#a nurse to my patience

[sinceileftyoublog]

FaltyDL Interview: A Conversation With Myself

BY JORDAN MAINZER

At a time when playing club music was untenable, Drew Lustman was halfway out the door anyway. The New York-based producer and electronic musician, known as FaltyDL, had been making great house and garage-inspired electronic music for over a decade, including his 2016 career best Heaven Is for Quitters. Increasingly, even as his audience grew, he grew out of the dance music world, his creative expressions more introspective as he wished to connect with people as individuals rather than crowds as collectives. Stints writing with Mykki Blanco helped Lustman step outside of his comfort zone and find his voice as an auteur, and watching Blanco collaborate with other artists helped subside a lot of Lustman’s fears of reaching out to musicians he admired. Ultimately, when clubs closed, it was the final straw rather than the instigator: Lustman was ready to start again, from almost quitting music to reinventing himself. The result is A Nurse to My Patience, released earlier last month on his imprint Blueberry Records.

While A Nurse to My Patience is notable in the music world in general for being chock full of some of the finest experimental and rock musicians of the past twenty years, it’s even more notable within FaltyDL’s catalog itself. That is, it’s the first time Lustman has written lyrics and sung on record. He therapeutically reflects on his club-centered anxiety on “Berlin”, describing the false highs (“In my mind I feel like a king”) and the comedowns (“Now I’m feeling nothing / Stretched out like a starfish on a bed”). The video of first single “Four Horses” shows Lustman at different stages of his career, reflecting on his own mortality, singing gently around sinewy guitar lines. Julianna Barwick provides elegiac background vocals, as if an omniscient narrator to Lustman’s life. “A Vow” sees all of his insecurities rise to the surface, while “One Way Or Another” is warm collaboration with Blanco, this time on a FaltyDL record. Add in Medicine’s Brad Laner on the squealing electric guitar noise jam “XTOC”, Interpol’s Paul Banks on the sprechgesang techno of “Come See Us”, Gang Gang Dance’s Brian DeGraw on the wincing “Doves Fears”, and Hot Chip’s Joe Goddard on new wave anthem “God Light”, and you’ve got one of the most varied records of the year, let alone in FaltyDL’s already deep catalog.

Earlier this year, I spoke with Lustman over the phone from his home studio in Bed-Stuy in Brooklyn, the very place where he made A Nurse to My Patience. Though he’s immensely proud of the record, he always sports a sense of perspective, which at worst can come in the form of admitted navel-gazing self-doubt but at best contemplation on the impact his music has. “I’m constantly having a conversation with myself about the art I’m making, whether it’s good, and why I’m making it,” Lustman said.

Read the rest of our conversation below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: The pandemic catalyzed your exit from the club world, but what about the dance scene was grinding your gears?

Drew Lustman: That’s a good way to put it. It’s a huge question I don’t have definitive answers to because I don’t want to close the door on club music in my life. I want to make more of it and get inspired by it from time to time. But I wasn’t having fun touring and traveling, and I stopped listening to club music quickly in succession with that, and then I stopped making it as much. I’m of two minds about being in clubs, unless I really want to be there. I feel kind of awkward being there--it’s just sort of a job. I also didn’t like the way DJing was going in general, with all of the focus on the DJ, everyone on the dance floor just sort of staring at the DJ, and I’m just playing songs back to back. It felt like it was stroking my ego in a way I didn’t want or feared in the end. I have a lot of friends who are very successful DJs, and I find myself looking at them and thinking, “Oh, that would be dope if I got back into touring and built it up like they did.” But it feels weird. 

It’s carried into even this [material.] I don’t plan on performing this album at all. Sometimes, I finish a performance and DJ set and feel so good, but I ultimately crash the next day. I’m totally sober when I’m DJing and the next day, but I don’t feel fulfilled by it. It takes a certain time in your life or set of circumstances to really be down with that type of experience. I haven’t outgrown it, because I don’t think I’m above it, but I think I’ve sidestepped it. It doesn’t tickle me in the same way.

SILY: Around the 2010s, there was definitely a major shift from the DJ as a provider of experience to “star” DJs where it was less about dancing in a club around other people and more about watching the person playing the music. 

DL: Yeah. I don’t want to speak for anyone else and say it doesn’t have its place. Clearly, it works. It’s so popular and has such a huge ecosystem that seems to only be growing. It’s kind of one of the last self-sustaining musical models. Even bigger bands can’t make a living touring anymore. There are so many people involved, that at the end of the day, the take-home is very small, plus travel, and all that. The DJs you see that are very successful are also like unicorns: There’s not many you see on that level. I remember doing a lot of tours when I first started that looked great and were super fun, and I’d come home and would be at a loss. My cellphone bill would clear me out. I hope it’s there when I want to return to it in a positive way, but it’s not doing it for me right now.

SILY: So would you say A Nurse to My Patience is a headphones record?

DL: Yeah, for sure. In one way, because it won’t be performed live, but if I can extend “headphones” to any sort of home listening, then yes. I did make it on really big monitors and bump it loud when I play it in the car. I think my music was always this solo trip, to be enjoyed by yourself in a way, not excluding any sort of communal club experience. I do hope that people put it on and form some sort of personal relationship with it and it helps them in some way that can only really be done on your own.

SILY: At what point did you decide to try your hand at writing lyrics and recording yourself singing?

DL: Working with Mykki was really encouraging. This figure entered my life, and we started recording music together. Before we even knew each other well, there was this level of comfort that was set in the studio where Mykki would take on these various characters and sing in various ways. It was very freeing to feel like I could be different versions of myself, too, at various moments. By the time I decided to try singing on one of the tracks--I was thinking, if I could do every other aspect of the song, from writing and creating to mixing and producing--it would be cool if I could sing on it, too. These lyrics poured out of me. I developed my own techniques to try to get my voice to sound good, because I’m not really a trained singer, either.

SILY: Had you ever written lyrics or sung before, independent of whether it was recorded?

DL: Not so much, but I was helping Mykki write some of the hooks and a few lyrics and suggesting things. Just seeing that process firsthand demystified a bit of it for me. Also, they make it look so easy because they’re very good at it and have been writing poetry and singing for such a long time. What it takes for me to try anything is to see someone do it in a way it doesn’t seem like a struggle.

SILY: At what point did you decide to involve Mykki and all of these collaborators in your songs?

DL: There’s a good story for each one. Mykki was easy--we had already made upwards of 30 songs together, so I just texted them. The way Mykki was rapping on my track, we were in New York, wrapping things up, making a radio edit of one of the songs from last year’s record. I started getting really tired, and Mykki was like, “Drew, I’m only here for one more hour, what do you want to do?” So I played a song from the album, and Mykki was like, “That’s it!” They wrote the lyrics right there and rapped it, and it was done in an hour.

Brad Laner was someone I’ve been listening to for a very long time. He’s released music on Planet Mu under a couple different names, and so did I. That label has an ecosystem where you can reach out to others that have had a similar experience and talk about what it’s like being there. It was very easy to reach out to Brad--we started collaborating over the pandemic. I’d send stems over, and Brad would send back a whole bunch of guitar and synth parts. We have a whole lot more we’re working on--hopefully there’s a whole project between the two of us.

Julianna Barwick, I just cold-emailed her. She got back really enthusiastic and recorded a bunch on two tracks. I couldn’t decide which one I liked more, so I included both of them on the album.

Paul Banks, I reached out to through management, and he was the first big feature to come in. I’ve been sitting on "Come See Us” for a good two years, now. His vocals were in my inbox two weeks after we reached out. I think the stars aligned: Paul was probably home during the pandemic, between recording stuff for Interpol and Muzz, that the timing was right. I thought, “I’ve got Paul Banks on the album, I’m doing something right.”

Joe Goddard, I also reached out to through management, and he responded really positively. We’ve had a few correspondences in the past here and there, having remixed similar artists and shared sides of a 12". I’ve been a fan of Hot Chip and Joe’s solo stuff. A couple things he’s done have really resonated with me over the years. The label Joe was helping run, Greco-Roman, they were a fan of mine, so my name was rolling around the office there. They had my records up on the wall.

These songs took their time, but it was cool because nobody was going anywhere, and after a couple months, I had all these parts. I sang the bridge on Joe’s track, “God Light”. It was like a little duet with Joe.

Brian DeGraw is another New York musician with notoriety, from Gang Gang Dance to his own beautiful solo work and painting. A truly multi-disciplinary artist. Bryan remixed me years ago on my Hardcourage album. He’s also helped me with some video work over the years. I just hit him up! We were both home and able to send stems back and forth quickly. Because he’s in New York, I’d love to do a lot more work with him.

So it was a mix of cold-calling people and contact people through management. There were folks I reached out to that said no or didn’t respond. I’m no stranger to hearing no or getting no response, so I thought, “Let’s just go out another circle. Who else is available?”

SILY: I can’t imagine “Come See Us” without Paul’s voice. It’s so unmistakable and fits the music very well. Same with “God Light” and Joe. That sort of drum machine-laden, new wave/post-punk with the bass and guitar and his British accent, it sounds like a song from the 80s. Did you have these collaborators in mind for those specific tracks, or did you want to work with them no matter what?

DL: I sent a few tracks at a time and let them pick the ones they liked the most. When I was making the tracks and thought, “This could use a vocal,” then the names started floating around. The only way I’ve been able to make music, whether for myself or someone else, is to start the song as if it’s just for me. It’s kind of selfish, but it’s the only way I can stay focused and give it my all and not cut corners. I’m making it as closed, for myself, following some sort of compass. As it shakes out, I think, “Could I involve someone else or invite someone else on?” That’s kind of new, to be honest. My music was always a solo thing.

SILY: A song like “A Vow” has just you on it. Is that a more personal song?

DL: The songs “A Vow” or “Berlin” both have very straightforward meanings. “Berlin” is about going on tour, becoming someone else, feeling anxious, and being in Berlin and how that’s always made me kind of anxious for various reasons. “A Vow” is about how I feel about myself at my worst. I’m really beating myself up in that song: “I received a letter / Everyone thinks I’m a loser / It’s clear now / My place is in the rear now.” That’s the aging musician thinking they’ve had a really good run and that they can still make music but they have to take a new form. It’s not bad, it’s just how it goes. I was talking to someone the other day, and they said, “If you can get 10 years in music, that’s incredible.” Here I am, pushing my way through half of my second 10 years, and I agree with it, but you can keep going as long as you want. What you want out of it and what you can get out of it sort of changes.

SILY: The beat on “One Hitter” reminds me a lot of LCD Soundsystem’s “Losing My Edge”, whose themes are basically what you just said.

DL: Yeah. That was an influence. So was a Caribou track. I thought I always liked LCD a lot, maybe it was a little...

SILY: Too on the nose?

DL: Well, at the time it came out, I was into harder things like jungle and drum and bass, so I found most pop and rock a little too clean. But the energy is sort of similar, and the rhythm is definitely a “Losing My Edge” rhythm.

SILY: What about touring made you dislike it so much?

DL: I didn’t like it for a very long time. I toured my ass off from 2009-2015. I did about 150 gigs, went to Europe 10 times a year, went to Asia, South America, really got all over the place. As I settled in, got a bit older, got into a relationship, and had a kid on the way, life changed in various ways where I didn’t want to be away. I did start to develop some separation anxiety where it got harder. I was playing bigger rooms to more people and bigger fees, but I was getting more and more anxious traveling and leaving. It’s like I have a little PTS from touring, but there was no singular traumatic event. Over the years, I started feeling, “This isn’t what I want to do, but I’m going to keep doing it because it is what I do.” I built the skillset, but staying and doing something I didn’t want to do caused it to become this grating thing. I’m having to figure out other ways to make a living, which is fine because I want to grow as a person and acquire new skills.

SILY: Who sings on “Zoo Jarre”?

DL: I’m singing the vocals, but all of the [mimics laughter] is my girlfriend. I recorded her having a conversation and pitched it up and changed the decay and the sustain so it’s all chopped up and percussive. I put a phaser on it and stereo expander, all this stuff to make it sound that way. It’s a nod to Jean-Michel Jarre’s Zoolook where he does some really awesome vocal manipulation.

SILY: On “Play A Little Rough With Me”, you’re basically rapping. Is that something you learned from working with Mykki?

DL: [laughs] It’s funny, I listened to my cadence at some point and thought it definitely sounded like I was rapping. I don’t want to say that it’s rapping. It’s more like talk-singing in a Frank Zappa way. But it’s fair to say I’m rapping. I do not view myself as a rapper. I had written a lot of songs where I wrote a verse and repeated one hook, and I thought, “Let me write two long verses.” They’re mirror images of each other; one is a mirror image of the other verse. That track almost didn’t make it. My girlfriend was saying, “It’s gotta go on!” It’s the one I feel the most self-conscious about.

SILY: Are you self-conscious about it for its themes or how it sounds? It’s a very intimate song.

DL: That’s funny. I feel like I’m being goofy there. I feel goofy singing, “Let’s grow old together and get a home” and then saying, “Come play a little rough with me and let’s not live together.” That’s sort of the two vibes. It’s totally fine--it’s not even about my relationship. But the vocal delivery makes me feel a little cringe. It all does. I can’t listen to this anymore.

SILY: Really?

DL: A little bit! I’ve been working on it for so long. I keep putting it on, 5 seconds of a track, and asking myself, “This is still good, right?” I then realize, “Yeah, it’s good, it’s good, it’s okay, it’s fine.” I’d rather get to work on the next thing.

SILY: Was this album something you just needed to get out of your system in order to make another pivot? Or is it the start of something new for you?

DL: I think it’s the start of something new. I have the outline of what could be a follow-up record next year, with a couple remixes of these tracks and some new stuff in a similar frame. I’m moving towards a King Crimson-esque, heavier rock sound at the moment. I was just looking at violins on Craigslist. I want to get a violin, prepare it, and play it. I’m paring back my music more and more to the point where my next album could be ambient. Once I got out of the club circuit, I became okay with the fact that if I don’t release club music, I won’t get DJ gigs. Now that I’m becoming okay with that, I have less ego involved and can do whatever I want musically. In the club world, you’re only as good as the last record you’ve released. You can release a bangin’ 12" and tour on it forever, but if you then release something that’s not as good, it might affect your bookings. I assume that’s the same way with everything. But if you don’t care about bookings, you’re so free. You can do whatever you want. If you’re constantly reintroducing yourself, it can be hard for the press to connect the dots. That’s the gamble. But my favorite artists are always taking different turns here and there.

SILY: What’s the meaning behind the record title?

DL: Two things. It’s a line from a Fanny Howe poem. She’s listing a whole bunch of things, and it’s one of the things she lists. I read it during the pandemic and really connected with it. One of the reasons this album took so long is I started taking a little advice from folks that I should wait for the Mykki music to come out, and then my music afterwards, and it was very music industry, business-oriented advice. It was the antithesis of my artistic inclinations, which is to make stuff and release it so I can make more stuff and release that. I needed this thing to keep me busy, and the album became a nurse to my patience. It was this thing I would dive into. If I wasn’t going to see Mykki for a month or two, I needed something else to get my mind off that.

SILY: What’s the story behind the cover art?

DL: I did a photo session with James Hartley for some photos for the Studio Barnhus EP. We got along so well, I wanted to work together again. I thought if I was making a rock record, I’ve always loved classic rock albums that have the artist on the cover. You don’t see it as much in electronic music. I really wanted to be on the cover with a guitar in some way. We did this whole photoshoot and did these double exposures. When the cover photo was taken, when the guitar slides left and right around my head, we saw it quickly and knew it right away. As it was, it was a little throwback and needed more, so I took it to my friend Scot Bendall from the design house La Boca, who has done a bunch of my covers in the past. I asked for some type around it, and they came back quickly with this cut-out idea of the photo with lettering on top. They’ll always show me 10 options, and each is incredible and really hard to choose from, and each one is improved upon a week later, and it keeps going until one stands out. 

SILY: How long have you been playing the various instruments you play on this record?

DL: There’s been one or two samples of me playing instruments on songs in the past that I treat as more like found sound. This is more deliberate playing. Bass and guitar, I started when I was around 11 or 12. Piano, here and there. During the pandemic, I went back to my dad’s house and raided his basement where I have a bunch of my instruments. Once I built this studio, I wanted to get stuff I had in storage in his house. I brought back three basses, and electric guitar, and a full speaker stack. I had my piano already that I’ve been paying on installments. I just started playing these instruments every single day. My callouses came back. Muscle memory is incredible--I hadn’t played guitar in years but I was fine doing all these scales and things I was doing back when I was playing as a kid. The callouses are subcutaneous again, and I feel legit. I feel more comfortable on a bass than on a synthesizer at this point.

SILY: Anything you’ve been listening to, reading, or watching that’s caught your attention?

DL: I just watched The Bear on Hulu and Nope, which is incredible. My favorite Jordan Peele film so far. Fantastic movie making. The soundtrack is almost this classic Western, Indiana Jones-esque sound, but updated.

I’m not listening to a whole lot of stuff because I’m trying to make a lot of music right now.

SILY: Do you not want to be steered a certain way by outside listening when you’re actively making music?

DL: I’m becoming a bad artist in that I’m loosening my grip in the time I spend creating and becoming more of a consumer. I give this advice to young artists all the time. Turn your phone off, don’t look at Twitter when you’re making music. Only have your software open. I’m not listening to that advice anymore, maybe because I’m in this moment where I’m releasing this record and have to switch my brain from creative mode to explaining mode. I hope to get back on track in a good rhythm; if I don’t make a song in a while, I start to feel crummy. It starts to affect every aspect of my life. It’s like a steam release valve. I have to prove to myself I can do it. It’s perverse, because clearly, I’ve done it many times, but it doesn’t matter how many times, because if I can’t do it again, I’ve lost it. It’s a little bit like torturing myself.

SILY: Were you always planning on releasing this record on your own label, or did you pitch it to other labels?

DL: I did pitch it to a few and got very far with a couple labels. But if I’m unwilling to tour and do some of the things other labels want you to do--and we didn’t even get that far--I thought I’d upset the folks who’d spend a bunch of money and time and see me only promote it in ways I feel comfortable with. I hope it would be successful on its own, and maybe I was shooting myself in the foot before discovering whether they’d liked it. There’s always a part of me that fantasizes about being signed again to a label. I’ve had good experiences on labels. It’s amazing having a huge team doing a worldwide press push like on my Ninja Tune albums. But I’ve got a great distributor, a good publisher, a friend that helps who is a paid intern, and revolving artists I work with. It’s basically a team. I could use one or two more dedicated people, but I’d have to pay them a salary, and I don’t have that money.

[coolcritter83]

curious little guys

[doodleodds]

An "Akechi in a nurse outfit w/ some shuake" comm for @edenfire! (I'm sorry if this isn't what you were looking for lol but this is just what came to mind ^^;) AND I'M NOT DEAD I PROMISE- I HAVEN'T STOLEN YOUR MONEY AND RAN!! I am sorry this took so long to get to you though. My job got very busy recently with school starting up and I just kept coming home too drained to do anything but sleep. But we're back on it now!!! There's a bonus below the cut since this is.... two weeks late, oh god:

So when i initially started this drawing i was like "hm are there any nurse outfits in cannon" and i was like "you know what. I bet Maruki had some nurses that were shadows." and that lead to this! It's not polished AT ALL because i was drawing it for fun, initially, and then the sunk cost fallacy kicked in and i had to finish it to include in the post because it'd already taken me a hot minute to get to you + i'd spent too much time goofing off drawing this to just post your thing with no explanation aside from work, so. Here!

(Whats that saying about falling in love with sirens? Make sure they're saying “I love you” and not “you love me?”)

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Me, rewatching random Eleven-era episodes, worrying that my takes on Amy & Rory might be slightly OOC and then realizing that the writers of the show threw about five different characterizations/motivations on them throughout their run, depending on the episode and that means I get to just pick one to make my foundation and then develop it out properly:

[tortoisesshells]

31. flowers ; for liz and vicki

“Souvenir de la Malmaison,” said Mrs. Stoddard, handing Vicki some heavy, pale roses – the leaves waxy, petals like tissue-paper in an expensive holiday parcel – the kind Vicki remembered watching being handed into waiting cars on 5th Avenue, while she had huddled further into her third-hand coat. Her employer looking at the bush critically, alive to every possible spot or fault, continued: “They’re lovely, of course, but they’ve never done well here, in the cold and damp – Daniel Collins brought them here from France for his grand-daughter, and she brought them into the greenhouses, where they have been ever since.” “They are very beautiful, Mrs. Stoddard,” Vicki said, holding the flowers gingerly, wary of the thorns. “Yes, beautiful,” she echoed unhappily, cutting a spotted leaf off quickly, and discarding it, “It has been the work of generations, keeping them alive.”

send me a number and two (or more) characters, and get a five sentence drabble!

[dumbasswhatever]

>be me, taking a specialty medicine that is actually really helping me >type of medicine you see in commercials >need to fill out a whole application with my doctor for their financial aid program to take it >need to re-apply every year >know it can take a while for the application process to be finished so i re-apply in may >my year runs out in november so that should be plenty of time >havent heard anything back in months so i ask my doctor if they've heard anything since they submitted the application >"if you got your last shipment, then you're re-enrolled" >yeah ok thats a relief >call the specialty pharmacy a few weeks later to schedule my next shipment >"we can't schedule your shipment, it seems you aren't in the program anymore. call the medicine company" >call the medicine company >"we sent your doctor a form a few weeks ago and they haven't answered us. call your doctor" >call the doctor >doctor is fucking allergic to answering the phone >spend two weeks trying to figure out what form they needed to fill out >it was the same goddamn form i filled out in may >doctors never sent it >fml >call the doctor again and pester them into sending the application "again" >(tell them the medicine company probably messed up instead of them so they don't get pissed and fuck up more shit) >call the medicine company two days later to ask if they got the application >apparently i need to babysit this goddamn application >they got it though thank god >need to call back in seven business days to see if they've approved it >give em eight days just in case >application got approved!!! >(apparently they didnt feel the need to like, notify me or anything. but whatever) >call the specialty pharmacy to schedule my next shipment >they haven't gotten the news yet so can't schedule yet >need to wait a day or two >give em two days just in case >call em again to schedule my next shipment >"sorry we can't schedule your shipment just yet because your doctor didnt specify on the prescription whether it's the pen or the syringe" >"i've been on the medicine for a year i know it's the pen" >"sorry we can't do it" >fml >call the doctor and miraculously get thru to a real person on my first attempt >"i'll leave a message for your nurse but she only comes in on tuesdays" >been the perfect patient >gave them several months for this application so i dont risk going off my meds >pestered everybody i needed to pester >still been off my meds for almost two weeks now bc my doctors cant do their fucking job >mfw

[hellsdoll]

how often do you DC when you hate the killer? me: yes.

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

y'all this is so small and silly but a disabled win

I UNTANGLED A NECKLACE....

BY MYSELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! =D

[anadrenalineslut]

i genuinely believe if something is a requirement for a course, it should come included IN YOUR TUITION PRICE but maybe thats just me being a radical leftist anacharist or whatever

[freak1ish]

Lupin tag dump. ( Based on various song lyrics and tags I thought up myself )

/ I'm finished making sense / ( Musings/ Ramblings )

/ What if I say I am not like the others / ( Introspection's )

/ The page is out of print / ( Open starters )

/ Done pleading ignorance / ( Answered asks )

/ Same old story / ( Asks )

/ In my reflection I see signs of psychosis / ( Visage )

/ I think I'm dyin' nursing patience/ ( Mannerisms )

/ I am afraid you are out of look / ( OOC )

/ A appreciate for the strange and bizarre / ( Aesthetics )

/ Forever scarred / ( Real face )

/ Think I need a devil to help me get things right / ( Main default verse )

/ I'm the voice inside your head you refuse to hear / ( Sandman/ DC comics verse )

/ This could take all night / ( Supernatural verse )

/ I'm getting tired of starting again / ( Strangers things verse )

/ There is evil inside / Buffy the vampire slayer verse )

/ Hiding in plain sight / ( Marvel verse )

/ What have I become my sweetest friend / ( Dragon age verse )

/ Cracks in the mirror / ( Wednesday verse )

/ I'll change your appearance and heal your wounds for a price / ( Grisha verse )

/ Into the void / ( Queue )

[aydascomprehendsubtext]

Gritting my teeth saying perhaps the end of my patience for a person having a Bad Time and making it everyone else's problem when everyone else is also having a Bad Time is a good thing, actually. Because it's a great channel for my frustration which otherwise might be formless and bad in that way. So I don't actually want that woman to die in real life

[misswynters]

Tamed Targaryen Heart

Aemond Targaryen x fem!wife! reader

[warnings: pregnancy, difficult birth

[word count: 1.1k

[a/n: maybe i will turn this into a series…

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The dimly lit chamber was filled with the scent of lavender and the muffled sound of Aemond Targaryen’s pacing footsteps. He glanced over at you, lying on the bed, sweat beading on your forehead as you gripped the bed sheets tightly. Your two sons, Aerys and Daeron, were asleep in their chambers, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that you were enduring.

“Aemond,” you groaned, your voice strained with frustration and pain, “I can’t take this anymore. This girl is taking her sweet time.”

Aemond moved swiftly to your side, his single eye filled with concern. He brushed a damp strand of hair from your face. “You are strong, my love. She will come when she is ready.”

“I’m tired of waiting!” you snapped, your patience long gone. “I just want her out. Now!”

The midwives and nurses exchanged wary glances but kept their focus on preparing for the birth. Your irritation was palpable, and the tension in the room thickened with each passing moment.

“Why don’t we try going for a walk?” you suggested suddenly, struggling to sit up. “Maybe that will help get things moving.”

Aemond hesitated. “Are you sure that’s wise? Perhaps we should bring one of the nurses.”

“No,” you insisted, your eyes blazing with determination. “Just you and me. I need to get out of this room.”

Aemond nodded, knowing better than to argue when you were in this state. He helped you to your feet, supporting you as you made your way out of the chamber and into the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep. The familiar halls were quiet, the stillness broken only by the occasional flicker of torchlight and the distant murmur of guards on patrol.

As you walked, Aemond kept a steadying arm around your waist, his presence a comforting anchor. “What shall we name her?” he asked softly, hoping to distract you from the pain.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, leaning heavily on him. “I haven’t been able to think of anything that feels right.”

“How about Visenya?” Aemond suggested, his voice thoughtful. “After the conqueror queen.”

You shook your head. “That’s a cursed name. Even so, it doesn’t fit. She needs a name that’s isn’t so common.” You continued your slow pace, Aemond offering more suggestions: Rhaella, Alysanne, Naerys. Each name was met with a thoughtful pause, then a gentle shake of your head.

Finally, as you turned a corner, you stopped abruptly. “Aemond, what about Aelora?”

“Aelora,” he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. “Aelora Targaryen. It’s beautiful.”

You smiled faintly, a glimmer of excitement breaking through your exhaustion. “Aelora it is.”

Suddenly, a sharp pain gripped you, and you doubled over with a cry. Aemond’s grip tightened as he steadied you. “What is it?”

A pool of water began to form as it dripped down your leg. “My water just broke,” you gasped, clutching your swollen belly. “Its time now…she likes the name Aelora.” You slightly chuckled in pain.

Panic and excitement surged through Aemond as he helped you back towards your chambers, shouting for the midwives as you neared. The nurses rushed to your side, guiding you back to the bed and preparing for the final stages of labor.

The next few hours were a blur of pain and struggle. You gripped Aemond’s hand tightly, your nails digging into his skin as you fought to bring your daughter into the world. Aemond stayed by your side, whispering words of encouragement and love, his own heart aching to see you in such pain.

“Come on, my love,” he urged softly, brushing his lips against your forehead. “You can do this. She’s almost here.”

“I can’t,” you cried out, tears streaming down your face. “It hurts too much.”

“You can,” he insisted, his voice firm but gentle. “You are the strongest woman I know. Just a little more.”

With one final, agonizing push, a wail filled the room, and your daughter was born. You collapsed back against the pillows, sobbing with relief and exhaustion. Aemond’s eye shone with pride and joy as the midwife placed the tiny, crying bundle into your arms.

“Look, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “She’s finally here. Our little Aelora.”

Aemond gazed down at the newborn, his heart swelling with love. He gently touched the baby’s cheek, awed by the miracle in his arms. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You did it, my love. You brought her into the world.”

You held Aelora close, tears of happiness mingling with the sweat on your face. Aemond wrapped his arms around both of you, a rare, genuine smile spreading across his face.

Once the midwives had cleaned and tended to both you and the baby, Aemond and you made your way to your sons’ chambers, eager to introduce them to their baby sister. Aerys and Daeron, roused from their sleep, looked up in wonder as their parents entered with the tiny bundle.

“This is your sister, Aelora,” Aemond said softly, kneeling down to their level. “Say hello.”

Aerys, the elder of the two, reached out a tentative hand to touch his sister’s tiny fingers. “She’s so small,” he whispered in awe.

Daeron, younger but no less curious, leaned in to peer at the baby. “Can we hold her?”

“Of course,” you said, carefully transferring Aelora into Aerys’s waiting arms. The boys’ faces lit up with joy as they cradled their sister, their excitement infectious.

Aemond watched his family with a sense of profound contentment, a rare, unguarded smile gracing his lips. For this moment, all was right in their world. His heart swelled with love and pride, knowing that together, he had a beautiful family. And so, in the heart of the Red Keep, surrounded by the warmth of your family, you both welcomed your daughter into the world. Your hearts full of hope and love for the days to come.

© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

banner by: @cafekitsune

[luffington]

nurse's office ♡

➤ summary: Even doctors need check-ups, so you indulge your boyfriend and put on a sexy nurse costume. (18+)

➤ pairing: trafalgar law x afab!reader

➤ word count: 3.1k

➤ warnings: switch!law, modern AU, nurse-patient roleplay, praise kink, established relationship, fluff, silly porn dialogue, fem reader

➤ notes: i LOVE law with all my heart but i have such a hard time writing him.... hopefully this turned out okay and it's accurate to his character :')

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

When you returned to your apartment after work, the lights were on and a familiar black trench coat hung in the entrance, but the coat’s owner was nowhere in sight. You called his name as you slipped off your shoes and received no response. 

A muffled noise coming from your shared bedroom caught your attention.

Curious, you crept through the living room and creaked open the door just enough to slip inside. Law sat at his desk in the dark with his back turned away from you. Completely focused on his dimmed laptop screen with headphones plugged in and unaware of your presence. A smile spread across your face when you noticed what he was watching.

A busty brunette woman in an incredibly cliché nurse outfit batted her fake eyelashes at the camera as she deep-throated her patient’s dick. Your boyfriend’s inked hand rose up and down his own cock, eyes half-lidded and biting his lip to attempt to stifle his throaty groans. When you were literally right behind him, you leaned over his shoulder to read the video title out loud. “‘The Best Prescription In Town Is A Dose Of This Naughty Nurse’s Pussy’?”

Law’s entire body went cold.

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” He panicked, whipping his head towards you and accidentally ripping his headphones cord out of the jack. Exaggerated and unrealistic slurping sounds, accompanied by the male actor’s moans, started playing at full volume. Law forgot how his typically agile fingers worked as he rushed to pause the video. He was ready to diagnose himself with a heart attack.

Your eyes flickered to the bottle of lube and box of tissues beside his laptop. “I think it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“No, I…” Embarrassment flooded his veins and he scrambled for a logical explanation. You were clearly amused instead of upset, but that didn’t deter him. Steeling his nerves, your boyfriend cleared his throat and prayed his voice didn’t shake. “I wanted to see how accurate this was, but it’s a disgusting mockery of nurses. This is completely inappropriate in a real hospital.”

“Well, duh,” you chuckled and rolled your eyes. You leaned closer to study the other tabs open in his incognito mode browser. One search for ‘hot nurse’ and another for ‘nurse fucks patient’. A second video titled ‘Nursing Student Gives Penis Exam’. A spark ignited in you. “Law, is this what you’re into?”

He stayed silent and let his head fall down in shame – which only directed your gaze to his quickly softening dick – as he mumbled a timid apology.

“Oh, baby, you have nothing to apologize for.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and nuzzled against his neck. “Please don’t be embarrassed, I genuinely wanna know what turns you on. I won’t judge, I promise.”

“You’re prettier than everyone in these videos,” was his only response. He was such a sweetheart without even trying. 

Even though you’d been together for quite a while, Law still had a hard time discussing his kinks. The man had a neurotic need to protect his innermost thoughts and thick iron walls guarding every part of his mind. It took a lot of time and patience, but you’d managed to break down most of his barriers. You wanted him to trust you and feel comfortable around you; having fun in the bedroom was just a bonus. 

Pressing your lips to his ear, you teasingly whispered, “I can buy a nurse costume, you know.”

“Huh? Are you serious?!” Wide gray eyes met yours, a flurry of emotions overtaking his stressed-out expression.

“Of course! I’ll look for a cute one right now.” You pulled out your phone, pausing before opening your browser to bat your eyelashes and say, “Only if you want me to.”

“I – I…” Law fumbled for words, unable to keep up with the thoughts racing through his brain. After a moment of hesitation, he licked his dry lips and hastily leaned over to look at your screen. “Let me see the options.”

The costume was set to arrive in 3-4 business days, which gave you and Law plenty of time to talk and plan. Both of you discussed what you wanted out of the scenario and what you each felt comfortable doing. You promised Law you’d do actual research by watching nurse pornos in order to imitate them, and he swore to never correct you mid-scene with his accurate medical knowledge. 

His steely eyes lit up when he spoke and made your heart flutter with love. As an accomplished surgeon, he took care of countless patients every day – of course he wanted someone to do the same for him. Nothing was sexier than seeing Law turn to putty in your hands, happily melting into your protection.

The fateful night arrived with a flimsy package at your front door.

Law sat on the couch in the ‘waiting room’ (also known as the living room), anxiously rubbing the letters tattooed on his knuckles and bouncing his legs. His throat was parched, his heart was racing, and his dick was already getting hard.

His jaw dropped when you opened the bedroom door – no, your office. The tight white dress hugged your body perfectly, accentuating all of your best features. Firetruck red stripes lined the sleeves and collar, and a prominent zipper ran all the way down the front. Your boobs were spilling out of the low-cut top and the skirt barely covered your upper thighs. A dainty white hat sat atop your head, sporting a white cross in a red circle that matched the one on your breast pocket. The look was complete with thigh-high white stockings, lacy crimson lingerie, Law’s real stethoscope around your neck, and a notebook and pen in your hand.

“Trafalgar Law?” You called out coquettishly.

His excited cock tried to answer for him, but he took a deep breath and nodded. “T-That’s me.”

With an overly sweet grin, you beckoned him into the room. “It’s time for your appointment. Follow me.” 

Previously arranged pillows on the bed mimicked the half-upright position of a medical chair. Law couldn’t look away from you as he shuffled towards his ‘exam table’, sitting down so his legs hung off the edge. You placed a gentle hand under his scruffy chin, his gaze flickering between your face and your tits. 

“Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Law didn’t have the confidence (nor the acting ability) to answer ‘my dick’ the way a pornstar would. So he settled for, “I’m not sure, miss. Maybe… give me a physical?”

“Ooh, a full body inspection,” you giggled, putting on a pair of hospital-grade latex gloves. “Please remove your shirt and lie on your back.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Only my shirt?”

Biting back a laugh, you responded, “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?” 

Your boyfriend nodded obediently, neatly folding his canary yellow t-shirt beside him on the bed. It didn’t matter how often you saw his heavily tattooed chest – you were in awe of it every time. You opened your notebook, humming in mock contemplation and scribbling nonsense on a blank page in an imitation of Law’s terrible doctor handwriting. He tried to peek at what you were doing, but you quickly shut the cover. 

“Just relax, I’ll take care of you,” you cooed with a gentle smile and ruffled his hair.

He apologized curtly and settled back into a comfortable reclined position. Running your fingers along his jawline, you trailed your touch down the column of his throat and across his collarbones. Gently massaging his shoulders and feeling the tense muscles loosen as he let out a content sigh. You were unable to resist tracing the massive inked heart on his torso as you’d done so many times, lightly trailing your pointer finger across its flames and swirls and sending pleasant tingles throughout his body.

Repeating the action on his matching bicep tattoos, you cheekily stated, “Such strong muscles. Your girlfriend is a lucky woman.”

He chuckled, finally beginning to relax into his role. “You have no idea.”

“Let me check your heartbeat.” Not even bothering to put the stethoscope in your ears, you ran the cold chestpiece against Law’s nipples, forcing a pretty hiss from his lips. Rubbing circles atop them until both were stiff peaks, then teasingly rolling them between your fingertips until he was flushed and panting. 

Satisfied with his worked-up state, you pulled away to write more nonsense in the notebook. Your boyfriend furrowed his eyebrows. “Seriously, what the hell are you writing?”

“Please let me do my job, Mr. Trafalgar.” You firmly smacked the end of your pen against one of his nipples. The sudden display of authority made his cock twitch. 

You caressed his defined abdomen muscles, moving lower down his gorgeous body and brushed over his dark happy trail. 

“Your chest seems fine, which means…” You trailed off and tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. Law’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed in anticipation, lifting his hips to help you slide down his sweats and boxers underneath. 

His rock-hard dick sprung free gratefully, angry red and twitching in excitement. You’d never seen him get this worked up so quickly – it made your cunt ache.

“Well, this is clearly the issue! Poor thing, you must feel so lightheaded from all the blood flowing down here.” You cooed, wiping his dark bangs away from his eyes in mock comfort. “I have to relieve this pressure or else the swelling won’t go down.”

“H-How will you–“ Law’s cheeky question was cut off by a groan when you curled your fingers around the thick base of his cock. Just one stroke pushed out several beads of pearly precum from his pretty tip. The synthetic softness of latex gloves felt strange against such a sensitive part of him, but it made the scenario extra immersive. 

“I need to milk you dry. Is that okay with you, Mr. Trafalgar?” 

Law nodded eagerly, too overstimulated to consent with words. He’d heard that phrase so many times in his videos. Your chest swelled with pride as you admired his submissive state. It wasn’t easy for your boyfriend to relinquish control to you during sex – no matter how much he wanted to – but he looked like he would die for you at that moment. 

You swung your leg over his body to straddle his upper thighs, cunt inches away from where he needed it. The movement caused your skirt to ride up and reveal a peek of your lacy panties. Law gulped when he noticed your soft thighs bulging around the elastic band of your stockings. 

Using both hands, you began to jerk him off with slow and deliberate movements. Dragging your palms from the base to the head with the perfect amount of pressure, making sure to trace the sensitive vein on the underside. A steady stream of translucent fluid dribbled out, the length pulsing and begging for more in your grasp. You paused to spit on his tip for added lubrication and rubbed it into his heated skin. 

Law was glad you were fixated on his cock rather than his face. He knew he looked pathetic. Barely three minutes had passed and he was embarrassingly close to cumming (though he was proud of himself for not bursting in his pants the moment you emerged in your costume). His abdomen muscles were wound tight and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Steely gray eyes never left your body, your hands, almost too afraid to blink. 

When you fondled his heavy balls, his orgasm hit him like a truck. Law threw his head against the pillow and cried out, painting white streaks across your baby blue gloves. You grinned watching your boyfriend heaving for air, finally meeting his gaze when you swiped your tongue across a thick glob of cum on your thumb. He watched dazedly as you wiped the rest of his spend off on your skirt, then tossed your dirty gloves on the floor. 

“Perfect! The swelling went down,” you grinned slyly and added, “but it might come back.”

“Oh, it’s definitely coming back.” 

Law grabbed your waist and quickly flipped your positions, pinning you underneath him by sitting on your hips. Holding your wrists above your head in one hand and using the other to cup your jaw, he pressed his lips against yours in a wet and messy kiss. You whined as he shoved his tongue down your throat, eagerly devouring your mouth. 

“M-Mr. Trafalgar, this is very unprofessional…” Weakly faking a struggle against his grasp, whining when it only got tighter.

“I gotta self-medicate now, miss, or I’ll never get better.” Your boyfriend kissed his way down your sternum, tugging down the zipper of your costume just enough to reveal your chest. He groaned at the sight of your vivid red bra. “Fuck, what a uniform.”

While mouthing at the swell of your breasts, your boyfriend stroked himself to full hardness – which didn’t take long. Desire was overtaking his mind and turning his vision hazy. He might actually have a medical issue if he didn’t fuck you immediately. 

Law slipped his hand between your legs and snickered at the wetness soaked through your panties. Pushing the fabric to the side, he unceremoniously thrust his E and A fingers in your cunt. Those skilled digits pushed and prodded inside you, a grin spreading across his face when he heard the sinful squelch of your drenched walls. 

“Naughty nurse,” he chuckled teasingly, gray eyes burning holes into your own when he sucked his sticky fingers into his mouth, moaning at your taste.

“I’m not naughty,” you pouted. “My job is to make patients feel better, and this is helping, right?”

“Shit, yeah, you just might cure me.” 

Law tapped your inner thighs and you spread them willingly, unsurprised when he chose to shove your panties to the side and keep the costume intact. He pressed his swollen mushroom tip against your leaking entrance. With freed wrists, you gripped the bedsheets, heart racing and pussy throbbing. 

Rather than fulfilling both of your desires, your boyfriend paused in thought. “Hold on, what did you diagnose me with?”

You shrugged and defaulted to something you heard in a porno. “Big dick disorder?”

Law fought against every well-educated neuron in his brain begging to correct you. He took a deep breath and let out an exaggerated exhale, but smirked proudly. “I’ll accept it.”

His cock slammed into you and knocked all the air from your lungs. Bottoming out with a groan, he paused to lean back and admire your outfit, feeling his cock get impossibly harder inside your cunt. Fucking a fantasy nurse was a deep-rooted desire of his, and he was amazed and incredibly grateful that he was able to act it out with you. 

“Is this the right way to treat my illness?” Smugly punctuating his words with a sharp thrust, the head of his cock kissing the tip of your womb. You’d never seen him so talkative in bed.

“M-move faster… it’ll be more effective.”

“Okay. I trust you, miss nurse.” Law whispered seductively in your ear. His beard tickled your skin when he nipped at a soft spot of your neck. 

Setting a brutal pace, he pistoned his cock in and out, balls slapping against your skin with every thrust. Messy wet sounds filled the room – your cunt gushing and your tongues desperately sliding against each other. Law typically limited his vocal expressions of pleasure to grunts and soft groans, but something in him had clearly snapped. He had no issue throwing his head back and moaning unashamedly, interweaving spat curse words and praises of your body. 

He sucked on your tongue while switching his hip movements to a slow grind, his dick fully sheathed and rubbing against every delicate inch of your cunt. 

“T-Traf… oh, fuck, Law.” Your eyes rolled back into your head as you tangled your fingers in his messy black hair and held onto it for dear life. He swallowed the string of saliva connecting your lips with a playful grin.

Shifting your position into a mating press, you locked your stocking-clad knees around his shoulders. His rough pace resumed, cock reaching impossibly deeper inside you, bullying your cervix with every thrust. Your body rocked back and forth on the shaking mattress. Every movement caused your hat to press against the pillow and reminded you of your costume – no, your role.

“Good girl,” Law panted, pupils blown wide with pleasure. “Taking care of me so well with your pretty pussy.”

You whined needily, feeling your core tighten. “I’m s-so close, baby,” 

A sharp slap came down on your tit. Law’s eyes narrowed. “Be professional.” 

Despite his strict command, he rewarded you by pressing and flicking his thumb against your neglected clit. You bucked your hips into his touch desperately, grinding the sensitive nub on his calloused finger.

You threw your head backwards, arched off the bed and came with a cry of, “Mr. Trafalgar!” Arms wrapped around his back, legs pulling him in even tighter as your pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, flooding over you in a bright white light. 

“Naughty fucking nurse.” Your boyfriend growled with a pleased smirk. Hot cum coated your walls as Law let out a deep moan, your cunt eagerly milking every last drop. Your boyfriend kissed you deeply until the aftershocks of both of your orgasms had subsided.

He collapsed on top of you, both of your chests heaving against each other as you struggled to catch your breath. Releasing your tight grip on his shoulders, you lovingly rubbed the giant skull tattoo on his upper back. 

“Thank you, miss. I’m cured.” Law mumbled happily, kissing your cheek. 

You frowned. “You are? After one round?”

“Oh.” That certainly wouldn’t be a satisfying ending to his appointment. “Um… No, I’m still very, very sick.” He followed it up with a fake cough. Not exactly a symptom of having a big dick, but whatever. 

Deciding to give your overwhelmed boyfriend a break, you took control of the situation again.

“I’m not sure how much medical knowledge you have, Mr. Trafalgar, but I have an ache in my chest.” You reached between your bodies to innocently spread your unzipped dress even more, pushing out your tits. “Mind checking it out for me?”

Law pushed up the cups of your bra without a second thought, groping your soft flesh with large palms. “I’ll see what I can do.”

[writethrough]

I Know Better

(Billy Hargrove x Female Reader)

Synopsis: You've heard every rumor about Billy Hargrove—from the girls, the guys, the teachers, the parents—it never interested you all that much. Until one of those pesky rumors involved you.

Warnings: Language, slut-shaming

Word Count: 1396

A/N: This is the first stop on the apology tour for everyone who's sent me in a request. It's been a year for some of you, and I'm so sorry and grateful for your patience.

I had a really hard time starting this in the sense that I had so many ideas, but none of them fit with this prompt. So, it took me a while to settle on the story I wanted to tell. I had to stop thinking about this as a “Billy is mean to everyone” fic, and start considering it a “You are Billy’s soft spot” fic. It had to be a “How is he different because of you?” And then it sort of clicked.  

This is a sort of soft-launch to a larger something. I'm not sure if it will turn into a full multi-part fic or just spontaneous additions in this little fanfic universe.

And to the anon who requested this, Tumblr ate your request when I tried saving it to my drafts, so I really, really hope you come across it.

I hope you enjoy!

Anon Request: “Another Billy request idea is “he’s mean as fuck to everyone but me

"Like??? Maybe I need to go to therapy but the hard as stone exterior on that boy and the thought of him being sweet as pie to his girl makes me mush” 

Moodboard by @saradika

Billy Hargrove never scared you. 

Not even in high school when all you heard about was his bark and bite and overall terrible attitude. 

You didn’t cross paths often, surprisingly so with how small Hawkins was, but sometimes you’d get glimpses of him against his locker or waiting by his car. 

You still remembered the time he pulled in beside you as you were shutting your door. 

Max had waved at you before rushing off to the middle school. Then, Billy had slowly risen, lighting a cigarette in the process, and locked eyes with you. 

He greeted you by name, a lazy smile spreading across his lips, and sauntered away. 

You had replayed that morning for the next two weeks, stunned that he knew your name let alone gave you the time of day. 

It was a month or two afterward when you actually witnessed Billy at his worst. 

You weren’t there for the start, but you had turned a corner in the halls and were met with other students gawking at a fight. 

You shoved your way between teenagers, intent to get to your class before the bell rang when that mullet stopped you. 

Billy had been looming over Roger, the school’s very own sleazy douchebag. 

In your mind, whatever that prick had said or done, he absolutely deserved the consequences Billy was doling out. 

You were about to continue walking when Billy leaned in closer to him with a tilt of his head. And until that point, you didn’t know that gesture could be so menacing. 

“Wanna say that again?” 

Your brows pulled in confusion. 

What could Roger have said that made Billy so furious? 

It must have been some insult, something that cut right to whatever insecurities Billy hid from the world. You really couldn’t imagine what he’d be self-conscious about. To you, Billy was the epitome of confidence. 

Billy’s eyes caught your shoes, and you swore his shoulders tensed. He trailed up your body and met your gaze, grinding his teeth. 

He slowly straightened, and without another word, stormed out of the building. 

Mrs. Click finally arrived and disbanded everyone and helped Roger to the nurse’s office. 

Your last class was full of whispered theories and passing notes. 

I heard he keyed Billy’s car. 

No, Billy definitely slept with the chick Roger was eyeing up. 

Could’ve sworn I heard Roger call some girl a slut-in-the-making. 

The day couldn’t have been over soon enough. 

At least it was the weekend, and in a month, you’d be graduating. 

You were walking to your car, sun in your eyes, and didn’t see Billy leaning against it until you were too close to pretend you forgot something to head back inside. 

“Hey,” he said, putting out his cigarette. 

“Hi,” you said slowly, gripping your backpack strap. 

“You okay?” His hands slipped in his pockets. 

Your furrowed your brow. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

He chuckled. “Fair enough.” 

He pushed off your car and took a few steps toward you. 

It was really the first chance you had to take in how blue his eyes were. And while normally you’d look away as you held each other's gaze, something planted you where you stood. 

He had the barest of smirks, so slight that you’d dare call it a smile. 

“If I said I wasn’t alright, would you agree to hang out tomorrow?” he asked. 

You let out a surprised laugh and glanced down. This was the first conversation you’d ever had with Billy, and he was asking you out. 

This was probably how he operated. He’d set his sights on some girl, give them that eat-you-alive smirk, and you’d wake up alone Sunday morning without even a note saying “bye.” 

But even with all that, your curiosity won out. So you made a deal. 

“Tell me what that was all about, and I’ll be there.” 

There was a flash of anger, but you didn’t think it was toward you. Leftover feelings for whatever happened no doubt. Then, he softened in a way you had never seen before. 

“I’ll pick you up at six,” he said, beginning to walk away. He turned around before he could get too far. “Don’t bring a jacket.” 

“Why?” You couldn’t help your smile. 

“You’ll have mine.” 

The cocky grin would’ve been irritating with anyone else, but Billy’s was endearing. 

You drove home with a stupid smile plastered on your face, and you stayed that way until Billy rapped on your door. 

— 

That Saturday night, he tried to breeze past his altercation. Until you leveled him with a sincere look and said his name. 

He had leaned back in the booth, ripping his remaining fries in pieces to distract himself. 

“He pissed me off,” Billy said, still maintaining his gruffness. 

“I figured as much,” you said gently. You knew if he sensed anything else, you wouldn’t get any answers. 

He huffed, glancing at you before returning to his basket of food. 

“The prick said somethin’ he shouldn’t have.” He shrugged. “I told him as much.” 

You nodded slowly, narrowing your eyes in thought. Billy wasn’t know to beat around the bush. He said what he thought, and you kind of admired that about him. Even if that got him in trouble. But the way he wasn’t maintaining eye contact when that was his favorite way to throw someone off guard was suspicious. He was hiding something, of course, but it felt more than hiding something from you alone. 

You took a shot in the dark. 

“Are you…Are you not telling me what he said because it was about me?” 

His jaw clenched and hands stopped. 

So, that was it. Roger had said something nasty about you, and for whatever reason, Billy took it upon himself to…defend your honor? 

But why? 

And what could it have been to make Billy react like that? You hardly knew each other. 

You inhaled deeply. “Okay. Tell me what he said.” 

“You don’t need to hear his bullshit.” He met your gaze, steady and stern. You wanted to slap your chest to keep your heart from skipping. 

“Billy,” you started, “I promise whatever he said isn’t going to affect me. I just want to know why you had him on the ground.” 

At this point, you had dissociated from high school and the people in it. All that mattered was graduation. 

“What does it matter?” His tone came out more harsh than you anticipated, but the way his face pinched told you he didn’t mean for it to happen. 

You leaned on the table. “Because I’ve had a really nice time so far. And as much as I appreciate you standing up for me. If you wanna continue this,” you gestured between you both, “you can’t beat the shit outta people.” 

“You wanna go out again?” His eyebrows rose slightly, and your cheeks warmed. 

Of course, that was what he took away. 

“Billy,” you warned playfully. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “He caught me starin’ at you a few times. Said your legs were locked shut, but I could probably get them open.” 

You scrunched up your nose. You knew Roger had to have said something vulgar, but you were more surprised it was about you then the actual content. 

“Okay. Was that all?” Sure, it was gross, but that didn’t seem like something Billy would lose his shit over. 

“That happened last week,” he admitted. “Told him to shut the hell up, and I thought that was that.” He shifted in his seat. “Guess he saw you lookin’ at me and he started callin’ you names. And then I hit’im.” 

Names.  

You could hazard a guess what names he called you. Probably the same ones he called every other female who didn’t wanna sleep with him. Ones that would describe him more than you. 

You reached across the table and grabbed his wrist. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you said. “And I need you to know, I don’t give a single fuck what that dipshit thinks.” 

He chuckled, putting his hand on top of yours. 

“So, that mean a second date is in the books?” he asked. 

“Like I said, only if you don’t punch someone when they say something you don’t like,” you said, hoping your face conveyed how serious you were. 

He leaned his elbows on the table. 

“I was thinkin’ a movie for next time.” 

Taglist: @bookshelf-dust, @steph-speaks, @nix-rose, @ballerina-orchid, @realmermaidariel

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on. 

[httpsserene]

Speaking of Mr. Daniel, we all know that he injured himself a while ago. How about the reader faking an orgasm because she doesn’t want to tire or injure him? Daniel frowns immediately upon noticing, but the nurse kicks you out because it’s past hours, and he's longing for the reader. He tries to grab the reader to come back but winces in pain, proving the reader's point. Your pleasure is extremely important to him so he’ll stop functioning if you said otherwise.

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 ���𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐆𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬

Summary: When Daniel isn’t feeling well, it’s no hardship for her to take of him. Except this time, he broke his hand and is proceeding to be an absolute nightmare to take care of. They haven’t had sex since before the accident in Zandvoort because she’s afraid that somehow she’ll end up aggravating his injury. Daniel, however, has convinced himself that he only exists to bring her pleasure. So, she comes up with a plan to soothe his service dom tendencies. Enter, Operation Fake Orgasm. How hard can it be? Spoiler alert: she’s a terrible actress. Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!black-coded!reader(her skintone isn't referenced but she has braids.) Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. orgasm/delay denial. hurt/comfort. caretaking. servicedom!daniel. discussion of pain medication, injuries, and hospitals. dom/sub undertones. sub/shy!reader. praise kink mentioned. sensual beard shaving (it's hot). wet dreams. somnophilia. safe, sane, and consensual. oral sex (m and f receiving). vaginal sex. fake orgasm. mentioned multiple orgasms. Word Count: 3.6k words

Author's Notes: if the tags scare you, i promise it's not that bad!

secondly, thank you for the patience concerning the delay. my sister is doing a lot better now! she had an allergic reaction to pollen; she inhaled so much that her lungs freaked the fuck out on her, and i was in the hospital from 9am-9pm all day. finally got back home so i'm posting it, way late, but at least it's on the same day.

to make up for it, even though my lil sis was nearly taken out by the environment (i'm joking i love her i'm just being a big sister rn), i am releasing episode four on friday! and episode five on either tuesday or wednesday next week!

i hope you all like this episode xxx

prev 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

The sound of bedsheets ruffling contrasts with the monotonous beeps of the heart monitor filling the sterile hospital room; the noise is more than enough to have you snapping your head away from your phone to look at your boyfriend. Daniel’s awake and he meets your eyes with a soft groan. You coo at him softly, squeezing his hand gently as he reorients himself.

“What time ‘st?” Daniel croaks out. You cringe at the sound of his dry speech and quickly hand him the glass of water resting at his bedside.

“It’s getting late, baby,” you hum, not failing to notice the slight wince he does when his cast knocks against the bed rail, “I sent Michael back to the hotel not too long ago, around 7. Charles, Lando, Max, and Oscar came and kept me company while you were in surgery. Oscar, I think, was pretty shaken up still—to me, I could tell he felt a little guilty that you’re here with a broken hand and he’s as right rain—so, maybe when you’re more clear-headed you can reach out to him. Yuki and Michael were here the first time you woke up. Still, you were so high on your pain medication cocktail, that I think you were hearing colors and seeing sounds,” you break from your ramble, suddenly standing and reaching over the bed to press the call button, remembering the nurse told you to alert her as soon as he woke again.

“Yes?” Daniel offers, unsure of how to respond to the edge in your tone, “I’m feeling better by the way—.”

A hysterical giggle slips from your lips, and you can see the regret wash over his face when you meet his eyes with a crazed look, “Forgive me, for not asking how you were feeling right away Daniel. It’s almost like, my brain isn’t working properly because I’m fucking worried about you. Yeah? I watched you crash into the barriers, and I heard you in pain—I called everyone on your team to get updates and nobody answered! So, I got on the next flight to Zandvoort after Michael finally texted me with updates, with no luggage, just my phone and a change of clothes—so forgive me, for not checking in on you right away, after you didn’t call me once,” you blink rapidly and Daniel softens, clearly it was a terrible time to deflect with humor, he just hates to see you worry about him, that’s why he avoided calling. He’s usually the one taking care of you.

“A-are you feeling better, though?” you ask shakily, deflating quickly at the sight of his warm brown eyes, “You’re going to set off every metal detector for the foreseeable future.”

“It’s like a 6 out 10 on the pain scale—”

“That’s what I’m here for,” the nurse interrupts in accented English, smiling at the two of you briefly before she moves to Daniel’s side and catching him up on the outcome of the surgery and discussing pain medication. 

“Visiting hours ended an hour ago,” the nurse speaks to you directly, “Did nobody come to escort you out?”

You shake your head in surprise, the time on your phone reads 9 PM—you have no recollection of time passing that quickly since Michael left. Gathering your few belongings, you lean down to kiss Daniel gently, “Be good for the doctors and nurses, Danny. I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”

“No, what—she can’t stay?” Daniel begs the nurse, and she frowns at him apologetically.

Ruffling his hair, you continue, “It’s not her fault—she’s just doing her job. And, we’re besties now,” Daniel stares at you confused, “She’s been coming to check up on me the entire time you decided to cosplay Sleeping Beauty so if you decide to be difficult overnight, she will not hesitate to snitch on you to me. Understand?”

Daniel swallows before nodding jerkily, “Can I have another kiss?”

It’s an easy ask for you to fulfill; but as your lips barely brush his, Daniel hisses out in pain. He tried to use his left hand to pull you closer to him, obviously aggravating the injury. You exclaim worriedly and he tries to pretend that the flare of pain wasn’t that severe. But, as the nurse reassures you that the pain meds will kick in and he’ll go right to sleep, you’ve already decided: that hand will never be in a situation that causes Daniel unnecessary pain again. 

You tell Daniel that same sentence on the flight back to Monaco. He assumed that meant you’d force him to wear a sling or have it constantly cushioned and elevated (which you did anyway). However, he should’ve asked you to elaborate because he was completely blindsided to learn that you really meant all situations. 

You may have gone overboard the first week. You’re well aware that his hand is the only broken thing on his body, but you pamper him as if he’s bedridden with the most severe flu seen in the last century. You cook and order him hearty meals, you have alarms set for when he needs to take his medication, you shower with him to make sure he doesn’t wet his cast—where nothing sexual happens, you killed the vibe the first time he insinuated shower sex in conversation, mentioning the statistics of shower-related deaths—you quickly fulfill all of his requests, even if it’s sitting through a movie you find tasteless; yet, you refuse to fulfill one: sex. 

The doctor pulled you aside while Daniel was getting dressed to be discharged and told you to make sure he’s very careful with his arm, slow and controlled movements only, nothing abrupt. 

And, if there’s one word to describe Daniel during sex, it would probably be abrupt. 

He can’t keep his hands off of you when he’s uninjured. From your first time with Daniel, he showed and proved just how much your pleasure is important to him—he made sure that you understood that he lives and breathes to make you satisfied. But, you also know that he’d ignore his pain if it meant he was making you feel good; and, that’s not something you can risk, not with an injury that could affect his career if it doesn’t heal properly. 

You’ve reiterated that to him multiple times when Daniel tries to deepen kisses, hoping you’ll forget about your stupid sex ban and let him make you feel good. He’s not used to going this long without making sure you’re sexually satisfied. You don’t even allow him to guide you through masturbation, because you know you won’t be satisfied with it even if you get off—it’ll only lead to you falling into his lap begging for more. 

On the eighth day, you’re sitting in Daniel’s lap on the couch, rubbing ointment into the bruises left by the seatbelts of the car. You thought he was focused on watching the entire Dutch Grand Prix he missed out on, not thinking much of how he’s toying with the length of your braids with his uninjured hand. 

You think nothing of the soft sighs, moans, and groans he’s letting out of his mouth as you lightly massage him. All of these noises are common reactions to a sensation that feels good. It sucks that they happen to sound very similar to the moans Daniel makes when he initially fucks into you. You’re just a girl with needs that Daniel never fails to take care of; you’re not used to this, for the same reason Daniel can’t understand why you won’t let him get you off. 

Then, Daniel gasps out a soft ‘fuck’ that has no reason to be sounding that lustful and you start to squirm in his lap. You mindlessly continue to massage him, not exactly proud of the way you continue to strain your ears to hear his noises—and on one particular shift of your hips, you brush across his hard-on that wasn’t there a few minutes ago, and automatically fly off his lap.

In the frantic movement, Daniel tried to use both of his hands to keep you in his lap, irritating his broken hand. You flutter around him worriedly, your words a mix of chastising and displeasure. You don’t hesitate to say that this is exactly why the sex ban is in place (Daniel pleaded that it was a fluke, but you’re not eager to put that to the test).

Three days pass before Daniel deems you relaxed enough to have another attempt at seducing you into an orgasm or two. He approached you in the evening after you had watched him like a hawk as he took his pain medication. He wants you to shave his beard. It’s grown out some since he hasn’t shaved in a week or so. You’re not a professional beard shaver or anything, but you can imagine it’s difficult to shave your face with one hand. And of course, you’d jump at any opportunity to help out your boyfriend and allow him to relax and look pretty. After an unnecessarily long tutorial, Daniel pretends to have 100% faith in your skills and lets you take the first swipe across his cheek. You painstakingly use slow movements and light pressure, not forgetting to pull his skin tight with your other hand and clean the razor off with every stroke. You feel him tense underneath you as you ready to attempt shaving along his jawline. 

Pulling back at the last second, you make to smack his shoulder before hesitating and pinching him instead (it’s his left arm, you don’t want to jostle his cast resting on the bathroom vanity), ignoring his yelp you nag him, “Well, don’t act like I’m about to gouge your throat out or anything! I can feel you freeze up underneath me—it’s not like I want to cut you. I already have to stare at your ugly face every day, I don’t want to make it worse.”

Daniel pretends to be offended at your attack and the two of you bicker back and forth before settling down. The fake roast session calmed Daniel enough that when you brought the razor to his jaw, he remained relaxed. 

You smoothly shave the small area of skin and turn to clean the razor when Daniel speaks softly, “You’re so good,” a slight pause follows, “at this.” 

The praise tingles down your spine and you think nothing of it. Except, it continues. With nearly every swipe along his jaw, he continues to murmur praise with lidded eyes and an alluring tone. Whispers along the lines of ‘good girl,’ ‘just like that,’ ‘you’re so sweet to me,’ and paired with his stare dancing across your face, you dread the moment you finish shaving him. As your razor ventures down his throat, the air grows thick with intimacy. It’s the result of your boyfriend trusting you to repeatedly brush a blade along his throat and your unfortunate kink for praise and acts of service. With the last brush of the razor, you gently set it down on the vanity, exchanging it for cloth you wet with hot water. Ringing it out thoroughly, you gently begin to wipe Daniel’s face avoiding eye contact. When you swipe around his lips, you get distracted by their flushed color, a result of when Daniel bit his lip to make the skin underneath taut for you to shave. His tongue slips out to wet them and you can’t help but smash your lips to his.

It feels euphoric. You’re kissing him frantically, moaning into his mouth without inhibition, and you can feel him laugh as he struggles to match your desperate pace. His hand squeezes at your waist, anchoring you yet furthering your desperation at the strong grip as you try to climb him like a tree, tugging at his hair, shirt, pants, anything you can reach. At this point, Daniel would’ve had a hand in your hair, tugging at your scalp sharply a couple of times to rein you in and move you to his rhythm. You’re a little lost at the missing sensation and you pull away to pout at Daniel like you always do when he spends too much time teasing you.

It takes one look at his blown pupils, smug smile, and heaving chest before it jogs your memory. You step backward quickly to put space between you guys, raising a hand when you see him open his mouth, knowing he’s only going to convince you to get naked for him.

“I’m going to bed,” you state with a pointed finger, “You, are going to get in the shower, with cold water, and think about what you did wrong. And! You will not wake me up for sex.”

Daniel’s face falls, and you can tell he expected you to break, “Wait—you don’t let me shower by myself, what if I fall?”

You turn and leave the room, “It would be divine intervention. Karma, for trying to get me to break my rule.”

Daniel doesn’t wake you when he slips into bed, but you lose the benefit of going to sleep early when you jolt awake before sunrise. Your mouth is dry and your panties are embarrassingly wet. You can’t recall a single detail of your dream. Still, your legs are trembling at whatever scenario your brain decided to torment you with. 

Fuck it. Or fuck him, literally.

That makes sense. You’re going to ride Daniel, it’s the perfect position to make sure he doesn’t move his arm. You work him up beforehand so hopefully he won’t last as long; Daniel has unparalleled stamina usually, but with you constantly denying him for a while…he may wind up quicker. As soon as he cums, you’ll fake yours as well—because he’s only pleased if you're satisfied, otherwise he’ll attempt a round two. It’s that easy, right? You turn on your side and stare at Daniel, his face relaxed as he sleeps. Your synapses start firing as the plan comes to life. The two of you have discussed somnophilia, more on you as the receiving party. Daniel, of course, offered himself to you on a silver platter—any taste of you using him to get off? That’s always going to be a yes from him. So, yes. It is that easy.

You pull the duvet down to the edge of the bed and quietly shift to hover over Daniel’s thighs, never more thankful that he decided to wear only briefs to bed. And that he’s already half-hard; you’re extremely happy that the two of you don’t have a hand on how creative your dreams can get. He doesn’t shift when you pull his cock from underneath his briefs, carefully dragging them

down just enough to not be a bother. He stays under as you get him hard, it only takes a few strokes and some teasing along a vein on the underside. You rise slightly, sucking on two of your fingers before bringing them to rest along your entrance. It’s an annoying experience, you can’t remember the last time you had to stretch yourself out—Daniel’s spoiled you. The feeling of your fingers inside of you is underwhelming, the slight tinge of pleasure would be multiplied if it were him instead but; this is not for you. You are simply performing tonight.

You slide your fingers out and decide on getting Daniel as close to the edge as you can before he wakes up. You lean down to mouth at the head of his cock, knowing it’s incredibly sensitive and the sensation pushes him to the edge quicker than anything else. It can’t be more than a couple of strained minutes—your eyes and ears peeled to make sure you don’t miss any signs of Daniel starting to awaken. Thankfully, you feel him start to pulse along your tongue, a sure sign that he’s getting there.

You pull off, taking a second to breathe as you rest your head on his hip. With one last reassuring exhale, you move to straddle him, one hand underneath you to guide his length to your pussy. The second his head pops into you, you let out a pitiful whimper, eyelids fluttering shut, and your legs begin trembling again. Another realization hits you as you struggle to silently take all of Daniel.

You can’t recall a single time Daniel had forced you to be quiet. He’s always trying to make you scream his name. If he needs to hide your noises he muffles them with a hand over your mouth or his fingers in your mouth. Naturally, you use his tricks and do the same. With two of your fingers shoved in your mouth, you quiet your sounds as your ass meets your (somehow still) sleeping boyfriend's thighs. It feels like he’s in your throat; you know that no matter how long it takes you to make him cum, you’re going to be aching tomorrow. You begin to grind against him, whimpering softened around your digits. You slowly increase your rhythm up to a bounce, doing your best to squeeze around him—Daniel has mentioned before that he can’t resist cumming when you feel like you're trying to keep him inside of you and never let him pull out.

It must work because suddenly Daniel’s hips rock up into yours, and he’s awake with a singular breathy moan of, “Yes—oh, I thought I was still dreaming.”

You laugh airily, letting your spit-slicken fingers fall from your mouth and drop to press against your clit (you’re not actually, you’ve missed it by a mile but it’s all about convincing Daniel), avoiding meeting his eyes knowing Danny will assume it’s under the pretense of you being shy (once again, yes you are incredibly mortified, but you know he’ll be able to tell that you're faking this in a split second).

“H-how long,” Daniel moans out crackly, his abdomen contracting underneath you, “Have you been at this? ‘Gonna make me cum already.”

You nod frantically, moaning out loudly as if you’re on the edge as well. Daniel gets his feet planted and thrusts up into you forcefully enough that your moans turn real. Throwing your head back so he doesn’t see your face in case it gives you away, you continue to moan out exaggeratedly as you feel him cum inside you, pitching your voice and shuddering as if you released as well.

“What the fuck was that?” Daniel commands quietly.

You slump forward, sliding off his softening length and nuzzling into his neck to pretend like you didn’t hear him and to hide. He lets you avoid answering the first time he asks. He takes his good hand and fists his hand in the braids along the nape of your neck and tightens his grasp enough to get you to gasp.

“Mhm. When you cum, baby,” he starts softly, “That’s the quietest you ever get during sex. Usually, it’s because you choke on your breath, even though I remind you to breathe through it every time. You do this cute little thing where you try to slam your thighs shut around me, it doesn’t matter if it’s my hand, my head, or my hips, you try to crush me. It’s also one of the only times during sex when you make eye contact with me on your own, well depending on what position I have you in. I won’t repeat myself.”

You mumble into his chest fitfully before sitting up, “I didn’t want you to hurt your hand, okay? That’s all. During sex, you can never stop touching me and I was afraid that somehow you’d treat your hand a little too roughly and then, boom, you’ll never drive a Formula One car again—”

“Calm down, babe,” Daniel soothes you, bringing his right hand to massage your hip, “I think you’ve overdramatized my injury in your head a little bit. Firstly, I don’t even care if my hand suddenly fell off—genuinely, never deprive me of making you feel good. That hurts me more than my hand aches. Secondly, this entire time I didn’t even move my left hand off the bed. See?”

You look down at his hand and nod once. This entire time you enforced a needless sex ban when you could’ve been riding a high every day.

“Now, if you could be kind enough to let me restore my ego,” Daniel taps you on the ass so you rise to kneel over him, “C’mere and sit on my face.”

You hesitate, the thought of pretending to deny him crosses your mind, but you already shorted yourself of one orgasm tonight. That’s how you find yourself riding Daniel’s face, embarrassingly almost losing control of your legs at the first knock of his nose against your clit. Your boyfriend has mastered the skill of eating pussy and that’s why you feel no shame in just how quickly a few targeted thrusts of his tongue and the pressure of his nose have you shattering apart above him. And as Daniel said, you do choke on your breath as you climax, your legs tighten around his head as well—and you don’t have the strength to be humiliated at how he knows your body better than yourself.

Daniel guides you off his mouth and lays you down by his side only using the uninjured arm, and the care and strength behind that movement sends you shaking again through the aftershock and come down. 

Daniel coaxes you onto your back and nudges your legs open to slide in between them. He trails the fingers of his right hand across your fluttering folds, before spreading you open with two fingers, enamored at the way your relaxed entrance winks at him. 

“You can give me one or two more right? I think you need a reminder of how much I thrive off of making you feel good, pretty girl. Let’s see how many more I can get out of you before the sunrise.”

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© httpsserene 2023

[metranart]

Why can't Dabi stop lusting over what Hawks has in his arms? YOU!

Dabi's lips still tingle, the sensation a permanent echo of the taste of you. He found it funny, that's why he did it, mere fun at the expense of his little sister's best friend, who was also Hawk's sidekick and most recent, flame.

Even so, he found himself drawn to you. Sparing you every glance when you were in Fuyumi's bedroom or in Hawk's arms... and from a simple kiss. Dabi hijacked your thoughts as you, his. Soon, the sporadic touches became a daily occurrence. The more you pretended to refuse, the more he insisted.

When he passed behind you in the kitchen his playful fingers would secretly trace your lower back, when you were invited to stay for dinner his foot would play with yours under the table, he accidentally bumped you only to leave the ghost of a kiss on your shoulder or neck, if he was lucky enough... and the most enthralling thing of all was that you never rejected him, you weren't afraid of him, and not seeing fear in the eyes of a woman he was genuinely interested in was almost intoxicatingly thrilling to Dabi, who had deprived himself of any semblance of reciprocal love.

Soon those little touches grew, you shouldn't have allowed it, but he was magnetic. His lips had mastered all your sweet spots making you a beggar of his affections, which led you to let his hands explore as well. You shouldn't had let him, not when you were dating his best friend. Even so, your neck leant on the curve that connects with his shoulder while he kissed your face and those stapled hands busied themselves in getting rid of the cumbersome clothes, your shame or embarrassment about being in the Todoroki family dining room forgotten.

"This is where I eat my food, princess," Touya said against your ear, "so it's only fitting that I take my next meal here, as well.”

He pressed your back against the wooden table, and it was only then, that you realized you had no clothes on, your skin touching the wood startled you.

"Relax, let me do this right."

The ex-villain, uncaring as he was, began to strip. His family could walk through the door at any moment, but he couldn’t care less. Pulled his shirt over his head, kicked his pants off when pulled at his ankles, and knelt in front of you.

“Fuck, you have me starving.”

You emitted a cute sound and felt him smirk against the inside of your thigh, licking and nibbling before his mouth opened wide to lightly bite the fat there and leave the clear mark of his teeth. You moaned hoarsely the whole time, and he chuckled, licking a long stripe along your folds with his fat, pierced tongue, almost making you cum right then and there.

“I Know,” he laughed quietly, breathily. “This are the disadvantages of me, making you cum this morning,” you covered your face with your hands and mumbled more to yourself. "I shouldn't have let you—"

"Yes, you should." He stood proud and occupied the place between your legs. “You, fucking should.”

Prodded the tip of his engorged cock against your tight slit, nestling the cockhead among your wet folds and gave a testing push, which thanks to your tightness made him slip to the side. 

"Shit! Do you want to drive me crazy, princess?"

You shivered a gasp and bucked up into him. "So impatient." That only served to make him laugh. 

In a hurry, dragged you to the edge of the table and spread your thighs farther apart to then lean down until his broad chest pressed to yours, and once comfortable with how close you were, held your arms by the wrists as he entered you, slowly, letting you devour him inch by inch, earning his right to be inside you.

Your breathing labored, followed by various squeals of pleasure. "Tight, tight, tight-" Dabi chanted, diving deeper until couldn’t go any farther, "-just how I like it."

He waited there for a minute, watching you the whole time, nursing his patience as you adjusted to his girthy size.

Your forehead eventually smoothened, and his eyes brightened, he thrusted his hips out and then in, in one devastating roll of his hips, your slapping flesh slowly began to make a delicious chorus. The stillness of the room made the sounds all the more embarrassing. Dabi was either confident that no one would enter out of the sudden, or anticipating that they would, and just didn't care. You on the other hand were awfully mortified. This was wrong in so many ways, and SO good in so many others.

His fingers dug into your wrists as he strokes your walls harder and harder with every thrust. Your body approaching the margins of overstimulation. The burning heat that each of his thrusts scraped into your very soul, turning your limbs into jelly.

Dabi granted you no mercy. Just as your little pants and whimpers tightened to despair, quiet cries of worry, he sped up, went faster and harder.

"H-Hold my hands, please-e" you begged, out of breath and he smirked, adoring how demolished you looked, his large hands abandoned your wrists slipping into your palms where your fingers intertwined. 

"Needy pretty thing," he scoffed, breathing labored yet amused, "...you'll be my end."

What had in the beginning started as a transparent agreement to wear off each other’s uncontrollable thirst in the most physical and salacious form had now turned into somewhat of an addiction.

Trying to get him out of your mind only made him nestle there more, and he knew it... and he did it on purpose. You could decipher it in his taunting laughs or the crazed grin on his face when his grunts turned to breathy sighs. And when you choked out that you were going to cum, he never slowed down, pushing you as far as he could to earn the blinding, fierce response from your body that he craved to see.

“Dabi-… Touya… Dammit! —” 

The orgasm ripping you apart from the inside made your mind scramble to find the right name to praise him, what was your relief when he found it delightfully funny.

“Don’t sweat it baby, I can be both.” 

He didn't stop shoving into you. The hypersensitivity threw your body into a rainbow of sensation. His balls tightened and tensed, and his smirking face, frowned. 

“Are you on the pill?” 

You denied your head and he huffed, a little annoyed. “F-Fine, I’ll do it outside.”

He slid his wet dick out of you and stroking himself just a couple of times, he came. Loud and vocal, grunting and growling as if the mere act hurt him. Hot jets of cum rained on your tits and tummy, hearing the wet squelch making you flush of embarrassment. Of course, Dabi found that particularly amusing. But the sight of his cum shining on your tits was a more rewarding sight on his own.

Touya smirked, chest filling with perverted pride as his knuckles smeared the whitish globes of creamy cum along your skin, his piercing stare following his own fingers as he wrote something over your cum-stained skin. A word his pride wouldn’t let him say out loud. 

Curiosity made you stare down, but the angle didn’t allow you to read it. Your eyes instead searched his with question, and he grinned down at you, not his usual sassy grin. 

“Nevermind.” 

He dismissed it and a swipe of his palm erased the traced letters, yet the feeling would not be erased that easily from the older Todoroki.

-

Takami Kiego was seeing RED.

“You DID know.” This could be the first time Dabi had ever seen Hawks that mad, “I’ve been dating her for more than two months…”

Dabi scrunched his nose. 

“Perhaps, you mentioned it—” 

“Unbelievable.” 

Hawks chuckled mirthlessly, ruffling his golden locks to release some steam, adjusting the visor on his eyes to better hide his murderous gaze. An awkward silence fell in which neither of them spoke for more than three minutes, before Keigo broke the silence.

“Who initiated it?”

Dabi shrugged, nonchalantly. “Don’t overthink-”

“Who?” he repeated firmly, and at the same dismissive attitude, he roared. “…. You?”

“Your truly, obviously.” Stated the ex-villain with some acidity, “… but as I said, she didn’t stop me.”

Hawks’ brow furrowed further, his wings bristling with sharp menace. Takami Keigo was good at masking his feelings, even playing double spy, but he was terrible at disguising his body language in front of Dabi… the firebender knew him too well.

“She pities you-”

The Winged Hero’s ire edged him to cruel words as he searched for an excuse to your actions and Dabi's amused laughter only deepened his frown.

“A pity fuck? Nah.” He scoffed, “If it had been just once, I’ll buy it but-”

“How many fucking times, you, asshole!” 

Hawks began to pace, wings bristled, stare sharp. Snorting through his mouth to try to calm down, Keigo was feeling a very real pang of murderous rage and jealousy piercing him from side to side, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. Because who could go head-to-head against the world's number two ProHero, after all. 

"I want you to stay away from her."

The Hero found himself saying like a sicko boyfriend, that's what the pyromaniac had reduced him to, it was pathetic but at that moment he was more than incapable of thinking straight.

Dabi straightened his back with a loud snap. He hated being ordered around, he hated being antagonized. The fumes were heating up, and he could start to feel his palms burning, skin buzzing with his old habit of burning whoever opposed him, he had to make a conscious effort to control the blue sparks that began to jump from his clenched fists.

“I met her first.” The Todoroki spat, carelessly. He knew he was on the wrong, he just didn’t care.

The Winged Hero did not retreat an inch. His intentions clear. “I've known her for longer than that. We are in a relationship-”

Dabi shook his head noticing Keigo’s self-pause and knowing the reason. “You aren’t, and you know it. Dating doesn’t make her exclusively yours.” 

Disagreement shone in their challenging gazes, neither ready to back down, neither ready to give in. When did the standoff started? It was a mystery even to them. Facing each other, their gazes locked in a silent fight, their body language dangerous and threatening, both unconsciously waiting for the flutter of a fly to engage in combat, both willing to do anything to keep you for their greedy selves. 

*READ THE COMPLETE 9000 WORD COMISSION IN MY PATREON. (Includes heavy/possessive/mouthwatering smut and NSFW art from scenes of the fic. Plus, lot of MHA NSFW content in general)