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that-one-malereader-enthusiast · 1 month ago

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𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 • 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

╰┈➤ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚 𝐑𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 || inspo: @nickgoesinsane the post !!!

⟩ » Part One « | Part Two ⟨

cw : MDNI - S1 Lestat, flirting, suggestive content, top male reader, goofy male reader, bagged the baddie by being autistic aesthetic, mentions of sexual interactions, slight Louis jealousy, one-shot.

Thinking of how Lestat would so leisurely find his way onto your leg, his body pressed against yours almost similar to how a feline would greet another. How he would lean his head over as you'd whisper to him what others only wish they could hear.

Ears perking up at the melodic laughter from the blonde beauty himself. His hand having to cover his lips as to stifle his own joy, afraid he wouldn't be able to stop himself. Your mere words brought him joy, a rare feeling when it didn't come from either spiting others or showing off his many 'talents'.

You spoiled the man rotten from your presence alone.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Lestat had become absolutely enthralled with you.

Beforehand, he'd peered his way into your mind and saw you as nothing more than a simpleton who genuinely happened to stumble into a bar. Like a lost puppy, you seemed almost shy, scrambling for help in your mind as the bustling room seemed like a cry out of your comfort zone.

Oh how absolutely wrong he was.

By the time he'd occupied a seat next to you, the blonde man barely had enough time to introduce himself before you perked up and did so first. You were a bit of a motor-mouth, but a smooth one at that. Lestat seemed only partially annoyed as he practically got your life's story before saying a measly five words.

You were the perfect target for a good night, to sate both his needs of hunger. A gluttonous lust he'd have sprung on Louis if the man wasn't so tied up in his own family affairs at the moment. It couldn't have been laid out any better. You were alone, having moved from further down south to try and set up business, but you were lost and passing by.

You had no family or friends worried about you, you weren't of a high enough status to be searched for if gone for more than a day, and better yet, all your belongings were currently on you as you'd been trying to find a place to stay for the night.

Lestat did have to silence you for the moment as you rambled about your current situation. His nimble fingers seemed to caress your jaw, thumb place against your lips. "For such a handsome face, you speak more than you can breathe. Though I can't blame you, having to go through such a harrowing journey with no one willing to help you?"

You seemed to smirk behind his finger, a laugh leaving your slightly chapped lips. "Well, what can I say pretty boy? You simply took my breath away the moment you sat next to lil' ol' me."

Lestat was a bit surprised to say the least as you seemed openly okay with complimenting him in such a way. Many men, caucasian or colored, seemed to keep to themselves or explore behind closed doors. You? Your mind was open and unafraid, bold to say the least—though there wasn't a single degrading thought to behold at that moment, even as the conversation continued.

"Perhaps I could provide you a place for the night? I highly doubt you'd be willing to march to your destination after such a strenuous journey here, pauvre chiot..." Lestat removed his hand, one now tapping against the bar while the other lingered against your open thigh.

"That's mighty sweet of you! So, how could this poor country boy ever repay you for such a kind gesture mista..." You droned on, hoping he'd fill the space in order to finally introduce himself.

"Lestat, Lestat de Lioncourt," he practically purred out.

"Pretty name for an even prettier face. Ya' don't sound like you're from here yourself mister Lestat. Got a story of your own to tell?" You'd now seem almost infatuated with this man who'd barely begin to speak to you, much less offer a place to stay. In the back of your mind, you knew that it was a ploy to sleep with you, maybe even take some of your belongings, but the man seemed much too proper and seemed to hold himself to a higher standing than to be a petty thief.

"Oh, but would you rather I bother you with something more than a story, mon cher?"

"Maybe, but only if you explain what you just said. Sounded somthin' like you were callin' me a cherry. Not to disappoint you, but ain't the first time I've been called a fruit, I'll tell ya that." That seemed to get a genuine chuckle from Lestat, making the smile on your lips widen.

The blonde individual shook his head as his laughter died down. "It seems you are not familiar with the tongue I speak in. Just as it seems you are just as unfamiliar with the French quarter as well."

"I wouldn't mind becoming familiar, whether it be with your tongue or otherwise," you quipped. "I can do much more than yappin' yer ear off, but I do enjoy your voice much more than hearing my own. Wanna get out of this joint? Doesn't seem much like your style Lestat."

If it was an excuse to finally get you alone, he'd take it. As if you were already mesmerized by the devil in disguise, the two of you left the establishment and into the darkness of the night.

Even though you spoke to an extent that would annoy any congressman who'd have told debate against you, Lestat seemed to grow fond of the conversation, as well as the praises you seemed to give. You followed him willingly, though it wasn't much of a surprise to Lestat. There were people that simply swooned over him via their first meeting, but you were different.

Yes, you were charismatic, a bit awkward, and yes, a chatterbox, but your sudden infatuation with Lestat was odd to him. He couldn't see any current thoughts that were of the sexual variety, just genuine curiosity.

So he amused you with a short tale of his own travels, walking side by side in no direction in particular. He was simply biding time before eventually giving your life an end. Though he couldn't have imagined that an hour later, he would be settled in an empty field laying in the grass with you, laughing his heart.

"Chéri, how would he have even gotten his head stuck in such a place?"

"Beats me! Believe me, I called him shithead plenty of times, I just didn't think he'd take it in such a literal sense. Look, and that cow? I felt even worse for her." You ended as you recounted a story from your hometown. "You also keep calling me chair? Are you being funny? Look, you can sit on me, all you had to do was ask honestly—"

"Mon Dieu, you will be the end of me," Lestat wheezed out before sitting up. "I have not laughed like this in a very long time." Rubbing his jaw, he could barely feel an ebbing of aching in his cheeks from how hard he'd smiled before, his stomach tending from how tickled he'd become. "And no, I am not poking fun at you mon cher. Your humor isn't the least bit boring unlike some unruly men I've come into contact with. I assumed you simply had lines to try and...take off with me."

Your face flushed at the idea. "Well, you were also laying it on thick yourself Lestat. Didn't know if you wanted to help me or...somethin' else. I mean, I'm flattered, surprised too. What's a pretty thing like yourself doin without someone on your hip. I mean—you're proper as hell, a real gentleman if anything. A flirt too, charming, handsome, cute, radiant even. You're a diamond compared to the dull coin I am."

Lestat seemed even more surprised at the compliments he was getting, yet you seemed to neglect your own self worth. "Even coins are valuable, dull, dirty, or not. Why do you put yourself down so?"

There was a cloud of despair in your mind for a moment before a sad smile appeared upon your face. "Today could be my last for all I know. I haven't made a name for myself here, and if I were to disappear tonight well...what mark would I have made? You know me as this country bumpkin ya met at the bar? You'll forget about me tomorrow as if I never existed."

You weren't wrong, Lestat had planned to simply get rid of you then and there, but now you'd peaked his interest. "If...you were given the opportunity, to achieve what you'd like, would you take it?"

"No questions asked."

"Even if you had to make a deal with the devil himself?"

"I'd ask him to throw in beaut like yourself, I'd be all in."

Lestat felt a grin appear on his lips at your mere words. "You don't have much hesitation do you?"

"I've got nothing to lose. Go big or go home, right?"

"Indeed Mon cher."

Suddenly Lestat pounced, smashing his lips against yours in an almost bruising strength. You took it as a sign, knowing that tonight would mostly likely end in the two of you sleeping together. His tongue slipped into your mouth, now fighting for control as your own hands came to hold his waist. The kiss was heated, abit sloppy, and by the time Lestat pulled away, you were breathless and flushed down the neck. The moonlight gave way to his silhouette as he stayed hovered above your face.

"Are ya sure you want this Lestat? I've been told I'm a lot to handle."

"You've been so bold and quite forward all night, don't tell me you're getting shy now," a grin appeared on Lestats' face, his fangs peeking from behind his slightly swollen lips.

"Don't say I didn't warn you.."

♡ ͎. ｡˚ 　　°

Lestat seemed to stare at the headboard of the bed, almost lost in thought as just as he felt breathless. He only snapped back to reality as he felt a warm breath and kiss against his bare shoulder.

"You still with me Lestat?" Your voice was much softer, tender as you nuzzled against the nape of the others neck, the sheets covering both of your lower halves as your body hovered above his.

Blinking, the blonde seemingly loosened his grip on both the pillow and the sheet beneath him. He'd slept with others who also seemed full of themselves, but now the tables had turned. He was practically filled to the brim with your sheer girth alone, pressing against his more sensitive places. His tongue ran over his lips, lapping up the leftover drops of blood that filled his throat mere moments ago.

"I told you we could have gone slow...you're not hurtn' are you?"

Lestat was taken aback by your demeanor. Not many people seemed to care for his well-being, especially during sexual escapades such as these. "Mon cher, do you often become this worried about those you sleep with?"

"Couldn't say. You're...the first," your face completely bloomed at the sudden confession.

Lestat however was completely dumbfounded. You did not act like a virgin in bed. He would have never assumed it was your first time, not with the way you completely ravished his body by the time the two of you made it through the front door. Your touch like silk, finding every weak spot and milking it for all its worth.

A groan left the blonde's lips as you'd shifted, though he knew you'd be slightly dazed and possibly inebriated as you were unaware that he'd fed from you tonight. "Dieux, you must be humoring me again, no?" Even peering into your mind once again, he had seen the truth, and knew that you spoke of no jokes.

You made a small noise, but shook your head as you buried your face within Lestats' neck, kissing his warm skin and even up to his jaw. "I hope I'm not disappointin' ya..."

"Merde..."

Lestat didn't expect you to be a literal bucking bronco, but he couldn't deny how you made him feel. Physically, it was as if you were bringing heaven up on his flesh, every touch, flick, lick, almost other worldly. Emotionally...he didn't understand. By daylight you'd be dead, he was sure of it, that he'd have his fun and dispose of you before morning.

Though at the moment it didn't seem as if you were out of energy. A bit sluggish yes, but a certain part of you was ready for more. "Lestat..'" Muttering against his skin, your hips rutted upwards, making a heavenly noise leave the man below you. "You can be on top this time if you want..."

♡ ͎. ｡˚ 　　°

Three months ago, Lestat questioned his morality, though it wasn't the first time he did so. He always entertained Louis and even then, the humans around him weren't much worth the time or space when it came down to their needs or wants— whether it was self loathing, craving of sex, the need for food, or the wanting of home to go back to. They were all the same. It was the same with everyone he'd stumbled upon.

"Another round of drinks for the booth Chéri!"

Lestat found himself sitting on your leg, practically draped over you like a coat, his head tilted against yours. The spoils of laughter and joy you'd brought him within such little time was uncalled for, but granted, he never imagined someone like you would stumble into his life alongside Louis.

He saw no need to change you, though his eyes were set on someone else for such an event. You knew of his secret, and kept it to yourself. The nights where he'd come to see you, having dealt with racist snobs or uninteresting people, you were there to cleanse his boredom.

Though the two of you slept with each other quite often, you would never let him leave without pampering him after. And Lestat enjoyed every minute of it. Your sweet words, the true sincerity that you felt for him, that you loved him. Though it was hard to tell with Lestat if he felt that same way, or if he just adored you like any other human he might keep for entertainment.

Within the last few months the two of you had become business partners, having made a nightclub out of an old townhouse set to be demolished. Many strings had been pulled to get things up and running, but even then it happened to be a successful mission for both men. There was music, dancers, singers, all sorts of entertainers that came in to perform, and many people paid top dollar to come in.

Even Lestat had days where he'd perform on stage. To say he loved to peacock was an understatement.

This nightly job was as thrilling and fun as your nights in the town. Unfortunately, you were a horrible driver. Lestat had never been so unnerved about someone driving, and you? "A better lover than a driver I suppose?"

"I believe so ma chérie, I believe so..." It's safe to say that Lestat would be driving you around while you'd stay being his passenger princess.

Louis watched on from the other side of the half circle booth he sat in, his eyes narrowing at you as you practically wore Lestat, and the man let you. He couldn't understand what was so special about you. In his eyes, you were the same as him, maybe a little less.

Even as you'd been introduced to Louis, the two of you had never met eye to eye. Maybe it was because Lestat seemed to visit him just slightly less often than he did before you showed up. Maybe it was because he barely went out with Louis anymore because he was too busy riding you. With a glass in hand, Louis stared you down as you whispered something with Lestats' ear. He couldn't help but to wonder, seriously, what do you see in that guy?

Lestat stifled a laugh as he pressed the back of his own hand against his mouth. His piercing gaze seemed to shift over to Louis as his thoughts spoke much louder than others. The blonde couldn't help but to grin, pulling you in closer.

"He makes me laugh!"

"Hm?"

"Nothing ma très chère."

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please do not repost my content on other sites and platforms. thank you. © @that-one-malereader-enthusiast ||

more fics from interview with the vampire » IWTV Masterlist

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Like, Comment, Or Reblog. || A/N: Thank you for reading! Any comments or notes help motivate me to post more often like this! Unfortunately I tend to overthink lots of my writings, which lead to me not posting or becoming unmotivated. This was written out as an imagine but I got carried away! Hope you all enjoyed! Will maybe edit and clean it up later!

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cheriladycl01 · 1 month ago

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Kinktober 16/10/2024 Charles Leclerc - FaceFucking

Plot: Charles always takes his frustration out on you after a bad race.

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, facefucking. Blowjob, sex etc 18+ Minors DNI

The weekend hadn’t started of great, it was a wet one and Charles wasn’t confident going into FP1 coming out with a mediocre place and not pushing as much as he could have. Going into FP2 and he pushed to much, skidding off into the gravel and destroying the floor of his car.

FP3 and he was nervous to damage the car before qualifying, so took it slower on the Intermediates as it wasn’t as wet as it had been. And finally Qualifying where he’d had his lowest result of the season in P11.

Even thought you’d tried to be there for Charles it was difficult, he wasn’t the easiest person to cheer up on a frustrating race weekend.

The race itself is as horrendous. You sat watching from the garage wrapped up in a Ferrari hoodie that was Charles but the weather was much colder than anyone had anticipated.

You were biting your nails the whole time, watching the call outs of when to switch tyres and where he needed to improve. Until Piastri comes up behind him, going for the overtake, you watch as Charles defends but ends up confused at the margins because of the spray back and sends him and Oiatri into the wall causing a red flag halfway into the race.

You watch anxiously as Charles angrily gets out the car and the medical car picks them up and takes them back as all the other cars start to come into the pit lane.

A DNF …

He wasn’t happy, whatever and you could tell by the way he’d stormed though the garage to Fred to talk to all the mechanics and engineers about what had happened.

You remain in your place watching as the race resumes cheering with Rebecca for Carlos as he managed to get himself up into P1.

“Drivers room, now” Charles says as he slips past you, all you can do is scoff. He hadn’t spoken to you properly for the whole race weekend and now he wants to? You didn’t think so. You stayed with Rebecca, watching until the end of the race. And just to spite him even more you go to the podium celebration where Carlos, Lando and Max are all on the podium celebrating their wins.

“I should probably go find Charles, but have fun out at the club tonight yeah? Tell Carlos I’m proud of him!” You smile at her, squeezing her wrist in a happy and comforting manner before forcing your way through the podium crowds and getting back to the Ferrari motor home.

You anxiously make your way in, not knowing what state you’ll walk in on Charles in.

You’d kind of poked an already angry bear and didn’t want to know the consequences quite yet.

You got to his Drivers room, lightly knocking on the door not wanting to invade his privacy despite having been together for years, it still felt wrong to just walk in.

“Go away” a gruff voice commands

“Charlie it’s me, please let me in?” You ask hoping that he will come and unlock the door that you’d just tried the handle on. After some stomps and the sound of the door unlatching you’re pulled into the room, a small yelp coming from your mouth as you practically fall into your boyfriend.

“Where were you? I told you to come here” he says grumpily looking over you to see you looking a little guilty.

“Look I wanted to watch the end of the race as the team was winning” you explain pulling him in to you so you can kiss up his jaw in an apologetic sort of way.

“No no no, they weren’t! The team wasn’t winning because I didn’t get points I didn’t even make podium” he argues a face full of fury.

“You’re not the only Ferrari driver Charles! Carlos won today and I wanted to watch his podium to support him and Rebecca” you argue and he just scoffs.

“What about me! What about MY support huh?” He argues and you are quiet for a second realising he does in fact have a point.

“You’re a grown ass adult Charles, you don’t need me here 24/7 because my god you have barley spoken to me this weekend” you admit.

You guys just stare at each other for a few seconds before you both let a sigh release from you, still holding eye contact with one another.

“Fucking come here” he grunts out, before pulling you in not waiting for you make a choice and smashing his lips against yours. He holds the back of your head his fingers tangling in your hair.

He forces you down on your knees, he pulls his pants down his cock springing up and hitting his fresh team shirt that he’d put on after his post race shower.

“I’m in charge alright?” He asks and you just nod.

“Use your words” he commands and before you can reply you gulp back.

“I understand” you say and he remained standing which confused you. You get tell he wanted a blowjob, but he normally sat down so he could lean back and fully relax and take it all in.

“Gonna fuck that pretty face so good” he groans looking over you, tracing a finger off your already puffy lip from the kiss full of frustration you’d shared earlier.

Charles had actually never been this aggressive with you. But there was something about it, you on your knees below him, his cock looking as red and angry as him right in your eye line.

“Open up” he asks and you do, he grips the back your hair into a ponytail to hold you in place, before he helps himself into your mouth. He sinks in, and starts a slow pace, not going all the way in to help you adjust.

He holds the back of your head still before he starts to pound his cock, his pelvis hitting the tip of your nose and his cock forcing its way deep down into your throat.

A moan comes from you vibrating on him making his thrusts into your mouth become more erratic.

“That’s it. Feel so good” he moans holding your head as his hips snap in and out with vigor. His grip on your hair is so tight, your scalp starts to burn from the pressure.

You start to tap out on his thigh with how quickly he’s going tears are building in your eyes and you can feel yourself start to gag around him.

He stops, holding himself there for a second as he looks down at you, seeing you try pulling away before you lets you come of for a breath.

“Fucking hell Charles” you laugh out looking up at him. He gives you a small look before pushing back in.

He was pressing into you more as he groans and shoots his load down the back of your throat which you struggle to contain and swallow.

“Fuck” you groan as he pulls your hair back to get you off him.

He lifts you up, pulling your panties to one side and slipping in with ease on how worked up he’d gotten you just from fucking your face with so much energy and passion.

You were both incredibly worked up that he was cumming for the second time and you were tightening around him with a vice grip. Your hands in his hair tugging on the end locks.

“Fuck I love you so much”

“I love you too, I’m so sorry about this weekend I wasn’t nice to you” he says and you nod.

“I know but it’s okay. I understand” you say placing a kiss on his lips as you hell him pull out and jump down.

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prismdrive · 9 months ago

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Right, let's do this one more time...

TMNT: Eden

My own TMNT fan iteration! I had lots of fun designing these guys and i'll admit one big inspo was @kaysdenofchaos Teenage Meddling Mutant Turtles! (i absolutely adore your boys i would kill and die for them,,)

I've tried different styles and dynamics, but so far this is my absolute favorite!

Alright, now let's properly introduce the Eden!turtles

Mikey:

The eldest at 19 years old

Mutant Bog Turtle

Energetic, playful, creative, a bit reckless, literally runs on spite, the most emotionally open, supportive, has incredibly high pain-tolerance, and don't even get me STARTED on his ability to hold his drinks

He was once told he was a boring goodie-two-shoes so he spent the rest of the day swearing like a sailor to prove a point, that's how spiteful he is

Has the most creative insults ever

His brothers know his spitefulness so if he ever forgets about his own well being his brothers are like "Bet you can't sleep 8 good hours" and he'll go "BET" AND DO IT

Not the smartest but has good intentions

Can go on hours ranting about the most random shit

Eats anything and everything, his stomach is probably made out of titanium

A great cook! Though don't ask for any surprise dishes, he can get... creative

An insomniac, his mask hides the eyebags pretty well

Probably has some kind of PTSD, but he doesn't like talking about it

CANNOT stand the smell of metal, it grosses him out

Unironically watches Super Nanny religiously

Donnie:

A couple months younger than Mikey (so they joke they're twins)

Mutant Giant Softshell

Mikey doesn't aprove his younger twin being taller than him >:(

Sort of a jack-of-all-trades, mostly because he's very determined to learn as much as possible and learn how to do it properly

Which leads on him getting incredibly frustrated if he can't grasp something

Can't cook for shit

The responsible one

Very clean... Mostly. If he's tired (which is most of the time) he'll go into "to hell with it" mode and walk around the lair full of motor oil and mud (which then Raph has to clean up xD)

Tries to act cool and collected but he's just too big of a nerd

Terribly near-sighted

Raph:

16 years old

Mutant common snapping turtle

LOVES crazy make-ups and drag races but would never admit it

Surprisingly tidy and responsible

Plays the drums! He'd love to play electric guitar but having three fingers makes it incredibly hard

Great with animals

Homophobic gay (he'll accept himself soon enough xD)

Brash and reckless, anger issues (what a surprise), has severe RBF syndrome, even when he's calm and content he looks like he wants to murder someone

Near-sighted (doesn't wear glasses or contacts, which worsens his RBF)

Leo:

The family's baby at 8 years old

Mutant Musk Turtle

Very quiet but not shy at all, curious, calm, collected, obedient

Has no trouble talking but prefers signs

Loves fashion, knitting and sewing!

Doesn't like being alone or being in the dark

Is always eager to learn from his brothers, to the point where he can throw his well-being aside to try and impress them

Easily influenced, Raph loves playing pranks with him

(Might change/add stuff later!)

#tmnt #art #tmnt fanart #tmnt: eden #tmnt fan iteration

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seat-safety-switch · 3 months ago

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When industry has let you down, you gotta get weird. Do you remember the last time that one of your beloved childhood candies got discontinued by the manufacturer? Someone in a regular ol' residential kitchen, much like yours, decided to just make their own version of that candy. If those corporate motherfuckers won't give it to me, they said, I'll take it. They're eating it right now, while you sob into your Wheaties about how terribly capitalism has treated you.

Me, I love to do this kind of thing too. Spite is my fuel. Sure, it's nice to have the goodies of the past again. What really gets my motor running, though, is the opportunity to really piss off the folks trying to scalp what's left.

Yeah, we got the last eighteen boxes of this kind of connector you need, and we want seven hundred bucks for each of them. Guess what, asshole? I can trick the library into 3D-printing a bunch of them, and then trick AliExpress into making exact copies of them. Now the market price is seven cents, and none of those pennies are going to your dumb market-cornering ass. Sorry. It's capitalism.

Like any good thing, though, I may have taken it too far. The other day, the dealership wanted four dollars for a replacement clip for my sunroof. Instead of paying them that blood money, I spent hours of my own, precious time on this earth cloning it. Now, after all this effort, I can make them myself for about three dollars and ninety-six cents. Unless you price in all the failed prototypes, which nobody does. Also, they don't work as well as the real thing, so I have to make a lot so I have spares. Sometimes being a warrior against the forces of entropy means having to make a sacrifice.

If you're also into this weird hobby, let me know. I've been looking to get a new house, and I don't like the idea of paying people who know what they're doing for it. We can probably make some kind of enormous 3D printer and just crank out an entire bungalow out of microplastics. Call me.

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last-of-the-lot · 2 years ago

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thank you for the @ I loved seeing your response!

I could honestly ramble on and on about how weird and a bit fucky playing a stringed instrument can get with shot nerves. Or like, anything out of the ordinary.

Music is difficult, and stringed instruments tend to get a rep for being above average in difficulty. I'm disinclined to say if I believe it or not without a second opinion, but I will put this out there.

So much can go wrong so quickly, and when you don't know your body anymore it is like fighting a losing battle.

Wanting to get better, needing to get better for both magic-related and mental reasons, I could see Raine being so very determined to claw back what they had. There is a lot of frustration and pain in music to get to the level we saw them at, and returning to that is such a wonderful thing to think about because of how much goes into it.

I can also appreciate the catharsis that comes from the idea of them getting back to where they were. Yes, there is a little pain, probably more than a few tears, but the realization one day that you are there is so exhilarating.

someone's probably already thought about this but. raine and hunter dealing with the aftermath of possession. especially with the experience having chronic effects beyond the scars. hunter staying with both raine and darius for a while because i'm a raine-darius cohabitating life partners truther. hunter avoiding sleeping with an insistence that is Stressing Darius Out because he does NOT know how to get the kid to believe he's safe, only for raine to wake up shouting from a nightmare & darius to suddenly understand that this is about something else. hunter and raine having already had a great deal of mutual respect and concern for each other, so it's easier to banish self-loathing, bc if NEITHER of them could fight off belos, then probably they shouldn't be too hard on themselves. eda getting involved on the potions / pain management end when raine winces because there's nonsensical residual aching in the scar tissue and phantom pains in the nerves, like, Everywhere. about a year later hunter discovers that the remaining tremors in his hands make it extremely hard to hold a knife steady and he ends up locking himself in a closet to cry because he wanted this palisman carving apprenticeship so MUCH and he knows it'll be fine and he's probably spoiled to even BE upset, but it feels like belos will never stop taking things from him, even from beyond the grave. raine seeks him out and sits with him in silence for a while, then confesses, i've needed to relearn my violin technique too, kiddo. do you want me to show you?

#I remember vividly when I began ranking which senses I would want to lose before getting to #anything that would impact my playing #Three years in and I was already thinking about it #needless to say I wasn't lucky enough to make it to ten years completely free of issues #So I can 1000% see Raine lashing out at those closest #and instantly regretting it #a personal head canon of mine is that Raine is driven by spite #not entirely but the basis of a lot of their life was built around bringing down a dictator #or at least a clearly bad ruler #so that has to factor into their world view somehow #but with less of an external pressure to drive them #it is a readjustment of not only relearning motor functions but also relearning where to pull their motivation from #which is a whole other ballpark of problems #this was such a late reply but I wanted to formulate my thoughts a bit better

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fuck-customers · 25 days ago

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So I work in a grocery store, in a coffee kiosk for a very popular coffee chain, and the island is mostly bougie, with customers who have thousand dollar handbags, and drive sports cars way too fast. These customers have also come in high off their asses, too, yet always expecting top of the line service -- the kind that a normal person would expect if they were directly paying that person for that service themselves. As it is, me and my coworkers are overworked, underpaid, and constantly suffering from low staffing, even though corporate considers us staffed.

Anyways, the amount of customers I have had lately who are complete assholes, treating any drink or snack outage as if me and my coworkers are personally depleting the supply to spite the customers, are one-hundred one too many. And it's bad enough when the preteens treat us like crap, because you'd kinda expect that of undeveloped brains, but then their parents come in, and we see where the kids got that Holier-Than-Thou personality.

My store is located near a middle school, so the kids always flood the store after school, making a mess, running in the store, driving their motorized scooters on the sidewalks and almost always running over old ladies, and purposefully harassing me and my coworkers for kicks because they know we can't fight back. Legitimately, a couple of them decided to hold a lemonade stand on store property lately, which they can't do, especially when they were stealing supplies from the store to manage their stand. We tried to ask them to leave politely at least three times, before they started swearing at the store manager on the fourth try. They left after the fifth try when a cop was called, and the kids didn't want to have to call their parents.

If you think having a Karen come in and demanding to speak to a manager is bad, try when a middle-schooler stomps in and wants to speak to a manager. I've seen my manager just standing there as this short half-pint pops off about "the shitty service" they received, and then just blink when that same half-pint demands something be done "or (they) will call (their) mother".

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tj-dragonblade · 4 months ago

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[Fic] With Every Nerve Alive

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 4623 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, brief appearance by Matthew, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, sweat is sexy, so is automotive grease apparently, scent kink, detailed sexual fantasies, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, questionable lube choices, within a fantasy don't worry, no one's really getting fingered with engine grease, sugar daddy-sugar baby fantasies, glass sex toys

Notes: Prequel/bookend to Customer Service. I realized that Hot Mechanic Hob needed Dream's pov to get the full effect, so this happened. Also fills my @dreamlingbingo square C1, 'Sugar Baby', a couple thousand words in. Title taken from Turbo Lover by Judas Priest

Summary: Dream Atelíotes is merely seeking car repairs from a reputable shop; he was not expecting to get punched in the libido by the most beautiful mechanic he could have imagined.

On AO3

~ "Alright, and what're we lookin' at her for?"

"The clutch. Is not operating as expected; I fear I may have damaged it. Somehow."

Dream is grateful that the stout American behind the counter at Matthew's Motor Repairs does not pass any obvious judgement on this damning statement.

"Well, that definitely needs checking, then," he says instead, punching in notes on his computer terminal. "Hob'll be runnin' things for the next couple of weeks, lemme see when he can fit your girl in." He turns toward the half-open door that leads to the garage and yells.

"Hey Hob!"

"Yeah! Just a tic—"

"He'll definitely be able to find the problem and fix you up," the American is saying, but Dream pays him little mind, thinking ahead to schedules and obligations; the Porsche is not his primary means of transportation regardless. It had been a gift from Alex that he'd kept after the breakup, primarily out of spite. He will say, when asked, that he drives it for fun, but truthfully the manual transmission does not come easily to him and the car suffers for it. He is considering selling it, perhaps once the satisfaction of knowing how Alex seethes to see him with it has worn down—

"What's up?"

Dream spares a glance for the man who's just entered through the doorway to the garage, and promptly loses his breath.

—Exquisite—

The man is beautiful, average height and slim sturdy build, dressed in grimy coveralls that are split just enough at the zip to glimpse the collar of a plain white tee beneath. There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead and when he wipes at it, still with a wrench in hand, he leaves a faint smudge of black grease behind. His hair is dark, longish, tied up in a messy bun on the back of his head with wisps straying loose about his face attractively. His eyes and his smile are warm, strong nose and chin, a few days' worth of beard growth giving him a wonderfully soft-rugged cast that sets Dream's mouth to watering.

The coverall sleeves are rolled and twisted up to his elbows; the forearms exposed are liberally covered with dark hair, skin a warm sunkissed golden brown beneath, shapely and corded with the strength that comes of manual labor, of hefting tires and torquing wrenches. Dream considers, quite despite himself, how those hands might fit around his waist, his hips; how easily this man might lift or manhandle him about in bed, and the heat that has risen in his loins stirs approvingly.

"Mr. Atelíotes here's got clutch troubles with his Porsche," the American is saying. "Think you'll have time to check it out?"

"Not right away, I'm afraid. How soon would you be needing her back?" the mechanic asks, directly to Dream, and oh, the full focus of that gaze is divine.

"I am in no hurry," he manages to reply, voice only marginally dipping down toward sultry. He is here to see about car repairs, not to flirt with the hot mechanic in front of an audience. He is an adult. He is well-versed in exercising all manner of self control.

The mechanic smiles, like a ray of sunshine, and Dream's self-control is tested.

"Okay then, I can probably get you looked at and fixed up toward the end of next week, if that works for you? Thursday or Friday, let's say." He slips the wrench that he's still holding into a pocket on his coveralls, drawing Dream's attention to the lower half of his body, how the zipper on the coveralls goes all the way down underneath, and he firmly corrals and muzzles the thoughts that arise. Later. Let him finish his business here before he embarrasses himself.

"Next week is just fine," he agrees.

"Excellent," the mechanic says, beaming brightly, and Dream's mouth goes dry.

He is so unfairly beautiful.

The mechanic is talking now to the American who is entering Dream's work order and Dream drinks in the sight of him greedily, committing every detail to memory—the brush of silver at his temples, the crows' feet blooming at the corners of his eyes with every smile, the dimple in his chin just visible as a darkening of the scruff that adorns his jaw so beautifully. His arm flexes prettily as he points to the screen with a black-stained fingertip and his voice is strong yet soft and warm like honey; Dream sneaks a glance at his backside when he turns to the printer and finds the suggestion of shapeliness beneath the loose fit of the coveralls. Dream imagines, helplessly, buttocks and strong thighs covered in hair to match those exposed forearms, and barely stifles a whimper.

This man is absolutely exquisite, and Dream wants him.

Badly.

"Alright, Mr. Atelíotes, let me get your signature here," the mechanic says cheerfully, oblivious to the tempest he has stirred within Dream as he hands him the printed work order and a pen.

Dream makes certain that their fingers brush as he takes it, noting the smudge of fingerprints left on the paper by the other.

He glances at the mechanic's name on the form as he signs. Hob Gadling. He tucks the name safely into the vault of his mind, hoarding it for later use.

"Give me a call on Thursday next week, we'll see where we're at," Hob Gadling is saying, handing him a business card and leaving another grey-black thumbprint on the corner of the white cardstock. Dream immediately thinks of such fingerprints against the pristine paleness of his own skin and swallows thickly.

"Thursday," he repeats. "I will call then, thank you." It is Monday, currently; a week and a half is quite reasonable for routine car repairs in a reputable shop, he is given to understand, and Matthew's Motor Repairs is consistently rated with four and five stars online. He is confident that he has chosen well, especially when Hob Gadling smiles brightly while bidding him good day.

It is a good day indeed, for having met such a stunningly beautiful man.

He takes a cab home to Kensington, trying very hard to put his thoughts in order and focus on the week ahead, on his business meetings and the client proposal he's expecting on Friday. But his mind is full of brown eyes and warm smiles, hairy forearms and grease-stained hands, and his entire body finds these thoughts far more appealing than those of his day-to-day mundanities.

Hob Gadling lingers in his mind persistently, a siren call warming his blood and distracting him at the slightest provocation. Late afternoon finds him abandoning his office and retreating to his rooms, surrendering to the thoughts that have plagued him since his visit to Matthew's Motor Repairs this morning.

Hob Gadling—

He imagines how the smell of the shop might cling to the man, oils and gasoline and the sweat of his labor, intoxicating and inviting should Dream nuzzle in close. He imagines those hands with their black-stained fingertips, their work-roughened texture, sliding over his body. How might they feel against his skin, his chest, his thighs? On his tongue? He imagines the hungry light that might fill Hob Gadling's eyes, if Dream were to take those skilled fingers into his mouth and hold his gaze while sucking on them, tonguing lovingly at every crack and callous. He imagines those fingers dark all over with a thick layer of fresh grease, the mechanic holding them up with a smirk like a promise, turning Dream to lay on the bonnet of his car—or perhaps bending him over a stack of tires there in the garage, yes—and pushing those fingers inside him, deep and insistent and perfect while his other hand holds Dream down at the small of his back. Automotive lubricant is perhaps not sanitary or otherwise suitable for sexual use, but the heat-of-the-moment urgency of the idea appeals all the same.

He groans aloud at the thought of being fingered with the thick warm grease, the slide and drag and the way Hob Gadling's fingers would curve and press exactly right until Dream was shaking apart with pleasure, scrabbling at the rubber tread of the tires he's bent over. He imagines Hob Gadling murmuring complimentary filth above him—"You look so pretty with my fingers up your arse; bet you'd look even prettier speared on my prick"—as he comes and comes and comes.

Of course he wishes to have the mechanic's cock as well. He is certain it is full and glorious, a beautiful specimen that would fill him perfectly, touch every sweet spot within him and set him alight. He wants it in his hands, in his mouth, in his arse; he wants it any way he can have it.

He desperately wants to get fucked by Hob Gadling in his garage amongst his work, by Hob Gadling strong and sweaty and dirty in his element, vigorous and virile.

The car would perhaps be most comfortable for lying on his back, the better to see Hob Gadling's gorgeous face while taking his cock. He himself would be stark naked and the mechanic still in his coveralls, unzipped all the way to let his prick out. Dream imagines him naked beneath the grimy clothing; Dream envisions chest hair to match what was seen on his gorgeous arms. Dream imagines those arms sliding up along the bonnet beside him, bringing his legs with them until Dream is nearly folded double and breathless with the sweet pressure of the mechanic's dick inside him, pistoning deep and perfect.

Would Hob Gadling pick him up, like so much inventory to be moved about the shop? Would Hob Gadling fuck him standing upright, holding him as if he weighed nothing? He fantasizes about the strength in those forearms and biceps, of the way they would flex and hold, Dream's knees hooked in his elbows and those broad hands gripping his hips as the mechanic would bounce Dream up and down on his prick, Dream clinging around his neck and jack-knifed beautifully in his powerful arms.

He comes at the thought, face down on his knees in his bed with a toy vibrating steadily against his prostate as he strokes himself over the edge, and the orgasm is so intense that he loses all sense of space and time for a moment. The toy is still buzzing merrily when he comes back to himself and he fumbles for the remote beside him, turning it off without yet removing it. He rolls over, brings his messy hand to his face and licks. He wonders what difference he might taste between Hob Gadling and himself, imagines that he is licking Hob Gadling's spend from his hand instead of his own, imagines how those dark eyes and that lovely mouth would smile to see him do so, slow and lascivious.

He turns the toy back on.

His fantasies continue as the days progress. He imagines taking Hob Gadling into his mouth, tasting the sweat and the musk of him after working all day in the garage; he imagines lavishing his tongue all over the length of him, sucking and swallowing and milking him dry. He imagines Hob Gadling's work-roughened hands in his hair, combing through it, clenching tight as he spends into Dream's eager mouth.

He imagines Hob Gadling on his back on the low wheeled board that mechanics use for sliding beneath cars—he does not know its proper name, but he imagines opening Hob Gadling's coveralls while he is laid out on this board and riding him like a prize stallion there on the shop floor with the scent of his work and his sweat all around. He imagines the blackened smears Hob Gadling's hands might leave on him, on his hips, his waist, his arse.

He imagines Hob Gadling bending him over the bonnet of his Porsche, fucking him hard and fast and absolutely without mercy until he is screaming his pleasure, until he is so loud that the mechanic will cover his mouth to muffle the noise and simply fuck him harder still. He wants it, aches for it, imagines Hob Gadling's hands planted firm on his arse, squeezing, spreading him open for his pounding cock, leaving dirty smudges on both cheeks as they careen into orgasm together—

Dream comes under the warm cascade of his own rainfall shower, one hand braced against the sleek tiles while the other grips his pulsing cock tightly. He draws great gasping breaths of the humid air, mind barreling on even as his climax peaks and begins to subside. His mechanic in the shower with him after all of that, sudsy and slippery-wet beneath the spray, shedding the grease and grime of his workplace; his mechanic, pulling him in for a kiss, smelling now of soap more than sweat. The idea appeals, on more than one level, and will not be dislodged even as he dries and dresses for bed. He falls asleep at last to the thought of a scrubbed-clean Hob Gadling on his knees beneath the gently-pouring water, freshly-shampooed hair swept sleek and dripping back from his face and his smiling mouth wrapped around Dream's cock.

He wakes to the sun streaming in his window and lies alone in his spacious bed with drowsy thoughts of being kissed awake, of Hob Gadling's stubbled face and warm lips nuzzling against his cheek, of calloused hands with black-stained nailbeds petting down his sides and grasping his hips. Of Hob Gadling's strong shapely arms pulling him close, Hob Gadling's chest hair tickling his nose, Hob Gadling's heartbeat strong and steady beneath his ear.

He thinks of Hob Gadling following him about the kitchen as he fixes breakfast, imagines his mechanic in a borrowed robe that hits him mid-thigh and doesn't quite close over his chest. He does not currently own such a robe, but that does not matter to the fantasy. He imagines Hob Gadling draped warmly over his back in this too-small robe while he cooks, nuzzling kisses into the nape of his neck, purring about how he wants Dream for breakfast while dragging his calloused fingertips up the insides of Dream's bare thighs. Because of course Dream has merely thrown on a long shirt to cook for his lover, and of course his mechanic cannot keep his hands to himself, and of course Dream would like to be fucked over the kitchen worktop before breakfast.

It is a daring fantasy, this stranger in his home, infusing sex and affection into his daily routines, and Dream wants it with an intensity that is frightening.

He spins himself broader fantasies as the days become a week, of showing up to his mother's summer gala with Hob Gadling on his arm, a mere mechanic brought to an Atelíotes event. He dreams of engaging in increasingly indecent public displays with him where all the high society patrons would see, embarassing Mummy Dearest and igniting gossip that would haunt her for years. He would reward Hob Gadling handsomely for his part in the scandal, sexually, financially, both if he should like. Or perhaps he might offer Hob Gadling gifts and incentives without petty family business mixed in, lavish rewards simply for his affections and sexual attentions. The term 'sugar baby' is very much in line with his thoughts, if not entirely accurate; he is only forty himself and his mechanic had appeared to be in his mid-thirties at least. But that feeds into his story; Hob Gadling is well into adulthood and working in trade labor. Perhaps he never had the chance to go to university; perhaps he had grown up poor. Perhaps he might like to undertake a course of study now, if Dream were to offer to pay for such a thing, in thanks for how well-fucked his mechanic would keep him?

Perhaps he might gift Hob Gadling a luxury car like his Porsche, in return for the sexual services he should like to be provided. Perhaps he might buy him tailored suits, expensive clothes in the latest fashions. He is undeniably drawn to the grimy working-class vision that had been branded on his memory when dropping off his car, sweaty and grease-smeared and glowing with life, but he also imagines how stunning his mechanic might look cleaned up and dressed to the nines. Dream would like to wine and dine him at the finest restaurants in London, put him into a limousine after, open his perfectly-tailored trousers and sample his cock on the drive home. To Dream's home, of course, where he would take Hob Gadling to bed and offer up his body for his mechanic's use—which would be delightfully merciless, given how Dream had primed and teased and denied him with his mouth in the car.

Perhaps he might take Hob Gadling away with him on holiday, show him all manner of foreign destinations he would never have seen on his own; at each of them Hob Gadling would fuck him, in sumptuous hotel beds or private beach cabanas or the gleaming toilet stalls of michelin-starred restaurants, with every bit of skill and enthusiasm at his disposal—delighted to be Dream's kept man and eager to show his gratitude for all that Dream could provide.

Dream groans, dragging one hand down across his mouth and arched throat while the other works swiftly over his cock, writhing on his bed with his shirt undone and his trousers open. He is achingly hard, leaking steadily into every rapid stroke; he hasn't even bothered undressing, so caught up in the feverish fantasies of the money and favors he might lavish on this man who consumes his thoughts, of how thoroughly he could expect to be railed and ravished and seen to in return—

Orgasm overtakes him quite suddenly, leaves him gasping and breathless and wrecked, and still he craves more. His fantasies are delectable, but his appetite is insatiable.

He desperately wants the real thing.

It is Thursday of the next week at last and Dream, fueled by his fading ability to recall the precise brown of Hob Gadling's eyes or the way his cheeks crease up when he smiles, does not call Matthew's Motor Repairs to check on the status of his Porsche as instructed. Instead, he drives out, excusing the trip to himself by visiting a local bookseller first and picking up several selections to add to his personal library. He does not linger overlong among the shelves, however; today he is consumed with much more pressing distractions.

He must see Hob Gadling again, if only for a moment.

When he enters the shop, there is no one at the counter up front and the door to the garage is ajar, raucous music drifting faintly through. "Hello?" he calls, but receives no reply.

It is a warm day outside and quite warm inside as well; Dream imagines how sweaty Hob Gadling must be, to be performing physical labor under these conditions. Such thoughts do nothing to calm or cool him.

After only a moment's hesitation, he rounds the counter and passes through the doorway, at which point he can hear Hob Gadling's voice singing along—"You don't have a clue/If you did you'd find yourself/Doin' the same thing too!"—beneath the music, passably on-key no less.

Yet another appealing feature to this man; it is simply unfair. Dream draws himself up, heart beating harder, and ventures around the large sink and cleanup station until he can see his Porsche, up on ramps, and—

And legs sticking out from beneath the side of it on one of those rolling boards, Hob Gadling's legs no doubt, spread wide like an invitation.

Dream stops abruptly, heat pouring into his belly; he takes a deep breath of the warm stuffy air, the machine-and-metal smell of the garage doing nothing to calm his libido. He stares, helplessly, at the work boots and coveralls, at where they stretch across Hob Gadling's crotch, affording frustratingly little suggestion of what lies beneath. And just above that, he can see that the coveralls are unzipped, not quite far enough to expose underwear but enough that Dream is treated to a glimpse of warm golden-brown belly and the dip of his navel, the dark sweep of hair above and below it.

—Mouthwatering—

It is with tremendous effort that Dream corrals his thoughts, steps forward again, closes the space between them and clears his throat to announce his presence. He nudges one booted foot with his own, not entirely meaning to do so but somehow unable to resist.

"Bloody—" The mechanic scoots out from beneath the car and Dream's knees go weak; he is grateful they do not give out altogether.

Hob Gadling is indeed shirtless beneath his open coveralls, displaying a chest far more gloriously hairy than Dream had imagined, a pelt thick and dark and alluring. He wants to touch, to comb his fingers through and rub his face against it, to lick the trail of hair that leads down to where the parted zipper comes back together. There is a visible sheen of sweat on his skin and Dream would lick that off as well; Hob is smudged with grease in various smears across his torso and forearms and Dream can hardly think for the rushing of blood in his ears, the swelling of want in the pit of his stomach. He drags his eyes back up to Hob's face, trying to school the ravenous hunger from his own gaze; he does not think he is overly successful in that regard but there is discernible heat in the warm brown eyes that meet him, and it is difficult to care about dignity, propriety, with reality unfolding so near to the fantasies that have carried him through the last ten days.

He stutters through some explanation for his presence, barely aware of his own words, barely registering the rundown he is given in return, watching hungrily as Hob climbs to his feet. His car will be finished tomorrow. He will have reason to see Hob again tomorrow. But right now he is unraveling, his self control a tenuous and threadbare thing barely within his grasp. He is watching Hob's mouth as he speaks, captivated, obsessed with the warm color of it flashing among the dark scruff of Hob's beard, and Dream wants to taste. His mouth, his skin, his cock, which is surely as magnificent as the rest of him—Dream cannot bear the thought of leaving without confirming his certainties, but it is one thing to revel in fantasy alone in his bed and quite another to actually act on it when faced with the man before him—

"Is there something else I can do for you today, Mr. Atelíotes?"

Hob Gadling is looking at him, hip cocked and coveralls alluringly open, smile just this side of invitational; there is the strong suggestion of interest and an implied offer in that warm tone and Dream's resolve, such as it is, crumbles.

He reaches. He touches. He speaks his want and follows with a flirtatious tease to mitigate his intensity, is met by teasing agreement in return, but when his mechanic mentions cleaning up first he absolutely cannot agree.

"No. As you are now, please." He steps closer, directly into Hob's space, a week and a half of fantasies clamoring in his mind as the scent of the man wafts into his nose—oil and grease, warm metal, sweat and a faint trace of citrus and a hint of some pleasantly masculine deodorant; Dream's mouth waters, and his prick throbs.

His mechanic hesitates. "I'm kind of filthy though?"

There is a tinge of shame beneath the words, and Dream. Will not have it.

"I am aware, yes," he purrs, seizing the open lapels of the grimy coveralls, and kisses Hob Gadling with ten days' worth of anticipation and want.

Dream is coasting on an adrenaline and endorphin high as he drives home, afterwards. He acted. He spoke directly of what he wanted. And he got it. He had spent ten days nursing fantasy and now he has experienced a delightful sliver of the reality of Hob Gadling.

And tomorrow, he will experience more.

Sleep does not come easily that night, keyed up and aroused as he is, but he manages at last. He wakes later than usual the next morning; he eats a light brunch, the excitement in his stomach counterproductive to the task, and makes sure to drink more water than usual. Thoughts of Hob fill his mind, arousing, distracting, enticing; he recalls with a sharp thrill the taste of Hob's pleasure on his tongue, and he is eager to be on his way to their appointment.

But there are things he must do to prepare, first.

He takes an enema, then shaves and showers, lathering everywhere with his sweetest-smelling soap, determined to be the polar opposite of what he lusts for in Hob. He strives for the cleanest prettiest and freshest he can get, the better to be taken and sullied and dirtied by his mechanic; Hob had seemed quite pleased with that dynamic yesterday and Dream is eager to repeat it with Hob's cock in his arse this time.

To that end, he employs a favorite dildo once he is clean and dry, lubing himself carefully and working himself open on the toy, mind blazing with thoughts of Hob all the while. He knows, now, the size and the shape (and the taste!) of Hob's prick, and he is giddy with the anticipation of having it inside him. He is salivating over how Hob compares to the dildo, how Hob will fill him just that much better, what filthy things Hob might say while taking his time over long slow thrusts, how good it will feel when Hob finally rails him without mercy—

He must force himself to stop, hard and panting as he withdraws the toy from his body. He sorts through his glass plugs quickly, finding the one he wants and fitting it carefully inside himself. It's broad enough to stretch him just a little more, perfectly flared to fit just right inside and out, short enough that he can bend and sit without discomfort. It's a beautiful tease, as a matter of fact, keeping him keyed up and aroused as he dresses himself, making him squirm just a little with every step as he gathers his condoms and his pocket-sized bottle of lube and his phone wallet and water, and leaves the house.

He composes himself over the two blocks he walks to the busier streets where he can hail a cab, steeling himself to normalcy in both movement and appearance while pleasure sings in his veins with every subtle shift of the toy within him. He is half-hard, hidden well enough by the loose cut of his slacks, and works to keep his thoughts from heating any further until he has reached his destination.

The cab drops him outside of Matthew's Motor Repairs and he pays, distracted and breathless with anticipation. Hob is there, inside, and Dream is certain that Hob is just as eager as he is for their rendezvous.

He hopes that Hob is just as eager.

Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances, reads the hand-written sign taped to the glass of the shop door. Ring if you have an appointment.

Dream's heart plummets for half a second, until he remembers their parting conversation yesterday about appointments and showing up and fitting in. This sign is for him, surely, a blatant invitation.

He takes a breath to calm the excited pounding of his heart, squirms surreptitiously on the toy inside him, and rings the bell.

= Started: 5/15/24 Drafted: 7/27/24 Posted: 7/29/24

#Dreamling #Sandman #TJs Fics #wip: turbo lover

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autumnmobile12 · 4 months ago

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Just a heads up, Chapter 5 of Ambush Simulation is going to be Shimura's chapter, so in spite of my absolute hatred of drawing motor vehicles, here's a fanart of the goth punk driving his motorcycle.

Or posing or whatever you want to call this.

Who needs a kickstand when you have legg?

Mostly, I just really wanted to draw him with the goth punk aesthetic again. As for how his uncle feels about his fashion sense, here's a little a snippet of what's to come:

“I’m heading out,” said Tenko.

“Be careful.”

“I always am, you know that!”

“I meant those boots.” Uncle Toshi gave them a withering look. “I know you have your own style, Tenko, but whenever I see those boots, all I have are intrusive thoughts about you falling and twisting both your ankles.”

“I like them.”

“Still, for my peace of mind, no running.”

“Are you actually shaking your finger at me?”

“No running,” he repeated, shaking said finger more vigorously.

...

And here's the inspiration for the art:

#my hero academia #shimura tenko #shigaraki tomura #fanart #boku no hero academia #yagi toshinori #all might #bnha #mha #ambush simulation #alternate universe #goth punk #aesthetic #archive of our own #fanfiction

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cazzyf1 · 2 months ago

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My favourite/interesting quotes from: Jim Clark Portrait of a Great Driver

"One winter afternoon when I was down there Clark explained that we had to listen for an aircraft around 4.0 p.m. as Colin Chapman, his wife and Jimmy's girl friend Sally Stokes were due to arrive. Chapman had never flown to the farm before and I remember raising an eyebrow when Clark explained how he had told Colin to find the farm. "I told him to fly to Berwick-on- Tweed and then along the line of the River Tweed from the mouth at Berwick. When he saw the first red barns on the north side he was to circle the house until he saw signs of life." At 4.0 p.m. we went outside and scanned the skies but there was no sign of action. At 4.20 p.m. there was the distant sound of an aircraft and we gazed at the slowly darkening skies and finally saw it, a speck in the distance flying in the wrong direction. Immediately Clark scrambled into a Ford Galaxie-Chapman's car, actually and we shot down the narrow farm road, through the esses near the main road junction and turned for Berwick. We had just set off and had reached about 70 m.p.h. when the 'plane suddenly turned and flew towards us. Clark flashed the headlights and Chapman dipped the wings in acknowledgement. A hand brake turn and we were zooming back past the farm and up a side road to the edge of a field filled with sheep. Clark whistled on his dog, jumped the five bar gate and lit out after the sheep with the dog at his heels. Between them they rounded the sheep up and sent them off to the far side of the field whilst Chapman made a couple of passes. On the third he almost touched down then flew off. "He's gone to Winfield", said Clark. So it was back into the Galaxie for another dash across country to the disused airfield, sometime circuit where Clark had run in some sprints in the earliest days of his motor sports career. There we pocked up Chapman and his passengers" - p25-27 Graham Gauld

"In general layout the farm had changed little over the years and it had a family ghost. This was the Grey Lady who Jimmy claimed to have seen when he was very young and taken for his mother. But, on the following morning his mother said she hadn't been near his room. Since then a number of people have been visited by the ghost. Once, when Jimmy and I were preparing some notes for his autobiography, we had a wild session with Jackie Stewart and Paddy Hopkirk. As we talked into the small hours it was decided that Stewart and I would share one room, while Paddy slept in another. Jackie and I thought it was all very funny because we believed that Jimmy had put Paddy into the haunted room but in fact we were told in the morning that we had been sleeping in it..." p27 Graham Gauld

"Clark was the world's worst passenger in any car, in any circumstances with any driver! Indeed, I can only think of one occasion in which I drove him, and then he was kind enough not to comment but just smile wanly every so often" - p46 Graham Gauld

"He once remarked that Indy would be "...fine without the Americans" but in time he made a number of friends over there" - p52 Graham Gauld

"Though to the end he was still a kindly person to those whom he allowed into his confidence, he occasionally displayed a petulance and spite which was generally uncharacteristic. To some people he was cruel, but admist this cruelty one felt that Clark was trying to punish himself for being unable to explain himself. Indeed, if he had an unfulfilled wish, it was to be understood by everyone, but to ask that was to ask for the impossible" - p73 Graham Gauld

"During those times it was a very hard job getting him to believe in himself" - p82 Ian Scott Watson

"The little things you remember are his smile, the way his whole face lit up, and his springy walk and the way he bit his nails. He was an incessant nail biter, which completely baffled me; although he had a slightly nervous disposition this completely dropped when he stepped into a racing car" - p90 Graham Hill

"Whenever I was driving he was either biting his nails or fast asleep. When he was awake there was the occasional sharp intake of breath and the odd remark 'For God's sake, look out'. He was a very nervous passenger. It must have been particularly agonising for him to sit beside me doing 800 miles in thirteen hours or so. When he was driving and made the odd mistake he could never understand why I didn't say anything and he used to say 'For God's sake say something' We were just different that is all" - p91 Graham Hill

"In personal matters, he was not a great one for revealing too much, ans he was a bit clam-like which I think may have been a Scottish trait in him? He was canny, and didn't go around saying too much to people. Very often you found out he had been somewhere or done something, which you would have never known about just talking to him" - p92 Graham Hill

"They were called the Terrible Twins, the Poison Dwarfs and many other ames. But at the height of their friendship they were inseparable" - about Jim and Jackie

"It was also at this time that I started to live in John Whitmore's flat in London with Jimmy. From that day on we called it the Scottish Embassy" - p101 Jackie Stewart

"Though Jim led something of a monastic life, I must say that put there he was a real swinger, living a very busy life" - p101 Jackie Stewart

"In fact we spent so much time with one another that we became known at Batman and Robin - and I kept calling him Robin" - p102 Jackie Stewart

"Jimmy Clark was also very nationalistic, indeed we both had this trait and we were quite sincere about it. It really had to be Scottish. If anything came up wherein he was called English he was at pain to correct it" - p103 Jackie Stewart

"When reflecting on the future that Jimmy had in store I feel that he was not going to go back to full-time farming in Berwickshire. He was living the life of an international figure and no matter what might have happened in later years, I don't think he would have returned to Duns permanently. He had become a very sophisticated person. He played pretty hard and his tastes were very high and these he wasn't going to satisfy in Duns. I am sure he would have kept the house and that from time to time he would have loved to go back up there, but I don't think he would ever have gone back and settled down in the way a lot of people would have liked to imagine that he would. This just wasn't on and this is why, when people told me that Jimmy was thinking of retiring, I know that this was not the case. We talked about this a lot but he really didn't know what he wanted to do in the future. He didn't let anyone know what he was doing." - p105 - Jackie Stewart

"He was much more conscious of his personality than most people realised. It you went into a restaurant with Jimmy he did want to be recognised as Jim Clark. He didn't want it from the point of view of people asking for autographs but, like any human being, he did want the benefit of best table" - p107 Jackie Stewart

"His most difficult task in life, however, was making decisions.It was completely incomprehensible to find that someone who was so accurate and definite in his actions in a racing car was so completely inadequate when a decision had to be made outside a racing car. The number of times we have missed dinner because the restaurants have all been closed because Jimmy hadn't made up his mind which restaurant we should go to are legion, and the same is true of movies. One story is so typical of Jimmy. We were coming back from one of the American races and driving along a road where you cross a railway line with a ten mile straight one side and a ten mile straight on the other side. Jimmy is at the wheel of this Ford Galaxie and he gets to the crossing and stops. He looks one way then the other and there isn't a train in sight ten miles one way and ten miles the other then he turns to me and says 'well... what do you think?" He wouldn't dare make a decision without all sorts of drama. " - p107

"He was very keep to read everything said about him, and to make sure that there were no mistakes (this was a characteristic of Jimmy - he was most insistent that even the smallest of mistakes should not be made). He would spend half the afternoon reading sitting on a chair half in hand out of the little office. Sometimes if there were too many people talking in the office he would even shut himself in it" - p120 Gérard Crombac

"He met most of the French drivers in motorracing and the parties he went to were motor racing parties. He seldom went out on his own" - p122 Gérard Crombac

"He was no gourmet but he was becoming one, and he was very fond of French oysters we usually ended up in a sea food place " - p122 Gérard Crombac

"But although he was very generous, he remained the canny Scot of legend and he was not one to waste any money. I remember that he didn't want a house maid in the flat, so if one turned up in the middle of the morning, one might find James Clark Esq., O.B.E, pushing the vacuum cleaner through our living room" - p125 Gérard Crombac

"I thought his rather strong Scottish accent was fading with the time, until an incident when he was invited to patronise the opening of a French pub, which was to be done in style with the help of a pipe band. When Jimmy turned up and realised these people were fellow Scots he started chatting happily with them and I could hardly understand what he was saying as his accent had come back strongly and so suddenly." - p126 Gérard Crombac

"Jimmy's Scottish upbringing had instilled in him a rather restrained attitude towards girls, and I think he was very very shy with them in the early part of his career. But he was also tremendously attractive to them they would come up to him for autographs, and would leave no doubt as to their true intentions. In part he enjoyed this, but I also think he was put off in a way by this ruthless approach, so that he had absolutely no respect for most of them. So as a result, there were times when he wasn't the perfect gentleman." -p126 Gérard Crombac

"There was also a time he found a packet of cigarettes in a tent, gathered a bunch of boy scouts around him and gave them the cigarettes. He then had a picture taken of all these boy scouts lined up a cricket team smoking cigarettes with Jimmy in the middle holding a half gallon of beer." - p136 Bill Bryce

"I think Jimmy drove like a ballet dancer, he had the lightest feet and hands on earth. He had immensely strong shoulders and arms but this was the only part of him that was strong physically. He was a great dancer in motor cars, gentle with them, kind with them and I feel that the reason he was a great driver was that there was always the feeling of participation with the motor car, so the driving almost became sixth sense with him in many cases." - p145 Walter Hayes

"All this stuff about Jimmy the Shepherd with his little flat cap was nonsense. He wasn't a great Shepherd. He liked to go back to the family every so often to rediscover who he was" - p146 Walter Haynes

"When I first met Jimmy he found it extremely difficult to speak in public and he was exceptionally shy about it" - p148 Walter Haynes

"I remember just before his accident, he was talking about his future and what he was going to do when he stopped racing, and he said he finally made up his mind that he wouldn't in fact go back farming. He still loved it, but I think after the excitement and turmoil of racing, flying and the life he had been leading. I think he wanted to settle down in some branch of the aviation business" - p164 Colin Chapman

#classic f1 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #vintage f1 #jim clark

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