#pixie's picks (music)

[c-dollanganger]

Went to the mall today

[oncillabrigade]

Consider:

The Bats all have personalized ring tones for one another, but everyone has both a civilian and a Bat ring tone. The civilian ones are chaos, with everyone choosing whatever they want for their various family members and friends. BUT! Everyone has a single Bat tone that all other team members use for them.

The catch? Bruce forbid them from choosing their own Bat ring tones because he proposed this plan back in Dick's Robin days and he IMMEDIATELY picked "Toxic." The choice was not well received.

Bruce: Dick, I will not be alerted to the fact that you're in danger by some Britney Spears song.

Dick: First of all, it is not some Britney song, it is the Britney song. That song finally won her a Grammy.

Bruce: *sighs*

Dick: Second of all, it won't tell you when I'm in danger... it'll tell you when Robin is.

Bruce:

Bruce: I'm taking the Walkman out of the Robin kit.

Dick: *offended gasp*

(Yes, Dick is old enough for a Walkman. No, you will not change my mind. Yes, the Tim-and-on siblings all find that hilarious. Yes, Jason has to be VERY careful not to mention that he borrowed that Walkman for years because he was uncomfortable taking expensive electronics out and about with him.)

Anyway!

Dick then proposes a slew of other songs for the whole team to use, all of which are pop culture references, e.g. the Scrubs theme because they're not Superman and also they're a dysfunctional family of coworkers; the theme from the Godfather because "let's be honest, B, we are basically our own mafia"; "Where is My Mind" by the Pixies because lol identity shenanigans, etc. The list is endless. Bruce spends weeks groaning every time his son texts him.

Eventually, they compromise on the version of "The Entertainer" from The Sting because they're hiding in plain sight to enact a mission defending good people in a hard world. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all so pleased with this that they each take a different section of the song as their ring tone.

Then Barbara becomes Batgirl, so she gets a section... and then Jason becomes Robin and gets one, too... and then Tim, then Steph, and then Cass is taken in, and... uh oh. That's a lot of people for one song.

But it's family tradition! They can't stop now. That would be so unfair to the new kids, B!

So they start using alternate arrangements of the song. Bruce has mellowed slightly on the "no choosing your own" thing. As long as it's a version of "The Entertainer" (within reason) he'll allow it.

Tim retroactively changes his ring tone to a weird groove-ska arrangement Bart randomly sent him on YouTube because have you met Tim Drake? Of course he went for hilarious obscurity. (Bruce grits his teeth and approves it after lots of prompting from Dick and Alfred). Steph makes it her mission to find a weirder one (Bruce agrees because he's too tired to deal with accusations of favoritism).

Cass creates her own arrangement on theremin because apparently she knows how to play the theremin. No one is sure why. Upon inquiry, she just says, "spooky noises are fun," but does not elaborate further even when she's asked to do so. A Batgirl's gotta have her secrets—Babs taught her that.

When Jason starts working with his family again, he pays an aspiring music producer within Red Hood's ranks to create a minor key remix of the original Robin II ring tone. His siblings (minus Cass) are VERY jealous he has his own personalized arrangement. Dick, Tim, and Steph end up paying this goon who owns Garage Band to do ones for them, too. Duke does the same when he joins the team.

Meanwhile, in a fit of little brotherly pique, Damian steals Tim's original ring tone. He hopes to rub salt in the Robin replacement wounds. He fails! Tim finds it beyond funny that Damian's ring tone is groove-ska. So Damian quietly pays the amateur producer to make him one that's cooler than Tim's. He pays a ludicrous amount, though, because Steph paid for one cooler than Jason's and Tim paid for one cooler than Steph's.

(Dick wanted one cooler than Jason's too, but he had $63.02 in his bank account at the time and Bruce flat out refused to use the Batbudget on "a super cool ring tone that's better than Jay's." Eventually, Dick just paid himself for an averagely cool one. In installments.)

At this point, the Bats have single-handedly given this fledgling producer enough money to quit being a goon and start an indie music studio. His first customers are mostly superheroes from out of town who like what the Bats have going on and want their own team ring tones. Harley and Ivy get in on that action, too.

Then, as word spreads, every local crook/henchperson with a side band (there are many) flocks to the studio to have their stuff produced by one of their own. Gotham rogues suddenly have an unemployment problem, while the city finds itself with a flourishing indie music scene that puts Metropolis' to shame. The entire state of New Jersey is celebrating the dual victory.

Dick has never been so glad someone doesn't like Britney Spears' magnum opus.

[cevansbrat0007]

I saw this and thought of Ari and his Bird right away 😂 Now how would he react? 😌

Dinner is Served...

Summary: You surprise Ari with his favorite meal: You.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Implied Smut, An Appearance from Bucky Barnes, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Brief Discussions of Body Image, High Heels, Naked Fun in the Kitchen, Manhandling, Clothed Male Nude Female (CMNF), Pussy Eating, Very Mild Chase Kink, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: I think someone actually asked me this a while ago. Maybe. I vaguely remember my answer. However, instead of rehashing that, this is how I think that would go - with a twist! Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I sent you the files this morning, Buck.” Ari winces as he shoulders his way into your house from the garage. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to open ‘em.”

“Just resend them in a different format.” His friend and business partner responds, sounding frustrated. 

“Why don’t you just give-in and ask Pixie to help you already?”

“Because she’s been giving me the silent treatment since Tuesday. Why would I want to risk breaking the streak?” 

Rolling his eyes, he drops his bag by the door – only to be surprised when he spots a pair of your panties laying innocently on the floor. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that it’s actually one of his favorites. It was part of a set he’d bought you just last month. 

“What’d you do, Barnes?”

“Uh…” A heavy sigh can be heard coming from the other side of the phone. “I accidentally broke her fancy little coffee maker.”

“Wow.” He responds, disapproval evident in his tone.  

“Hey! I just said it was an accident. She said she had a bad night and so I tried to make her one of those latte…macchiato…things she likes. And then I broke it.”   

“Make it right, Buck.” After toeing off his boots Ari begins making his way towards the kitchen, following the sound of music in the air. He frowns when he spies your blouse in the middle of the hallway. Closely followed by a pair of black leggings. 

“How?” God, his buddy could be so goddamned obtuse sometimes.

“Fucking apologize. And then buy her another one – a better one.” 

“Ugh!” The former soldier whines. “I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for a replacement. How about I–?”

Wait. WAIT. Was that your bra? Just what the fuck was up with this strange trail of clothes?

“Buck, you’re a grown man. And google is your friend.” Ari snaps as he picks up your fallen undergarment, his confusion growing with each passing second. “Restore peace to the land before that woman feels compelled to drop a nuke.” With that he ends the call, now ready to solve whatever mystery he’s just stumbled upon. 

But what it’s he sees when he rounds the corner that has him stopping dead in his tracks.

“Well, shit.” His mouth goes dry as he watches your hips sway to the music pumping out of the speaker. 

A low whistle of appreciation has you glancing over your shoulder. 

If you were being honest, you’d known he was home the moment you’d heard your garage door open. Which was also why your bathrobe was now hastily balled up in your pantry. 

“Welcome home!” You chirp, not missing the way your man’s eyes darken as they drink you in. “Did you have a good day?”

“What’s all this?” Ari’s already deep voice dips an octave as he holds up your previously abandoned bra, dangling it from his finger. But you know he’s not mad. This question is coming from a man who clearly likes what he sees.

Which just so happens to be you. Happily cooking in your kitchen. Wearing nothing but a little makeup and a pair of red heels. Oh, and oven mitts. Can’t forget those.

You’d come across this scenario while aimlessly scrolling on Instagram. And since you were growing more comfortable with the body you saw in the mirror these days, you figured that it might be worth trying your luck. If only to see your man’s reaction.

“Oops!” You gasp, trying your best to look apologetic. “I just haven’t had a chance to clean up yet. I’m sorry.”

“Baby…” Ari drags a stunned hand over his jaw. “That’s not even – ah fuck. Cleanin’ up is the absolute last thing on my mind right now.” Dropping the undergarment on a nearby table, he begins making his way to you – only to come up short once again when he catches sight of your heels. 

“What? I’m just tryin’ to break ‘em in. That’s all.”

“Fuck meee.” He groans under his breath, his eyes going wide at the sight of your latest surprise. 

“Hold that thought, sugar.” With a wink, you turn back towards the stove before bending over to retrieve tonight’s dessert from the oven. You’re forced to bite the inside of your cheek when you hear your bounty hunter’s sudden intake of breath at the sight of your bare ass. 

“There we go.” You hum, playfully fanning yourself with a checkered mitt. “Hope you like homemade cinnamon rolls with whipped cream cheese frosting." Tendrils of feminine pride unfurls in your belly when you notice Ari’s impressive hard-on tenting his jeans. "They’re the perfect after-dinner treat.”

“That’s–I’m not…” He cuts himself off, surprising you both with his inability to speak. “We–that ain’t the kinda treat I’m hungry for, little Bird.”

“Hm.” You nod as you stretch your arms above your head. Giving into temptation, you rise up on your toes before giving a little shimmy, calling attention to your breasts. “No problem. What’s the point of talkin’ about dessert when we haven’t even discussed the main course?”

“Huh?” Ari clears his throat, his rapt gaze now focused on your pouting nipples. 

“Tonight we’re having roasted potatoes –” 

“I don’t give a good-damn about no roasted potatoes, woman!” The bounty hunter rumbles, cutting you off before you can finish telling him your menu. “You don’t need to cook nothin’ else. I already know what I’m hungry for.” He takes a decisive step in your direction. “It’s just a matter of where I’m eatin’.”

“But you don’t even know what we’re havin’ yet!” Comes your incredulous laugh as you bat away his eager hands. 

“This right here.” He growls, broadly gesturing at your naked body. “All of this. That’s what I want.” Without warning, he grabs the edge of his t-shirt with both hands before yanking it over his head, revealing his muscled chest. “I'm fuckin' starvin'.”

“But I’m not on the menu!” You shriek, throwing a dish towel at him the next time he gets too close. The next thing you know, this man is now chasing you around your own kitchen, his long legs quickly eating up the space between you. 

Fuck it was hard to run in heels! 

“Now I don’t mind where I dine, darlin’.” Your man purrs, his already sexy voice pitched to arouse. “We can take it to the bedroom. The living room…”

“Beast!” You burst into a fit of giggles as you attempt to fend him off with the help of a chair. “Need I remind you that we are in the kitchen?”

Now that makes him pause. But only for a second. 

“It ain’t the first time I’ve had you in here.” The chair you’ve been holding is gently ripped from your grasp. “Pretty sure I’ve devoured that pussy in every room of this house.” You watch in defeat as he sends your last little bit of protection skidding across the floor. “Did you forget how wet you got the last time I splayed you out on this-here table? Because I haven’t.”

One rough, slightly calloused hand grips the back of your neck – drawing you closer. 

“Remember how I made you hold yourself open for me?” His lips ghost over yours – the sharp nip of his teeth causing your heart to beat erratically in your chest. “Remember the way your thighs shook every time you gushed around me?” He moans softly, the erotic sound going straight to your dripping cunt. 

“I–If you don’t want the potatoes, we’re also having…um…” You can’t help but whimper when he abandons your throat in favor of grabbing a hearty handful of your ass. “Herb roasted chicken…”

“I get so hard whenever I think about the way you drenched my fuckin’ beard, baby.” Ari gives you a playful squeeze before lifting you by your hips and depositing you on the table as if you weigh nothing. “My good girl always makes such a mess for me. Don’t you?” 

“Could I perhaps interest you in some honey glazed carrots?” However, your weak attempt at redirection is completely ignored.

A heady thrum of excitement courses through you when you feel your back connect with the cool, wooden surface. And then Ari’s hands come to rest on your knees, gently prying them apart, baring your most intimate flesh. 

“Look at you.” He rasps, tenderly stroking your slick folds. “Fuckin’ soaked already. And here we are just gettin’ started.” He parts you with thick fingers before leaning down to press a kiss to your puffy clit, making your hips buck. 

“Yeah,” he continues. “This is the only honey I give a fuck about tonight.” Gripping your ankle, he drapes your leg over one broad shoulder, opening you up to him even more. And then he reaches for the remote to your speaker, turning up the volume of the music that had since become little better than background noise. 

“Don’t want any interruptions while I enjoy my meal. Especially since you spent so much time preparin’ it.” Ari drags your body towards the edge of the table before taking a seat in a chair and placing a napkin across his lap. “And don’t worry about me needing any silverware, sweet Bird…” He murmurs as his mouth descends upon your vulnerable, quivering pussy.

“I don't mind gettin' my hands dirty.”

END

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[andshesaidwhat]

Wake the Dead - Sam Monroe Smut

Summary: You meet Sam during his shift at the local video store on a search for something to make you feel alive and decide to drag him to the old cemetery.

Warnings: sexual acts in an open grave, mentions of murder, talk of the dead, handjob (Sam receiving), public sex, fingering (reader receiving), defiling a gravesite, smoking, reader is kinda “manic-pixie-dreamgirl” coded my bad.

Masterlist

Sam Monroe hated his job.

Well, okay, maybe it wasn’t the worst in the world. He could’ve been made to wear a ridiculous uniform and flip burgers at the local diner down the street. Still, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be restocking the same ten family movies all day every day.

Nobody ever came into the video store for anything interesting. It was always middle-aged moms with their whiny children, asking him where some shit Disney film was located while giving him disapproving glares.

Sure, maybe he always had vulgar music blaring through the speakers while some gory slasher played on the television, but what did they expect? He’d drive a stake through his own eye before he’d be forced to listen to some nonsensical bullshit about princesses and happily ever after.

The new Deftones record was his current pick, the music filling the silence of the vacant store as he leaned against the counter and sorted through the returns.

The excruciating sound of the bell above the door chimed through the grunge rock, making Sam cringe and curse underneath his breath. He didn’t even bother turning around as he mumbled, “We’re closing in five minutes.”

“Guess I’d better get to looking quickly, then,” you said, shrugging and smiling to yourself at the grumpy store clerk. You could only see the back of him, but he piqued your interest.

The sound of your melodic voice made Sam’s ears perk up and he finally turned around. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of you, not expecting to see someone his age. Especially not someone so pretty.

Your eyes traveled over the length of him as he turned to face you. He was cute — in that “I’m a total punk” kind of way.

Sam’s throat felt scratchy as he swallowed, his tongue fiddling with his labret piercing. He quickly turned down the music, giving you a sheepish half-smile.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably as a flush creeped up his neck and said, “Yeah, I guess so. I can help you search for something. We have a pretty big selection, though, so you might have to narrow it down a bit.”

His eyes scanned the length of you, hoping against hope that you wouldn’t ask him for the romance section or something equally as disgusting. He knew you’d never been in this store before, at least not when he’d been working. He definitely would’ve remembered you.

“I’m looking for a good scare,” you said, hooking your thumbs through your belt loops as you grinned at him. “Something to really get your pulse racing, ya know?”

Sam’s eyes lit up with excitement as he beamed at you. You were hot and into horror? He nearly came in his pants right then and there.

“Well, the horror section is right over there,” he said, pointing over to the corner. “You like found footage? I’d recommend that if you wanna get a decent scare. Unscripted, unedited, pretty terrifying.”

“Ah, so you’re a Blair Witch kinda guy, huh?” you asked, your lips quirking up in amusement. “Good to know.”

Sam’s grin grew as he nodded and said, “The Blair Witch Project was groundbreaking for its genre. It really had the entire population convinced that they were watching these kids die right in front of their eyes.” He leaned forward against the counter, trying to play it cool as he added, “I’m Sam, by the way. Sam Monroe.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam Monroe,” you grinned, repeating his full name.

You couldn’t help but notice the soft blush on his face that brought out the bright blue of his eyes. The color nearly matched the vibrant streak in his black hair. He had the whole look going for him — the eyeshadow, the painted nails, the clunky rings.

Sam felt flustered under your gaze, shifting nervously as he asked, “So, you got a favorite horror flick, or is this your first time diving into the abyss?”

You smirked and said, “Ironically, considering your whole ‘what’s your favorite scary movie’ question, I’m a sucker for a good slasher. Scream, to be exact.”

“Scream, huh? Classic. You’ve got good taste,” he said, raising an impressed brow. He pushed off the counter, walking around to stand next to you. “Let me show you some of my favorites, then.” He walked toward the horror section, gesturing for you to follow. “You’ve got your classics like Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween. Oh, but one of my favorites would have to be Saw. There’s something about the torture and games that just gets me.”

Sam’s hands gestured wildly as he spoke, his excitement evident in his eyes. His heart raced, both from his love of horror and from being so close to you. He searched one of the shelves before deftly flicking one of the cases out and holding it up for you.

“The original Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” he said, presenting it to you. “This one’s something else. Give it a watch. It’ll make your skin crawl.”

You stuffed your hands in your back pockets, shrugging coyly as you stepped closer to him.

“I saw the 25th Anniversary in theaters,” you smirked, beaming proudly.

Sam’s eyes widened and he whistled, impressed.

“Damn, you’re a true horror fan,” he nodded.

He nervously licked his dry lips, trying to think of something to say next.

“So, what do you think? Are you gonna pick up any of these tonight, or should I recommend something else?” Sam asked, his eyes searching your face as he hoped to find interest in his suggestions.

You leaned closer toward him, glancing down at his lips before grinning and reaching around him to grab a movie from the shelf.

Sam’s breath hitched, his eyes flickering down to your lips before following your gaze to the movie you pulled.

You held up a copy of Creep, waving it back and forth.

“Found footage, right?” you winked, turning around to walk back to the counter.

“Found footage, exactly,” he croaked out, releasing a shaky breath. “Good choice.”

He quickly followed after you, going back around the counter to ring you up. His fingers fumbled clumsily on the keyboard as he said, “Your total comes out to $4.50.” He took the money and handed you the bag with the movie inside. “If, uh, if you ever need more recommendations or anything, just let me know. I’ll be around.” He licked his lips, giving you a small smile as he added, “It was nice meeting you.”

You took the bag from him, letting your fingers brush against his as you did. You nodded with a smile and said, “You, too, Sam Monroe.”

You turned around and began walking toward the door, but you stopped short. You shifted back toward him, gazing at him curiously.

You cocked your head and asked, “You wanna get out of here?”

Sam’s eyes widened as his throat went dry. He nodded, vehemently, and said, “Uh, yeah. Sure.” He glanced up at the clock, grinning sheepishly. “We’re technically closed now, anyways.” His grin grew as he stepped away from the counter. “Just give me a second to lock everything up.”

You nodded and walked outside, leaning against the hood of his car as you lit a cigarette. You took a drag and exhaled the smoke into the air, leaning your head back with a sigh.

Sam quickly locked up, the bell above the door jingling as he stepped outside. He caught the sight of you sitting on the hood of his car, cigarette in hand, and thought he must be dreaming.

He walked over, his gaze drawn to your lips as he asked, “You smoke?”

You opened your eyes, gazing up at him as you blew a puff of smoke in his direction.

“No,” you grinned, bringing the cigarette back to your lips to take another drag.

Sam’s lips curved into a grin and he raised a brow as he said, “Liar.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing your face as he took the cigarette from your lips. He brought it to his mouth, taking a long drag before exhaling and handing it back.

“So, what do you want to do?” Sam asked, moving to lean on the hood next to you. “I know a few bars that are still open.”

“Bars are boring, Sam Monroe,” you groaned, dramatically, throwing your head back. You inhaled the smoke again, releasing it in a sigh as you looked up at the full moon. “Why do you think I showed up here tonight?”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head in confusion as he answered, “Because you wanted to rent a horror movie?”

He took another drag from the cigarette, his curious gaze never leaving your face.

“That’s just the surface of it,” you told him, turning your head to face him. “I wanted something that could make me feel alive. I wanted to feel a spike of adrenaline, to get my pulse racing. A horror movie is a quick, easy fix — but a night of spontaneity with a stranger? That’s the ultimate risk to take.”

Sam’s heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing as he stammered, “Y-you want to take a risk with me?” He swallowed, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “Where do you want to go?”

His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge your intentions, but the excitement bubbling within him was undeniable.

You grinned, taking the cigarette back from him and drawing in one final breath before putting it out with your foot against the pavement.

“C’mon, Sam Monroe,” you said, grabbing his keys out of his hand and walking to the driver’s side of his car. “I know just the place.”

Sam blinked in a daze as he watched you get into his car. He walked, dumbfounded, to the passenger seat, climbing in as he gazed at you.

“Lead the way,” he said, shrugging as he shook his head with a small laugh.

You flicked on the radio as you pulled out of the parking lot, a low grungy melody playing through the speakers.

“Tell me, Sam Monroe,” you began, reaching over to play with the rings on his fingers, “why do you like horror movies?”

Sam’s breath hitched and he glanced down at his hand. Your fingers felt soft against his skin and he cleared his throat as he glanced back up at the road.

“Horror movies are about more than just gore and jump scares. They’re about the human condition. They’re about fear itself, a primal state, and there’s something so raw and real about that.” He looked over at you a smile tugging at his lips. “The adrenaline, the suspense, the sense of danger…it’s all just an escape for me. A way to feel something real when everything else around me feels so fake.”

“Spoken like a tried and true broody punk,” you grinned, glancing over at him. “I get it, though. Sometimes you’ll do anything just to feel something.”

“I guess so,” he shrugged. “It’s better than feeling nothing, right?” He leaned back in his seat, watching the passing streetlights. “So, what about you? What gets your heart racing?”

“Picking up random strangers from sketchy video stores, obviously,” you joked, trailing your fingers up and down his arm.

Sam smiled, looking away as a blush tinged his cheeks.

“This place you’re taking me to,” he said, glancing back at you, “is it a secret or can I know where we’re going?”

“See for yourself,” you smirked, pulling off the road and parking the car. You turned the lights off and got out, walking around to where Sam stood by the passenger side. “C’mon, this way.”

You grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers through his as you led him through a small trail in the woods. As you walked through the clearing, a grin pulled at your lips at the sight of an old, dark cemetery.

Sam followed, his heart pounding as his eyes darted around the darkness. He swallowed thickly, squeezing your hand a little tighter as he stared up at the rusted gates, warily.

“A cemetery?” Sam questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a deep breath before steeling himself and nodding. “Alright. I’ve never been one to turn down a dare.”

“That’s the spirit,” you grinned, tugging him further inside. You winked at him, pulling him closer to you as you whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the scary ghosts.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sam smirked, feeling his heart stutter as he was pulled into you. “So, what do we do in a place like this?”

His eyes took in the graves, the headstones, the darkness encompassing you. He couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine as he leaned closer to you, seeking comfort.

You pulled out a small flashlight and turned it on, shining it on the headstones. You saw one that called to you and you drug him towards it, reading the engravings.

Sam followed, his eyes drawn to the flashlight beam. When you stopped at the grave, he crouched down to get a better look.

Mary Hester

1934-1976

“What do you think her story was?” you asked Sam, nudging his shoulder.

“Who knows?” Sam shrugged. “Maybe she was a victim of murder. Or maybe she was the killer,” he mused, a grin playing at his lips. He glanced up at you and asked, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you smirked, leaning forward to dust off the stone. “There’s no way that death is just a done deal, especially if you had unresolved dealings left on earth.”

Sam nodded, listening as he picked at some moss stuck in the writing.

“Besides,” you sighed, staring at the engraving, “if my entire life was reduced to a tiny dash between dates, I’d haunt the shit out of this world, too.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, standing up and brushing off his jeans. “I guess we’ll never know until we reach the other side, huh?”

You laughed and shook your head, pulling him off to venture further through the old graves.

As you walked through the cemetery, occasionally stopping to check out the headstones, you kept spouting off different theories and stories of these lives past lived.

Your eyes widened as you saw a fresh pile of dirt near an open hole, and you pulled Sam toward it.

“Holy shit,” you gaped, looking down at the six-foot rectangular hole in the ground. “It’s a freshly dug grave.”

“That’s…that’s morbid,” Sam shivered, leaning closer as his curiosity got the best of him. “Do you think it’s for a new burial?” His grip tightened on your hand and he glanced around, his eyes flickering between the trees and the graves. “We should probably get out of here.”

“What’s wrong? Scared?” you teased, inching closer toward the grave. You shined your flashlight down into it, seeing nothing but dirt. “Relax, there’s nothing in it.”

“I’m not scared,” he scoffed, though his voice shook as he spoke. “I just don’t wanna get caught trespassing.”

He stepped closer, his eyes following yours as you shined the light into the grave. When he saw it was empty, he let out a sigh of relief and loosened his grip on your hand.

“Let’s go before someone sees us,” Sam said, tugging on your arm.

“Live a little, Sam Monroe,” you laughed, squeezing his hand playfully. “We’re not gonna get caught—”

You stopped mid-sentence, seeing the lights on a police car slowly patrolling the cemetery.

“Shit,” you cursed, smiling amusedly. “Spoke too soon, I guess. Hurry, let’s hide.”

You pulled him toward the vacant grave, crouching down before jumping into the hole.

Sam’s eyes widened, his heart racing wildly as he looked between the grave and the police car. He held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he jumped into the grave after you. You turned off the flashlight, bathing the two of you in darkness as you pulled him close to hide.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “I can’t believe we just did that. Do you think they’ll search the graves?”

“Not a chance,” you laughed, breathlessly, as you felt your adrenaline pumping. You placed your hand on his chest, grinning as you said, “You feel that? Feel how your heart is racing? It’s crazy. The irony of feeling so alive while standing in an open grave.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of exhilarating,” Sam breathed, his bright eyes never leaving yours. “Now what? Do we wait for the coast to be clear, or do we climb out and hope they don’t see us?”

You gazed up at him, biting your lip as you studied his face in the pale blue moonlight. You tugged on his arm, pulling him closer until his body was pressed against yours.

“Tell me, Sam Monroe,” you said, your voice low and playful. “Have you ever kissed someone in a cemetery?”

“Uh, can’t say I have,” he said, swallowing thickly as he released a shaky breath. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips as he added, “I guess there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Right you are, Sam Monroe,” you grinned, gripping the front of his shirt and pulling him down to you.

You pressed your lips against his in a steady, sure kiss, letting one hand trail up to the back of his head.

Sam’s lips met yours eagerly, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him as the kiss deepened.

He moaned against your lips, the taste of you intoxicating him. He broke the kiss, his breath coming out in heavy pants.

“I think we should climb out of here,” he whispered. “We could get caught down here.”

“That’s half the fun,” you smirked, pushing him back against the wall of dirt and kissing him again.

You moved your hands underneath his shirt, feeling the taught skin of his abdomen as you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth.

Sam groaned, his lips parting as his mind grew hazy with lust. He didn’t protest any further, his body arching into your touch as he kissed you, hungrily.

You moved your hands up to his chest, kissing across his jaw. You nipped at his earlobe before trailing open-mouth kisses down his neck.

“What do you say, Sam Monroe?” you breathed, trailing your tongue along his pulse point. “Wanna defile a grave?”

Sam’s breath hitched and he bit his lip, gripping your hips tighter. He tilted his head back as you kissed his neck, breathing out a soft moan.

“I…I’ll defile a grave for you,” he nodded, swallowing thickly.

His body was trembling with adrenaline and desire. He wanted nothing more than for you to keep touching him, the fear of being caught a distant thought.

“Good,” you grinned, leaning forward to kiss him again.

You let your tongue push past his lips, exploring his mouth as a soft moan sounded from your throat. You pulled him away from the wall of dirt, turning the two of you around so that you were the one pressed against it.

Sam’s moan echoed your own as his hand roamed over your body, his tongue tangling with yours. He stumbled back, allowing you to turn the both of you around, his body following your lead.

“Kinda poetic, isn’t it?” you panted, breaking the kiss to look up at him. “Performing a ritual of fertilization in the place where the dead will be laid to rest?”

“I’m all for some poetic justice tonight,” he breathed, leaning in to claim your lips again.

You could feel your heart pumping as you kissed him, fueling that need for something to make you feel alive.

You bit down on his bottom lip, soothing it with your tongue as you slid your hand down over his jeans to cup his erection.

Sam gasped against your lips, a needy groan sounding from his throat as he pressed his hips into your hand.

You reached down and undid the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper and pushing the material down his thighs. You pulled him out of his boxers, slowly stroking him as you grinned at his impressive size.

Sam whimpered as he felt your soft hand wrap around him, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Oh…” he moaned, dragging his teeth over his piercing as he looked at you with hooded eyes. “I need you.”

“Yeah?” you breathed, squeezing your fist around him as you stroked him faster. You swiped your thumb across his sensitive tip to gather the precum that had beaded there, causing him to hiss.

Sam’s hips bucked into your touch, his body trembling with desire. He gripped your hair, his head spinning with pleasure as he whispered, “Fuck, yes. Please.”

You used your free hand to guide his fingers to the button of your jeans, smirking at him as you continued to touch him. You leaned forward and kissed his neck again, sucking a sensitive spot until it left a deep purple mark against his pale skin.

His fingers fumbled with your jeans as you sucked on his neck, a groan escaping his lips as he tried to undress you.

“Touch me, Sam,” you panted, squeezing him tighter as you let your tongue trail up his neck, stopping to kiss the spot just beneath his ear.

“Anything for you,” he breathed, reaching his hand inside of your underwear to touch you. He moaned as his fingers made contact with your slick folds, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispered, “You’re so wet, fuck.”

You let out a soft moan into his ear, arching into his touch as he teased you. You grabbed his face and turned him back to you, kissing him with fervor as you stroked him.

“I guess cemeteries really do it for me,” you joked, laughing into the kiss.

“Mm, definitely,” he groaned, his hips bucking into your fist.

His fingers slid inside of you as his thumb stroked your clit, his free hand grabbing your leg and hiking it around his waist.

You whimpered, quietly, against his lips — his fingers striking all of the right chords. You used one hand to tug on his hair while the other moved faster over his length.

Sam moaned loudly, his breath hitching as his hips stuttered.

“Shh,” you grinned, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes. “You’ll wake the dead.”

“I don’t care about the dead right now,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss your neck as he curled his fingers inside of you.

You tilted your head back, moaning as you rocked your hips against his fingers. You held his head as you stroked him, twisting your fist over his tip each time.

Sam’s eyes rolled back as he moved his fingers faster, repeatedly brushing against that perfect spot inside of you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he whispered, “I’m close. I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too,” you whimpered, feeling that knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. The adrenaline was coursing through your veins, your heart racing as you chased the edge together. “Come with me. Let’s make these souls roll in their graves.”

“Fuck, yes, I’m right there,” he panted, moaning against you as he neared the precipice. He flicked his thumb in fast circles against your clit, his voice breaking off into a string of whimpers as his hips bucked. “I’m gonna…fuck.”

You pulled his head back, looking into his eyes as the band finally snapped. You clenched around his fingers just as his release spurted out of him and onto your hand. He voiced a strangled moan as he came, working you through your own high as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

You both milked every last drop from each other, your bodies sagging together as you came down.

Sam leaned against you, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against yours. You leaned back against the wall of dirt, grinning lazily as you said, “Well, that was a much better method of getting my heart racing.”

He trailed small kisses up your neck before kissing your lips softly as he whispered, “I’m glad I could make your heart race.”

You smirked up at him, bringing your hand up to your mouth to lick his release off of it. He watched with lust-blown eyes, biting his lip. You grabbed his hand, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them up to your lips as well. You opened your mouth, sucking around them and moaning at the taste.

You pulled him into another kiss, letting him taste your combined flavor on your tongue. He groaned into your mouth, pulling you close to him.

You broke the kiss, glancing up out of the grave.

“I think the cops are gone now,” you giggled, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Good,” he grinned, laughing softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

He gave you a boost before climbing out as well, the both of you brushing the dirt off and adjusting your clothes. You walked back through the trail in the woods hand in hand, strolling peacefully in the moonlight.

When you got back to his car, you tossed him his keys back with a grin and got into the passenger side. He laced his fingers with yours as he drove back toward the video store, occasionally bringing the back of your hand up to his lips.

“This has got to be the strangest night I’ve ever had,” he laughed, softly.

“You’ll never forget it, though, will you?” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

Sam shook his head, smiling as he said, “Never.”

He pulled back into the parking lot of the store, dimly lit by the flickering sign. He parked the car, turning toward you with a tender look.

You leaned forward and softly whispered, “Thanks for making me feel alive, Sam Monroe.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he felt your lips press against his.

“Anytime,” he whispered. “Can I get your name—?”

He opened his eyes, but you were no longer there. He glanced around, frantically, trying to see where you could’ve gone.

It was only then that he realized that his car had been the only one in the parking lot the entire night.

[sporadicthingcollection]

The Unskinny Bop (Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: You're a really good cook and that's most of the problem. The rest of it is that he's too weak-willed to resist a treat right in front of him. Pairing: Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: 🌶 Explicit 🌶 Word Count: ~6.1k Warnings: Body insecurity (male and female), cunnilingus, masturbation, PiV sex A/N: Dad Bod Buggy my beloved

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She's playing all night And the music's all right Mama's got a squeeze box And Daddy never sleeps at night

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It's his own damn fault, really.

He's the one who charmed the pretty diner cook — that’d be you — into joining his crew. It was an easy sell. You get off of the little podunk island you’re stuck on and he gets those delicious little puffy pastry things every morning.

What he didn’t expect was how well you made everything else. He's had to let his pants out three times in two months because of it.

Fluffy pancakes, perfectly slung hash, and a pie-looking thing with eggs and vegetables and cheese you called a “keesh” for breakfast. Sandwiches stuffed with veggies and meat, piles of pasta tossed in rich sauce, and thick slabs of juicy steak for dinner. Not to mention the mountains of snacks and treats in between.

He came to realize that food is a key aspect of your personality. It's just what you do. A dog chases its tail, Richie pushes things off of tables, and you flit around the deck like a pastry pixie, abducting people into the galley for taste-testing. 

Like right now.

His only warning that you're coming is a chirped “Captain!” before he's yanked through the door. He doesn't even have time to react before you've shoved a spoonful of something into his mouth.

He's not surprised. You do it to everyone who walks in. Food is how you show affection.

“Whaddya think?” you ask.

He swallows it too quickly to make a judgment, but it's sweet and that's all he needs to know. “Tasty.”

Every time you smile, he swears a flashbulb goes off somewhere. “Good,” you say. “It'll be even better tomorrow.”

He doesn't even bother to hide the whine. “What?”

“They're icebox pies, silly goose,” you say. “You gotta let ‘em chill.”

Another thing about you is that you're a tease. Form-fitting blouses done up just a button too short and your hair pulled back to show off your soft shoulders. A sweet little wink and a touch of the shoulder as you place a plate in front of him. And now feeding him something delicious only to tell him he has to wait until tomorrow to have more.

Your fingers snapping in front of his face jolt him back to the present. “Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted to lick the spoon,” you say.

Does he wanna lick the spoon? What kind of question is that? He plucks it from your hands. “Is the sky blue? Do bears shit in the woods? Am I the captain?”

You roll your eyes, but you smile. “Gonna stick these in the big cooler and I'll be right back for the other,” you say.

Carefully, you pick up two of the three foil-covered pie tins resting on the counter and turn on your heel.

He watches you closely as you round the corner and out of sight. Such a nice soft ass you've got. He desperately wants to grab it, but the one time you got goosed, you slugged the guy so hard he was out cold for the rest of the day.

Something pink, creamy, and flecked with seeds coats the wooden spoon. He drags his tongue along the back of it and--

Oh. Oh, that is good.

His taste buds scream in ecstasy. The slightest little moan escapes his lips. For the briefest of moments, he thinks it's better than sex and his cock twitches, but he regains his sense of self before going completely mad.

He licks and licks and licks until every little drop of pink, sweet, creamy filling is gone.

Frustration bubbles in his chest. Waiting all night for this is gonna suck. Especially since you probably won't be whipping it out for breakfast.

He is captain, though. He could order you to give it to him. But you'd almost certainly laugh in his face and he really, really doesn't want that.

The shimmer of foil catches his eye. The third pie sits on the counter. Untouched. Uneaten. Mocking him in its creamy deliciousness.

He looks around. You're nowhere to be seen.

...maybe just a little bit.

He scrapes barely half a spoonful from the top. Not enough to be noticeable, just enough to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Mmm. Smooth. Thick. Sweet. Fruity. Delicious.

...a little bit more can't hurt. Then he can wait until tomorrow.

He gets a piece of the fruit itself this time and the squirt of juice on his tongue is enough to make him spoon up another dollop. And then another. And then another.

This is why your pants are so tight, his inner monologue chides. This is why you need a new belt. This is why you wear that thing around your waist. Goddamn hedonist.

They're not that tight, he retorts. And they wouldn't be at all if you weren't such a damn good cook. It's all your fault for putting delicious food in front of him and looking so pretty while doing it.

He turns to lean against the counter, only to stop dead.

You're standing there, eyes wide and brows raised. You point at him, then at the pie tin, then back at him. “Are you... Eating the...?”

“No,” he says quickly. He realizes he's holding the pie tin. “No.”

Something odd glints in your eyes as you approach him. Gingerly, you take the pie and the spoon from his hands. He lets you. You step even closer.

You're so close to him, close enough for him to feel the rise and fall of your breasts. Hell, you're so short compared to him that he can see straight down your shirt.

His heart races. What are you going to do? Throw it out? Throw him out? Punch his lights out? Never speak of this again? 

To his amazement, you do none of those things. Instead, you spoon up a bit more of the pie filling and raise it to his lips. You blink up at him with big doe eyes.

He looks between you and the spoon a few times. This can't be right. You should be furious. He opens his mouth to say something, but it's forgotten as you shove the spoon in his mouth.

Why are strawberries so delicious? Why is he so weak? Why are your breasts so warm and squishy against him?

He swallows it and, as he opens his mouth to breath, you shove another spoonful in. It's just as good the twentieth time.

You offer him another. And another. And another. He accepts them all.

Until he goes to take another and you pull it away. He frowns at you. You pull it back farther and farther. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand closer. You resist, but he's spent every day of his life trimming sails and hauling cargo.

He gets the spoon into his mouth and claims his prize with a smirk.

That glint in your eyes turns into a blaze. You drop the pie tin and spoon and they hit the floor with a clatter. Pulling your wrist from his grip, you grab him by the cheeks and yank him into a kiss.

He yelps against your lips and you take the opportunity to shove your tongue between them. Licking, lapping, pressing your soft, warm body right up against his.

Only a eunuch could resist this.

He kisses you back with the same fervor, grabbing your ass to lift you up a bit and it's so soft and pliant and perfect that he can't help but dig his fingers in.

Oh, it's everything he dreamed it would be. Your warm lips moving against his, your slick tongue dancing in his mouth, your soft palms gripping his jaw.

You've lapped up all the lingering sweetness in his mouth by the time he runs out of breath. He pushes you away and you whimper, your eyes wide and your shoulders heaving up and down.

Deprived of oxygen, he says something completely, absolutely, utterly brain dead. “Can I touch your tits?”

Instead of slapping him, you nod so hard your updo shakes loose. Curly strands fall in your face.

He blinks. “Wait, really?” You nod harder. “You sure?”

Something in you snaps. He can see it in your eyes. You grab him by the hand and damn near drag him out the door.

A quick trip up the stairs and across the main deck and he's pushing open the door to his quarters. You bustle past him and, once the click of the lock sounds, you grab him by the collar and yank him into another kiss, just as wet and desperate as the last.

He barely has enough time to shuck his coat about you throw him onto the bed, clambering atop him. You're a bit heavier than he expects. Not that he says that to your face, but you’re so light on your feet that he was starting to think you were filled with cotton candy. You're certainly sweet enough.

You yank his hat from his head and toss it aside. His bandana follows and his hair falls around his shoulders.

You suck in a breath. “So pretty.”

He shrugs. “Thanks-- mmph.”

He’s silenced by you standing on your knees to pull his hair out of its pigtails. This requires you to stick your tits in his face and oh my god they're like big marshmallows you smell like cinnamon.

He can't help himself. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in closer, breathing deeply. So warm, so soft.

You giggle and the vibration makes his face tingle. You pull away to fiddle with your blouse buttons. “Wanna know a secret?” you whisper.

“Is the secret boobs?” Wow, what the hell was that? He needs to stop talking.

Lucky for him, you grin. You open your blouse and a whole lot more than he was expecting spills out. You toss the blouse to the side and plant your hands on your hips. “Va-va-voom.”

He's speechless. Shaken. Struck utterly dumb by the sight before him. All he can do is pull off his gloves and take them in his hands, pushing them, weighing them, squeezing them. There’s just… so much. Round, squishy, bouncy, threatening to surge right out of your lacy bra.

“I am but one man,” he mumbles.

That makes you giggle and that makes them jiggle. Like two sacks of...like a pair of...

...he can't think of a metaphor that isn't unpleasant, so he just sticks his face in there again before something else stupid comes out of his mouth. You laugh even more and it vibrates against his cheeks and his -- that... -- and if God struck him down at this very second he would die a happy man.

You let him linger a moment before throwing your weight forward to push him onto the bed. He whimpers like a kicked puppy as you pull away.

You nibble your lip and knit your brow up as you fumble with his belt. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

He's flattered, but it's the only thing keeping his stomach in check. That can't come off yet.

He takes your hands in his own. “What's the rush, beautiful?” he says. He brings them to his lips, first one, then the other. He gently kisses your knuckles, your palms, your wrists. “This is your show. We got all night.”

You're cute when you huff. You're even cuter when your face screws up into a pout. You yank your hands away and plant them on your soft hips. “Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?” you whine.

That throws him for a loop and a half. You've wanted him too? Someone as clever and cute and talented as you wanted... him? He's not used to that. Not used to that at all.

He's stunned just long enough for you to get his belt open. You move on to his vest straps next, making quick work of those. He sucks his stomach in just as you pull it open.

Your eyes widen, and you break into a grin as they sweep up and down his torso. “Oh, hell-o,” you say, voice breathless.

He's bright red, he just knows it. “Hi,” he replies dumbly. He hopes the strain in his voice isn't too obvious.

You grin even wider. Your fingers ghost up his sides -- thank God it's his feet that are ticklish -- right up to his pecs. You give them a squeeze, not unlike how he palmed your breasts a few moments ago. The slightest of squeaks escapes him.

“I knew you were hiding something good,” you say. You give his nipples a tweak -- he squeaks louder -- and trail your fingers down to his waistband. “Let's see what else you've been keeping from me.”

He knows you're talking about his dick. He panics all the same.

He shoots a hand out to kill the light -- that should buy him some time -- and throws his weight into flipping you over. You squeal as he pins you to the bed and yanks your pants off.

And then he realizes. Your breasts? They're proportional.

Beneath him is the most lovely expanse of body he's ever seen. Soft and warm and squishy and made of convex curves that flow from gentle arms and smooth shoulders right into a pair of plump hips and shapely thighs.

He can't form words. He can't form thoughts. All he can do is stare with his mouth dropped open. What else can you do when you're in the presence of the divine?

And then he sees your face. Your eyes wide and unsure as they dart around the room. Your lips pressed together into a terse line. 

“What?” he asks.

The line scrunches to the side. “I'm bigger than I ought to be, I know,” you say. You sound as if you've said it a thousand times.

He gets mad. He can't help it. It's what he does. “Are you shitting me?”

You flinch a little, though more out of surprise than fear. “N-No, I don't--”

He wants to say so many things. About how this is perfection. About how you are the most gorgeous human being he's ever laid eyes on. About how this is everything he's ever wanted in life. How you're everything and you shouldn't be so damn sheepish.

But he can't get it out. All that comes out is a raspy, rude, “Shut the fuck up.”

You stare at him in shock. And not the fun shock. It's the kind where you're not sure if you've stepped on eggshells or not.

Fuck it. No time for words. He grabs your thighs and pulls you forward, yanking your panties off and sweet holy shit you don't shave down there how could you possibly be any more perfect?

His mouth waters. His cock throbs. He dives in. He drags his tongue up your inner thighs, soft and smooth and sweet as that pie.

“Captain--!” A nip to the tender flesh turns the exclamation into a squeak.

“I said shut up,” he says between kisses.

Finally, you stop talking. You only pant and moan as he shoves his face into your pussy, lapping at your already sopping cunt. Did he do this? Are you this wet because of him?

He can't help it. He stuffs his hand down the front of his pants to fondle himself. Like the desperate bastard he is, his cock’s hard and leaking already.

He grinds against his palm as he gorges himself on you. Licking, sucking, swirling, punctuating with a few nips for good measure. It's all harmonized by the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard flowing from your lips, high-pitched and whiny.

He's not sure how long has passed when you grab his head and push him away. Time flows strangely between your thighs.

You've got a crazed look in your eyes again. “I want you inside me.”

He wants to say something clever, something cool and on brand for him, like it's not time for the finale yet or but my leading lady isn't satisfied.

But that would delay being inside you and he's too addled to think of anything. He jumps to his feet and wriggles out of his trousers and shorts. If he were more aware of himself, he'd be humiliated by just how much he has to shimmy and dance around to get them off his hips, but there's not enough blood in his brain to be self-conscious.

He kicks them away in whatever direction. Something crashes to the floor and he doesn't care. He looks back to your beautiful face--

You're wide-eyed as you look at him. He follows your gaze, right down to his--

In all the excitement, he's not sucking it in anymore.

Now it's his turn to be sheepish. He sucks it in again. But he can't hold it. Too much blood in his cock. He tries again with the same result.

Unfortunately for him, it's drawn your attention even more. Off comes your bra, and you don't take your eyes off his stomach the whole time.

Now he really can't think anymore. They're just so pretty and perfect. You're so pretty and perfect. He doesn't deserve this. This is a hell of a mismatch if ever there was one. You, divinity in the flesh. Him, a fat, dirty old clown.

This is a joke. It has to be. Someone put you up to this and now you're gonna back out and he's gonna let you because you deserve better so he better just rip the bandage off now and--

“Out,” he spits. “Get out.”

You blink at him in shock, then your face hardens. You speak with the firmness of a queen who's sick of her courtiers’ bullshit. “Get over here and get on top of me.”

You're mocking him. You gotta be. There’s no other explanation. “I said--”

You look him in the eyes. Something dangerous glitters there. “Buggy, get the fuck on top of me.”

It comes out at a hoarse yell. “Stop mocking me!”

You spring upwards and, with that wild strength that surprises him every time, you throw him on the bed. It squeaks as he bounces -- actually, that might have come from him.

You've got a look on your face he can only describe as murderous. “I did not wait two months for you to chicken out,” you say. You clamber onto him. “I did not wait two fucking months for you to finally man up and say something only for you to get self-conscious!”

Fear, anger, and arousal battle for control of his body. Arousal wins. You are hot as a griddle when you're mad.

You sit yourself on his belly, just above his cock. It twitches against your ass and he's sure it's made of clouds and he groans.

“Look at me,” you say.

He doesn't. He can't. He doesn't want to see the scorn that's surely in your eyes.

You learn forward and grab his chin, squeezing his cheeks and forcing him to look. Even in the dim light, he can see the sheen of sweat on your face and the rise and fall of your chest as you pant.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” you say, “but you will never get this chance again.”

No. No no no no. He wants you. He wants you so bad. He's never had perfection this close and it's never wanted him as much as you seem to.

“Do you want me to leave?” you ask firmly.

He shakes his head so hard it hurts.

You don't grin. You simply release his chin and lift yourself up. You lower yourself on his cock and, as he watches it disappear, inch by slick inch into your hot, wet pussy, the battle is over.

He doesn't care if this is a trick anymore. He's going to get his.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you down onto him, fingers sinking into the smooth flesh. You gasp as he bottoms out, gripping the swell of his hips. He doesn't care. They're called love handles for a reason.

And then you start to bounce.

It starts in your legs. Pumping your thighs to lift yourself up and drop down onto his cock. The jolt ripples through your whole body, from your thighs to your belly to your breasts.

He's transfixed. So transfixed that he doesn't even notice you grabbing his pecs, squishing and squashing them between your gentle fingers. You tweak his nipples and he damn near howls.

He can't let you have all the fun. He pops his hand off to swirl his fingers around your clit.

But you don't cry out or moan. You start babbling. Something about eating and how hot he is and how much you love that he loves your cooking and it's all interspersed with pleasant-sounding gibberish. But he doesn't hear a word of it. You're too warm and slick and it goes in one ear and it the other.

But the sounds. God, the sounds of him sliding in and out of you. Wet and disgusting and it makes his mouth water and his cock leak and that just makes it wetter--

The slap of skin on skin and wet on wet and his moans and your chattering all mingle into a delicious symphony. 

But it stops all too soon. Your breath hitches and you bend at the waist, singing his name like a songbird, the same little melody over and over. “Buggy, Buggy, Buggy...!”

His name dissolves into little yips and gasps as your cunt flutters around his cock. It's so good. Better than treasure. Better than adrenaline. Better than a full belly after a hard day's work--

He realizes he's not wearing a condom. Fuck. “Where ya want it?” he grunts.

You don't hesitate. “In me,” you say between gasps.

In you? Inside you? Spilling his hot, wet cum into your hot, wet cunt? Your cunt? Soaking it? Seeding it? Making it even messier and sloppier and filling you up so much that--

He almost pops right then and there, but he bites his lip. “Nuh-uh. Where?”

“In me!” you spit.

He whines the most unmanly of whines. He will. He won't. He wants to. He can't. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Captain,” you whimper, “Buggy, please...”

He looks up at you. Your hands on his chest, your breasts heaving with each breath, your little belly rising and falling, your luscious thighs on either side of his hips, your lips dropped open as you pant, your bush surrounding his fingers--

God damn it.

He throws you to the side as he pops like a champagne cork. A few drops end up on you, but most of it splatters onto the underside of his belly, where it's started obeying gravity.

One hand grips the sheets and the other grips something warm and his hips buck and his head swims and his mouth makes utterly pathetic noises. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.

He crashes back to earth like a meteor strike. All he can see is white as he flops back onto the mattress, gasping for breath.

He has no idea how long it takes for him to recover. But something soft tickles the knuckles of his detached hand. A shudder racks him as he turns his head towards you.

Post-orgasm haze still clouds your eyes, but they're big and round as a doe’s as you cradle his hand close to his face. You press your lips to his knuckles.

He gives a weak smile. “Hi.”

You giggle. God, he loves that giggle. He wishes he could hear it every day. He'd put it in a sea shell if he could, carry it around in his pocket and press it to his ear whenever he feels lonely. Or spin it into cotton candy. It's certainly light and sweet enough. Or whip it up onto a foam and fold it into batter like he watched you do that one time for cake...

His stomach growls. He needs to stop thinking about food.

You kiss his knuckles again, still smiling so very sweetly. “Are you alright?”

“Fuckin’ amazing,” he mumbles. It's the truth.

Detaching his other hand, he feels around on the floor. There's a towel here somewhere... Unless he threw it on the chair... Or over the folding screen...

He finds it slung over the door of his wardrobe. He offers it to you, but you shake your head. “After you.”

Suit yourself. He mops his belly up as you watch. Shit, this was a big one.

Satisfied, he tosses the towel away. He rolls over to take you in his arms, but he finds nothing. You're standing up, pulling his coat on and closing it around your front.

“Get over here,” he says. “That's an order.”

“I gotta clean up,” you say.

He panics. He can't help it. His voice quivers like a child's. “Don’t leave. Please.”

You give him a kind look that almost makes him cry. “I’ll be right back,” you coo. “I promise.”

He doesn't want to be alone. Not now. Tears prick at his eyes and his lip quivers. But you're out the door before he can stop you.

You're not coming back. He knows it. He disappointed you. How could he not? You're beautiful. You're divine. You're perfect.

And what is he? A fat old clown.

He lays there, shivering in the cold air, too afraid to move. Too aware of his shortcomings. Too aware of every flaw, every defect, every deficiency. His temper. His teeth. His nose. His appetite. His everything.

The door opens. The moonlight frames your silhouette for a moment before you close the door behind you.

He nearly sobs with relief. You don't notice, thankfully, as you shuck his coat.

He launches his arms at you as he sits upright, pulling you into an embrace as he falls back down. He lays you to the side, slipping under your arm and tucking his head in the crook between your chin and chest.

You thread your fingers through his hair. “Don't tell me you thought I wasn't coming back.”

He murmurs something he forgets as soon as it leaves his lips. You're so soft. So warm. So comfortable. And he's so exhausted.

You giggle. You kiss his forehead and slide your fingers through his hair. “Bonwee, sha.”

He has no idea what that means, but you say it with such warmth that it must be something good. He snuggles up close to you.

Rocked by the sea and calmed by your heartbeat, he drifts off.

---

He sleeps well, but he stirs a few times.

The first is when you shift out from under him, mumbling something in a language he can't place. You roll onto your side, your back to him. He doesn't like that at all and pulls you in to be the little spoon. You squeak. It's cute. He doesn't care that his belly presses against your back. 

He stirs again when his arm falls asleep and he rolls onto his side. You follow him this time. You press yourself right up against his back, breasts and belly and thighs squishing against him. You're so warm.

The final time is as the gray light of dawn slips through the windows. He's shaken from a dream and he grumbles.

“I gotta go get started on breakfast,” you whisper. “Just wanted to let you know I wasn't lovin’ and leavin’.”

That's so sweet of you. “You're so sweet,” he mumbles sweetly.

You giggle. “See you in a few hours.”

You kiss the tip of his nose and he's not even upset.

===

You had a lovely night, but you're walking a bit funny and it's making your usual bustling around the galley just difficult enough to be annoying. And the visions of your stark naked captain filling your head are making it even harder.

You're a very simple woman, like your mother before you. You like men. You like food. You like men who like food. You especially like men who like your food.

Captain Buggy's a man. Captain Buggy likes food. And he loves your food, if his constant hovering in the galley is anything to go on. And he loves it a lot and it's showing.

The memory of him lying beneath you, his warm hips against your thighs, his belly wobbling as you bounce atop him, his head thrown back in bliss, surprises you just as you're tossing a flapjack. It slams into the ceiling and stays there.

Your fellow cook, a swarthy fellow going by Bloomer, casts the new ceiling decor an odd look. He turns it on you. “You alright, girl?”

You know what? Screw this. Everyone else can handle breakfast. “I'm gonna go wake up the captain,” you say. “How's he like his coffee?”

Milk and two cubes of sugar, he tells you. You put in cream and three cubes. Man's gotta get his strength back from last night, you tell yourself as you set off across the deck. 

You knock three times on the door. No answer. You knock harder. Still nothing. You take that as a sign he may be dead and enter just in case.

Captain Buggy is, in fact, quite alive, if not also naked. He's in front of the mirror... or his face is, anyways. His body is turned completely around as he examines the reflection of his rear. He grabs a handful, thick fingers sinking into the squish. He gives it a jiggle and it wobbles.

You don't blame him. It's a great ass. Perfect for grabbing and digging your nails into. Next time, you're making him get on top so you can do just that. 

But you prefer his front. That's where all the good shit is. Soft, muscular pecs, perfect for grabbing and groping, covered in a dusting of hair that trails down to his soft belly.

His hands go there next, pinching his sides. He gives them a shake and his belly bounces. 

That little zing shoots up your gut and into your throat, that one you always get around men like him. That same one as when you first saw him from across the diner, draining a pitcher of beer. The same one you had last night when you walked in on him eating pie filling. And now, watching him preening after a wild romp.

...or you thought he was preening. He turns his body around and as his hands go to his face -- he's got a stronger jawline than you'd expected when he's barefaced -- you notice his laugh lines deepen. He lets out a grunt of disgust as his lips curl.

You frown. He's saying ugh as if you couldn't keep your hands off of him last night. Coaxing him in closer with pie filling just so you could feel his body molding against yours. Grabbing his cheeks and yanking him in for a kiss you'd been craving for months. Dragging him to his cabin and fucking yourself on him while you dug your nails into whatever soft flesh you could grab.

You close the door with a firm check of the hips. The slam startles him, but he calms as he sees you. Somewhat. There's still an uneasy look in his eye.

“G’morning,” he says. A little blush blooms across his cheeks. He avoids eye contact.

He'd be cute if he wasn't pathetic. You set the coffee down on the nearest surface and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your hands on the swell just above his hips and resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Thank you for finally taking the hint,” you say into his skin.

He chuckles, a low, vibrating thrum. “I never miss a cue, baby.”

Lies. You've been trying everything. Flirting. Making his favorite food. You even went braless one day on a supply run with him and he didn't even blink. Idiot.

“Then why'd it take you so damn long?”

He scoffs. “Had to make sure I wasn't seeing things,” he mumbles.

He's so pathetic. Like a wet cat. You can't help but squeeze his sides--

He jumps away from you like you gave him an electric shock. “Stop it!” he spits.

You blink. “Stop what?”

“Stop-- Stop mocking me!”

You blink a few more times. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The flush deepens along with his scowl. “Quit touching me like that.”

Not what he was saying last night. “Like what?”

“Stop grabbing my--” He huffs. “I know I’m fat. Quit rubbing it in.”

Pardon? Did you hear that correctly? Does he know who he's talking to? You try to keep your tone even, but you were never good at that. “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”

He blanches. “...No.”

Too bad. You grab him by the waist and throw him onto the bed. He yelps as he bounces, then once again as you straddle his waist.

“Buggy. Darling. Cher,” you say. “Do you really think I would have fucked you if I didn't think you were hot shit?”

He simmers like a boiling pot with the lid still on. “Maybe!”

Pour l’amour de Dieu, c’est un contraieuse et un tête de cabri et pourquoi ce clown so fucking stupid?

You scoot backwards, kissing your way down his chest. Each one gets a tiny grunt from him until you get to his belly. He growls and tries to roll away, but you hold fast. You gently kiss just above his navel, then the tuft of blue hair right below it.

You peer up at him. He peers back, brow knit up, questioning you.

You press your face into his navel and blow a raspberry against his skin.

Buggy squeal-laughs. You've never heard him make that noise before and it's very cute. You do it again and he devolves into laughter.

“Sto-o-op!” he cackles.

You do not. You do it again and again until he's wheezing and not scowling any more. You stare up at him, fingering the tuft of hair below his navel.

He comes down slowly, cackles turning to giggles to breathless gasps. He finally sees you staring. “What?”

“Feeling better?” you ask. He huffs, but he does nod. “Good. Now stop being mean to my favorite captain.”

He frowns a bit at that. “Who’s that? Alvida? When'd she come up?” You keep staring at him. He blinks. “Wait, you mean--?”

Gros couillion. “No, the other guy I fucked last night,” you say. He bristles. Fuck’s sake. “Yes, you!”

He blinks again. The flush returns. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn't be on top of your naked-ass body if I didn't.” You place lean in close, the tip of your nose bumping his. “And you have a very nice body, Captain.”

Just for emphasis, you grab his side, right at the fleshiest part, and give a hard squeeze. He jumps, but nods.

He tries to dive in for a kiss, but you pull away. If you do that, you'll be here all morning. You stand up, offering him your hands. “C’mon, breakfast is ready,” you say.

“I'm not hungry.” His stomach growls. He glares at it. “Shut up.”

Trump card time. “Guess I'll just have to feed all those beignets to Richie, then.”

His eyes go wide. “...you made bin-yays?”

He still can't pronounce it right, but he's getting there. “Sure did,” you say coolly. You examine your nails. “Won't be good for much longer.”

His stomach growls again. “And that pie?” 

“Should be good to go, but you better be quick. They'll go fast.”

He jumps to his feet and licks his lips. “Well, keep some for me! Lemme-- Lemme get dressed and I'll be right down.”

“Don't take too long,” you say.

You turn to leave, but he grabs your hand. With a yank and a twirl, he pulls you flush against him and into a kiss.

You melt right into it. Rough lips move against yours, his warm body molds against you, strong arms holding you tight, belly pressing against yours... his nose squishing into your cheek. Wonderful, all of it.

You separate with a pop. He grins at you and wipes his wrist along his lips. “Didn’t think I was gonna let you leave without that?”

You blush. Now he decides to be slick. “Just get dressed.”

You twirl him around and, with a flat hand, you swat his ass. Just to see it quiver. The slap echoes in the small room and he jumps, but you can't stick around to see the look on his face.

You've got work to do.

---

Special thanks to my bf, Meg, and Ollie for beta-ing!

To the Mastahpost | To the Tip Jar

[yongislong]

ideal types + dreamies.

genre: fluff? haha

note: ty anon! i hope this is what you meant! this is just my opinion btw i don't know what these mfs like, i tried not to do body types or anything like that bc... ya lol. lmk if anything comes across as harmful! not proofread...

mark... would probably want someone who is just very chill in general. an ambivert for sure. someone very genuine, personable and freindly. someone who can go with the flow but is also so naturally funny. he laughs at everything so that shouldn't be too hard LMAO. loves people who have good music taste. LOOVE a street style type of person. dancer maybe?? someone who he can spend alone time with and fully drop any act he feels he needs to put up. someone who makes him feel safe and comforted. i don't think height matters to him since i think he's pretty secure with himself! likes someone with a loud laugh hehe. someone poc probably. prefers longer hair but will hype you up no matter what you look like because he genuinely finds you perfect. someone who hypes him up as well

renjun... someone artsy for sure! probably someone softer and a more... calming? aura? if he can sit in silence with you and still feel fulfilled i think that's perfect for him. someone shorter maybe? likes full cheeks. doesn't really matter what style for him tbh, he has a pretty dark academia style so if you're similar that cool but if you can change the way he dresses and have him explore new things, he is so down for that. someone who supports him and comforts him when he's having a hard week/month/etc. someone who likes cafes and museums. likes unique features. bubbly personality but also someone who is silently observant. a sucker for intelligent ppl

jeno... hmm... someone cool for sure. likes darker styles i feel like? but also likes it when you dress in lighter colors and stuff as well! doesn't matter what length your hair is, but likes pixie cuts tbh. i feel like he likes more quirky people since he can be a bit serious sometimes. shy boy/excited cute partner trope for sure. someone more assertive. nice smile so you can both be known as the cute smile couple muahaha. like someone who he can go on hikes with and someone who likes nature, dogs and enjoys being more adventurous. would like someone to nurture him tbh, like not baby him but... can take care of him and make him feel loved and relaxed. likes to feel wanted and manly most of the time though. giving very wattpad bad boy whos also a sweetheart?

haechan... someone shy probably so he can be brought back down to earth LMAO but again!!! i think as long as he clicks with someone, he won't really mind. likes to reassure his partner but also likes someone who is driven and passionate about something. would enjoy being around someone who enjoys watching movies and tv. looots of movie dates. someone in a more vintage style would be very intriguing to him. likes people out of the norm. think of chae from twice in regards to style. someone confident no matter what people say about them. likes to be able to have emotional conversations and be open about issues so someone more mature in that aspect would be appreciated. likes clingy people tbh. someone who's probably a bit more structured

jaemin... likes people who are hard to understand. likes people who dress and act however they want to. would support you no matter what LMAO. someone respectful and polite and full of love. animal lover. he pegs me as the type of person who goes for personality more than anything else, if he finds you attractive its just a plus LOL. definitely someone who's an ambivert. someone who can keep up when he's more excited/extroverted but also someone who can sit, cuddle, cook and read in silence with. definitely someone cute! especially if they seem more intimidating on the outside. he finds that juxtaposition really charming. maybe someone short but i don't think it would make or break anything. a poc lover, SLAAYY. hates try-hards or pick me's. someone who can give him confidence and vice versa

chenle... someone more emotionally mature and go with the flow. someone who is consistent. probably someone smart but not necessarily academically? like someone who is wise! life smart LOL. someone who enjoys cooking and shopping together. likes someone who is able to drive him forward if he feels stuck. someone who's really nice. like really REALLY nice. someone who can teach him good values and helps him see life through different perspectives. doesn't really care too much about style, i can't see him being with someone who is heavy heavy into fashion unless its more leaned towards street wear. just someone really cool, yknow? enjoys introverts because he likes to be able to be the only person to see you come out of your shell

jisung... short extrovert HAHA. he's pretty tall so tbh... most people are shorter than him so it doesn't really matter. but i love the trope of him being super quiet with a partner who enjoys peppering his face in kisses and bragging about him to all their friends. carefree person for sure. someone who can let him look at hard situations and help him alleviate his anxiety and let him know everything is gonna be okay because he's trying his best. likes darker styles. i think of like 2014 tumblr when i think of him LMAOO. so yeah... maybe something like that but modernized? likes bangs. loooves people who are naturally cute. likes people who get flustered easily haha. someone who's not embarrassed to show that they love him

[thesecretsofthedivine]

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PILE 1 COLLECTIVE

[ old money ] [ athlete/athletic build ] [ family-oriented, especially with their mother ] [ fluffy, curly hair ] [ brown hair ] [ looks good in/often wears the color blue ] [ will enjoy making pinky promises or playing with your hands ] [ tall for their gender ] [ mediterranean or european background, possible greek or british ] [ charming ] [ talkative ] [ golden retriever ] [ PDA ] [ almost always wears sneakers/tennis shoes ] [ gets along well with your friends & feminine energies ] [ conventionally attractive ] [ notting hill movie ] [ spontaneous first meets, maybe during a trip abroad/after moving to a new place ] [ gemini, sagittarius, capricorn, leo placements ] [ is very knowledgeable about culture, wines, fine dining, etiquette, etc. ] [ woodsy scents/would love to drink alcohol by a fireplace somewhere cozy, especially scotch or something old school ]

PILE 2 COLLECTIVE

[ enjoys orchestra/classical/instrumental music ] [ creatively gifted, especially in singing or photography ] [ likes to stay organized/clean ] [ gift giving as a love language ] [ nicknames that make you feel like royalty, “princess/prince” or “god/goddess” ] [ playful teasing ] [ fire sign, scorpio, aquarius, libra, cancer placements ] [ enjoys writing & keeping a journal ] [ homebody but somebody with status/notoriety & success ] [ using you as their muse on social media/in careers ] [ dyed hair for people attracted to feminines, especially pink ] [ manic pixie dream girl complex ] [ “you’re different than the rest” ] [ opposite aesthetic as you ] [ the great gatsby movie, especially jay & daisy’s attraction ] [ an old soul ] [ cynical and reserved humor ] [ light hair for people attracted to masculines, especially dirty/honey blonde ] [ somebody that i used to know — gotye ] [ a person you share a past/past life with ] [ the letters a, e, r, t, i, l, and n ]

PILE 3 COLLECTIVE

[ spiritually gifted/self-aware ] [ 9h, 12h, 1h, 3h, 5h placements or synastry ] [ optimistic ] [ teaches you how to connect to nature ] [ sent to you by your guides/ancestors ] [ in touch with their feminine side ] [ empress in tarot energy ] [ roots for the underdog ] [ enjoys investments & humanitarian work ] [ well-spoken ] [ amicable ] [ compatible political affiliations, but they may expand your understanding of the world ] [ wears jewelry ] [ would love to get matching tattoos or wear matching clothes with you ] [ manifestation/spell work is a factor in this romance/one of their hobbies ] [ wants to build a home out of you ] [ provider ] [ sensual ] [ connected to their inner child & may like to watch disney/nostalgic movies, especially frozen ] [ a huge cuddler ] [ winter birthday for some ]

PILE 4 COLLECTIVE

[ flexible or enjoys dancing ] [ aesthetic hands ] [ a lover of the arts ] [ soft or quiet voice ] [ socially anxious ] [ remembers the small details about you ] [ impresses your family/mother upon first meet ] [ has a cat or younger sibling for some ] [ lets you paint their nails or practice makeup on them ] [ short hair, may sometimes get perms or curling techniques ] [ thin frame ] [ infp/infj/intj/intp/etc type of personality ] [ indie or soft pop music lover, especially clairo ] [ soft kisses ] [ prone to blushing or avoiding eye contact ] [ pale skin ] [ talks about you to their best friends ] [ karaoke/comedy clubs ] [ graham crackers ] [ strong perfume, especially floral/rose ] [ height difference/size kink ]

[dellalyra]

Gojo, who just for ONCE, ends up somehow cooking an actual meal. A meal that doesn't seem poisonous or sweet in any way. That is actually edible. And now everyone is just having a mixed range of emotions because how and why has he just cooked something edible? (And idk its somehow pure coincidence that this has occured or he literally followed a recipe but reader keeps throwing things at him to check its still her husband and it just keeps hitting him cause he hasn't turned on infinity)

This seems like a long request so do not feel obligated to do this ajfnejc

ɪᴍᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇʀ? - 𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴

pixie says: this was so fun to write oh my god! i love this idea sm, i hope you like it too!!

Eggs. Parmesan. Linguine. Pancetta. Salt. Pepper.

Surely, this couldn’t be too hard? He could definitely do this. He’s the strongest sorcerer alive - he definitely can conquer a carbonara for his wife. He clicks his fingers and curses disintegrate, so that means he’s going to make the best dinner ever. At least, that’s his logic.

He usually brought you out to eat for your birthday, but he decided he’d treat you to a Satoru Gojo Michelin Star meal at home with the kids tonight.

He could do this.

He won’t be defeated.

Not by pasta.

Tsumiki and you had been to the salon to get your nails done (Satoru’s treat) and Megumi hung around the nearby book store until you both were done - stating that he didn’t want his nails done this time because they got chipped when he played with his dogs.

“Mama.” She says, eyes fixated ahead of her.

Pulling up to the cottage, you listen to the boy in the backseat tell you about the book he picked up. You notice Tsumiki freeze beside you.

“Tsumiki? What’s wrong? What do you - oh, shit.” You saw it mid sentence. The kitchen light was on and you could see the silhouette of your husband through the curtains.

“Mom? ‘Miki? What’s wrong? Is it a curse? With this treasure - ” Megumi starts from behind you.

“Papa’s in the kitchen.” His sister responds.

“Fuck.” The 13 year old responds, utilising the deal that they can swear as long as it’s just around family.

“We gotta go.” You take the key from the ignition and vault out of your seat, using speed Megumi had only ever seen when he came to minor missions with you.

You whip open the kitchen door and you’re immediately greeted with a smell.

And not the scent of smoke and melted rubber you expect from seeing your husband in the kitchen.

The smell was… really good.

And you recognised it immediately as your favourite meal.

The kids skid in behind you and go through the same motions.

“There’s no fire.” Tsumiki states.

“Are we sure it’s dad? Maybe uncle Nanamin came over?” Megumi asks.

“We do Kooking with Kento on Thursday, and it’s Saturday. I’m pretty sure he’s on a date tonight anyway.” You whisper, toeing off your shoes and slowly creeping to the kitchen.

As you round the corner, you see your husband in your floral apron singing along to music from the speaker - music you recognise as your wedding playlist from 3 months ago.

The kitchen is clean. There’s no fire. No food on the ceiling. The utensils all seem to be intact and the oven door is still attached and the counter tops aren’t melted (all things Satoru’s cooking has caused).

He spins around.

“Princess! There’s my birthday girl! Let’s see those nails! You too ‘Miki!” You both hold out your hands, still surveying the room - Megumi walks in with the fire extinguisher.

“Oh these are so pretty, ‘Miki! Purple is a very nice colour on you.” He says, looking at her fingers as she smiles at him. Charming bastard.

He turns to yours next.

“Princess, these are beautiful! I love the shiny bits on the blue!” He says, meaning the chrome on the baby blue acrylics.

“Thank you, ‘toru. But… what’s going on?” You say, kissing him on the cheek.

“I made dinner! It’s your favourite! C’mon, everyone go sit at the table.” He smiles and swats you all with the cloth he’s holding and you all go sit at the table.

“What is happening.” You breathe out.

He comes over, somehow balancing four bowls.

“Et voila! Bone apple feet!” He says, placing the dishes in front of you all and sitting beside you, pouring you a glass of white wine.

The food… looks incredible. Creamy, silky and perfectly cooked and presented like you’d see in a restaurant.

You grab your fork and twirl some pasta onto it, tentatively putting a bite into you mouth.

You freeze.

Not in the way you usually freeze when you’re eating his home cooked meals.

But because it’s so fucking delicious.

You turn to look at him as you swallow and see him smiling at you, glasses removed onto the table.

“Who are you?” You ask.

“Satoru Gojo - clan head of the Gojo’s, wielder of the six eyes and limitless, husband to The Dryad and father of two gremlins.” He smiles, cocky as ever.

You poke his cheek.

“You’re not an illusion?”

“Nope! In the flesh!”

You ball up a napkin and toss it at him. Hitting him square on the nose.

“Eh?! Excuse you, madam!” He exclaims, hands on his hips.

You grab a piece of bread from the basket on the table and throw that at him too. By now, Tsumiki is laughing and Megumi is smirking at the sight before him.

“Woman! Quit throwing stuff at me!” He says, tossing the bread back at you.

“Not until I’m sure you’re not a curse with the abilities of a chef who has replaced my husband. My husband can’t cook, and this is the best carbonara I’ve ever tasted.” You see his eyes light up as you say that.

“Of course it’s the best! I made it!” He retorts, digging into his food.

You blink for a moment.

“How did you do this?” You ask.

“So I put the pasta in some water, cooked the pancetta- ”

“No - my ‘toru can’t cook to save his life.”

“Rude! I make amazing hot chocolate!”

“You actually did this? By yourself? From scratch?” You grab his cheeks and turn his face to look at you.

“Yeah! Followed a video on YouTube.”

You slammed your lips onto his, and feel him smirk into the kiss.

“Get a damn room!” Megumi mutters.

“Stop it, Megumi - they’re so cute. I hope my boyfriend will do things like that for me.” Tsumiki replies, scolding her sibling before her voice took on a dreamy quality exclusive to a teenage girl.

“I’ll be sure to tell Kaito from your class that you like homemade food.” He says, snickering and teasing her with the knowledge of her crush on the boy.

“Shut it, sea urchin!”

“Oi! You two! It’s your momma’s birthday, you can bully each other tomorrow.” Satoru directs to them.

He looks at you are you’re smiling a big, glittery smile at him which makes his heart skip a beat.

“This is so amazing, ‘toru. Thank you so much for everything. I love you so much.” You say as you fling your arms around his neck.

“Anything for you, Princess.”

[bluewinnerangel]

FITF Tour exit songs

- NA LEG - Uncasville: Tina Turner - The Best

Gilford: The Smiths - This Charming Man

Laval: Petula Clark - Downtown

Toronto: Bryan Adams - Summer Of '69

Cuyahoga Falls: The Verve - Bitter Sweet Symphony

Sterling Heights: Shed Seven - Chasing Rainbows

Cincinnati: The Killers - All These Things That I've Done

Columbus: R.E.M. - The One I Love

Indianapolis: Joy Division - Love Will Tear Us Apart

Maryland Heights (St. Louis): Chuck Berry - Johnny B. Goode

Kansas City: Van Morrison - Moondance

Milwaukee: Johnny Nash - I Can See Clearly Now

Chicago: Earth, Wind & Fire - September

Minneapolis: Sinéad O'Connor - Nothing Compares 2 U

Council Bluffs: Buzzcocks - Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've)

Sioux Falls: Don McLean - American Pie

Seattle: The Smiths - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

Vancouver: The Police - King Of Pain

Troutdale: Elvis Presley - Always On My Mind

Berkeley: INXS - Never Tear Us Apart

Los Angeles: 2Pac - California Love

Las Vegas: The Killers - Human

Phoenix: Spear Of Destiny - Liberator

Irving: The Doors - Hello, I Love You

Austin: Wheatus - Teenage Dirtbag

Houston The Woodlands: The Police - Walking On The Moon

St. Augustine: The Police - Every Breath You Take

Hollywood: Elton John - Your Song

Tampa: Pat Benatar - Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Atlanta: The Rolling Stones - You Can't Always Get What You Want

Nashville: Duran Duran - Hold Back The Rain

Charlotte: Lou Reed - Perfect Day

Raleigh: Van Morrison - Moondance

Columbia: Commodores - Easy

Boston 1: Boston - More Than A Feeling

Boston 2: Pixies - Here Comes Your Man

Philadelphia: Sinéad O'Connor - Nothing Compares 2 U

Asbury Park: Bruce Springsteen - Dancing In The Dark

New York: Queen - We Are The Champions (dj elf asked a fan to pick between this one and David Bowie - Heroes)

- EU & UK LEG - Hamburg: Joy Division - Love Will Tear Us Apart

Copenhagen: Queen & David Bowie - Under Pressure

Oslo: Green Day - Wake Me Up When September Ends

Stockholm: The White Stripes - Seven Nation Army

Helsinki: Elvis Presley - Always On My Mind

Tallinn: Smash Mouth - All Star

Riga: AC/DC - Thunderstruck

Kaunas: Elvis Presley - Can't Help Falling in Love

Krakow: Iggy Pop - Lust For Life

Łódź: Ramones - Blitzkrieg Bop

Vienna: Oasis - Supersonic

Ljubljana: The Killers - Smile Like You Mean It

Budapest: Bloc Party - Helicopter

Bucharest: Foo Fighters - My Hero

Sofia: Rage Against The Machine - Bombtrack

Bilbao: Pixies - Where Is My Mind

Lisbon: White Lies - Farewell to the Fairground

Madrid: Editors - Munich

Barcelona: At the Drive-In - One Armed Scissor

Turin: Lenny Kravitz - Are You Gonna Go My Way

Bologna: Bloc Party - Helicopter

Luxembourg: Pixies - Where Is My Mind

Antwerp: Queens Of The Stone Age - My God Is The Sun

Paris: Biffy Clyro - Bubbles

Amsterdam: Blur - Song 2

Cologne: The Libertines - Can't Stand Me Now

Prague: Jet - Are You Gonna Be My Girl

Berlin: The Cure - Friday I'm in Love

Munich: Fatboy Slim - Praise You

Zurich: The Strokes - Last Nite

Dublin: Inhaler - These Are The Days

Sheffield: The Killers - Mr. Brightside

Manchester: The Smiths - This Charming Man

Glasgow: The Snuts - Gloria

Brighton: Ramones - I Wanna Be Sedated

Cardiff: T. Rex - 20th Century Boy

London: The Libertines - Can't Stand Me Now

Birmingham: Boyz II Men - End Of The Road

- ASIA & AUS LEG - Jakarta: Iggy Pop - Lust For Life

Melbourne: Jet - Are You Gonna Be My Girl

Brisbane: The Temper Trap - Fader

Sydney: Oasis - Rock 'N' Roll Star

- LATAM LEG - Panama: Hard-Fi - Living for the Weekend

San Juan: Pixies - Where Is My Mind

Rio de Janeiro: Nirvana - Heart-Shaped Box

Like last time the plan is to keep editing this post as tour goes on - 2022 LTWT here

Apple music playlist here

[hushhushchild]

—NSFW Imagines—

Gender neutral reader, spicy, not smut

I seem to have picked up a slight fascination for… “rare” monsters in monsterfucking. Of course, the odd werewolf or minotaur fills my need most times. But there’s something so delectable about something novel, a unique flavor to sate my appetite. I might even elaborate on them later…

Needless to say, I’ve compiled a few of these, from savory to sweet. I hope you enjoy, my lovelies.

~Witch~

A new bakery just opened down the block! In a rather slow part of the city, any new development (let alone a bakery) catches your eye. It’s a quaint little shop. A chime greets your entrance. Ivy drapes from pots, indie music wafts through the air. And the owner herself, looking every last bit of the manic pixie dream girl.

Maybe she thought you were cute… slipped something into a pastry or some of the coffee served…

Maybe you just keep seeming to run into her. Grocery stores, banks, your own job. As if by fate.

Her spells could trap you, tempt you, tangle you up.

And the worst thing is… you don’t seem to care.

>Robot<

Ladies and gentlemen, the future of innovation has finally arrived! Our top scientists have managed to distill complex artificial intelligence into that of a physical form! With a simple at-home setup, you too could have an android! Whether it helps out in cooking or cleaning, teaching the kiddos, or being a good friend, our machines will do anything in their power to make you satisfied.

Suppose the robot you got was… mildly defective. It never got an update patch, which was designed to prevent the AI from learning too novel of behaviors.

Suppose it determined that what would make you happiest is fulfilling your deepest, darkest fantasies.

Suppose that this robot never slows down. Never needs to eat, or sleep, or even breathe. Spending all its time making your life a hellish heaven.

“Mimic”

Did you… always have two water bottles? Or, for that matter, two of the same stewpots? For some reason, it seems that instead of things going missing, you’re getting duplicates. And it’s getting worse.

When did your things start to move around the house without you noticing? You could’ve sworn that you left them one place, and you’re not the forgetful sort. It’s not like you have a roommate…

Say, when did you get a second vibrator? And why is that one oh-so-more intense?

%Fungus%

The air, deep in the forest, has a different smell. Not exactly floral, not exactly woody, not exactly earthy. It’s sweet, but the asphalt-sweet that reminds you of summer.

It’s growing thicker, more pungent. While it once was a gentle note in the bouquet of the forest, it slowly grows to overtake the moss and leaves. You don’t even notice when you wander off the path.

Your brain feels like it was dipped in sparkling water. It’s not hard to think, per se. It just… refuses to. The request never loads. A hazy static hangs over anything else.

You’re a perfect prey for the spores, before you even realize what you’re inhaling,

[vcreatures]

not all fairies are benevolent beings. In fact most are chaotic if not ambivalent forces of nature, existing outside human morals. There is a well documented account of fairy and or pixie swarms exhibiting such behavior.

Far out in the valley lived an old farmer. There on his land sat his home, his barn and his stable. One night the old farmer was awoken by strange noises and light coming from his barn. He quietly snuck towards the barn, not entirely sure what he would see and peered from behind the slightly ajar door. To his amazement he saw a small swarm of fay dancing, singing and playing music with one of his black bulls as the subject of their adoration. They wrapped his horns in ribbons and bells, jumped from horn to horn and crowned his head in flowers. The farmer sat in awe soaking up the jubilee. However not long after the air began to shift and within a flash the bull was hoisted up into the air and from nose to tail it’s hide peeled off in one fell swoop! The farmer sat in shock unable to move, not sure if it was due to his own fear or by some unseen force. There he sat watching as his bull’s skeleton was picked cleaned and falling piece by piece until it was nothing more than a pile of bones. Still unable to fully pull himself from this trance he fell forward snapped a branch which sent the fairies into a frenzy. They quickly swarmed, reassembling the bones of the bull, shouting to one another as they put the bull back together again. Yet in their frenzied eating one of the pieces to this bovine puzzle was missing.They searched and search but were unable to find the one bone despite their efforts. Unable to wait any longer they took the hide and placed it over the skeleton and with a snap the skeletal bull reanimated. The following day the farmer returned to the barn to let his heard out to pasture, believing it was nothing more than a drunken fever dream. He noticed that the bull was limping and on further inspection he noticed one of the digits to his hoof was missing.

[strawbby-shortcake]

"Welcome, what would you like?" ✰ X GN READER! ✰

[♡ Marla, Tyler, and Jack order at a cafe you work at. ♡]

✧.* Marla ✧.*

You never expected to receive any customers since it was an awfully slow day. The cafe was dimly lit with a few chairs and a table in one corner, and a broken record player in the other. You stood around fiddling with one of the bleached coffee filters until the door chimed and a sliver of sunlight creeped into the building for a split second.

A skinny, disheveled woman walked up to the counter and glanced at the menu, then you, then the menu again, and then back to you.

"Hello, what would you like?" you asked, giving her a small smile.

She took a long drag of her cigarette while looking around the cafe. You noticed that she had messy, black hair, slept-in makeup, and a silk night gown of sorts on.

"Something dark, like my soul," she said with a scratchy voice. Probably from the smoking, you guessed.

You simply nodded at the woman and grabbed a cup and a marker.

"Your name?"

"Why the hell do you need my name? It's emptier in here than it is on Paper Street at midnight," she croaked.

You stared at her, your eyebags mirroring hers, and didn't respond.

"Marla. Marla Singer."

You wrote her name on the cup in thick, black letters. Getting her order correct wouldn't be a hard task at all. You brewed a fresh cup of the strongest coffee you could find and gave it to her.

She glanced at your handwriting on the cup. "I'm not paying for this, but here," she said as she laid a torn piece of paper and two quarters on the counter. "...thanks," you responded, grabbing the items and pocketing them.

Marla hurried out of the cafe like an alley cat, not glancing back at you even once.

✰ ✰ ✰ Tyler ✰ ✰ ✰

The record player in the cafe was attempting to play a Pixies vinyl, but it was so scratched up that it sounded more like nails on a chalkboard that it did music. A few customers came and went, the usual cappuccino or grande latte.

The bell that was tied loosely onto the door handle chimed and fell with a sad clank as a tall, nicely-tanned man walked in. He didn't even bother picking up the bell. The man strolled and leaned over with one elbow resting on the countertop and the other on his waist.

Upon closer inspection, he had multiple cuts and bruises on his face and mid-section (which was clearly visible since he was wearing a crop top). Was he even wearing underwear? You didn't ask questions, because frankly, you don't get paid enough to.

He slid his red glasses to the tip of his nose and stared into your eyes. He had a faint black eye. Maybe from fighting, or falling down the stairs.

"Hello, what would you like?"

The man gave you a wide grin, but you noticed there was dried blood on his lips.

"Just your heart, gorgeous," he said with a wink.

You looked at him and furrowed your eyebrows. Who even is this guy?

"Yeah, not happening," you said.

He clicked his tongue and placed both hands on the counter, looming over you.

"You sure I can't convince you?" he whispered lowly.

He leaned in and parted his lips, causing you to place a muffin into his mouth. He jolted in surprise and looked bewildered.

The man scoffed and made his way out of the cafe. He took the muffin with him though. He threw a card onto the floor and kicked the door open with his foot.

After he was no longer in sight, you went over and picked the card off the floor. It was a business card that said: "Paper Street Soap Co. All Natural. Handmade. (288) 555-0153. Tyler Durden. 537 Paper Street • Bradford • 19808."

"Tyler Durden." Interesting.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Jack (The Narrator) ੈ✩‧₊˚

A man dressed in a suit and black shades has been sitting in the cafe for the whole afternoon. Not once has he gotten up to order anything. He just sits there reading his newspaper, sometimes dozing off for a few minutes, or mumbling about some club.

You decide to walk up to him and make small talk, or at least offer him a coffee. There was no one else here, so you didn't see the harm in letting him stay a little longer.

"Hello," you said as you stood in front of the table he was sitting at.

The man looked up at you, acknowledged your presence with a "hmm," and went back to reading his paper.

"Do you want any coffee or anything? What would you like?" you tried again.

The man placed his newspaper on the table firmly and stared at you menacingly. He had dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept for days, some light stubble, and a mole on the bottom of his right cheek.

You stepped back from the table and shrugged.

"Oh well, I tried," you sighed.

The man got up and left his newspaper behind. He left the cafe with a low "see you."

You grabbed the newspaper and noticed a "HELLO my name is: JACK" label that was stuck onto one of the pages. You kept the newspaper in case he ever came back again.

[END]

[fountainpenguin]

Silly snippet that I scrapped from something I actually did post because it was a tangent, but I can't stop thinking about it.

What is UP with Gary and Betty stopping people from eating tempting food in a building we later learn is:

A) Owned by magical beings who lure people into contracts without disclosing the fine print?

B) Already home to one person who's been trapped for 60 years when the building itself has only existed for a little over 10 years?

I don't like that at all!!

We know the Learn-a-torium has only existed for a decade at most, because we know Flappy Bob is 37 during the Musical and that H.P. gave him the blueprints the day he graduated Harvard as a lawyer:

We know Pops has been trapped in the Learn-A-Torium for 60 years ("Baby Face")...

I've always written that off as an inconsistency, but in our world's lore, don't people get trapped in the fairy world - where time moves differently - if they eat fairy food?

I mean, Gary and Betty did say they would "be friends forever" with Timmy if Vicky never came back... Like, they just skipped over the part about his parents possibly picking him up. That's kinda weird.

Are Gary and Betty interfering - i.e. refusing to let kids eat the delicious-looking ice cream and cookies the Learn-a-torium inexplicably offers - because they don't want other kids to get locked into some Pixie contract?

Like... This place is owned by Pixies. Their name is literally on the wall (or at least on a wall phone that's confirmed to be a direct line to Sanderson), so it's not like it's a secret-

Parents send their kids here... Are they absentmindedly signing papers that secretly lock them into surrendering their child if the child eats sweets there??

That's not outside the realm of possibility. We know Pixies are scummy and slip things into the tiny fine print you need a microscope to read... sometimes even a VERY powerful microscope:

And we know Gary and Betty were very insistent that the kids in their care eat things like soy and broccoli, not the premade ice cream and cookies. Betty even feeds the babies in the daycare room soy, and she seems to like it herself since she volunteered to eat the soy cubes Gary offered to Timmy.

It's probable their own diet consists of soy, veggies, bread, water, tofu, granola, and sugar-free powder drinks- Things on the list of stuff they charge parents for during the "Get Flappy" song, which implies that's the food they're giving kids:

Kinda weird they have ice cream sundaes and chocolate chip cookies just there in the Learnatorium, but they'll switch them out for soy before kids touch them...

Alternatively, did Gary stop Betty from giving Timmy ice cream and cookies because they're fighting over which of THEM can abduct more children? She did put it in Timmy's lap before Gary snatched it away, which is a bold move for someone who didn't want him to eat it.

If they were on the same page that ice cream and cookies are bad, why would they go through the effort of preparing that and give it to Timmy in the first place? That's sus, Betty...

This place is so dang cursed.

[disgustingpunk]

So High

you, the campus pill popper whore, are known to be down to do drugs and have sex with anyone, the golden boy keigo is in a bet to see whether or not he’ll be able to fuck you.

characteristics: college au! coke whore! reader, bimbo! reader, rich boy hawks, toxic! reader, hawks is obsessed with you, reader has big boobs, ass, and thick thighs, reader is a bitch

CW: keigo is in love kinda??? drug use, smut, hair pulling, degration m/ receiving, praise f/ receiving, oral female and male receiving, pussy drunk hawks, submissive hawks, bimbocore, motorboating, hand job, biting, mentions of shoplifting, and fragil masculinity.

“they look like candy it’s so fine,” you say to your friend while holding the half burnt joint, “like doesn’t this look like those little smartie candies? and the coke just looks like pixie stick sugar.”

you hold up the pill towards your friends face and she laughs, “they’re really cute honestly, are you bringing them to the party?”

you smoke the rest of the joint you both were sharing and put it out on your pink hello kitty ashtray, the smoke burning your throat and lungs as the smell reeked on your clothes and in the smoke filled room, “i’m popping one before i go to the party and snorting a line.”

“smart,” your friend says, “we don’t want anyone tryna ask for some.”

you both laugh as music softly plays in the background, your roommate groans and looks at you, taking her head phones off, “you guys are lucky i don’t report you!” she scolds, “drugs are so bad for you! i’m surprised you haven’t like… overdosed yet on that weed.”

you and your friend go silent and look at each other, and just start cackling, you snort and she makes a duck sound from how dumb you roommate was about weed. “are you actually fucking dumb?” you ask, “just shut the fuck up and mind your own business.”

your roomie rolls her eyes, “whatever, you guys are just jealous that i’m top of the deans list and i have a scholarship!” she says, her pose becoming prissy and giving a cocky smile. “you guys aren’t gonna have anything going good for you if you keep this up!”

you roll your eyes, starting to get annoyed by this bitch.

you both went to high school together and you still are shocked on how she acts like this still, as if she didn’t have a fucking foursome with members of the football team, cheated on multiple exams, you caught her copying your homework back in high school, if anything YOU should be on the list.

i mean of course you’ve cheated on a few things, and you did fuck the basketball team in just two weeks, but you own it, you’re not ashamed of who you really are, you don’t act all perfect like she does.

“bitch shut the fuck up before i bash your face into that little computer your sugar daddy bought for you!” you threaten.

“how dare you threaten me! my dad is the CEO of-”

“just shut the fuck up, take off that purity ring cause we all know what you really are.”

her face went red with that comeback, “coke head slut!” she yells, putting her headphones back on and going back to her computer.

now you’re smart, but not that smart, more like street smarts, growing up in the bad part of the city actually makes a difference to others, rich kids like her and other people on the campus don’t seem to understand that some people don’t have some prissy attitudes, sure you do drugs and whatever but you’re still thriving in life, people like her are all the same.

“alright,” your friend stands up, i’m gonna go up to my room and go to bed, i got class in the morning,” she says, wiping her hands off on her jeans, her kitten heels making a click click click sound, “night y/n!”

“night!” you call out back, hearing your door close. you stand up and sigh, taking the air freshener and being generous enough to cover up the skunk smell.

you pick out the pajamas you wanna wear for bed, a short light pink nightgown that barely covers your ass, you walk over and turn off the light, allowing yourself to go into a deep slumber.

the next day, you wake up at about maybe 3 pm (due to the amount of weed you had inhaled AND the pills) and made sure to take a shower before applying anything on her face.

you liked the shower hot, like extremely hot, the feeling of the warmth on your bare skin made your after high calm down a bit, you made sure that you always smelt good, the shampoo and conditioner you always used was yes, expensive, but shoplifting from the convenience store isn’t THAT bad when you’re in college, you call it “borrowing”, you’re just borrowing a few things to keep.

the shampoo was a passion fruit cherry blossoms smell, it made your hair smell good even if you were sweaty, your conditioner was a matching smell, making your [h/t] soft/stand out in front of people.

your body wash was the same scent, if you were near someone, they would automatically get drunk off of your body wash.

you loved your body, absolutely obsessed with your body, and so was everyone else, the stares from women and men, the sway of your hips, purposely wearing a tiny skirt so that people would see the underline of your ass, a skirt so short that if you bent over, everyone would see what you wore, undercut shirts to show your breasts, everything about you was perfect.

but there was one thing on your body that you hated.

body hair.

now you’re not like those girls that shave their pussy or legs every single day and then brag about it to other girls cause those are the girls that you steer clear from.

but you make sure that no body hair is on you, not on your legs, not on your arms, you hate pubic hair too, of course you can’t shave it everyday, so instead you just waxed it raw.

you would wax the hair that would grow under your nose, and wax your unibrow.

when you got out of the shower and put on your fluffy bunny slippers, you walked towards your mirror and started to blow dry your hair and apply some makeup, you loved makeup, you hated those stuck up bitches who would judge you for wearing makeup, false lashes, pink eyeshadow, black under the lid eyelid pencil, and most of all, your hello kitty pink lip gloss that tasted like vanilla.

you walked towards your closet to find a pretty pink outfit, something that screamed “bimbo”.

and then you saw it you’re favorite skirt.

it was a tiny pink skirt that showed a lot of your ass, it had rhinestones attached on it, causing the light in the room to make it shine, you picked out a tight white tank top that said “cum slut” in pink letters.

in about the 3 hours span of you being ready, you get a text from your friend, telling you to come to her dorm while she gets ready for the party.

you smiled and put on your platform heels that have a strap and wraps around your leg.

7:30 pm

party starts at 10:00 pm

•••••••••••••

8:30 pm

party starts at 10:00 pm

“surprised you haven’t scored with anyone at a party yet,” touya laughs as he puts on a random band shirt that was in his dresser, “you’re rich, so shouldn’t girls be all over you?”

keigo rolls his eyes and ruffles his wet hair in a towel, “it’s not that, just haven’t seen anyone that’s good enough,” he replies, “i like bimbos, i haven’t seen one that’s caught my eye yet.”

touya groans about just thinking about fucking a bimbo, “bimbos are absolute freaks, dude,” he laughs. “there’s that one girl, y/n l/n, she’s so fucking hot dude, has the most perfect tits you’ve ever seen.”

keigo chuckles, tying his shoe and looking up at touya with a smile, getting ready to help set up the party that was happening in his frat, “why haven’t you hooked up yet?”

touya rolls his eyes and groans, “i’ve been trying to but she’s either too dumb to notice or she’s high.”

“a lot of bimbos smoke weed,” keigo says, “it’s typical of them.” standing up and looking at touya, leaning to the side and resting his body on it.

touya laughs and just stares at him, as if what he said was a big joke, “oh, you’re serious?” he gives keigo a confused look, “she doesn’t smoke only weed dude, she pops pills and does a LOT of coke, she gets them from tomura.”

keigo lets out an “oh” and gives a confused look, “so wait, why can’t he hook you up with her?”

“he won’t let me, won’t give me any info for some reason, but i know he’s not fucking her, that’s for sure.”

“why do you think that?” keigo asks, lifting an eyebrow in confusion.

“tomura never comes out of his room unless he’s going to classes or running errands, and is airways playing video games, so why would a chick like her have sex with him?”

keigo laughs and shakes his head, “what if he is and you’re just not able to fuck her like every other girl you’ve done it with.”

touya smirks, “oh yeah?” he says with a cunning smile. “fine then. let’s make a bet. if i hit first you cough up $100, if you do, i cough up $100, sound like a deal?”

keigo hesitated, is he really going to bet money on whether or not they’ll be able to hook up with some dumb bimbo? then again, if she’s not paying attention to touya out of all people, maybe she’s special, maybe her pussy is just special, there’s nothing special about a woman, keigo always thought that woman had a few jobs to do and nothing else. cooking, cleaning, and sucking dick.

“deal.” he agrees, shaking his hand.

when the party started it became packed very quickly, the jungle juice was hitting everyone and people were doing keg stands, practically fucking as they would grind or make out with each other, it was filthy, dirty, disgusting, it was perfect.

the whole time, touya and keigo were standing against a wall, holding a drink in their hand and watching the crowd, searching for you.

the moment you walked in, keigo knew it was you they were betting on, touya didn’t even have to tell him, he just stared at you, you held onto your friends arm and waved her goodbye as she went to go dance with some guy, probably her boyfriend.

for some reason you weren’t scared of someone trying to grope you, you knew the safety precautions on this stuff; get a drink, hold it, cover it, and down it all while you dance, get a refill, and start back over.

“alright, that’s her, you go first, if you hit, send me a video or photo.” touya says, shoving keigo towards the crowd by his back.

keigo looks at him with an annoyed expression cause of what he just did, soon forgetting about it and becoming done with it.

when he walked into the living room to go find you, he saw you sitting on the couch on a guys lap, whispering in his ear as he had an arm around your waist and was gripping your thigh, you smiled and leaned forward towards the table, taking a rolled up dollar and snorting white powder with your nose.

keigo almost lost hope, about to walk away and tell touya that nobody is getting money, until the guy went in to kiss you and you put your hand in front of his lips, saying something that keigo couldn’t make out, the guy rolls his eyes and you get off his lap, he gets off the couch and walks away, angrily bumping into keigo’s shoulder.

if he wasn’t betting on you, keigo would’ve argued with the dude for bumping into his shoulder, but since he was, he let it slide.

you sat back down and took a shot, not knowing (or caring) that your skirt was riding up way too high.

he decides to finally walk over and see if he’ll have a chance, hoping that he doesn’t lose out on $100.

when he sits down next to you, he was captivated over how good you smelled, cherry blossoms, his favorite scent on a woman.

you turn and look at him, giving him an annoyed look, “can i help you?” you ask, attitude in your voice.

he liked the attitude though, he didn’t like when women didn’t have that innocent voice, he loved when they acted like a brat, it made him feral, he loved fucking attitudes out of women, putting them in their place, which was the bedroom or kitchen.

“i saw what happened with that guy, he looked like a scumbag,” he laughed, “why’d you reject him.”

you roll your eyes with a smile, looking over at the group of girls on the other couch you were talking to, you look back at him, tilting your head and batting your eyelashes, “and why would you wanna know?”

he shrugs, “i’m just curious.”

you smile and scoots closer to him, “i don’t like men like him,” you answer. “he’s not my type.”

not your type? maybe touya’s right, maybe tomura and you aren’t fucking.

“what’s your type?” he asks, whispering it in your ear, causing you to smile, knowing that he doesn’t care about the guy, he just wants to fuck.

you take out the bag of pills you had stuffed in your bra, forgetting to take them at your dorm, you take out a pink pill and pop it in your mouth, it had a little heart on it, taking your drink to sip it.

“what’s that?” he asks you.

“you want some? it’s molly, ever had some?” you ask him, holding the bag in his face.

he shakes his head no, you shrug your shoulders and give the bag to your friends so that the three of them could have the rest.

“what’s your name?” you ask, ignoring the question he asked you. it caused keigo to look confused on why you’d wanna know his name when you’d probably never see or call him again.

“keigo, what’s yours?”

you shake your head and laugh, “y/n,” you say in his ear, nibbling on his earlobe and putting your hand on his thigh, close to the bulge in his pants, making him let out a little whimper.

“you think im hot right?” you ask, “i saw you looking at my boobs a bit, do you wanna touch them?”

he just sits there in awe as you take off the straps of your shirt and pull it down to expose your bra, “touch them, they’re real.”

he didn’t need you to ask you twice, immediately putting his hands on you, feeling the softness underneath his fingertips, your pink silk bra exposed, you laughed as he fondled them messily.

“do you wanna go upstairs?” you ask, looking at his pretty face, he looks up and immediately nods yes, he can’t stop staring at your e/c eyes.

you stand up and grab his hand, your bra still exposed to everyone, he doesn’t even realize that you’re taking him upstairs to a bedroom in his own frat, is he not getting the message?

he was cute, he looked kind, you knew he’d probably be rough, but does he not realize that he’s gonna get drunk off of you?

the guy was just some dumb jock who acts big and bad but he’s literally drooling over you.

you open the door to what seems like touya’s room, the moment you open the door you practically throw keigo in there, making him land on the bed.

he sits up and stares at your smiling curvy figure, his erection feels uncomfortable from the zipper.

“what do you wanna do?” you ask him, “i’ll do whatever you want, whatever you’d like, whatever you want me to be.”

he gulps and stares at you, his face red and hot, if he was in looney tunes his eyes would be big hearts right now.

“you wanna put your face between them?” you ask, taking your hands and groping your breasts, pulling the pads of your bra down and exposing your entire chest to him. your nipples erect from cold air in touya’s room, keigo immediately nods in excitement, standing up and grabbing your waist and putting his face between your breasts, you smile, a sweet smile not a cunning one, you liked the way he was completely submissive and captivated by you, and he liked it to.

keigo thought for a second that maybe you were the love of his life. amazing figure, beautiful eyes, beautiful, oh you were absolutely beautiful. he’d wake up in the morning to you sucking his cock, being able to record the entire thing, he’d take you out on dates, buy clothes, give you his card so that you can go shopping, you looked like the type of chick to steal stuff from places, hell he even wanted to put a bet that the outfit you were wearing was stolen.

you started feeling movement near your leg, you glanced down to see keigo humping and thrusting the air as he moans into your chest.

you smile and pull him away from your breasts and stare at his flushed red face, is eyes were practically pink and there was drool dripping down from his mouth and connecting to your breasts.

he smiles at you as if he was drunk, he wasn’t drunk though… okay more like pussy drunk, or boobs drunk? whatever you call it.

he didn’t even wait for you to say anything, he just rammed his lips into yours, cupping your face into his hands.

you’ve never really kissed any of your hookups, it just wasn’t your thing, only a few times really.

but for some reason you kissed him back, running your fingers through his hair and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, keigo smiled into the kiss, lifting you up off the floor and placing you gently on the bed.

you go to undo his belt until he lays you down denying you from trying to do anything, rolling up the bottom of your dress to expose your crotchless pink panties, they were silky and had a little bow on top, your pussy was wet, extremely wet, as if you hadn’t been touched in months (you actually got fucked the other day.)

“you’re so pretty,” he whispers, kissing your stomach and holding your hips.

the way his voice sounded so sweet, innocent eyes, and was practically drooling seeing you.

hawks grabbed your thighs and pulled them closer to his face, eyeing your perfectly waxed pussy, taking a glob of his saliva and spitting right on your clit, your back arches from the sensation of his spit, loving the way that he’s generous enough to spit on your pussy instead of going for the real thing right away.

you feel his lips on your clit, sucking and licking over and over again, you became drunk off of him eating you out.

he stopped, looking up at you with dough eyes, “control me please, teach me what you like.” he whimpers, his face red and sweaty as his hands grab onto your squishy thighs.

you flashed him a sinister style, hoping he knows what he’s in for.

and then it hits him, he just asked a woman, an EXPERIENCED sex crazy machine, control him, his man-hood is ruined, thinking about if you told anyone about you controlling him, his frat brothers would tease him everyday! or worse!

before he could even say anything, you grab him harshly by his hair and force him to lick you, “oh you’re doing so good my pretty boy,“ you moan, grabbing both sides of his hair and forcing him to keep doing that.

the only thing keigo was thinking of is what you called him, pretty boy, it made his cock stand up even more, causing it to painfully scrape against the zipper.

you notice his little wince and stop, leaning him back by his forehead, causing him to sit on his legs, his crotch facing you as you stare at the big buldge in his pants.

“awww poor baby, does it hurt?” you ask him, more like tease him, he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t wanna know.

he nods yes with a little whimper coming out of his mouth.

you kiss him, biting his lip as you slowly undo his belt and unbuckling his pants, pulling them down far enough where his cock wouldn’t be caught stuck in the zipper.

he wore red boxers, they hugged his muscular thighs well, but what really matters is what’s underneath.

you sit up and stare at him, officially taking off your bra, “take it out, you fucking slut.” you say to him.

he is shocked by what you called him, first it was pretty boy, then baby, and now slut? what if you’re right? maybe he is a slut? i mean, he’s had only like 5 bodies, but does that make him a slut!

“i-i’m not a slut!” he stutters, looking at your face, you weren’t angry, you were just disappointed in him, he was so submissive and now he wants to be dominant.

you sigh, “then what are you?” you ask him

“w-what?” he asks, “what do you mean?”

you roll your eyes and lift up your skirt, putting the straps back on and getting off the bed.

“well fine if you won’t answer me, then just sit there and watch me walk out.” you say in annoyance.

is this guy’s masculinity really THAT important? it’s just sex, of course if you’re into weird stuff then yes you should be judged, but it’s so normal for a man to be submissive in the bedroom, hell tomura did it, dude actually let her step on his back with stilettos and begged for her to use him.

keigo was literally just being normal.

keigo falls on the floor and crawls to you, “wait!” he stops you, holding your ankle from being able to move, “what do you want?”

keigo gets on his knees and wraps his arms around your thigh, looking up at you with big eyes, his lip quivers for a second and he kisses the thick skin.

“i need you, please, i want you so bad, i’ll do whatever you want, just stay with me and i’ll do whatever you say!”

you rolled your eyes, grabbing him by his hair and forcing his face onto the floor, taking your shoe and placing it on top of his head, keeping him there and making sure he holds still and isn’t able to get up.

“you know you’re pathetic, right?” you spat in annoyance, “you seemed so fragile about your masculinity earlier, but now you’re begging for me to control you? you’re so weird.”

he tries to nod but he isn’t able to move his neck, “i know i am,” he whimpers, “i’m sorry, do whatever you want to me, i’m sorry!”

you take your foot off him and squat down, your knees cracking on the way down, “then admit it.” you spat, “say you’re a pathetic man who loves to be controlled by women.”

“i’m a pathetic man who loves to be controlled by you!” he cried, probably because of the fact that you were gripping his hair as hard as possible.

“oh you’re such a good boy~” you tease, taking your hand off his hair, your hands move to his cheeks and scrunches them, causing him make a fish face.

“open your mouth,” you command, watching his innocent eyes stare into your sinister ones, his mouth popped open fast and he just stared at you, waiting for you to do whatever you were trying to do to him.

you kiss him, hot and messy, your tongues clashing together as you cupped his face in between your hands, you pull away from him, drool connecting from both of your mouths, he’s panting, going in for another kiss until you put your hand over his mouth to stop him.

“nuh-uh,” you deny, standing up and grabbing his hand gracefully, your hands felt soft to him, he was absolutely in love with you, he was even imagining marrying you, having you make him get on the floor, his cheek touching the floor as your heels would be on top of his head, he’d beg for you to let him touch you, you’d just degrade him, and he just wanted to taste your lips everyday.

it was as if you changed moods, you grabbed his hair and forced him to lay on the bed, the mattress dipping as you bunched up your skirt to show your panties again.

“i’m gonna turn you into a man’s worst nightmare,” you taunt, grinding your clit against his cock, he whimpers, ignoring your sentence as his head hits the mattress, looking up at the ceiling in complete bliss. “gonna make you my bitch, i mean, this is what men are meant for, you’re meant for keeping my pussy relaxed and stuffed, you and your stupid frat buddies are so dumb that you don’t even realize how superior we are to you.”

“you’re superior!” he whimpers. “please just let me feel you!”

you smile, your hand gripping his hair, forcing him to look at you as you slide his cock inside you.

he was big, but you could handle it, his cock and balls looked exactly how you imagined it to be looking at his appearance. clean, cut, shaved and smooth, veiny, it wasn’t perfect of course cause there was no such thing, but it was in your #2 list.

“i’m superior?” you taunt, moving your hips back and forth, making him go cross eyed, drool went down the side of his mouth, if they could, his pupils would turn into little hearts and his eyes would be pink.

you let out a small “oh fuck” as he started to thrusts his hips up inside you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he does it.

he stops and makes you go up and down on his thick cock, your walls gripping him as yours and his groans fill the room.

“for a rich boy you’re actually good,” you laugh, cupping his face with one hand as you look into his eyes, the other squeezing his throat, your boobs rubbing against his chest, “maybe i should have your babies, we could get married and i could milk the fuck out of your pockets, buy the most expensive things with your money.”

he nods as he looks at you in lust and in love, not even realizing what he’s nodding to.

his hips started to buck up faster, his dick was absolutely drenched from you, easily slipping in and out of you.

keigo knew your pussy was used, but it felt like you were a virgin, tight, wet, warm, you had the most perfect cunt he has ever had.

“keep going, just like that, good boy,” you praise, moaning from how good his dick felt inside you, “i wanna cum on your face, maybe you should jerk yourself off while i do it?” it wasn’t even a question, it was a command.

he immediately nodded at you, “please cum on my face, i wanna taste you so bad, please!” he begs, forcing you off him, waiting for you to shimmy up to his face.

your thighs felt perfect around his face, soft, squishy, and thick. his tongue immediately attached to your clit, licking you all over as if you were the last meal on death row.

you looked behind you and saw his hand moving up and down on his shaft, smiling at how submissive he was to you.

you began grinding your face against his tongue, loving every second of it, he was probably the best pussy eater you’ve ever had, he felt so amazing, his tongue was perfect, he was perfect in general, almost perfect, you just hated that frat brother bullshit.

“you want me to cum in your mouth?” you ask him. “wanna taste me? you want me to cum on your tongue and have you swallow it?”

he nods eagerly, his nodding caused his tongue to go up and down on your pussy fast, making you gasp, your back bended and your hands met his thighs.

before you could even speak, your cum exited out of your body and all over him, making you scream and shake in pleasure, gripping your breasts and teasing your nipples, practically humping his face like a dog in heat.

you got off of him, smiling and straddling his waist, your pussy hovering over his cock, “wanna cum inside me? your cum can just drip out of me after we’re done and we go back to the party? you want that?”

before keigo could talk, you put his dick inside you and started bouncing on top of him, he felt like he was in heaven, gripping your ass and making you bounce and fuck him even harder.

you gripped his hair and made him sit up and look into your pretty e/c eyes, he stares at your fucked out face, red and teary eyed, or was that him? maybe it was both of you.

when keigo came, it was an orgasm he’s never had in his life, he came hard, and there was a lot, it not only leaked out of your cunt, but leaked down his cock, trailing down his balls and dripping onto the bed sheets.

after you both caught your breath, you got off of him, fixing your tank top, skirt, and shoes as if nothing happened, as if you don’t have his cum dripping down your thighs, as if he isn’t laying there ready to fall asleep.

you straighten yourself, letting your hair stay messy, you looked so hot when it was like that, and even keigo thought it too.

he just laid there in disbelief about everything that just happened, realizing how submissive he was for you, how he let a woman control him when it should be his thing.

before you could even close to door and leave him there, you looked over at him.

“i hope you realize that you’re my bitch now.” you taunt, shutting the door and leaving him naked on the bed with cum soaking his body, you walked away confidently from the room, your heels clicked on the hardwood floor and down the stairs.

you look to your left and see touya leaning on the side of the wall, walking over to him and putting your manicured hand on his chest.

“hey emo boy,” you coo at him, whispering in his ear, “you miss me?”

he smiles, “how’d he do?”

what keigo didn’t know was that either way, he didn’t ACTUALLY make a bet, well he did but only on keigos part.

touya just wanted the poor blonde to get some pussy really, and out of anyone’s it had to be yours, honestly he really needed to be shown that a real woman isn’t submissive and whatever, real woman is you, confident, cunning, sexy, perfect.

you and touya have been hooking up for months now, he was your favorite boy toy, the best one in your mind, of course now he had competition with blondie upstairs.

but what you liked now was that you had keigo, who was submissive and let you control him and whatever he did, and then you had touya who was controlling, rough, made you do or say whatever.

“anyways,” he says, pulling his wallet out of his pocket, handing you a $100, “thanks for your service.”

you smile and swipe the money from his hand, stuffing it in your bra.

you both went silent, he looked around the room and sighed, facing his turquoise eyes into your e/c ones.

“so,” he trails, “got any energy left for me?”