my dabi masterpiece i swear. mention of blood and pain liking

The room was dimly lit, cast in a pale orange glow from a single, flickering lamp. The lampshade itself was cracked, giving off a sickly hue that left the edges of the small apartment in shadow. Dust clung to the air, swirling lazily in the faint light. The walls were stained with the passage of time, watermarks snaking down from the ceiling where the plaster had started to crack. The floor was no better, scuffed linoleum in a faded pattern that hadn’t been recognizable in years.

It reeked of cheap cigarettes and burnt flesh—Dabi’s permanent scent.

He leaned against a rickety table, one arm slung over the back of a chair as he stared at you from across the room, his cigarette dangling between his lips. The cherry of it glowed faintly in the dark as he took a long drag, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You sure about this?” His voice was low, gravelly, the kind of sound that made you wonder if he’d ever spoken softly in his life. Smoke curled around his words, and his eyes—those intense, blue eyes—bore into you with an unnerving stillness.

There was something about the way he looked at you that made your stomach twist, a heady mixture of fear and thrill.

Dabi was dangerous—more dangerous than anyone you’d ever known.

The kind of danger that made your pulse quicken, that pulled you toward him, even though every rational part of you screamed to stay away. But you weren’t here to play it safe.

“Once I stick this metal in you, there’s no backing out, dollface”.

His smirk tugged at the scar tissue around his mouth, the charred, stitched-together skin pulling unnaturally with the motion. The staples in his face caught the light, glinting in the dimness, each one a testament to the pain he’d endured—and the fact that he clearly didn’t care about pain. Not his, not anyone’s.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry as the reality of what you were about to do hit you. The idea of a tongue piercing had come up in a haze of excitement, after too many nights spent watching Dabi’s fingers dance over his own piercings, those rough hands handling metal and flesh like he knew them intimately. He lived with metal embedded in his skin, after all, more a part of him than anything else.

You wanted a piece of that. Wanted to feel what he felt, wanted him to be the one to give it to you.

“I trust you” you said, and though your voice came out softer than you intended, there was an undercurrent of truth in it. Dabi might have been rough, sarcastic, and dangerous, but you trusted him with this. He knew what he was doing. He always did.

Dabi’s lips curled into a snort, smoke billowing from his nostrils like a dragon amused by some foolish human. “You really shouldn’t” he muttered, shaking his head as if the very idea of someone trusting him was a joke.

Maybe it was.

Trust wasn’t something Dabi traded in—pain, though? Pain, he knew.

“But alright, your funeral.”

He shifted, stubbing out his cigarette in a chipped ashtray with an almost lazy flick of his wrist. The glow of the room flickered as he moved, the shadows deepening. His lean figure, clad in that familiar tattered coat, loomed over the small table beside him.

He’d set up everything with a casual sort of carelessness, the kind that came from someone who knew their way around sharp objects but didn’t need to flaunt it.

His hands—gloved, rough, scarred—worked with a certain precision, though.

As he laid out the needle, the barbell, and the alcohol wipes, he moved like this wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this. You’d seen him handle plenty of things with practiced skill—he knew his body, his pain, and his scars. Piercings were no different.

He caught you staring as he picked up the needle, an eyebrow quirking slightly. “You getting cold feet already?” he teased, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “’Cause if you are, I can think of better ways to kill time than jabbing a needle through your tongue.”

You shook your head, feeling the heat rise in your face. “No,” you insisted, sitting up straighter on the couch. “I want to do it.”

There it was again, that smirk.

The one that made your heart do a weird, uncomfortable flip in your chest.

He set the needle down for a moment, coming over to stand in front of you, looming like a shadow. His presence was overpowering, the heat from his quirk lingering in the air like a barely restrained fire. It made the room feel smaller, suffocating in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

He crouched down, eye-level with you now, his face inches from yours. His gaze raked over you, assessing, maybe even a little amused. “Open up,” he said, voice still rough, like he was talking about anything mundane, not about to drive a piece of metal through your flesh.

You did as he asked, sticking your tongue out as far as you could. It felt awkward, vulnerable, with his gaze on you. He leaned in closer, inspecting your tongue with the kind of scrutiny that had your nerves spiking.

“Tch,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth, fingers grazing your chin as he tilted your head slightly. “Tongue’s kinda thick, huh? Bet you could do some real damage with that.”

The casual vulgarity of the comment caught you off guard, and you nearly pulled back, but his grip on your chin was firm.

He didn’t let you move an inch. You caught a glimpse of his sharp smile, his mismatched eyes gleaming with something dark. His touch lingered for a moment longer before he moved his hand away, leaving you cold in his absence.

He straightened up, reaching for the needle again, you could see the gleam of metal as he rolled it between his fingers, his expression indifferent. “Try not to squirm too much. I don’t wanna fuck up your pretty little mouth.”

The warning sent a shiver through you.

You knew he wasn’t bluffing—he didn’t sugarcoat anything. He wouldn’t hesitate to tell you exactly how bad it would hurt if you screwed this up for yourself. Dabi was a man of few soft words, and the ones he did offer were more like sharp edges.

Dabi’s hands were steady as he pulled your jaw down slightly, guiding you into position. His gloved fingers pressed against the sides of your tongue, holding it in place, and the cool touch of alcohol wiped the surface clean, leaving a sharp, antiseptic taste in your mouth.

The cold press of the needle against your tongue was the first shock. It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, you wouldn’t mind.

You tensed despite yourself, feeling the muscles in your jaw clench.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. It wasn’t a request—it was a command. “You move, and this shit’ll hurt way worse than it needs to.”

You gave a barely perceptible nod, holding your breath as Dabi aligned the needle with precision. Then, in one swift motion, it pierced through.

The pain was sharp, bright, and immediate.

But it was the kind of pain you liked, because you wanted to feel it.

You tasted blood, metallic and bitter, as Dabi worked quickly, threading the barbell through the new hole. His hands were deft, almost clinical, but there was something intimate about the way he handled you.

He screwed the ball onto the end of the barbell with a final twist, and then it was done. You blinked, dazed from the rush of adrenaline, feeling the weight of the new piercing in your mouth. Dabi pulled back, taking a step away to admire his handiwork, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb.

“There. All done.” His voice was casual, like he hadn’t just pierced your tongue with a needle. He tossed the bloody cloth onto the table and stepped back, his smirk widening as he took in your expression.

“Told ya I knew what I was doing.”

You ran your tongue against the cool metal, testing it, wincing at the soreness. The sensation was foreign and strange, but not unbearable. Still, the dull throb was a constant reminder of what had just happened, and more importantly, who had done it.

Dabi’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes, his smirk growing wider, more self-satisfied.

He tapped a finger against the fresh piercing, making you flinch.

“Looks good on you,” he muttered, his voice low and husky, dripping with that dangerous, teasing edge. “Might even be worth the trouble.”

His touch, though brief, lingered like the burn of his quirk. Even in something as mundane as a piercing, he had control over you, and he knew it.

“You say that like you didn’t enjoy it,” you teased, your voice muffled around your swollen tongue. It wasn’t your best comeback, but your nerves were still on edge from the piercing, and it was hard to think clearly when Dabi was staring at you like that.

Dabi chuckled, the sound low and dark, as he flicked his cigarette into the ashtray.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “Oh, I enjoyed it, alright,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“But don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you just because I stuck a piece of metal in your mouth. You’re still mine, and that tongue of yours better be ready to put in some work.”

The way his voice dropped at the end, laced with dangerous intent, sent a shockwave of heat through your body. You couldn’t help but feel the tension between you tighten like a wire ready to snap.

He pulled away just as quickly as he’d closed the distance, leaving you breathless. He stretched, arms above his head, like he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes working a needle through your flesh. His movements were casual, careless, but there was something in the way he glanced at you, over his shoulder, that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Clean it, don’t be an idiot, and maybe it won’t get infected,” he said, voice flippant. “Or don’t. Not my problem if you can’t handle it.”

"Still think it's a good idea?" he asked, his voice low, gravelly. "Bet it hurts like a bitch."

It did hurt, the sting radiating through your tongue as the pressure of the piercing settled in, but you weren't about to admit that. Not to him. You gave a slow nod, your breath catching as his fingers tightened just slightly around your jaw, his touch sending a shiver through you.

Dabi's smirk widened, his eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

"Yeah?" he drawled, leaning in closer until his breath ghosted over your lips, smelling of smoke and heat.

"Let's see how tough you really are, doll."

Before you could respond, his mouth crashed against yours.

The kiss was rough, nothing gentle or patient about it. His lips pressed hard against yours, his hand holding your jaw in place as he deepened the kiss without hesitation. The sudden pressure made your tongue throb, the fresh wound pulsing painfully, but you didn't care. If anything, the pain only heightened the intensity of the moment, your senses overwhelmed by the sharp contrast between the sting of the piercing and the heat of Dabi's mouth.

Your body tensed, instinctively bracing against the pain, but Dabi's hold on you kept you grounded. His other hand slipped around the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, refusing to let you pull away.

He was testing you, pushing your limits, daring you to flinch or complain.

But you didn't.

Instead, you leaned into the kiss, the burn in your tongue fading into the background as the taste of him filled your mouth. His lips were hot, demanding, and you responded in kind, letting the pain mix with the pleasure until they were indistinguishable. The cold metal of the new barbell rubbed against your teeth, and every movement of your tongue sent a fresh jolt of pain through your nerves, but you welcomed it, savoring the intensity.

Dabi chuckled darkly against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you as he pulled back slightly, just enough to let his mismatched eyes meet yours.

"Didn't think you'd like it that much," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. His thumb brushed over your lips, tracing where his kiss had just been, smirking at the way your breath hitched under his touch.

"You like the pain, huh?"

You bit your lip, wincing slightly as the motion aggravated the fresh piercing, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you gave him a defiant look, your heart pounding as you whispered, "Maybe I like it when it's from you”.

That made his eyes gleam with something darker, something primal. He leaned back in, brushing his lips over yours again-this time slower, teasing, his breath hot and full of purpose.

"Is that so?" he murmured, his voice rough with amusement. "You're full of surprises."

He pressed his lips to yours again, but this time, the kiss was different. It was still rough, still full of that dangerous intensity, but there was something more to it-an edge of control, of dominance, like he was claiming you all over again. His tongue slipped past your lips, brushing against the metal barbell, and the pain flared up again, sharper this time, but you welcomed it, leaning into him as the heat between you spiked.

His hand tightened at the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

The kiss deepened, growing more feverish, and your mind buzzed with the sharp mix of pleasure and pain. The barbell clicked against your teeth as his tongue moved against yours, the cold metal a stark contrast to the burning heat of his mouth.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart hammering in your chest. The pain in your tongue was a dull throb now, but it was overshadowed by the heat coursing through your veins. Dabi's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he studied your face, watching the way your chest rose and fell with every ragged breath.

"Not bad," he muttered, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb, smirking as he glanced at the faint streak of blood that had appeared from the fresh wound.

"Told you it'd hurt. But you didn't back down. Gotta give you credit for that."

You smirked, your tongue pressing against the new piercing, wincing at the ache but not regretting a thing. "I can handle it," you murmured, your voice soft but steady, even as your heart raced in your chest.

Dabi chuckled, his hand slipping away from your neck as he straightened up, that self-satisfied smirk still playing on his lips. "You better" he muttered, his voice dark and teasing.

[hughjackmansbicep]

Delicate

a/n: hi friends!!!! im hoping to make this into a multi part series, got lots planned for this mini fic :))))) this is kind of the prolouge to the real deal, needed to get the setup for it started before we divulge. expect lots of twists n turns my friends!

Pairing: Logan Howlett X F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: uhhhhh none lol

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: The government has successfully began the eradication of all mutant species in the United States. Lucky for you your dad has taken careful precautions to protect you from the evil that lurks in the streets outside. Tucked away in a concealed basement you sat and rotted away clinging to your old life and dreams. What happens when one day you've got a severe hankering for some ice cream and he ran out of beer the same night? Both finding yourselves in the right place at the right time.

The world as you knew it was slowly coming to an end. Mutants everywhere were dropping like flies after the government slowly started poisoning everyone's food. Unless you were an off-grid loner living off the land, you succumbed to the same fate as everyone else, 6 feet under. Lucky enough for you, your father kept you pretty sheltered. Tucked away in your fully renovated basement, the world is ignorant of your existence. It was safer this way; I mean, sure, you missed going out to bars and seeing your friends; hell, you even missed those 8 a.m. bio classes you used to take. But this was safer; at least that's what your father always preached. “It’s safer down here, away from all those evil people.” He'd remind you every day, “You're to never leave my site, kiddo, and never step outside those doors.” Not like you could anyways, while your mutation allowed you to control the atoms around you and morph them into anything your heart desired, you had one weakness, adamantium. Your house was coated in it; every doorknob, lock, and even the goddamn windows were coated in the shit. 

It was 3:00am, no one was home, and you found yourself craving ice cream. It wasn't uncommon for your dad to leave you to your own vices. He still had a job he'd have to attend to, and that more often than not led you to solidarity on his trips. And here you were in the middle of the night, the light from the fridge illuminating the dimly lit kitchen, tearing your freezer apart hoping to magically find a pint of Ben and Jerry’s buried deep in the frost. You groan, sinking down to your knees, met with disappointment and an ever-growing craving for the sweet, delicious taste of The Tonight Dough. Sure, you could've totally put in an Uber Eats order, but where would the fun in that be? You stood in front of the adamantium-cladded door, using all your strength to melt it to the ground, but to no avail. The only thing between you and your Jimmy Fallon-adorned ice cream was some space metal, and to hell if your dad really thinks that's going to curve the urge.

For the next hour, you ran around the house like a lunatic looking for a weak point. Maybe your father missed just one spot—one tiny spot in this prison he calls a home. A small hole fit for the size of a mouse teased you. Sure, you control all the atoms around you but your own? You'd never even attempted to entertain that idea, although the worst that could happen is you turn your body into a permanent pile of slop. That didn't sound too terrible when compared to being a basement dweller for the last 7 years. And it turns out it wasn't as bad as you'd thought; you melted your body down into a pile of liquid, slithering your way through the walls of your house before you were spit out from a hole in the bricks. The air on your skin cascaded goosebumps along your body; you honestly couldn't remember the last time you felt wind grace your skin or the sun illuminating off your shoulders. 

You skipped happily toward the corner store, taking in every sound around you. The sound your feet made when they hit the pavement, the distant chatter of the locals crowding down the sidewalks, even the obnoxious sound of a car horn brought a smile to your face. You finally understood the saying, ‘the city that never sleeps.’ You reached the corner store, swinging the door open and prancing inside as if it were Disney World. Your happy fantasy faded as the man behind the register yelled at you to put some shoes on before walking into his store. You looked down, wiggling your free toes, with all the excitement of liquifying yourself to get a taste of the outside world, common societal rules had slipped your mind. “I um.. Just came to grab a pint of ice cream; I’ll be really quick, I promise.” You pleaded sheepishly, offering him a quick smile to butter him up a bit. He simply rolled his eyes in disgust and turned his back to you, mumbling something under his breath.

You made your way around the convenience store towards the dairy section when something, or rather someone, caught your attention. He looked tall, and even with a leather jacket on, you could tell he was huge. He had some silly-looking facial hair and even sillier-looking cat-ear-like hair, but man, he still looked good. Your eyes slowly traveled down his arms to his pants. Cute butt, you thought to yourself. He stifled a laugh before turning in your direction and saying, “Thank you.” He grumbled, turning back towards the beer cooler. “What?” You ask, heat rising to your cheeks once you realize you'd accidentally said that out loud. He didn't acknowledge you, just went back to scanning the cooler. You took that as a hint to keep moving, finally landing in front of the ice cream section and grabbing the last pint of your favorite ice cream. Carefully looking around to make sure nobody was watching you, you pulled the lid off and used your mutation to pull out all the atoms belonging to the anti-mutant poisons that were mixed in with the delicious sweet treat. Floating above the ice cream, you cautiously manipulated them into a different container of food and made your way back towards the front. What you didn't know was that the unfortunate corner store owner had been watching your freak act on the CCTV cameras the whole time.

Turning around one of the aisles, you had spotted two men in suits talking to the man upfront. You couldn't make out what was being said as they whispered, but watching him point to you using your mutation on the TV screen explained enough to you. You backed up slowly, trying to even your breaths out before you had a panic attack. You felt someone grab your shoulder, spinning you around into them. It was Mr. Cute Butt; he must be working with those suited men too. Your eyes go wide as you focus all your energy on him. You were attempting to melt him, freeing yourself from his grasp, but it wasn't working for some reason. He just stared at your brows laced together, trying to figure out what in the fuck were you doing. “You're going to shit yourself if you keep straining like that.” He whispered a low chuckle, following after.

You froze, looking up at the man with pleading eyes. “Please don't hurt me; I just wanted some ice cream. Please i'll leave right now, sir.” You rushed out searching his face for sympathy or remorse something in hopes he'd release his grasp on you. He looked confused at what you were saying to him as if you were speaking some foreign language, but that didn't last long once you two heard footsteps approaching you. “C’mon kid.” He grumbled out, dragging you by your arm, ducking in between the small isles towards the exit. “They're over here!” The man upfront yelled, and the mystery man beside you just groaned before scooping you up into his arms and rushing you out of the store. You both quickly fell into the crowd, blending into the sea of people that populated the streets of New York. As soon as you two were outside, he'd set you on your feet, his arm still gripping your wrist, dragging you through the city with him.

“I need to go home, sir; please don't hurt me. I'm so sorry.” You cried, tears adorning your cheeks as you pleaded with him; if your father knew what was transpiring at this very moment, you'd be toast. Absolutely never allowed outside your basement ever again; you could kiss the sun goodbye because you'll probably never see it again once he gets home. He ignored your pleas though as he pushed through the crowds to a parked motorcycle on the road. “Oh no, I am not getting on that thing.” You halted your movements, digging your heels into the ground. “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks.” He laughed at you dryly hopping onto the bike, “They'll find you eventually.” He kicked the stand up, revving the bike on. You looked through the crowd behind you, worry etching onto your face. Maybe he's right; maybe I should hop on that bike and ride it into the sunset with this beautiful specimen, or he's no better than those suited men and could ultimately be leading me to my death. “Just get on the fucking bike.” He growled at the sound of sirens roaring closer to you two.

Begrudgingly, you hopped onto the back of the bike, plopping the helmet latched behind you on your head. At this rate, your sure your dad is going to skin you alive and hang you up to dry. “Hang on tight, princess.” He turned around to smirk at you. You snaked your hands around his torso, and he took off, the force causing your face to smash into his back and your grip on him tightening. You were sure if you had been gifted some form of super strength, you would've popped his torso clean off his legs with how tight you were squeezing him. You attempted to give him directions back to your house, but he couldn't hear you and kept heading in the opposite direction. He totally could hear you too, but he was ignoring your requests to return you home.

The quick 15-minute drive felt like an eternity with how utterly petrified you were. Matter of fact, you were so scared, eyes clenched shut, arms squeezing all the oxygen out of his lungs, you hadn't even noticed that you'd arrived at your mystery destination. He pried your arms off him, causing you to open your eyes; you were in complete shock. A gorgeous castle-like building stood before you, surrounded by trees, and a long gravel driveway trailed in front of it. A voice broke you from your thoughts, but this sound didn't come from the man sitting in front of you; no, it appeared like it came straight from inside your head. 'Logan, would you please introduce me to your new friend? The voice sang through you, your head whipping around frantically to find the owner of these words. “C’mon, I got someone for you to meet.” The man in front of you finally spoke, helping you off the bike and placing the helmet back in its spot on the rear. He guided you through the mansion all the way to the back, stopping at two huge double wooden doors.

“Come in, please.” Rang the same voice you heard earlier, the double doors slowly opening before you to reveal a small, bald man sitting in a chair. “And who might this be, Logan?” He questioned, looking towards the big man next to you. Logan, huh, you thought to yourself, cute name and a cute butt. Logan awkwardly shifted beside you, the bald man sending a booming laugh throughout the room. “Oh my God.. Did I say that out loud?” You whispered heat rising to your cheeks once again. Ignoring you, Logan started explaining to the bald guy, whose name you quickly learned was Charles, what happened earlier. Logan had seen what you were doing in that small store—how you made some substance float out of the ice cream and back into another pint. He assumed you were attempting to do something similar to that when he had grabbed you, and you began shaking like a Chihuahua, yet all you could think about during their discussion of the previous events was how you never got to eat the ice cream you risked your whole life for. “So,” Charles spoke, directing his attention to you. “What can you do exactly? What were you doing with that ice cream?” He hummed his eyes, raking you up and down, studying all your features. hoping they might tell him about who you are.

You were fairly normal-looking; I mean, to the average human eye, they couldn't tell you apart from another human. You felt like a deer in headlights right now, though; you'd never been asked or questioned about your mutation. You never dared to speak about it aloud; hell, your dad wouldn't even let you use your powers ever; it's like he was ashamed of you. “I can... manipulate things, i guess.” You spoke quietly; it felt taboo to you to speak about this, like this was some intimate, inappropriate topic to discuss. “And what do you mean by that?” He mused, deeply interested in your mystery. “I’m not exactly sure, sir. I just know I can do this.” You focus your eyes on the pen sat upon his desk, watching it quickly fall into a liquid puddle. “Fascinating.” Charles smiled up at you, “Can you change it back?” You trained your eyes down on the mess you created, quickly blinking as it slowly morphed back into its original shape of a pen.

Charles laughed in amusement before clasping his hands together. “We have much to discuss, little one, but for now Logan will show you to a room you can rest in. We'll talk more tomorrow.” He nodded at you before Logan had turned around out the door. You took this as your sign to follow, doors shutting behind you both. He guided you up the stairs, stopping at a random white door and handing over a towel and toothbrush he'd picked up on the way to your room. “Just try and get some sleep.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “I’m just up the hall if you need anything, i guess.” He nodded his head in the direction of his door. You just smiled, turning around into your room and softly closing your door. 

You had no clue where the fuck you were or what these strange men were planning to do with you. You've heard the horror stories from your dad about how the government would poke and prod you if anyone knew what you could do. you'd be a test subject for rich white males to toy and play with. You'd set the towel and toothbrush down on a chair in the room you were assigned and slowly stalked your way to the bed. As you crawled into bed attempting to get some shut eye all that you could think to yourself was, "Man my dad is soo going to fucking kill me when he finds me."

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

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Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

[finniestoncrane]

Nick Valentine x GN!Reader, word count: 1.4k hi hello i had to write this because i'm going insane about him. he might be my self-insert's father figure, but i've got daddy issues, so welcome to that nightmare. just some pleasure-dom nick having the tables turned on him, with reader treating him to a little bit of pleasure geared towards his... well, gears 🚬 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: electrostimulation, thigh riding/grinding, sort of implied that reader has a vagina in that they get him wet but that could be precum kjhkjhasd

Nick tapped the cigarette against the ashtray on his desk, his degloved hand, all metal and hinges, clutching the burning embers, determined to get one last draw out of it. But it dwindled before his bright, yellow eyes, and instead he stubbed it out with a sigh, looking to the clock on top of the filing cabinet. Still plenty of time left in the day. Only six, that was barely the evening.

There was always time for one more case. Always room to squeeze in more work. And though the in tray was empty, he could still go out and sniff out a new case to work on. So he stood up from the desk, refreshed determination, and reached for his trench coat, which wasn't in its usual place. Quickly frustrated, he called out.

"Ellie? Ellie! Where's my coat? Have you seen it?"

From the front of the room, entering silently and unnoticed as Nick kept lifting piles of old paperwork in a futile search for his jacket, you watched him.

"I sent Ellie home, Nick. Work's over for the day."

He turned to you, ready to chastise you for telling him when his business could be open, but he was stopped by the vision before him.

Leaning against the wall, you smiled to him, chewing on your lip to stop the grin spreading too much and ruining your blasé, sultry attitude. He wasn't going to find his coat, because you were wearing it. The top buttons were undone, exposing a lot more chest than he was used to seeing on you, but the others were fastened, concealing your body from him, and the susprise you had for him below it.

"I see the case of the missing coat has been solved then."

"Hm, I guess so. But there's always the mystery of what's underneath."

Nick sat back down at his desk, lighting another cigarette once he was settled in his chair. He took one long draw and looked up at you past the brim of his hat.

"You got any clues for me then, sweetheart?"

Your fingers teased over one of the buttons, slowly undoing it, letting the lapels fall a little further apart.

"How's that?"

"I think I might need a little more."

Another button, undone slower than the last, his patience wearing as his lust built up.

"Any closer, detective?"

"How about you give an old man a break and just show me?"

Quickly undoing the last of the buttons, you let the coat fall open, exposing your body clad in intricate lingerie. Torn and frayed a little, here and there, but nicer than anything he'd seen in a long time.

You walked over to the desk, one foot in front of the other, taking your time on the journey and relishing the way his eyes took you in, the bright yellow light rising from your toes to your head. His mouth opened, and his cigarette fell out, stubbing itself in the ashtray, the smoke rising up to frame you as you perched on the edge of the desk. Leaning across, you picked up his cigarette and placed it back in his mouth, lifting the lighter and flicking it, watching the dulled embers spark back to life as he took another draw.

When he was close to the end, you walked around the desk and settled yourself on one of his thighs, waiting for him to stub out the butt before you caressed his cheek, fingers teasing at the exposed hinge of his jaw.

"I have another little surprise for you."

Your hand slipped into the pocket of his coat, producing a set of jumper cables as you kicked a little makeshift battery out from under the desk. Nick looked at you quizzically, but with a hint of excitement.

"It's your turn. I thought it might be nice to see you get a little kick for a change."

Sliding down from the desk, you perched on one of his thighs, your body tingling with arousal as his hands moved protectively around your hips to keep you steady. With a grateful smile, you reached up and removed his hat, setting it down on the desk, free hand caressing his cheek as you took in his features without the shadow of the brim.

"What are you waiting for then, doll?"

His sly grin had your heart pounding as your fingers made their way to his tie, loosening it and letting it hang around his neck as you turned your attention to this buttons of his shirt. You opened each one slowly, deftly, letting your fingertips glide over the soft, synthetic texture of his chest. Completely smooth, but you could work with that.

Pinching a bit of his skin away from his exoskeleton, you clamped one end of the jumper cable to it, the other attached to the battery. And then you did the same on the other side of his chest, a second makeshift nipple to attach your tools too. Two jumper cables, both ready to go. You lifted the battery up, your thumb hovering over the power switch on the side.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Pushing down, you let the small jolt of electricity pass through him, his body insulated, saving you from the majority of the shockwave but still enough electricity tingling over him that you felt the benefit yourself.

Nick's jaw loosened, the tattered remnants of his neck trembling as he twitched with pleasure. It was as close to arousal as he would ever experience, each fresh spark another wave that crashed over him, a pulse of excitement. And it was only heightened by the way your eyes sparkled back as you looked into his, the yellow light reflecting in your pupils, the way that it dimmed and brightened as the electricity coursed through him.

The excitement wasn't lost on your either. Soft, sharp throbs of arousal, jolts of joy from each little push of the button had you on edge, skin hot and prickled. In an act so desperate it made you blush, you could feel yourself beginning to roll your hips, aching for some friction against your heat, needing to feel yourself on Nick as you rode his thigh.

As he felt your body pushing down onto him, satisfying yourself, using him to get off, he groaned softly. The sound rumbled in his throat, a slight hitch to it as another round of shockwaves travelled through his wires.

Flicking the battery off, you settled once again into your rhythm, grinding your body into him, rutting forwards and backwards along his thigh, unable to really control yourself. It felt good just to feel him, to fuck yourself on him as you watched him revel in the effects of your stimulation.

"You're having fun, aren't you?"

You couldn't tell if it was playful teasing, given how obvious your arousal was, or if Nick was genuinely worried that this was only enjoyable for him. You reasoned that it was probably a bit of both. He was used to giving pleasure, not necessarily receiving it. He liked for you to be the focus, the one that the attention was on. It felt strange for him to have you in power, to let you do all the hard work. So you took one of his hands, shifting your body down his thigh a little and placing his palm where you had been grinding against him.

"You're the detective, Nick. Figure it out..."

He felt the sensation of damp against the fabric, your slick coating his thigh.

"I don't have a change of pants with me, missy."

"Well, you'll just have to think of a good excuse if anyone asks what that stain is, Valentine."

His fingertips were cool against your cheek, the exposed metal tingling against your skin as he stroked it softly. The bright yellow light of his eyes was difficult to look into for too long, but you accepted the strain just to keep the connection there, only looking down when he pressed his forehead to yours.

"Ok... as long as you're having fun then... you could try increasing the voltage this time."

Looking back up at him, you blushed as he winked, an immediate and renewed warmth spreading over you once more.

"Yes, Mr Valentine."

[1800titz]

HI BESTIES. This is the first part of Shibari man/Shibari Asshole/Rigger!Harry x Rope bunny!Reader ((the one I teased here))

The one where Harry runs shibari classes and you think he should smile more

WC: 2.4K

This is part one of a patreon exclusive series; the rest will only be accessible through my patreon. You can already find part 2 up on my patreon (✿◠‿◠) 

When you were a little kid, your brother had an ant farm. 

An acrylic formicarium that’d started out as two boxes with a set of tubes. Over time, it morphed into a staggering, caged cityscape of twisting, pellucid hoses and burrows that spanned the entire length of the desk in his bedroom. 

You'd watch them scatter the tunnels as a little girl, lugging cracker crumbs and bits of fruit off your sticky fingers, weaving along the chutes connecting the boroughs of their curated city.

Your brother did what any nasty, older brother would do— those harvester ants were the torment of your childhood. You'd bicker, and he’d threaten to spill them into your bed when you were sleeping. Told you that the colony would eat her toes, that you'd wake up to wiggle nothing but grisly, little, ichor-soaked stumps.  

The gory intimidation tactic never really did much.

You'd still press your nose to the screen barring the insects and smudge your fingerprints over, fascinated as they congregated to the wet cotton ball in the depths of their home. 

You think it's a little like that now, wandering the swarming alcoves in the underbelly of New York. You're a little harvester ant (all exoskeleton to sheathe the pulpy anguish of a long day— ball it inside, keeping your face even and your mouth in a line), plodding through a network of crystalline, vinyl tubing. Swimming against the swathing current of the colony seeping past you in their beanies and their coats, deadpanned on their dog-eat-dog pursuit of errands. 

During the evening rush hour, it’s teeming under the city that never sleeps. It’s a stunning exhibit, maybe, for a tourist whose hometown flickers every porch light off by nine and has one tributary of a road that seeps away from the community, but it doesn’t help the headache thrumming behind your temples. Instead, it kindles the narked throb in your limbs until it feels like an itch in your bloodstream.

The day’s chewed you up with its sharp, ivory incisors and spit you out. Left something tired and empty. The dregs are grounds of a mucky ire, ready to be shed under the scalding spew of a showerhead. 

You mingle through the horde, slinking the gaps you can manage to squeeze past. Your nose burns. Anti-seize lubricant. Cherry cleaners and old concrete. Musk and brake dust. Ground up, heated steel from the wheels burning — metal on metal. Grease. It smells like asphalt and strife. 

The car is packed. A lumbering throng that weaves and scatters, either casting indignant looks over their shoulders when they’re nudged as you politely shoulder your way through, or soul-sucked into their phones altogether, scrolling in detachment. 

There’s one tawny seat, empty and tucked against the back wall. You inch for it on aching ankles, burning knees; the bits of a long day left sewn into your joints. It gnaws into your marrow, and nothing sounds better than hot water on naked skin. You twist—

Marimba blares from you bag. Someone casts an irrationally exasperated side-eye over their shoulder. You straighten out, and rummage through the contents. Find a battered lanyard. A spare stick of deodorant. A hair tie coated in lint and a sparse handful of change—

Drink water. You thumb the alarm off. 

When you sit back, it’s rigid. Firm and uneven. Warm, like a breathing furnace. It takes you all of a split second to recognize that you've managed to perch on a splayed thigh, clad in denim that’s shredded at the knees, rather than the grooved, ochre plastic of a hovering seat.  

You had thought there was little emotion you could have summoned beyond something drained and miffed. The day surprises you, yet, in its dying breaths. Like a mortified buoy, embarrassment bobs from the cesspool when you startle up and twist.

There’s a man in your seat. 

He looks oddly comfortable, almost as if he’d been there all along. As if you had just conjured a mirage of an empty seat. The only acknowledgement he gives you, blinking up from the phone cradled in his enormous, right hand, is a stoically disgruntled glance from behind the squared, pitch-framed lenses resting on the bridge of his nose. 

“Um. Excuse me—” you blink. Your brows crease, “I was sitting there.” 

He spares you a glance. There’s gems in his sockets. Emeralds. Dewy and dulled from the same, shitty day of skyscraper-morphed incisors gnawing. He looks away, and they coruscate in the near blinding glare of his LED, cast in a faint echo over his glasses.

“No, you weren’t.”

You blink again. He doesn’t even spare you a glance as he denies it. You're forced to stare at the part in his hair; the way a burnt umber curl sweeps over his temple. He scrolls over his screen, instead, with a neatly saffron-lacquered thumb. 

You swallow a flattering epithet that (his obvious disinterest) nearly wrests from your mouth. A flimsy facsimile of a smile sculpts over. Appalled. Nearly seeping into the beginnings of borderline deranged as your threadbare composure gets toyed at by a prick with a clandestine pair of scissors. Almost, almost, almost. 

“Well. I was going to.” 

“That’s unfortunate,” he murmurs, brows kinked, “because this seat is taken.”

A little noise clambers from the back of your throat. You swallow it down and scoff. “Are you serious?” 

“Deadly.” 

It’s dry, derisive, disinterested. The three D’s that are going to get his glasses plucked off and tossed to the floor to be crushed under someone’s heel. 

“Unbelievable.”

His eyes— mossy, reminiscent of the woods— sweep up. He’s quiet. Stony. For the first time, you really get a good look, and decide, instantly, that if he weren’t such an apparent dickhead, maybe his specs and his voguish jumper would make him look sophisticated. Handsome, with his even slope of a nose, full, pink lips, and the dusting of stubble along his cheeks and jawline. 

There’s a sharp contrast to him, like inverted colors. Patchwork of sutures that don’t fit. It’s off, his cozy sweater and his soft hair. He looks like a warm, barbed hug. 

Prickly— saguaro, in a Marc Jacobs pullover, with stinging spines sticking through the stitching. 

“What’s the matter with you?” It’s softer that you'd intended. 

You quiver— everything, all over. Your bottom lip wobbles, your mandible sets, your fingers wring at the strap of your tote. They twitch and stretch at your side with this provoked, goopy slurry of cortisol and adrenaline. It permeates your pericardium. Snakes the tubing with an incensed warmth— embers kindled.

“Do you realize how rude that is?” 

Asphalt and strife. Someone to your side glances over their shoulder and then turns back. The stranger blinks up at you from his phone with soft features chiseled apathetic. Vetiver and musk. 

“M’not sure what you mean.” 

“Are you joking? You stole my seat, dude,” you wave out with your hand. 

He blinks again. 

“I don’t think it ever belonged to you, to be fair—“ then, “Is your name on it?” 

It’s a childish retort to spall your argument into flinders. Your eyes narrow into anticipatory slits. 

“No—“

“Then I suppose it’s not your seat, is it?” he responds sharply— chiaroscuro to the lax, impassive shape that molds his face, “S’first come, first serve …dude.”

A stranger grazes your shoulder blade in passing— something you've become accustomed to. People finding walkways in strait gaps on a train that’s packed like a can of sardines. 

“Oh my God. You are such an asshole— I could be pregnant.” 

He raises his eyebrows. His eyes trail. A slow once-over, wry and disbelieving. Sage and owlish. A stray curl stemming from the forefront of his crown meddles to coil over his forehead. The corner of his otherwise indurated mouth twitches.

“Are you pregnant?” 

No.

“Yes,” you glower. 

It slinks from the back of your throat, unbidden— this lie. Rides up the back up of your tongue and slips through the cracks of your teeth. It’s curdled and twisted, miasmic pulp in tar— who the fuck lies about being pregnant for a subway seat?

You're never going to see him again. 

You're never, ever going to see him again. 

You cup your hand over the underside of your tummy. Sell it, now that you have to. All soft flesh under the button of your jeggings, shrouded under the boxy shaping of your fleece turtleneck— where a baby (that definitely doesn’t exist, last you checked), the size of a citrus limon, would curl up. You tuck your palm over the phantom at your underbelly. 

You've had a shitty day, and now you've been backed into a corner, offering the universe shitty manifestations with your hands cupped out. 

The seat stealer ogles. Meanders from your strategic hand placement to your ireful scowl. Back. His mouth purses. 

“So, it’s not that you could be,” he clarifies, slowly, “It’s that you are.”

Languid. Unrushed, like an overflowing, murky lake lapping at a berm. Someone brushes the back of your arm. 

“Yes.” 

“Are you lying?” 

You scoff. He’s fully transfixed on you now, the glow from his smartphone dimmed on its pending shut-off timer. 

“Are you kidding? Who—“ you hike your tote up, “lies about being pregnant for a subway seat?” 

He purses his lips again, ruddy pillows bordering the sharp chasm of his mouth where the tools to dissect her claims are stowed. Bobs his head. 

“How far along are you, then?” 

You grit out, teeth bared, “Thirteen weeks—“

And a stranger prods past with enough force to nudge you forward. Enough for your shin to brush against the bespectacled stranger's own. Enough to step into his space, nearly between his parted thighs. He frowns. 

He does another slow sweep with his gaze. Furrowed brows, glimmering viridian dancing from behind limped lenses. Gleaning pieces like cattail and twine for a nest. Deciding; are they worthy? A grip over your underbelly, the little frown on your lips that mirrors his own, the way you suddenly crowd his atoms. He’s unconvinced, almost. Apathetic. 

You fully expect him to tell you to fuck off, but then he nudges with his stubbly chin. You shuffle back as much as you can with about three, broad strangers at all sides. 

He bleeds out into you, for a moment, all heat, when he clambers up and steps in to make your cycle — this game of musical chairs to the tune of white noise, flitting on a screeching rail through a tunnel— smoother. He’s broad. Tapered. Thick in the shoulders, a carnegiea of a man towering when he nearly presses his firm chest to you, wrapped in french terry. He’s much softer to the touch than the spikes bristling from his mien implicate. Woodsy and clean, like smoke, and cedarwood, and soap. It flushes the miasmic undertone of grease the subway always has. 

He cocks his head. Sit down. 

“Congratulations,” he tells you when you slot into the nook, splaying your tote over your lap. 

He’s kept your seat warm. 

Whether the statement is in reference to your unborn pseudo-baby or your victory, you're unsure. 

-

-

-

-

KNOTS resembles a yoga studio, with its clean, tall walls, its french oak flooring, and its bone-white bulbs, linearly tiled into the ceiling. It smells like an amalgam of grapefruit cleaning products and spritzes of an air freshener that vaguely echoes the lapping sea. 

Salt, an airy ozone, muguet. Something pretentious that doesn’t fit into the city. 

If it weren’t for the myriad of ropes, lubricants, and toy cleaners stacking the shelving units by the front, you would have felt as if you were here to attend a pilates class. Cycling, maybe. Something sweaty and less …abrasive.

You're late for your seven-to-nine open level, beginner’s course— two soporific hours of staring at rope and tying knots that you'll never get back.

(Slaphappy and fecklessly inept at knot-tying are two traits that don’t work well to take up shibari as a hobby.

“Please— she’s been begging for months and none of those online tutorials make any fucking sense.” 

“So— why don’t you take her with you?” 

“Because I want it to be a surprise,” Niall had opposed. Puffed his chest, “I wanna surprise her. Like a proper ropes guy, you know. And she’s so flexible, too, I could tie her in loads of positions—“

You'd raised your hand. “Spare me.” 

Niall’s always been a glass half-full. Crystalline, effervescent. A bright color.

You couldn’t bear to ruffle his plume when, two autumns ago, he spent a Wednesday afternoon standing outside a women’s handicapped stall in an auto shop for pure, courageous moral support as you took an actual pregnancy test— not even by his doing, and he still was a very good sport. Even if he’s absolute shit at knots beyond tying his own shoes.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that if he struggled with twine and a palomar, it wasn’t going to matter how bendy his girlfriend was.)

You're fourteen minutes late. Eight-hundred-forty seconds and change for every two steps, by the time you find the right door in the balmy corridor of boundless doorways. The portly, alder ingress squeals on its hinges when you shuffle, as quietly as you can manage, into what vaguely resembles a dance studio. 

The attendees look the part, too, perched over their yoga mats in contemporary dancer garb, turning their chins over their shoulders at the disturbance. Dress casual and comfortable. There’s only about eight of them, and they coil in a piqued coterie ahead of the instructor, who has about six varying ropes, diverse in their tint and structure, and then he peers up—

It’s him. Saguaro, with the frames and the eyes like beds of flinty malachite. 

He’s holding a furled, plaited cord, the head of the class, and he pauses, blinking up. Briefly. He clears his throat—

”—Jute, on the other hand, has great knot stability. You can see here, the braided texture— that makes it less slippery.”

Compunction crinkles the valley of skin between your eyebrows as you trudge in alongside Niall— he’s much more amicable about it, mouthing apologies and raising his hand in friendly hello’s that don’t receive much beyond awkwardly indifferent glances. You sink to your knees toward the back, which isn’t all that far from the front, all things considered. It’s a small class. The wood burrows into your tailbone— were the yoga mats a complementary piece? Were you supposed to bring a yoga mat?

“It’s great for floor bondage, but it’s water sensitive. So if you want to work it into suspension, don’t wash it too often. Otherwise, you’re losing carrying capacity.”

The city of New York is a metaphorical hayrick. It’s a paradox, since the big apple is the furthest thing from watery mud, fir-constructed barns, and scythes sweeping through crops. 

Theoretically, though, you should have never seen this man again. 

He should have become swept into the mound of straw— got lost in it. Mortification strums at your muscles, tensing every sinew. It scars deep— scrapes at your cartilage. If you'd known this needle would prick your thumb again, maybe you wouldn’t have waged war for the seat on the subway. 

And yet, here he is.

[ashisgreedy]

Theo Nott x F!Reader "Revved"

Modern AU Biker!Theo

Tags: SMUT 18+ MDNI | Established Relationship | Forced Orgasm/Made to Cum | Multi O’s | Overstimulation | F!Penetration | Motorcycle Stimulation/Sex | Outdoor Sex | Oneshot | Chars over 21+ |

A|N: At the end

WC: 3272

Sum: Her Biker boyfriend, Theodore, takes her on a ride on his motorcycle. However, the bike feels a bit too good… making her feel all kinds of pleasure as they race down the winding roads.

She rapidly swipes an extra coat of mascara on her lashes upon hearing a knock on the door. She tosses the tube back in her makeup bag and gives herself a final once-over in the mirror.

A more insistent knock echoes just as she approaches the door.

“I’m coming!” She shouts, checking out the peephole to make sure it’s who she thinks it is.

She recognizes his messy brown waves and his signature sunglasses. Throwing open the door, she pulls him in for a hug. “Hey!”

Theo smiles as he hugs her tight. “Hey, bella.” He holds his motorcycle helmet in one hand and wraps his free arm tight around her waist. “Are you ready to go?” He looks down at her as he rubs her lower back

“Yeah, let me just grab my helmet and we can be off.”

The two share a quick kiss before she reaches for the helmet on the coffee table in her living room. His smile lingers a touch longer than usual, prompting her to narrow her eyes in suspicion.

“You’re earlier than you said you’d be.” Her gaze slides to him after glancing at the clock on the wall.

“No traffic.” Theo returns the look.

Holding her helmet, an exact match to the one Theo is clutching—a gift from him on their last anniversary—she leads him out the door.

“What’s that look on your face?” She tries to see his blue eyes beyond the dark sunglasses. His smirk grew the closer they got to his bike.

“What look? I always look like this.” He chews the gum in his mouth to one side.

She knew him well enough to know something was up. “What’s going on, Theo? What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” He puts on his helmet, hiding the grin he’s sporting. “I can’t be happy to see my girl?”

She narrows her eyes again before putting on her own helmet. Theo climbs onto his bike and waits for her to do the same.

“I suppose…” She's only halfway convinced. Despite that, she decides to let it go for the moment, fully aware that she'll revisit the topic later, perhaps after their first pit stop.

Silently, he waits for her to mount his bike. It's a routine they've repeated a dozen times, exploring the city and venturing into the mountains together. The scenery never fails to amaze her, and the sheer excitement of speeding down the road with the wind in her hair never loses its thrill.

Theo glances back, keeping a watchful eye to ensure she doesn't struggle while swinging her leg over the bike. Earlier, he had suggested she wear a flowy skirt for their evening ride. It was normal for him to request certain clothing items from her. However, as she attempts to arrange the ends of the fabric under her legs on the seat, she's already regretting the choice. The skirt proved to be a bit of a challenge for a motorcycle ride. Mindful of avoiding any unintentional flashing to passers-by, she took her time ensuring every part was neatly tucked in.

Theo was patient and waited for her to tap his shoulder to indicate she was ready since the helmet muffled her voice.

Tonight's plan was to take a ride along the meandering roads leading toward the mountains just as the sun began to set. It had been some time since they last took this route, and she was excited to see the breathtaking views again.

Once satisfied with her modesty, she tapped his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Theo braced the bike and the engine roared to life. Nestling her face into his black leather jacket, she inhaled the familiar oaky fragrance that mingled with the metallic scent of the open air, creating a comforting warmth in her chest. With her knees snug against the back of his jean-clad thighs, she readied herself for acceleration.

A thunderous rev echoed as he zoomed down the street, sending her heart racing with adrenaline. She smiled wide from ear to ear as he picked up speed.

In the blink of an eye, her neighborhood vanished, and they found themselves on the expansive open road. The sky painted in hues of blues, oranges, and pinks washed over the landscape. He took a right turn and then they were off on the long stretch toward the mountains where he picked up speed.

She held on to him tight, keeping her weight on the bike's center. Her hands idly rubbed his chest while she enjoyed the surrounding scenery—countless trees and valleys on one side and massive mountains on the other.

At a red light, Theo reached up to his chest, gently intertwining his fingers with hers. Hugging him from behind, she showed her affection through 'I love you' squeezes. He reciprocated, squeezing her hand in return.

They entered the mountain roads, speeding past forests and lesser-known hiking trails, with no car in sight for miles. It was nice getting away from it all, leaving behind the stresses of the week as they sped past streetlights gradually illuminating their path.

Beneath her, the bike hummed pleasantly, the absence of her usual thick denim pants allowing her to feel the vibrations more intimately. Then Theo revved the engine, and the sensation escalated to something pleasurable. The vibrations surged through her like an electric current, causing a blush to creep across her cheeks.

The only thing between her clit and the seat was her cotton panties. She breathed through it and tried to relax against his back.

The engine revved higher and her fingers dug into his chest. She held him in a vice grip and shifted in her seat. The bike wavered and Theo turned his head for a moment to look back at her. He quickly moved his gaze to the road and continued the ride.

The bike seat’s vibration felt even more incredible. She shifted minutely, trying not to make the bike come unbalanced but the assault on her clit was becoming too much.

He sped off down the mountain road, but she wasn’t paying attention to the beautiful scenery anymore.

Her legs were shaking and her stomach muscles clenched as shockwaves rippled through her core. The orgasm hit her like a bus. She gasped and clung to Theo, fighting the urge not to rock her hips for some delicious added friction.

The pleasant release was quickly thwarted when the bike's unrelenting vibrations assaulted her now oversensitive clit.

She couldn’t stop the moans that escaped her as another orgasm was pulled from her. Her thighs clamped down on the bike as her body pulsed. Her cries of pleasure were audible in the wind as one orgasm melted into another and another.

The seat and her panties were soaked from the wetness making it harder to stay on. She felt herself sliding, but the death grip she had on Theodore kept her centered.

She must have been knocking the air out of his lungs with the strength of her grip but there had been no reaction from him at all, even when she screamed in pleasure.

The vibrations changed slightly giving her a break from the strong ones she’d been accosted with, and the orgasms finally stopped. She was sweating and gasping for breath.

She smacked his chest and could feel his body rumble with laughter. She smacked him again and he revved the engine higher and, oh, fuck… he was doing this on purpose.

Her clit throbbed to the point of pain as her body responded to the higher vibrations. She was on the brink of madness as more orgasms piled on top of one another.

She started paying attention to her surroundings again when the bike began to slow, striking gravel. Her panting was more audible without the motorcycle engine and wind whipping past to drown her out. Rapid breaths fogged the visor of her helmet.

The bike came to a stop on the side of the road next to an impressive view of the mountains and forested valley below.

She was limp against his back as the bike came to a halt. Small tremors ran through her body with every breath she took. He cut off the bike but her body hummed with the ghost of the intense vibrations.

Theo waited a moment before carefully peeling her hand off his chest. The kickstand came down and he slid off the bike. Removing his helmet revealed his messy brown waves. He spit out his gum onto the gravel and set the helmet down carefully.

As he walked around to her, he wore a shit-eating grin.

She glared at him, but it wasn’t effective with the helmet on her head. She yanked it off and Theo carefully took it from her, setting it on the ground next to his.

Her hair was a mess sticking to her sweaty forehead, her cheeks sporting a deep red blush, and her lips plump and swollen from biting them.

“You did that on purpose!” She spat, placing her hands in front of her on the seat to hold herself up.

He lifted his brows with a smirk.

“How many times?” Theo asked in a cool tone.

“What!?” She huffed, still glaring at her boyfriend.

"How many times did you cum on my bike? How many?" He took off his sunglasses and hooked them in his back pocket. He wouldn’t need them again tonight as the sun was setting. She could see the spark of excitement in his eyes.

"I…. I don't know.." she adjusted in the seat and felt how slick it was.

She was in a state and wanted him to be just as much of a frazzled mess as she was.

Her legs were like jelly as she tried to stand. She would not be embarrassed by the wetness she left on the seat, she refused.

Before she could get off the bike, Theo crouched down and looked at her at eye level.

His eyes looked almost predatory as his finger slid over her bare thigh. Her skin ignited with his touch as he moved up and up, pushing her skirt the farther he went.

She could feel the slickness all over her thighs and knew her panties were absolutely done for.

“How many?” His tone was serious, sending shivers down her spine.

She held her breath as his fingers reached the soaked fabric. He pushed where her clit was and her body jerked.

“I-I don’t know! …I lost count.” She trembled under his touch and gaze.

He hummed and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Get off the bike, amore mio.” He raked his hand through his messy hair as he stood and waited for her.

She tried again but her legs were trembling so much it took her a moment. Her skirt was sticking to her thighs and she looked a mess.

Theo helped her, placing his hand on her waist and guiding her off the bike. Her feet slid on the gravel as he pulled her against his body.

“You made a mess of my seat.” His lips twitched in a smirk.

It was very obvious just how much of a mess she’d made thanks to the state of the dehydrated leather.

The world tilted and her chest was pressed down to the wet seat, ass in the air. She braced her hands on the bike to hold herself up.

Theo flipped up her skirt and tugged her panties down to her ankles. Then his mouth was on her and she gasped. He licked her wet slit eagerly, pushing her thighs apart to go deeper, to lick more of her. He latched his lips on her clit and he sucked hard.

She fell apart, legs trembling as she gasped his name. She ached, but the release by his toungue was well worth it.

He lapped at her until she was soaked anew, making her aching cunt quiver. She was a blubbering mess, writhing in the firm grip he had on her thighs. She hissed as he dug his fingers into her leg, pressing harder, keeping her in place. He held her apart and ate her out more lively than she’d ever seen.

Theo moaned against her pussy and she arched her back. His tongue felt like sin and she couldn’t form words.

"The way you taste…" Theo didn't comment further. He just hummed a satisfied sound.

A cool burst of air struck her dripping heat and she groaned at the loss of his mouth.

She faintly heard the sound of a zipper over her own hysterics. Then the thick head of his cock pressed against her wet aching hole and her whimpering became begging.

“Oh! Yes, please!”

“Gods,” He murmured

Theo pressed in and the blunt head of his cock popped inside her tight entry.

He took far too long to press his cock into her. She wanted to be filled, she was begging for it, dammit!

He sucked in a breath and grabbed her hips firmly. He pulled her body, forcing her to take him to the hilt as he stood completely still.

It was a snug fit and he waited a moment, lightly rocking his hips while her body accommodated him. Her feet slid on the gravel trying to find purchase.

Theo angled himself and then struck that one spot that counted. He wasn’t gentle with her, his thrusts were hard and fast as his fingers dug into her hips.

“I have every intention of fucking you until you scream.” His voice was gruff as he slammed home over and over.

She knew what he was capable of. He would absolutely fuck her until nothing else existed but his hand digging into her hips, his cock filling her pussy, and her voice horse from screaming in pleasure.

Thank fuck they were in the middle of nowhere on a lesser-known road. She wasn’t capable of caring a single bit if a van full of camera-caring tourists drove by at this moment and watched. She wasn’t herself and neither was Theo. He fucked her primally, rough and hard.

She had no idea how the strength of his thrusts hadn’t tipped over the bike, she certainly wasn't helping matters. Her walls fluttered with the relentless pleasure and Theo hissed. She could feel it… she was right there yet again.

“Cum,” He growled. He panted as he yanked her hips back in tune with his thrusts.

It was like a switch was flipped and she was flying, screaming, cuming so fucking hard around his cock. Her whole body shook from the force of the orgasm, the bike and Theo’s vice grip being the only things to keep her upright as he continued to fuck her.

His strokes were long and gentle as she rode out the last of her climax. She was almost sobbing, moaning in pleasure, and feeling the pain of just how overworked her poor pelvic muscles were. She was going to be sore for days.

She whimpered, catching her breath, and finally looked up to see the gorgeous view before them. Gods, she wished she cared, she really did, but he was picking up speed again. The wet sounds of skin on skin and her cries echoing were the only noises around.

She pressed her forehead to the seat and hung on for dear life. He pulled her hips to meet his thrusts and she was grateful. Her legs were so weak, there was no possible way she could do it on her own. She lived for the soft grunts that escaped him, his small moans and heavy breaths as he used her body to seek his own pleasure.

He squeezed her hips again, digging his fingers in hard. She couldn’t possibly cum again, but he reached around and started teasing her clit, and… fine! She guessed she could cum again, and, gods, it hurt so fucking good.

Her vision went blurry and her eyes filled with actual tears.

Theo's grasp tightened one final time, his hips meeting hers with a resounding slap. A moan escaped him, and he pressed his chest against her back, his heart racing as he gently rocked his hips.

Tears fell from her eyes and she tried wiping them off on her sleeve. It was too much from the start. All that was left of her mind was a ball of mush.

He panted into her hair as he caught his breath. Her heart pounded against the seat, blood rushing and throbbing behind her eardrums.

Finally, Theo released his bruising grip from her hips and rested his forearms on the seat, caging her in with his arms.

A quiet moment passed over them as they caught their breath. Theo began leaving soft kisses all over the back of her neck. He nipped behind her ear, making her tremble once again.

Wetness started cooling on her thighs as they settled there. She wanted nothing more than to be back at home in her bed with him, curled up and falling asleep in his arms.

Theo exhaled and stood up, pulling out of her more carefully than usual. She nearly fell to her knees but he caught her. He chuckled, pulling her close, his arm wrapping around her waist as he glanced down at her. His chest rose and fell rapidly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

She adored the way his brown waves clung to his forehead, and his cheeks displayed a delightful rosy hue. While he wasn't as disheveled as she was, it was still satisfying to see.

“Think you can survive the ride back?” He gently kissed her forehead.

“Do NOT do that thing again!”

He laughed and picked up her helmet off the gravel. “Fine, fine.” He smirked.

“How did you even figure something like that out!?” She took her helmet from him.

“One of the guys mentioned that a bike could rev at just the right frequency for-”

“Okay, okay,” She cut him off. Of course it was his friends. They were always giving him the most insane advice. She glared at him for good measure before putting her helmet back on, making sure it was the last thing he saw.

He threw her a rag from his back pocket for her to clean herself, then picked up her panties from the ground, swiftly tucking them into his jacket pocket.

Theo smiled wider and kissed the forehead portion of her helmet before placing his back on.

“…So romantic,” She said in a monotone voice, taking the rag to her thighs then to the seat.

He observed as she cleaned up, resting his arms on the bike handles before pointing to her inner thigh. “Missed a spot.”

She smacked his arm away. “Start the bike, Asshole!”

His laugh rumbled from under the helmet, then the bike roared to life.

.

.

.

A|N: I like how the first words she says are the entire theme of the fic. That was a total accident.

Thank you for reading!

If you recognize the story, I wrote this for Seb a while back as well. It’s also inspired by a fic I read 5 years ago.

[01zfan]

date night | o. st

husband!shotaro x reader | 6.5k words

shotaro as the yearning, doting, loving husband, and good father…yes i died three times writing this. wonhee from illit is the babysitter bc she’s so cutie.

contains: unprotected sex, reader is tipsy, daddy & mommy said once

the place had ceilings way above your heads, the suspended chandeliers illuminated the scene in front of him. the sound in the restaurant was as gentle as the lighting, the low chatter of conversation and the sound of metal clanking against plates filled the air. 

the food on the table looked deserving of a michelin star, fresh from the kitchen and neatly organized on the candlelit table. every dish seemed meticulously crafted and carefully made like the large paintings that hung on the walls. you didn’t know how to pronounce the food, shotaro watched you point to the dishes you wanted on the menu. shotaro watched your eyes look up to the waiter with a shy smile on your face after he repeated the dish back to you. shotaro was locked into the look on your face, how happy you were that the food looked good. you were excited but you still hesitated, missing the utensil you needed. shotaro could see he gears turning in your mind as you debated on reaching for a spoon. before he could help you, he saw your hand go for the water instead.

as you drank your water, a waiter clad in a white suit came by. he came from behind shotaro, holding the fancy bottle of red wine that shotaro requested over the phone. he was quick, pouring the wine into your glass first. before servicing shotaro the waiter nodded quickly in response to your grateful thank you. 

you set your water glass down, clearing your throat while looking at the other wine glass fill up. the red wine splashed in, circling the large base of the glass before filling. the pour came as second nature to the waiter, barely sparing a glance as he filled the glass with the exact same amount as yours.

“enjoy your meal.” the waiter said, bowing one last time before leaving.

when the waiter walked away, you looked around the restaurant again. shotaro saw your eyes wonder, how you chewed the inside of your cheek watching other people eat their food. you even watched the waiter for a moment, following his weaving through the tables. shotaro heard your thanks over and over again, how excited you were to eat the food that was getting cold right in front of you. shotaro lifted his wine glass, causing your attention to go back to him. you reached for the water first, before going to the wine glass and clinking your glass against shotaro.

“cheers.” shotaro said.

“cheers.” you said quietly back.

you took a sip of the red wine, a surprised smile coming across your face as the cherries and hints of black pepper coated your tongue. shotaro nodded, happy he was able to choose a wine you’d like. 

“it’s tasty.” you say.

you set the glass down, half of it already gone. shotaro tries to think the last time you were able to have a drink, the last time you let loose. 

“have as much as you’d like.” shotaro says.

the pleasant taste of the wine is forgotten by you in a second. shotaro sees the crease in your eyebrows, the one that he wants to reach across the table to rub out with his thumb. you chew the inside of your cheek again as you try to sneak a quick glance to your phone. 

“wonhee would’ve called if there was something wrong.” shotaro assures you.

you looked back up again quickly, moving so fast it made the wine in your glass ripple. shotaro was already looking at you, smile on his face because he caught you redhanded.

“you know sometimes my phone doesn’t vibrate when i get a call.” you said.

“that’s why you turned the sound on.” shotaro grabbed a fork on his side, taking it out from the napkin before putting it on your side of the table. “that’s why i turned on mine too.” he said.

shotaro took his napkin and spread it out, placing it on his lap. you followed him, the temptation to call your babysitter for the third time that night eating away at you. you had already called once to make sure wonhee knew your daughter was supposed to go to sleep. the second was to make sure wonhee cut up her food into small enough pieces. shotaro could see you think for another reason to call wonhee. 

“do you think wonhee remembered to lock the doors?” you asked.

shotaro nodded, reaching for his knife and fork to start cutting at the meat on his plate. you put your hand on the table, tapping silently with your finger to try and think of something else to freak out about. shotaro had cut up a piece of his food while you still tapped at the table.

“your food is going to get cold.” shotaro said, pointing his knife at your plate.

“i don’t think i’m hungry anymore.” you looked away from the plate, smiling to yourself at how ridiculous you sounded. “we should go home.”

shotaro’s hand reached across the table, letting his hand rest on top of yours. he left a space in between his fingers to let your diamond peak through, and he positioned his hand where you could see your initials engraved on his wedding band. you only looked at the pretty sight in front of you for a second before looking up to shotaro. he had a gentle smile on his face as he tightened his hand that rested over yours.

“baby. we haven’t had time for just the two of us since the baby was born.” you nod your head when you hold eye contact with shotaro. both of you know this was needed, just the ability to spend time with eachother. “try to enjoy your food. there’s that dessert you like here and we can call wonhee on the way home?” shotaro says.

he can see you visibly be swayed at the offer of calling wonhee on the way home. for the rest of the dinner you eat your food and you two catch up, so amazed you had little time to talk about life while caring for a newborn. shotaro can feel himself fully relax and enjoy the night when you stop nervously peaking towards your phone, and his food tastes a little better when he sees you eat. he even indulges himself in the too sweet dessert after seeing how much you enjoyed it. you pace yourself on the red wine, only having two glasses. 

neither of you took into account your low tolerance. after paying for dinner and leading you out of the restaurant shotaro has to have a hand on the small of your back to keep you steady in the parking lot.

when shotaro eased you into the passenger seat you were bubbly, and when he reached across your body to buckle you in he felt you press a quick peck to his cheek. shotaro started smiling and laughing shyly, feeling his face get hot. when he looks at you again you’re smiling ear to ear looking at him.

“what’s up?” shotaro asks.

you pinch his cheek and kiss him again, and shotaro knows you can see the pink splay across his cheeks.

“why are you turning red?” you ask.

he feels a smile on his face too despite not knowing why. that was a terrible habit of his when you came around. he always found himself smiling profusely for no reason at all as long as he saw you were doing the same thing. all shotaro can do is shake his head and pretend like he is not blushing profusely just from two kisses.

when shotaro gets in the car and pulls out of the parking lot, your eyes are low and sleepy as you speak.

“i’m so grateful for you.” shotaro looks away from the road again to look at your skin shine underneath the passing lights. “we really needed this.” you say.

you lean into your seat and shotaro moves one hand from the wheel to place it on your bare thigh. you sigh contently and put your hand over his and push your thighs together. shotaro can feel you shiver slightly underneath his hand. he checks for the temperature of the car, making sure it’s just right for you. before he can ask he turns to you again to see you knocked out in the passengers seat.

shotaro spends the rest of the drive in silence, still smiling like an idiot at the feeling of your hand over his.

when shotaro put the car in park you shot up instantly from your seat. it was almost scary, the way you were sleeping one second then wide awake the next. shotaro say you reach fro the phone before realizing you were home.

“did you call wonhee?” you ask.

“we’re home already baby.” shotaro says.

you look around to see your driveway, and your car thats parked next to you. shotaro knows you’re tired but he had no idea it was to the extent of not knowing where you were. shotaro knew you bared the burden of having a child the most. even with shotaro’s help you were stretched thin. in the beginning the stress would bring you both to tears. the late night feedings and the endless crying made you both believe you weren’t cut out for it. but you both made it through by working together, through thick and thin just like in your vows. now your baby was three and she slept through the night, and you had the best babysitter in the neighborhood to watch her while you two went on dates.

shotaro helped you out of your seat, helping you stay upright while you were tipsy, tired, and still in your heels. with your purse in his hand and his hand on the small of your back he guided you to the door, keeping a smile to himself anytime you’d stumble in your heels.

you made it to the door first, covering up the ring camera as you leaned against the door. you looked at shotaro up and down with his jacket hanging off your shoulders. he had to pretend like you were looking at him with pure intentions, but the glint in your eye made it extremely hard. you reached a hand out to grip shotaro’s bicep for no reason, continuing to look at him with hooded sleepy eyes. shotaro gave up looking for the keys for a second to take you in.

“what’s wrong, baby?” shotaro asked. 

you didn’t answer with words, only pulling him closer and closer by the arm until he had to put his other hand on the wall beside you to prop himself up. you smiled looking down at shotaro’s lips first before looking into his eyes. even in the dark of night he could see his reflection in your eyes. you batted your lashes at him so innocently while you guided his hand to your waist. once shotaro found his favorite spot your hands went to his shirt, pulling him in further.

before shotaro could place a kiss on your lips, the front door opened. shotaro broke apart immediately, straightening his coat and not missing a beat greeting wonhee.

“i thought i heard you guys.” she said.

when shotaro saw wonhee look for you, he smiled.

“we couldn’t find the keys.” shotaro said.

wonhee moved back into the house while shotaro lead you through the entryway by a guiding hand on the small of your back. you made a beeline for the couch, plopping down on the sofa to take off your heels. shotaro couldn’t stop himself from laughing when he saw wonhee’s confused face. 

“she’s had a long night.” wonhee’s attention went back to shotaro. “i hope everything went well today.” shotaro said.

wonhee nodded quickly, a smile coming across her face as she talked about her day babysitting.

“she’s an angel mr. osaki.” wonhee grabs her jacket from the coatrack beside yours. “she ate all her food and loved playtime and went down for her nap. she’s the best kid i’ve ever babysat.” wonhee assured.

shotaro listened carefully to wonhee talking about her day, listening to her full rundown. wonhee made sure to follow her schedule to the minute, following all the instructions given to her before they left. shotaro smiled as he helped wonhee gather her things and called a cab for her. shotaro looked to you slumped on the couch, leaning against the armrest as you slept.

“we really appreciate the help wonhee.” shotaro looks to your sleeping body on the couch again. “we haven’t had the chance to go out in a very long time.” shotaro says. 

he pulls his wallet from his pocket as wonhee assures him it’s okay. when the taxi pulls up outside shotaro opens the door for her, handing her the cash. wonhee doesn’t bother to count it, waving goodbye to shotaro and wishing him a goodnight as she walks towards the cab. he doesn’t close the door until he sees the car leave the driveway.

by the time he shut the door and turned to get you to bed, shotaro saw that you were nowhere to be seen. he followed the sound of you tiptoeing down the hallway trying so hard to be quiet. 

shotaro followed behind as you made your way through the house. before you could make it to the bedroom both of you deviated from the path to go to a door that was painted pink.

both of you peaked through at the same time, and shotaro felt his heart drop for a second. the sinking feeling was a type of anxiety he couldn’t explain, one that hit him so suddenly when he thought about his child. his parents warned him, telling him that his easygoing and relaxed personality would betray him once he became a father. at the time he didn’t believe them, but now shotaro understood what they meant. he was thinking about the wellbeing and safety of his child even when he knew she was in good hands and thought about the future for her even if she was so young. sometimes shotaro wanted to clutch his chest, but instead he reached for your hand when he felt panic in those moments. 

shotaro reaches his arm around your waist and presses a silent kiss to your shoulder, resting his chin where he kissed. you two looked down at your sleeping daughter from the foot of the bed in silence. you both watch her in awe, looking at her chest rise and fall as she lays haphazardly on the bed. she went down with a fight you think to yourself. shotaro is happy he paid wonhee extra—he’s almost positive his daughter gave her hell when she knew it was bedtime. your breath caught in your throat and shotaro feels his heart seize up in his chest when she let out a deep sigh. 

“we made that.” shotaro whispers.

you can only nod, and when shotaro sees you looking at him he feels his heart seize again. 

the two of you made a whole life together, he can’t stop himself from thinking about when you first met. the both of you were so young and busy with life, love was the furthest thing from your minds. you came into shotaro’s life as the biggest distraction, taking his attention away from how mundane his life was and how beautiful it could be.

he pecks you on the lips quickly, both of you looking at eachother in silence. shotaro remembers everything about your smile so clearly, but he can’t stop himself from mapping out the details over and over again. just as he gets to your smile lines you both hear jostling in the bed. both of your heads snap over to your daughter nearly waking herself up. the same way you guys stumbled to get in you stumbled getting out too, bumping into eachother as you tried to leave before she saw either of you.

when you close the door gently and look at shotaro with wide eyes both of you have to stifle your laughter. even the slightest noise could wake your light sleeper, and shotaro wanted to spend the rest of the night with you. he lets you lead the way to the bedroom as you guys tiptoe down the hallway again.

you walked into the bedroom in front of shotaro, and he let his greedy eyes shift down the backside of your body. he saw your dress, the way it fit you perfectly and the color complimented your skin. he remembers being in the dressing room when you tried it on, the way you did a little spin for him before complaining that it was too loose to buy. after seeing you in it shotaro insisted on you buying it anyway, and he secretly got it tailored to fit you perfectly. he played dumb whenever you brought it up, asking if it shrunk overtime or if you got a different size. you were none the wiser, only shrugging your shoulders before exclaiming how perfectly it fit you now.  shotaro wanted to pat himself on the back seeing you wear it, and how it splayed on your thighs perfectly when you sat on the edge of the bed.

you sat facing shotaro with your hands planted on the mattress. you looked up to him and shotaro took his time carefully undoing the buttons on his waistcoat. he enjoyed building the tension with you in moments like this, seeing your eyes leave his face to greedily look at his hands and waist. he liked when he could feel your eyes take in his every move, the way his fingers pushed the buttons through the slits in the fabric and the way he took it off his body gently. he liked feeling your hungry eyes devour him whole before he even put a hand on you. shotaro didn’t know how he was so lucky to have someone like you react so well to him. the phrase what you water grows floated around in his head, but shotaro told himself he’d leave the philosophies for another time. right now, you were here in front of him perched on the bed visibly becoming more and more desperate with each passing second.

“did you have fun tonight?” shotaro asked. 

you nodded your head and shotaro bent down to kiss your forehead.

“you worried for nothing.” shotaro said.

“yeah.” you respond.

he put his waistcoat on the back of his chair. he smiled down at your low eyes. outside of the bedroom, your gaze often made shotaro nervous, still to this day shotaro found himself forgetting his words when his eyes would meet yours. but something about the privacy of the bedroom made shotaro bold. he was suddenly able to work through his pounding heart and the goosebumps that raised across his skin when you looked at him. shotaro was even able to take it a step further, meeting your bedroom eyes with his bright non-assuming ones.

“aren’t you glad we went out?” shotaro asked

you nodded again, one of your hands reaching up to hold his shoulder, keeping his head close to yours. 

shotaro looked down at your sparkling eyes, already wet from want. it was a blessing and a curse being able to read you so easily. your eyes were always the biggest indicator to shotaro, a direct window to all your thoughts. but once shotaro found out what you wanted he couldn’t resist not giving in. so the teasing shotaro that wanted to make you outwardly say what you wanted was abandoned when he closed the tiny space between your lips.

you were soft against him, even your hand that tightly held shotaro’s shirt felt comforting like a hug. your desperation was always welcomed, sometimes shotaro needed it to keep going. he liked feeling your grip on him, like you were scared he was going to disappear. he held you the same, both hands tight around your body like you were going to slip away. 

you move your other hand to shotaro’s other shoulder, and he continues kissing you. he gets on the bed slightly, his suit clad leg next to your thigh as you get lower and lower to the mattress. he kisses you until your back is pressed into the sheets and your legs dangle over the edge of the bed. shotaro raises his body and gets off the bed until he’s standing in front of you again. you prop yourself up on your elbows, licking at your smudged lipstick.

shotaro tried to get on the bed to crawl to you but he is stopped by your heel pressing into his chest. it’s gentle, but it keeps shotaro just far enough from you that he starts feeling desperate. shotaro grabs your ankle and puts it on his shoulder before turning to kiss your calf. it’s a precursor of what’s in store for you tonight. shotaro can see the sly smile on your face as he pulls your heels off of you, putting them on the floor gently to try and not make a sound. he tries to guide your leg down from his shoulders to the ground, but you keep them on his waist.

shotaro never had the courage to tell you that he saw a whole future with you from the moment he met you. he imagined the house, the fancy car, the high paying job, the happiness. everything flashed before him like a dream that became a promise when you started dating him and a manifestation brought to fruition when you said yes. the only thing that was missing was another child—but when you locked your ankles behind shotaro’s waist and pulled him in closer he knew that was next.

“are you still on birth control?” 

shotaro asked it gently, his thumb on your bottom lip while the rest of his hand was underneath your chin. he uses his thumb and the spit leftover on your lip to wipe a lipstick smudge from the side of your mouth. 

“no i’m not.” you say quietly.

shotaro tsks at you with a smile on his face. he presses his thumb on your bottom lip gently before pushing it past your lips. you don’t hesitate, you give in so fast shotaro feels your tongue wrap around his finger before it’s even fully in your mouth. neither of you break eye contact, the lids of your eyes only lower as you continue looking him in the eye. shotaro’s mouth opens slightly as he pushes his thumb in further, mimicking the way you take him in. when you hollow out your cheeks shotaro pulls his thumb from your mouth with a pop.

he doesn’t say anything else, he only puts his fingers back in your mouth as you continue to suck on them. he puts his three fingers deep into your mouth, keeping eye contact with you as your eyes become watery. when shotaro feels like you are about to gag, he pulls his fingers back and does the same thing again. even as spit begins peaking from the corners of your lips shotaro thinks you look beautiful. he’s mesmerized how you take him so easily, how you refuse to break eye contact. 

he lifts your dress with his free hand, pulling it further up your body until your bottom half is left exposed. the only thing that keeps shotaro from you is a pair of lace panties. the trim feels soft against his hand and the color is beautiful against your skin. 

“are these new?” he asks, still pumping his fingers in and out of your mouth.

you nod your head and spread your legs further apart, inviting shotaro closer. his hand cups you over the smooth fabric, he presses his palm gently into your heat while you spread your legs even further. shotaro presses your panties into your slit, until he can feel the fabric dampen from your arousal. on of your fingers hooks into shotaro’s dress pants, pulling him closer to you.

when shotaro presses a little harder into your heat you let your teeth come down on his fingers slightly. shotaro tilts his head and you bat your eyelashes at him innocently. he presses his fingers deeper into your mouth and your hole, until you back further onto the bed.

“it’s been so long since i’ve had you like this, right?” shotaro asks.

his voice is sweet and barely above a whisper as you nod, any words pushed back by shotaro’s fingers. 

shotaro doesn’t stop fucking your mouth with his fingers, but his hand that was cupping your heat goes to your shoulder to push you back. shotaro feels you bend to him immediately, you let him push you down until your back is resting on the bed. you crawl further up the bed and shotaro follows, getting on the bed to hover over your body. he doesn’t stay further than an arms length away, needing to stay close to you. shotaro can’t control the way he looks at you anymore. his love for you has transformed into something carnal, and its evident in the way you mirror him. when he grabs your hand you grip it back, and when he reaches for your dress you push it down your body. 

he wishes that you both weren’t so desperate. he wanted nothing more than to draw out the time between each touch, between each kiss. shotaro wanted to worship every atom of you. he wanted you to break him down to build him back up, and he wanted to do the same to you a million times over. but his need to give you everything you wanted came first, and by the way you quickly lifted your hips to push your panties down told shotaro everything he needed to now. he takes his three fingers from your mouth to pull your panties down the rest of the way. you kick them off once they get to your ankles, and you bend your leg at the knee to spread yourself to shotaro. 

shotaro looks down at you as his hand that was in your mouth creeps down your body. a trail of your spit is left in their wake. when he gets to your clit his hand beside your head plays with the end of your hair. he smiles before sticking his finger inside of you. he pumps his finger in and out of your sopping heat the same way he did with your mouth. you open your mouth as you whine, already so desperate from the lack of sexual stimulation.

“more, baby please.” you whine.

shotaro bends down to kiss you while adding another finger in. your lips are soft against his, and they’re so perfect even if your kisses falter from shotaro adding another finger. he still kisses you, moving from your lips to your cheek then your nose. 

shotaro leans to the side when he adds in the third finger. your nails dig into his bicep, but shotaro doesn’t stop. your other hand presses to the headboard while you buck your hips into his hand. shotaro could do this all night, pushing you to the edge. you look so pretty when you beg for more but try to close your legs from the overstimulation. the only thing that knocks shotaro from his trance of you is when your open your eyes wide and lean forward.

“let me take care of you.” you said desperately.

with so much time that had passed between the two of you, missionary was the only option. the idea of any other position fell sort, nothing could amount to shotaro being able to see your face or to feel your chest pressed against his. 

you seemed to disagree, because your twitching body remained upright as you guided shotaro to lay on the bed. he only resisted for a second, getting ready to tell you that he wanted—he needed you underneath him.

even with your body being weak you still were insistent on taking care of your husband. shotaro felt his heart swell at the sincere look in your eyes and he felt himself strain against his pants as you undid his belt. you tried to be slow and sensual, but shotaro could tell your impatience got the best of you as you pulled his pants and underwear down in one go. instantly shotaro’s dick leaned against his stomach, heavy from all the blood rushing through.

you didn’t go to his dick after you got his pants off. instead you pulled shotaro up by his arms until he was upright. shotaro looked up to you knowing he had stars in his eyes, amazed by the way your mussed hair framed your face perfectly. the stain from your lipstick was perfect, the dried tears in the corners of your eyes looked perfect. shotaro reached a hand up to your face, caressing your skin as you straddled him. you worked at the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one slowly. when you looked down at shotaro he smiles, his eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask quietly.

shotaro only shakes his head, putting his hands on the pillows as you undo the last buttons.

“nothing.” shotaro sighs. 

his hand goes to your waist to squeeze affectionately. when you drop your bare pussy to his thigh to grind on him shotaro tsks at you for submitting so easily. his dick twitches when he realizes you’re ready to ride him despite still having your dress on.

“you’re going to ruin that pretty dress of yours.” shotaro says.

you crawl on your knees to go past shotaro’s waist and line your hips up with his. 

“i really love you, you know that?” you say.

you grab shotaro’s dick and raise your hips, lining him up at your entrance. shotaro leans back on the bed, running a hand through his hair before propping himself up on his elbows. he pulls his eyes up from where you are about to take him to look into your eyes. 

“show me then.” shotaro says.

without saying anything else, you slowly sink down on shotaro’s dick.he can’t keep his cool when he sees your eyebrows furrow from the feeling. his hand instantly goes to your waist, holding you for stability and to ground you as you sink further down.

“it’s been awhile right?” shotaro caresses the skin of your stomach with his thumb when you nod quickly. “you’re doing so well, almost there.” he coos.

at the praise, shotaro feels your walls ease, causing you to sink the rest of the way down easily. you whine and press both of your hands to shotaro’s chest. while you adjust shotaro can feel you seizing around him uncontrollably. when he shifts his hips slightly he can see your body jolt. the electricity goes straight to his heart, seeing you look down at him with hooded eyes makes him fall in love with you a million times over.

“i can feel you all around me.” shotaro says.

he brings his free hand to press into your abdomen, causing you to swivel your hips.

“so deep.” you whimper.

you plant your feet into the mattress, lifting all the way off of shotaro’s dick just to sink right back down. he loves watching you so determined, so much so he tucks his hands underneath his head to focus all on you. he knows it’ll make you work through the burning in your legs, all just to make him feel good. shotaro pushes his hair away from his face when you slow down slightly. 

“poor baby.” shotaro coos.

you moan in response, trying to get the bounce back. you start pouting when your legs stop cooperating. shotaro pinches your cheek, smiling at your anger.

“come here.” shotaro says.

you’re too determined to hear his words, trying to work through the burning pain as your thighs scream at you to stop. when shotaro’s hands pull at your arms you finally listen, letting your body fold over until your breasts press into his chest. shotaro can tell you wish you had taken off your dress fully by the way you try pushing it around. shotaro wishes you had taken it off fully too because the fabric stands in the way of your whole body pressing into his. he can’t feel your stomach tense and flex against his with your dress in the way, and he can’t grab your sides the way he wants to without grabbing handfuls of fabric. shotaro settles for putting his hands on your shoulder blades, pulling you down each time he thrusts his hips upwards.

shotaro feels your teeth press into his collarbone when he hits that spot deep inside of you, he feels your drool dripping onto his skin and he feels your hands digging into the sheets beside him to find stability. feeling you all around him makes shotaro thrust up into you a little harder. he doesn’t want you to lift your hips or grind onto him. he wants to do all the work, as long as you look at him with your glossy eyes.

“baby.” shotaro says while craning his neck to look down at you. he can see your blown out shaking pupils focus on him. “just keep looking at me, yeah?” he says.

“okay.” you move to the crook of shotaro’s shoulder to suck on the skin there. he only has to turn his head to look at you, and you still get to satisfy your oral fixation. “i’ll keep looking at you.” you mewl.

shotaro nods his head while he continues fucking into you. he enjoys hitting the spot deep inside of you, the one that makes your eyes close before you force them open to continue looking at him. even when your eyes are wet from want, showing every emotion but innocence he’s entranced. he’s sure he’s getting high purely from your look, the feeling of you wrapped around him counts as overstimulation. 

when shotaro speeds up he feels your lips detach from his skin. you rest your clammy cheek on the wet spot, struggling to keep your eyes open as shotaro hits that spot deep inside of you over and over again. shotaro coos at your parted lips, and you come forward to press them against his. you stay there, lips pressing against shotaro when one of his hands grips your dress to lift you up slightly.

“i’m close.” your hot breath fans against shotaro’s lips as you whine into his mouth. 

you struggle to try and keep your hips in the air, but the stimulation makes you weak. shotaro knows already, he will be strong enough for the both of you.

“me too.” shotaro lets your hips rest against his so his hand can grab a handful of your ass. 

“gonna give you another baby.” he smacks your ass before gripping it again. “since you’re such a good mommy.” he grunts with a smirk.

shotaro hears you whine pathetically when the word mommy slips past his lips. you’re really weak above him now, your grip on the sheets transfers to shotaro’s shoulders as you hold onto him. he can tell you want to go to the crook of his neck so bad, so you can cry out loud but you stay right there, biting your lip and then speaking.

“you’re such a good daddy.” you whimper. 

“gonna cum for me?” shotaro asks.

you don’t say anything else before you clamp around shotaro so tight it’s hard for him to move. it’s almost like you’re sucking him in, so needy as you press your sweaty body further into his. shotaro is sure your nails digging into his skin will draw blood, but he doesn’t mind. pain is sweet when it’s administered by you, the marks left in their wake serves as a reminder to shotaro about how good he makes you feel. so he only hisses through the pain as he speeds up and grips your tighter. 

your moans melted down to high-pitched squeaks and pants the last of your strength is used to try and meet shotaro’s thrusts. his hips begin stuttering when he notices the work you’re trying to put in. his hand grips your ass when he pulls you back.

“i love you.” shotaro whimpers.

“i love you too.” you whine back.

shotaro feels you pull back slightly to watch him as he cums. he doesn’t have to put on a show for you, unfiltered whines and expletives tumble from his lips as you look down at him licking your lips. it’s shotaro now who’s fighting to keep his eyes open. he wants to focus on your pretty face, the way you look looking down at him still wanting more. so shotaro gives you all of it, and he keeps you in place so you can take all of it too. while you continue squeezing around his dick he shoots ropes of cum inside of you, so warm and hot it makes his entire body relax. his feet are planted into the mattress to keep himself still inside of you, and his aching stomach flexes as he keeps giving you more.

“feels so good.” you whimper above him.

shotaro swears you orgasm again by the way you falls back onto his chest and whimper pathetically. between your cum and his it’s all a mess, and you both become squirming messes. shotaro whines when you keep squeezing him and shotaro sees tears welling at your water line each time he moves.

you finally collapse against shotaro fully, resting all of your body weight on him while your limbs turn to jello. shotaro’s legs slide out from under him, and his grip on you loosens as he tries to catch his breath. 

shotaro feels your ear rest over his heart, even counting his breaths he can’t seem to slow it down. he hopes your heart drums in its cage the same way when he brings a shaky hand to rub your back. you settle into him further, breathing heavy through your nose as you come back to earth. 

you look up at shotaro from his chest, and shotaro rests his hand on your cheek. he pinches your soft skin before pressing his hand flat to you face. shotaro takes his time running his hand over your face, letting his wedding band and other rings on his finger touch your hot skin. shotaro sees your eyes close from his touch. he traces over your eyelids, just to see you smile.

you open your eyes again and shotaro smiles back, pinching your cheeks again.

“successful date night?” you ask quietly.

shotaro’s hand goes to your hair, massaging your scalp. he knows that always makes you fall asleep. when shotaro hears you snore lightly, he smiles to himself.

“very successful.” shotaro says to himself.

[maxroof111]

Roofing And Wall Cladding in Pune | India

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[taleeater]

Fragile

Heyooo I’m writing this to get over my writing block for my book. All angst and comfort here 🤗

Generation: Bayverse TMNT

Tmnt x Reader Fanfic

Pronouns: Gender Neutral (except ‘dudette’)

Warnings: fighting, blood, injury, panic attack, hyperventilating, not proof read

Summary: You are a runaway experiment from Stockman’s lab. An unexpected group of mutants come to your rescue. How did they know how to find you?

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You were freezing and exhausted.

The city was quiet as the darkness ebbed closer to early morning hours. You had been running for hours now, somehow they always found your hiding spot. You whipped around a corner into another countless dark alley way.

A flinch and a small yelp of pain left you as your bare feet tread across broken glass. You risk a break and press your back into the cold brick of an apartment building as you take a moment to catch your breath. Daintily you lift your foot and pull out a sharp piece of broken glass, tossing away the piece and check the other foot.

Suddenly the screech of tires catches your attention and the adrenaline hits you again like a crashing wave. You’re running again before you can even think. You exit the alley and dart out into the street. A black van rounds the corner behind you and you sprint for the narrow opening between two apartment buildings. You practically slam into the concrete, bumping your shoulder and scraping your knee as you squeeze your tiny body past a build up of trash. The car pulls up by the opening and the door is thrown open as two men in black suits jump out and reach for you, but you scoot further down and make for the other side. They curse and order the driver to pull around the other side and cut you off as they try to fit through the opening behind you. But you’re faster. You stumble out onto the side walk and fall to your knees, panting hard, and scramble to your feet. The black van again comes into your peripheral vision but you’re already booking it down the street as fast as you can. They can’t catch you again, they just can’t. Not again.

The black van zooms past you and the tires squeal as they pull the car in front of you, blocking your path. You hear the footsteps of the other two men behind you and you quickly find an alley to your right, avoiding hands that reach for you.

In the icy chilled night air, you are sweating through the thin white smock. A dead end.

“No…. No no no no they can’t- ….” You frantically look around at the corners where brick and grey cement buildings meet, discarded trash piled up but nowhere to hide. You find a glass beer bottle and smash the bottom of it. The raggedy sound of your desperate gasps for breath fill the space, your back pressed hard into the slimy brick wall. Heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Polished leather shoes click as the group of men slowly approached you, spread out like they were ready to catch a frightened animal.

“Finally.” A man in a white lab coat stepped into the alley behind the men in suits. “You stay right there. Before we go back, we are going to have a nice long “talk” about your behavior….”

Several of the men reached to their belts for a wand that extended into a short metal rod with electricity sparking at the tips, and another man walked over to a pile of trash and pulled out the broken leg of a wooden table.

The man chuckled, watching your eyes widen with fear as you trembled in your defensive position. He pulled a notepad out of his jacket pocket and clicked a pen.

“I will be observing if this event triggers a desired response. You may begin.” The armed men all suddenly lunged forward.

“Finally.”

A large flash of green and red suddenly descended from above and landed right on top of the man closest to you, making you flinch with fright.

A whoop sounded from above and everyone stopped to look up as another large being flipped in the air and landed in front of you in a showy flourish of waving nunchucks.

“Step away from the babe!” The orange clad being said heroically, looking over his shoulder to throw you a wink.

Your eyes were wide as your whole body tensed, frozen in place. His face almost didn’t look…. human.

Like Bebop and Rocksteady.

Another thud brought your attention to a large blue clad being that landed next to the red one.

“Raph, I said to wait until I gave the order!” He whisper yelled. Making the red one, Raph, grunt and step off the man he was standing on.

“Seemed to me that Stockman already gave the order. You think I was just gonna sit by and watch?”

The men in suits had started surrounding the red and blue mutants, while the orange protectively stood in front of you spinning his nunchucks.

You lowered the broken bottle in your hands marginally, sensing that the new arrivals didn’t have intention to harm you. When suddenly a fourth one in a purple mask landed right next to you, making you jump with surprise, the bottle flying from your hand and shattering nearby.

“My data indicates that this is indeed the supposed experiment that escaped from the Foot Clan’s secret laboratory approximately 4 hours ago.” He spoke calmly while you tried to catch your breath, panic rising again in your throat as your back slid down the wall until you were sat on the ground.

“Yeah, we gathered that, brainiac.” Raph gruffly sassed.

“The chip we’ve been tracking is still active. Leo?” Said the supposed brainiac.

“Shut it down Donnie, we’ll take care of this.” Ordered Leo, as he turned and faced Stockman.

“Right.” Donnie knelt next to you and suddenly looked nervous. He gave you a very awkward smile before continuing.

“Sorry, I just need to see your arm for a minute. Can I touch you?” He asked calmly.

It was clear that you were trying very hard to suppress a panic attack. Adrenaline still pumped through your veins and you were scared half to death. But this mutant was the first being in over a year to ask your permission before doing anything to you. So you swallowed your fear and gave a trembling nod.

The purple mutant, Donnie, looked at you seriously for a moment before returning your nod. “Okay, I’m going to touch you now…” he said as he gently took your arm.

You still flinched on instinct, and took in a sharp inhale of breath, trying to steady your nerves.

Donnie muttered a quick apology. One of the men in suits was suddenly thrown into the wall near you, startling you almost out of your skin. Making you practically leap into Donnie’s arms.

“Hey, watch it Mikey!” He shouted to the orange banded mutant.

“Whoops, sorry dudette!” Mikey paused his fight to wave over at you apologetically.

You found yourself half in the embrace of Donnie, who looked down at you and giggled nervously. You instinctively flinched out of his embrace, but remained near. You didn’t want to get any closer to the unconscious man in the suit.

“Sorry… let’s try that again. Can I… touch your arm? I need to find the chip.” He gently took your arm after you gave a quick nod and he felt around your upper arm for a little bump. You squirmed a little when he found it.

“There! Okay. I’m really sorry but I need to take it out of you. This might sting a little-“ before you could process what he said you felt a sharp pinch in your arm. You panicked. Your head shot up and you started to hyperventilate. You tried to find something to focus on like you did in the lab, and watched as the orange, blue, and red mutants chased Stockman back to his van. The coward leaving behind his unconscious men and shouting at them that he wasn’t going to give up on finding you. The three mutants, you distantly observed from their backs, looked almost like turtles.

The pinching in your arm stopped, but your breathing wasn’t slowing down. You felt a three fingered hand on your shoulder begin to shake you, the other turtle mutants turning around and looking back at you with surprise as Stockman drove off. Your vision got hazy. The world seemed to slow down as you watched the three turtle men run towards you with expressions of worry on their faces. The fourth one was shouting something to them from beside you as he placed his hand over your diaphragm to steady you. His face came into your vision, expression serious as you tried to make out the words he was speaking. ‘Breath… just breath…’ you could make out from the shape of his lips.

That was the last thing you saw before darkness overtook you, and you passed out.

Part 2 :]

[the-symphony-of-lydia-brown]

Some Maglor meta

Maglor's colour is blue. Not the royal blue of Fingolfin's host, though. It is darker and a little more purple. He combines it with both silver and gold, as is the heraldic custom of musicians among the Eldar - almost nobody else has more than one precious metal in their symbolism.

He is highly specialised. His units and his magic work together to hold the Gap free from the Enemy's influence. He assists his brothers when needed and sometimes serves as the artistic/non-political representation of the Sons of Fëanor, but overall he is concentrating on keeping his region together. He does an awfully good job in that regard.

When Mairon finishes polishing brassy scales and jagged claws and Morgoth, whose hands have long lost the skill and patience to create, comes to awaken the first of the accursed Urulóki with terrible power, he looks deep into the eyes of the empty construct until he sees an autonomous spark of his power within them - and when he does, he sighs with twisted contentment.

"I have made some gold, little songbird, that you will never cleave."

After the Dagor Bragollach, Makalaurë starts wearing black and pearl, mourning colours, within Himring's walls, but outside, he keeps to his original garments. Within sixteen years, he manages to fill the countless gaps left in his forces through rigorous training of new recruits. The resulting troops are the pride and joy of the Union, not a large force, but very well trained and equipped. He rides to Dagor Nirnaeth Arnoediad in his own colours again, as a deliberate provocation - Morgoth may have taken the Gap, but he cannot break its defenders.

After D. Nirnaeth Arnoediad, he starts wearing his brother's garnet/burgundy. There are several reasons. Firstly, he is no longer in command of a separate force, secondly, he wants to show his support to his brother. Thirdly, he doesn't want to resemble Fingon's coat of arms too much.

After Maedhros saw the bloodied remnants of a dark-haired blue-clad commander, not instantly identifiable, Maglor tried to reach out to his brother in mind, but found it hastily barred shut. He thinks he can guess what his brother was trying to hide from him.

Of the two of them, it would have been better if Maglor had been the one dead.

He wears red and silver to Maedhros' red and gold and vows silently to be another right hand to him- one that will finally not be lost.

[lanabuckybarnes]

Always.

This is a sequel to Empty Words. I had someone ask for it and I was also thinking of writing one so here it is. I don’t know if it’ll be as good as the first part but I hope it’s up to your standards.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none?? If you see any plz lemme know and I’ll add them.

Words: 1.1k

EMPTY WORDS

-

"How long has it been?"

"70 years."

The words replayed in her head constantly. It had been a year since that day, since she’d woken from her Cryo-sleep. Steve sat by her side telling her it was no longer 1945 but much later, she shouldn’t even be alive.

Tony, Howard Stark's son, had been generous enough to offer her a place to stay at the compound. She had been fed by the girl, Wanda, every day and they gave her peace since she so desperately needed it.

She never got to grieve for Bucky, not long after Steve told her of his passing, she was captured. For some Hydra experiments, according to the guy who turned green.

She still had Bucky’s jacket. She’d woken up with it wrapped around her frame, and she refused to take it off. It was the only part of him she had left.

-

A knock sounded throughout the room. "It's me, I've got dinner," Steve spoke from the other end of the door, his voice slightly muffled by the thick wood.

"Come in." She spoke, her words monotone and quiet.

He set the tray of food down on the bed, pasta and sauce. Wanda’s favourite. He picked up on her gloom quite easily, it must have been a perk of the super soldier serum.

"Are you alright?" Steve questioned softly, a reassuring hand rubbing her shoulder clad in the dark military jacket. He watched as she picked at the food but never put any of it near her mouth.

He knew better than to push people to talk about their feelings, he hated it when people did it to him.

They had both bonded over Bucky. In the 40s, they never really got the chance— he was too busy being Captain America, and she was too busy saving people's lives away from the frontline. He had never really spoken to her, he knew a bit about her from his old friend’s stories but besides telling her about Buck he’d never really seen her himself. In the past year though, the two had become good friends.

"It's... our anniversary, today." Her voice was small, like the squeak of a mouse, almost as if speaking any louder would scare him away. Steve didn't know how to answer. He was an excellent soldier and had always been great with words, but even he became tongue-tied at the mention of Bucky.

He blamed himself, he could have done so much better than what he did. Countless nights he stayed awake wondering how he could have changed the past, how he could convince Tony to invent some contraption and put himself in Bucky's place. Maybe he would have survived the fall.

"I'm sorry," Steve's voice mimicked her own. His arms wrapped around her smaller frame in a warm embrace, the only form of comfort he could truly give her at that moment.

She cried into his arms that night. When he eventually left she’d flopped her weak body onto the large bed that was far too comfy. She tossed and turned with Bucky's coat, hoping, wishing that dreaming hard enough would bring him back.

-

The compound was under attack, she had strict orders to stay in her room. Steve had warned her, promised that he’d keep them away from her but passed her a pistol as a last resort.

She could hear the sounds of bullets flying around, hitting walls and people. She felt helpless just sitting on the wide windowsill watching the world go by, what could she truly do though?

Just as a dark feathered bird flew by her window the hairs on her neck stood on end— there were eyes on her, someone stood at her door. She mentally cursed herself for setting the gun on the bedside table.

The presence stalked forward, till his thigh bumped her shoulder. Her head tried to turn to him but the feeling of coolness; a metal hand, spread over the top of her head and turned her back to face the window slowly.

The cool fingers dropped to the side of her face, tucking a few loose stands behind her ear. Was he trying to torture her? or was she finally receiving a final act of kindness before the sweet release of death? Her eyes squeezed tight in preparation, no matter the outcome she would not watch.

Death never came, no, instead the soldier flopped his large body down beside her. He was still as rigid as before, she could feel as much from the way his arm brushed against hers.

When she finally turned to look at the face of the last man she’d ever see, her killer— the muscles around her eyes pulled them wide and her breath caught in her throat.

His eyes, although obstructed by dark locks of her, emulated hers, shock evident in those deep blues along with the reflection of something she knew danced in hers— Recognition.

“B-Bucky?” She hadn’t realised tears were falling from her eyes until she spoke, her voice breaking. His head nodded softly, almost unnoticeable and his eyes glazed over as well. After all these years they were both alive, and the past 70 years' worth of bottled-up emotions bubbled over. She pulled him forward into her arms.

The way his tired body slumped forward into her frame told her he’d faced a similar story, he’d been holding onto a lot too. She could see Steve’s frame standing in her doorway in shock from her peripherals but she couldn’t find the will to glance at him. Not when he was here, not when Bucky was home.

“You came back” she whispered into his hair.

“Always”.

-

“Bahhhh!” God those goats were impatient. It must’ve been around 6 am, and the Wakandan heat blared through the mud-coloured walls.

“BAHHHH” the goat wailed again, more desperate and demanding than before. A groan sounded from the man behind her, his arm pulling her close and his lips ghosting over her bare shoulder.

“You gotta get up and feed them” she whispered silently hoping they’d disappear and leave them in each other’s arms, at least for a little bit longer. The heat made their embrace almost impossible to withstand but she’d missed years' worth of closeness to him, some sun wasn’t going to stop her now.

His grumbling vibrated against her neck before he pushed himself up to sit. He was quite the sight shirtless, much more muscular than before. The soft blue fabric wrapping around his left side and over his shoulder complimented his skin perfectly.

“Fucking goats” he complained as he threw the deep red fabric over his body, doing as much as he could with one arm before shifting to her for help.

Her fingers moved expertly over the fabric as they did every day, fastening it to his body before pulling half of his long hair into a bun.

“Love you” Her breath blew between his shoulder blades, her lips pressing into the nape of his neck as she wrapped the thin belt around his waist from behind— she’d become so familiar with the routine she could secure it with her eyes shut. He couldn’t help the way his worries fell apart at her soft touch.

His body twisted to face her naked one, his right hand finding her left, squeezing tight before dropping his fingers to roll the thin gold band around her ring finger; a symbol of his promise fulfilled. The matching one secured around his neck.

Steel blues ran up from their joined hand to her face, searching for her own eyes, asking in silence for permission that she was glad to give him as she leaned forward locking their lips together in a sultry dance that mimicked one of the many they shared all those years ago.

“Bahhhhh” he growled into the kiss and she couldn’t help the bubble of laughter rising from her throat. He’d never get a moment's peace with his girl with those beasts around.

-

Tags: @matchat3a

[phrogger2]

Michael Myers/Female!Reader

🔞 NSFW 🔞

Tags: Non-con Elements, Stuck in Wall, Vaginal Sex/Fingering, Manhandling, Light Knife Play, Rough Sex, and Unsafe Sex

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael stared down at the squirming backside of his most recent victim. It was amusing how your legs kicked out, and you tried to shimmy the rest of the way through. He watched calmly, standing a steady distance away from you. His need to kill satiated for the moment; your friends were quick, easy prey. Hiding in bushes with feet exposed, running in open fields, and the occasional freezing in fear and screeching.

The short skirt of your costume did nothing to hide you from his eyes, panties on full display as they clung to your pussy. He reached out and gripped one of your sock-clad ankles, ears prickling at the sound of your shriek. Your legs kicked back at him in desperation, aiming and missing. Michael huffed and tugged at your leg, something stirring inside him.

His hand trailed up your leg slowly, fingers kneading the flesh of your thigh. He studied your reactions, your body tense with a slight shake in your legs. Michael’s fingers teased the edge of the orange socks, festive and cute. Two of his thick fingers traced over your pussy, digging into the flesh of your clit. He could just barely make out the sound of your whimpers.

The cold metal of his knife came to rest against the meat of your thigh. He watched with fascination as goosebumps rose on your skin. Michael trailed the sharp blade up past your red skirt and gently over the exposed area of your ass. You went frigid again, the only thing giving away your feelings of fear being the shaking of your thighs.

He trailed the blade down your ass and over your lips, snagging on the edge of your panties. Michael cocked his head and tugged his knife upwards until the ripping of fabric filled his ears. More goosebumps formed over your skin with the sudden hit of cool air against your pussy. He teased the tip from your clit to the swell of your ass. The feeling inside him only grew. His hardening cock tented his jumpsuit. This urge was something new: something foreign.

The knife knicked your skin, and your blood pooled around the knife’s tip and gently cascaded down your ass. Your body went rigid, feet attempting to plant themselves on the cement below. Michael pulled the knife away and used a finger to smear the blood over your skin. He brought his blood-coated finger up and uncovered his mouth to suck it off.

Tugging the mask back down, Michael dropped his knife on the ground. The sound rang through the dingy tunnel and vibrated through your ears. His hand ghosted over your ass, reaching down to grope and knead at the flesh. You were soft, a new feeling against his cold, large hands. Your legs kicked back at him again, and he huffed, shoving your legs down against the cement walls. He could hear your pained whimpers, body stilling with a light tremor of fear infrequently.

Michael pressed his thumb against your pussy, dragging it down to your clit and watching in fascination as your hole clenched. He gently pinched the bundle of nerves, dragging his thumb's rough pad over it. Your legs flailed, pleasure jolting through your body. His fingers played experimentally with you, watching intently for each twitch and jolt of your body. He huffed, moving his hand to spread the lips of your pussy. Slick and warm against his fingers. Michael pressed a finger inside to the knuckle, feeling how rigid your body was. The tunnel did nothing to mask your sobs and whimpers as he played with you.

He squeezed at your ass with his free hand, pulling the fat of it to the side so he could watch your pussy devour his fingers. He curled his finger, nudging a second one in and listening closely for your little moans. Michael moved the fingers in and out, dragging his fingers against your walls. The slick sound of your pussy filled his ears, fingers moving faster and curling against your bundle of nerves.

Your nerves felt on fire, your body shaking from fear and arousal. Your hands clawed at the tunnel around you while heavy sobs fell from your mouth. You were afraid and trapped. This whole night was a disaster, and you could only hope it was a nightmare.

Michael pulled his fingers free, observing the slick shine to his fingers. When he spread them, he could see faint strings connecting them. It stirred something in his gut. He tugged the zipper of his jumpsuit down with his other hand, just enough to free his cock. Michael wrapped his still-wet hand around his thick shaft and gave it a few slow pumps.

Lining the tip up to your hole, he braced himself against the wall. He found little resistance when he pushed forward, breathing deeply in his mask at the sight of your pussy swallowing him.

You choked on your spit, back arching just slightly as you froze. There was a slight ache as you were stretched out on his cock that you felt in your legs. It felt like ages before you could feel his body firmly pressed against your ass.

Michael ground his hips forward experimentally, head leaning back as your pussy fluttered around him. He pulled back until only the tip was left and then slammed forward. Your high squeal echoed in his ears as he repeated the action over and over. It felt heavenly to have tight heat enveloping his cock.

He held little care for your pleasure, chasing the lightheadedness he felt instead. Your cries and broken moans fell on deaf ears as he drove forward continuously. Michael gripped one of your ass cheeks, spreading it apart to watch his cock disappear in you.

The churning in his gut seemed to spread; his entire body felt light and out of control. What could only be described as animalistic growls sound from Michael. His breathing was rapid and short, lungs feeling on fire.

Your throat hurt from crying, and involuntary gasps of pleasure leave your lips. You could feel Michael hammering into you, practically feeling it in your stomach. He wasn’t kind with the way he fucked you, angry and mean with the way he bullied his way inside you with each thrust. You could feel his cocking throbbing and carving out your pussy for his cock.

His nails dug into the fat of your skin while he shoved himself as deep as he could. A high cry was punched out of you, body shaking. Michael shut his eyes tight as he spilled inside your sensitive pussy. He stood there, catching his breath for a few moments. His eyes opened to watch as he pulled himself free, cum spilling from your used hole and pooling on the dirty cement.

Maybe he wouldn’t need to kill you.

[blueberryarchive]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 18+

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 3.2k words

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ still working on it. smut (non-con, mnster fucking, long tongue, bg dck! jimin, somnophilia, forced voyeurism?) scary (?) confusing, angst.

If there is a God, he must be a cynical, cruel, tentative being.

Jimin squeezed his chin hard, his skull throbbing, eyes fixed on your wool coat-clad back. He was beginning to hate that olive green macrame that contorted in your tense muscles that you hadn't let him see for a couple of weeks.

Jimin thought that maybe it was your period the reason you didn't want him to touch you, that the headaches at night were from the stress of being so far from society. 

He always tried to be a good husband: making you tea, murmuring sweet nothings to you before going to sleep, giving you your space while he took Pepper for a walk to the lake. But winter has gotten crueler, the naked trees are like veins in the eyes of the white sky, pulsant and hideous, and your wall has grown in size. 

The nights have become silent. You only know how to do one activity besides sleeping: cooking. Mainly meats: grilled, baked, stewed and steamed. With spices, drunk in wine, boiled with basil, cut into pieces, and shredded by hand. Jimin started to hate the pungent smell of dead cows. 

Every night, you ate quietly at the table, and for Jimin to get the words out of you, it felt like he had to put his hand down your throat and spread them on the table. Barely audible, barely sentences.

It was a late winter afternoon, Jimin had tried to be flirty for the first time in a while since there was little time before he had to work again, and he wouldn't see you again for months.

It was a simple kiss on your neck that made your skin crawl, and you almost cut yourself with the knife in fear.

He was now sitting at the island, the kitchen illuminated by the grayish sun of cold afternoons. You were cutting the fat from a calf with the precision of a butcher. Jimin had both hands covering his mouth, thoughtful.

"Mom asked about you. I told her you were at the lake." He murmured to cut the tension of that odd rejection.

"I was sleeping." You put the knife aside, looking for another piece of meat in the refrigerator. Almost four pounds on the table, but Jimin didn't want to engage in your weird fucking activities.

"I've already told her like twice that you've been sleeping, she'll think you're sick or something."

You did not answer.

"I'm fine, it's just the nightmares. I don't sleep at night."

"I know, I know." Jimin sighed. 

He felt sorry about every time he found you curled up on the living room furniture, sweaty and breathing fast; you were sleeping but seemed forced. 

"When we go to Joon's house in the summer, we'll look for a doctor."

Your head tensed, tilting. Then you denied it.

"Don't you want to see a doctor?"

"I'm not going to Namjoon's house this year." You huffed like it was obvious.

Jimin frowned, both hands falling to the cold marble in surprise.

"But this year I'm bringing my parents to meet you, Namjoon is getting married in July, I don't-" he snapped, but you shook your head again while still doing your mechanical cut and throw movement.

Jimin cleared his throat, and you looked at him out of the corner of your eye.

"What?" You responded innocently.

"You really don't want to see my mom?"

"Jimin, I'm getting tired of this."

"What are you going to do, take another nap?"

The blood from the meat on your hands began to drip down to your wrists, the metallic smell causing you a voracious appetite.

"You want wine with the grill?"

"Are you fucking serious right now?"

You sighed, counting to ten. Just a few more hours.

"You can invite her to the cabin, if that's what you want. God knows how much we need someone else in this place."

"I already told you we'll go in a week."

"Without consulting me."

"What should we talk about? We've been planning this for a year."

"I don't feel like going anymore."

"These days you don't feel like doing shit."

You chopped the carrots on the bloody board, the chopping making noises in the immense silence between the two of you.

"It's like you want me to leave." He spoke.

You stood up when you pressed the knife on the cutting board; the tip stuck into the wood. 

That violence, pure and irrational force.

You looked at him with erratic eyes, Jimin didn't know if you were offended or not. Your hands clenched the counter, and your lips trembled trying to say something.

When you lowered your gaze, Jimin knew that your shoulders had not collapsed because of his tone, but because what he said was true.

"Oh my God, I'm right." A pained laugh. His body leaned back on the island that separated you two. "Is there anyone else?"

Silence.

Jimin's skin chilled when before turning to the meat again, barely visible, he saw a tiny smile lining your lips. Self-conscious and cruel.

Before he could think, the sweet husband's façade had broken and with long steps, he approached until he turned you over with his fists in that damn coat. You looked at him with wide eyes, and you wiped your mouth as if the fact that Jimin was going to kiss you disgusted you. The blood of the calf covers your lips.

You were cruel, and he wanted so much to love you, to hug you and hit that distant look on your features. To squeeze your cheeks and spit in your face so you get off that fucking cloud. That you wouldn't look at him with so much hate, with that thousand-yard stare. Take that fucking knife and put it near your beautiful neck and scream 'LOVE ME AGAIN, I FUCKING DESERVE IT'.

"You think this is a fucking game? I've been wanting things to go back to normal since October, but you," His nose wrinkled. "You have become nothing, you are just another object in this useless old cabin."

Your eyes seemed to get closer and closer to Jimin's, your pupils dilating.

"And even as an object I can't fuck you, you're useless." He let go of your coat and walked away, each word dying in his throat. He couldn't believe that he could talk to his wife like that, what kind of man was he?

Then, a single person came to his head.

"Are you seeing Ryan?"

Ryan was the one who sold the land to Jimin, every now and then he would pass by the road and stop to drink coffee and fish in the lake with Jimin. It's not that Ryan is an attractive man, nor a man who knew how to talk to women because he was a first-class hermit. He was not a man you would cause your marriage to fail with...

...Right?

"That's it. I'm going to sell the house."

"No." You were quick, your shoulders rose as if a puppeteer had lifted your strings, and you trembled again, denying.

"No, please."

"So it is because of Ryan?'

You inhaled all the air in the room, your eyes a predator. 

"Ryan is a parasite in front of him, filth, a mere fly on the wall." You barked causing echoes to reverberate off the walls of your boyfriend's chest. Your trembling fingers covered your mouth instantly.

The knife in your hand, the fingers bloody from the fresh meat, that green coat that you didn't take off, the tangled hair. Jimin didn't recognize you, your sweetness had turned bitter; like a viscous liquid made from plants. Raw and strange.

"You're a fucking whore." His voice trembled, the sting of tears wanting to flow like shooting water.

He took his coat, with a whistle he called Pepper and they both went with a roar through the wide, dense forest.

The afternoon became denser in the forest, the leaves did not move and Pepper spent the entire way sniffing the trees, howling at the birds that passed by without squawking. Jimin put a hand in his coat, the other looking for some signal to call Hoseok, his mother, the damn police. Whoever.

He found his headphones in his jacket and placed them on top of his head, connecting them to his cell phone. He turned on the Bluetooth.

Connected.

"Come on, fuck." He mumbled until Hoseok's number started ringing in his ears. It rang once, twice, five times before he could hear anything.

"Seok, couldn't you last longer to answer the damn call?" The lake did not move, his boots made the wood of the dock squeak as he walked from one side to the other. 

"No, I just need you to help me with something, I don't want Joon or my mom to worry, but I need you to find a doctor and come here...p-preferably someone with knowledge of mental problems."

Disconnected.

"Hello? Hoseok, hello." He repeated, turning on the Bluetooth again. 

"No, it's just a little seasonal depression, but I don't want it to escalate into something worse."

Disconnected.

"Shit, fucking headphones." On impulse, he grabbed the device with the cell phone and threw it as hard as possible into the gray water.

And with the cell phone falling, he glimpsed the pale skin of a being on the other side of the lake, it didn't look like a bear or a deer. Pepper started barking, loud and fast.

"Quiet." Jimin tried not to alarm the creature emanating from the foliage, his dark eyes approaching the evening light.

Jimin stayed still until he saw how the creature's feet approached the tip of the other dock, his eyes narrowed to see his own reflection, blonde hair, and the same features. A being as tall and wide as a log, he was wearing a coat that Jimin had given up for lost months ago, but it was dirty and torn due to the size of the beast.

He was seeing a Behemoth in his own skin. A dim Jimin, a monster, an abomination of himself.

His feet began to move as the animal threw itself toward the water in his direction. Pepper stayed behind him, but he couldn't think of saving her. He was going to die.

He prayed it was a hallucination of his tired brain, a joke of his own mind. But he could hear the earth tremble with each approaching footstep.

Every tree looked the same, the path home had vanished and all he could do was scream for his mother, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Mom, please, help. Help." He screamed as his feet were grabbed, the wet earth choking on his whimpers.

"Help!" The creature screamed even louder, in the same voice but drowned.

Crawling wasn't worth it, the creature had grabbed him by his hair and flipped him over. Seeing his face, rough and full of scratches, caused an abominable pain in Jimin's chest; he wanted to vomit out his organs and die before continuing with this terrifying reality.

The last thing he remembers is his head crashing into a log, the guttural roar of his mammoth twin, and the green inferno engulfing his body as he falls to the ground.

When he opened his eyes, Jimin was in his room, his body tied to a couch in the corner. His mouth was muffled with a kitchen rag: the disgusting, metallic taste of the beef made him nauseous.

His eyes were guided to where your body was lying, you had the Prince t-shirt that Jimin had given you on. Your wet hair, the smell of coconut shampoo, the shower running in the other room, Pepper's howling in the distance. This was the first time you looked so angelic in a long time, so peaceful in your own dreams.

He couldn't move, his body felt heavy and slow. His fingers moved, his eyes too but it was as if it was a ghost of his body.

You sighed suddenly. With his hair standing on end, Jimin tried to call you but his voice didn't come out of his lips, a mere hoarse. Word dust.

Your body stood up unsteadily. You rolled your head to the entrance and smiled: there it was, on all fours, his mouth dirty with blood from the meat you had saved for him, those cupped pupils that you missed.

His body crawled closer until it reached your knees where he pressed his huge hand on one of your thighs, the wine bottle running down your body with each touch.

"Love," he roared until he climbed and transformed into a tower above you, nearly seven feet of pure dedication. You fed him daily with everything you had in the house. "My love."

That's what he called you. Jimin shook his head in the corner, his eyes threatening to close, his neck stretched out trying to reach you uselessly.

"Ah," his pale black tongue unrolled to reveal discolored pills at the tip.

You stuck out your tongue and let the creature's hands squeeze your neck so you would open wide, open better so his tongue would enter directly into your throat. The tickling in your esophagus from the movement of the wet muscle had your core tight.

When you stuck your tongue out, saliva connected both of your mouths, your eyes tilted; drunk and in love.

"More," he claimed, taking your small body in his hands until he had you anchored to his waist, both legs dangling. His fingers tore away what was covering your pussy, and Jimin could see the marks on your body, some yellowish about to fade, others a vivid red.

You lowered his sweat with the balls of your feet, his thick red cock throbbing at your entrance. Your body began to feel the effect of the sleeping pills, turning you into a nebula hanging from a warm mass.

When the tip entered you screamed into his chest, your nails scratching the flesh until it bled. The monster groaned in pain and knocked you to the ground causing the floor to shake with the weight of both of you.

You didn't have time to complain as his sharp teeth clamped down on your shoulder to keep you from moving as he took his cock all the way in, blood pouring from your shoulder.

The pain was such that you imagined how the inside of your organs was breaking, the bones creaking under his hands on your breasts, your voice becoming a thread until it was silent with each roar in your ear.

The watery, repetitive sound. The bulbous tip covered in juices went in and out so easily that the fabric covering your stomach seemed like it wanted to tear at any moment.

"Fuck, fuck, Minnie. Hurts good." It was like you were communicating with a caveman, but your brain didn't function properly when it came to him.

"Good, I like hurting you." Thick, dark blood ran down to his chin as his tongue smothered you again. Your eyes closing, your hands trapped in one of his. Your moans cover the dark heart of the beast with a soft layer until your limbs gave up, unconscious and so wet for them.

Little human trapped in his forest, an inferior being praising a God she does not understand out of pure lust. You were adorable, warm inside, you made him big and unstoppable and he thanked you by filling you with his cum every night after you fed him. That was your only request, every time.

Now he was named Minnie and you shouted his name every time he did something right. Learned words like more, hurt, inside, want, fuck.

And just because he molded himself into something you already had, you adored him.

His tongue came out to snake around one of your breasts, his wide, long thumb holding your mouth open. Your dead eyes casually open to see your tied husband, your head wobbling and arms hagging in the air with every pounding like a rag doll.

He couldn't bare it, you were being raped in front of his eyes, and he couldn't do anything else than stare at your unconscious body, like a fucking parasite, filth, a simple fly on the wall. 

With a few steps, the creature approached Jimin, leaving your warm body on his lap. Your eyelids throbbed softly regardless of how the demon destroyed your pussy with every crash of his hips. 

Your lips were wet with foreign blood, wet hair stuck to your temples, and open hands that fell to each side of the furniture.

You looked like the girl he had that morning when he showed you the cabin, like the one from the first night when you two made love on the living room rug, like the one that bathed naked in the lake even though someone could see her. 

A nymph, just a beautiful wildflower.

And Jimin knew at that moment why that beast had you in his claws, why he grabbed you by the neck and squeezed you to wake up from your sweet dream. 

When you looked up and saw your husband's face, Jimin knew that he had to give up, because that thousand-yard look was a path that was forbidden to him, that he did not know and could not learn.

You were no longer his but from the forest. A red and grotesque fairy, who moaned instead of singing and collected bones instead of flowers.

And yet you were more beautiful than ever.

You smiled at Jimin and your hands moved down his face to remove the dish towel and kiss him like you've never done before. The sulfuric smell of a dead animal on your soft lips was enchanting.

"Oh, God, yes." You whispered in your sleepy voice.

The Beast bruised your hips until pumping your pussy with cum, thick and gray.

You and Jimin looked at the growling monster, picking up pieces of the wooden floor with its long nails. They looked up, and exhaled deeply, snorting like an angry bull seeking respect.

Before you could say anything, he was gone. Leaving your bruised body between your tied husband's legs.

Your fingers brushed your face as you felt something damp: the tears in Jimin's eyes flowed like summer rain, thick and abundant.

"Tell your mom you'll find a better girl, okay?" Your lips trembled, trying to dry each drop from which another came out. Jimin nodded, bringing your forehead to his.

"Am I really not going to see you anymore?"

"Any time you want," you assured, your voice echoing a dozen times like whispers spreading across the room. A choir of hushed angels saying the same thing over and over again. 

"Every time it rains, leave the door open, and I'll know you need me."

Your naked body turned to place Jimin's head on your chest, he sobbed himself to sleep, and you counted his eyelashes until it was time to leave.

With a kiss on his forehead, you let him sleep, when he woke up you were no longer there, the green coat was hanging in the back yard and the smell of your hair filled every corner, a floral ghost.