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rotdistressxox · 4 months

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Sorryyy that the requests have been closed and I've been lacking in writing. Here's a treat <3

"I don't care"

Raian Kure x Afab!Reader

Content: 18+, Reader is on their period, Messy cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Dirty talk, Blood play, Raian being himself

Didn't use a word count, but it's most likely 1500+ words. I didn't double check for errors either hehe

It was the second day of your period, which also happens to be the worse day of the cycle in your honest and humble opinion. Without the help of acetaminophen, you probably wouldn't have been able to go on a date with Raian. You had been going out with him for around two months, despite knowing him for years. It was a long story

Dates with Raian are a pain in the ass at first with his attitude, but it's always rewarding hanging out with him anyways. Despite feeling like a water balloon, you hobbled out the door. Looking the best you could in your current condition.

Raian was waiting for you infront of your apartment complex, staring down at his phone with a resting bitch face. If you weren't dating him, hell if you didn't even know him, you'd turn in the opposite direction. It looked like if anyone talked to him he'd snap in an instant. Lucky for you, that wouldn't actually happen.

"Raiaaan" you sang weakly, hoping he heard. His head raised and turned in your direction. The moment he laid eyes on you he smirked and shoved his phone in his pocket.

"Hey there" he said amused "Hope you have all your shit with you, because when the day is over you're coming to my place" your face slightly dropped. Did you have enough pads in your bag? You'd have to break the news to him somehow that you couldn't stay over. Or in other words, have sex.

"What's with that look?" His smirk dropped into a slight frown. "Nothing" you mustered a smile for him, and he hummed. You latched onto his arm and looked up at him, hopefully pleasing his ego a little "Let's go"

He rolled his eyes, and the two of you began to walk to your destination.

It was an active day to put it simply. It was a lot of walking, a little more than what you could handle in your current condition. It was mixed with window shopping, sightseeing, and eating. You were finally sat down and waiting for you food at a restaurant. Feeling almost too exhausted to even eat, and your feet were extremely sore.

Raian was talking about how the village was doing, including the recovery of Ohma which he probably shouldn't talk about in public. Fatigue washed over you as your eyes felt droopy, nodding along with his stories.

Unbeknownst to you, Raian had stopped talking completely, but you kept nodding and humming. Your eyes widened once you realized that you were responding to air. His face was littered with confusion, his white pupils staring you up and down.

"Okay, what the hell is going on with you?" He asked sternly, sitting up and crossing his arms.

"What do you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean"

"I'm just tired Rai, that's all"

"I can see that, but you've been acting off all day. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"It's not something I should say in a public setting"

Raian gave a grin, clearly he thought you meant something else by that. "Oh yeah? Well it's not like anyone's listening"

It was the first time your cycle had ever landed on a date with Raian. You were extremely lucky to have avoided that for 2 months. But this time you weren't so lucky. You'd only piss him off if you held off telling him any longer.

You curled you finger, gesturing for him to lean closer. He chuckles and leans in with a playful look glazed on his face.

"I'm on my period"

The playful look he had turned into one of realization. He sat back in his seat and sighed "That explains it"

Now you were the one confused "huh?" Your eyebrows raised.

"I grew up around women. Dunno why I didn't see the signs beforehand" he rested his head on his palm while looking at you. "Plus your scent is different. That's a dead giveaway"

You were taken aback by that comment, almost flustered. He laughed and pointed at you, shaking his head.

"The look on your face is fucking priceless" his pointy teeth showed through his laughter. You pouted and looked away from him in embarrassment. So he could smell you? But you had taken a shower the night before and put on fresh clothes.

"Don't dwell on it now sweet cheeks, the foods here"

~~~~~~

"You don't have to come back to my place y'know. What I said before doesn't matter anymore" his eyes darted to the side to look at you while his hands were in his pockets. He wasn't one for handholding, unless you asked.

"It's fine Rai. You did this all for me" it seemed awfully selfless of him to resend his words because of your period.

Raian had his own smaller residence on the Kure clan property. It was all his, and it was lucky that it wasn't attached to the larger portion of his father's. Let's just say the lovemaking between the two of you was rather...thunderous on a good day.

A small part of you thought that he'd still ask for something in return. Like a blow job, a hand job if you really felt lazy. You wouldn't mind it, it's not like he was picky about touching yourself infront of him.

" 'M gonna change, do whatever you want to get settled" Raian slid open the door and kicked his shoes off before entering. He headed straight to his room, leaving it up to you to decide what to do.

'I should change my pad again' your cramps started worsening after dinner, the pain relievers had worn off slowly but surely. You headed straight to the bathroom. Once there was a fresh pad attached to your underwear, you rummaged through your bag for more pain relievers. You opened the bottle to find that there was none left.

Swearing under your breath, you mentally face palmed as you looked in the mirror as yourself. "What shall I ever do with myself" you said dramatically. You were here now. At your boyfriends house. With no way of soothing the aches that grew stronger by the minute. Maybe you could ask the family if they had a heating pad of some sort.

You trudged out of the bathroom to Raians room and slid open the panel. He had already set up the futon, except he had placed black sheets over it. Your lips curled into a smile at his thoughtfulness.

"You're sleeping in those clothes?" Raian leaned on the door frame in a grey tank top and sweatpants.

"Uh- I didn't bring any pajamas with me" you bit the inside of you cheek while looking at his muscles. Fuck. You could never get over how effortlessly hot he looked in those. It almost hurt to look because you actually just wanted to lay down and cry because of the discomfort you were in.

"Just use one of my shirts. Not like I give a shit" he opened a drawer and grabbed whatever was in there and tossed it to you. Shrugging, you turned around and took off your clothes.

The Kure raised his eyebrows and sat down while watching. The shyness you had previously of stripping infront of him had vanished apparently. You were desperate to get your clothes off anyways, spending the whole day in nice clothes was almost a sensory overload.

The only thing you had on now was his shirt and your underwear. You felt so free that you felt like frolicking through a field of dandelions. Until you realized that you just stripped infront of Raian.

"Why'd you stop? It was just getting good" He licked his lips while leaning back on a pillow.

You groaned and plopped down next to him. It wasn't worth it to fight back now. Cuddling into his side, looking for any heat that you could. Half of your body was on top of him, pressing some of your weight down to relieve all of the tension you built up.

Raians muscles tensed at your touch but eventually relaxed. His hand landed on your lower back, softly rubbing it in circles. He slightly lifted the shirt to feel your skin against his hand. It was warm, you could feel his callouses brushing against your flesh.

"Have you been cramping the whole day?" Raian asked bluntly, but in a softer tone of voice.

"Kinda"

"What about now?"

"Yeah...I'm out of medicine for it"

He looked down at you with a hardened gaze. "You didn't take or bring any?" His fingers tilted your head to look at him.

"I did, but I ran out tonight" you could tell he wasn't angry, moreso concerned. His eyes softened in understanding. Your hands rested on his abdomen, feeling him breathing in and out. You felt the butterflies in your stomach as you looked his body, your eyes tracing from his neck all the way down to his crotch. You could see the outline of his cock in his sweatpants.

He's done so much for you today. Might as well. Your hand wandered to the bulge in his pants and began stroking it softly, trying to get it hard. He jumped at the sensation and grabbed your wrist.

"What are you doing?" Raian huffed in your ear. You looked at him as innocently as you could.

"I just wanna give you something in return. I feel bad for making you carry my weight for the most of the day"

"The fuck are you talking about?" he moved your hand away from his crotch, not letting go of your wrist. "If I wanted something in return I would've asked. You don't need to force yourself to do anything"

"I know but woAH-" before you knew it, Raian had flipped you onto your back. Not roughly as you would expect it to be. His hands rested on you hips as his face hovered over yours.

"Don't think I haven't noticed how you've been looking at me since we got here. Even on your period you're still so needy" he said in a lower, more seductive tone. "Let me take care of you then if you need me so bad" his lips pressed into yours. You whimpered into his mouth as you felt yourself throb with want.

He parted from your lips and lowered himself down to your own crotch, his fingers pulling on the elastic of your underwear.

"Wait!" You shouted in protest. "I'm bleeding, we can't-"

"I don't care" he pulled them down, sliding them accross your legs and throwing it to the other side of the room. "I like the taste of blood"

You didn't know if you were disgusted or turned on. But your body yearned for him, and there was no stopping Raian when he wanted something carnally.

Raians hot breath over your aching entrance made you squirm. His arms were hooked under your thighs to make sure you stayed put. His mouth pressed into you as his tongue began to play and lick at your folds. You could feel his nose press into your clit as he began eating you out like a starved man.

You softly moaned, grabbing both sides of his head. His tongue pushed its way into you, causing your fingers to tug on his hair. He made sure to lap up every drop of blood he tasted. The taste made him hum in satisfaction.

Biting your bottom lip as you felt the vibrations of his voice shoot through you, you couldn't help but squeeze his head with your thighs as your vision got blurry. Raian chuckled and sucked your clit, holding your hips down whilst the sounds of his mouth along with the sensations of him ravaging you made you come closer to your orgasm.

"Rai...fuck...Rai ph-please" you whined.

"Fuck" he groaned into your pussy, feeling his muscles flex. His strong arms holding you down with his lips latched onto you. By this time his nose and mouth was covered in your juices mixed with blood. It was repugnant, but it felt too good. He looked absolutely mesmerizing with his eyes closed, obsessively eating you out like there was no tomorrow.

At this point your cramps were an afterthought. His tongue made you spiral in delirium. The coil inside you was going to burst, and before you knew it-

"Raian!" You screamed his name as you orgasmed, bucking your hips the best you could to ride it out. He gave your folds one last lick before separating himself. He was ignoring the boner straining in his pants because of his craving to see you get off as many times as you could tonight.

"We're not done" Raian wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand before straddling you once again. His left arm caging your face in to look straight at him. He took pleasure in the erotic look you had on your face while you panted.

"Look at you, what a lewd expression" his right hand slid between your legs to rub at your swollen and abused clit. You whined and pressed your palms into his chest. "I'm going to make you forget that your period even exists. You're going to wish you begged me to do this before"

His middle finger pushed its way into your entrance. You had forgotten how big they were compared to yours. You whined as you felt it curl inside you.

"What? Too big? Come on now, it's just a finger, not the real thing. Take it like the good slut you are" his palm pressed into your clit as he slid it in and out. Slowly accelerating the pace and which he did it.

Your back rolled with the movement of his finger, searching for as much pleasure as possible. You mewled and writhed under him, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Look at me. Open your eyes" he assertively stated while grabbing your chin. You obeyed, tears of ecstasy filling your eyes whilst your pupils looked into his.

"That's it. Look at me while I make you cum again. Your tight little pussy fucking soaking my finger. You wanted this so bad" he grumbled while stroking your g-spot. His finger thrusting into you at an intense speed. You could hear how wet you were, the sounds echoing through the room.

Everything about this was smutty. It only made your spine twinge with thrill and your nails dig into Raians chest. He groaned, his nose touching yours while watching your expressions twist. The animal in him only wanted to ravage you until you were a complete mess. But tonight was different. Tonight was about you this time.

God you were close again. Your back arched as every thought left your head. "Fuck-" you managed to sob as your thighs trembled.

"Gonna cum? Yeah? Your wet cunt can't handle any more. Cum for me" the thrusts of his fingers got shorter but rougher. His thumb rubbing circles around your clit. "You like me fingering you and eating you out. Making you helpless beneath me. I wanna shove my cock in you so bad"

"Fu...ck. .uhn...Yes- Rai....gonna-" You were cut off as his lips crashed into yours again. You moaned into him as you came on his fingers. Gasping for air as your hips shook. He pulled his finger out of you, circling your sweet spot for good measure before licking all the fluids off of his hand.

Rendered speechless, you weakly smiled at him as your back collapsed back onto the futon.

"Shit. You're a mess" he sat up and wiped off his forehead. He rolled his eyes watching you stupidly smile. "Let's get you cleaned up" he hooked his arm under your knees and shoulders and picked you up with ease.

Raian carried you to the bathroom to wash the both of you off. He wasn't very experienced in aftercare, but it'd be nasty to leave blood all over his face, hands, and between your legs.

"What about you?" You asked as you sat on the bathroom counter as he used a wash cloth to clean off your inner thigh.

"Huh? You can worry about that later. Now shut up and let me work" he huffed. You ruffled his hair and lazily sat back, completely exhausted. Atleast you weren't cramping anymore

#kengan ashura #kenganverse #kengan omega #kengan ashura x reader #raian kure #raian kure x reader #Spotify

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joequiinn · 5 months

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PREVIEW | You Can Have My Hate | B.H. x reader

summary: Unfortunately, you got stuck with Billy fucking Hargrove as your partner for your final assignment in history class. Also unfortunately, Billy discovers you have a killer body underneath all those baggy clothes…

a/n: Billy is a disgusting little man and i love him dearly. as the title says, this is a preview of something i've been working on! the fic is already at 6.5k words and still isn't done, so i decided to put out a little snippet to see if there was any interest, so please let me know if you'd like me to finish the fic!

notes & tropes: fem reader, curvy + large chest reader, foul and suggestive language, canon typical Billy bullshit, awful behavior from both Billy and reader, minor allusions to sex but nothing happens (yet)

music inspo: Closer by Nine Inch Nails

preview wc: 1.9k

You let me violate you | You let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you | You let me complicate you

“Damn, little miss straight-laced,” Billy’s hooded eyes slowly crawled down your body, the corner of his mouthing pulled back in a lecherous smirk, “is that what you’ve been hiding under all those baggy clothes?”

God, you hated Billy Hargrove. Absolutely despised him with every fiber of your being. You knew you should’ve begged your history teacher for a different partner, should’ve gotten on your knees and pleaded for literally anyone other than Billy fucking Hargrove to work on this assignment with you. An idiotic football player or a bitchy cheerleader would’ve been better than this. But no, you didn’t beg and you didn’t plead, so now you were stuck, and god if this wasn’t about to be the worst couple weeks of your life.

Ever since Billy showed up in Hawkins at the beginning of last semester, you detested him. Everything about him screamed disrespectful, hateful asshole, and so having two classes with him meant you had witnessed your fair share of this behavior. Why so many girls wanted to fuck him and why so many boys aspired to be him was a mystery to you, because you could see from the start that he was a no good piece of shit.

But, in a way, you were lucky because you were literally a nobody. And nobodies went unnoticed, which meant not having to deal with bullshit from 90% of your peers. Hell, when your history teacher was pairing everyone off and told Billy who his partner would be, his response was an amused “who?” as if he didn’t believe this person - you - even existed. He had gone the entirety of the school year not having a single clue that you existed, and damn you wish it had just gone on a little longer. You literally had one more month left of senior year, one more month until you never even had to think about Hawkins High again, and the last thing you wanted was to spend half of that month in misery while trying to put up with Billy fucking Hargrove.

This assignment shouldn’t have even been worth shit to you, considering that your grade was nearly perfect and it was your last big project before graduation, but that’s where your history teacher hooked all of you - if this assignment wasn’t completed, then you guys wouldn’t be able to receive your diplomas. Or so he said to deter kids like you from flaking on it - you didn’t know if your boring old history teacher had that kind of authority, but you weren’t about to risk finding out.

And for kids like Billy? Kids who didn’t give a shit, who were already struggling to pass? The grade on this assignment was make or break. Not that it affected you any, of course - Billy could fail his senior year for all you cared. But shockingly enough, he was the one to make a point of its importance to you, the one to emphasize that he had to pass this class and graduate. It was curious to you, since you’d never once seen Billy care about school, but perhaps he was also beginning to feel the fire under his ass to leave Hawkins.

So, for the past week now, you’d been meeting with Billy at the school library, trying your best not to rip out your hair while you did the majority of the work. Hell, you could’ve told Billy just to fuck off and let you work on your own - you’d still let him put his name on the assignment and everything. But for whatever reason, you didn’t and so now you were subjecting yourself to tolerating his bullshit.

And that’s what you were doing right now, sitting across from Billy in the library and using every fiber of your being not to lose it on him. He had been particularly difficult from the moment he sat down, his foot bouncing impatiently and his expression condescending each time you tried to talk to him. He was making it very clear that he’d rather be anywhere other than here. The warm temperature of the library combined with your frustration at Billy was causing you to feel a little toasty, so you caved and tugged your large sweater over your head, leaving you in a tight, black tank top that left little to the imagination.

And said tight, black tank top is exactly what Billy was ogling, making you sneer and immediately regret taking off your sweater.

You never liked showing off your body, never liked the attention it drew you. You wouldn’t say you were self-conscious necessarily, you didn’t hate the way you looked in the mirror or anything like that. But you were very aware of how men looked at women’s bodies, and as someone who hated most forms of attention, you weren’t going to have any of that. So you wore baggy jeans and oversized sweaters, hid your frame under clothes that were always a size or so too big. It kept eyes and hands off of you, and you preferred it that way.

But damn it, it was so hot in the library that afternoon and you weren’t thinking clearly. You couldn’t believe your own stupidity - you just had to take off your sweater in front of Billy fucking Hargrove, a boy who only ever saw women as either sex pots or prudes. His lewd gaze was making you feel even more hot under the collar, but shit did you want to put your sweater back on already despite the heat.

“Will you please focus, Hargrove?” You begged in an exacerbated tone, trying to cross your arms over your chest in a way that wasn’t obvious while looking back down to the textbook open in front of you.

“You expect me to focus now, after you whipped those out?” Billy took such obvious joy in knowing that he was making you uncomfortable. He leaned forward on the table, his eyes once again traveling a salacious path down the curves of your body, “It’s Friday night, I got a pair of double D’s sitting across from me, and you’re asking me to focus on a damn essay?”

“Shut up.” You threatened between your teeth, trying not to raise your voice and draw attention. Your eyes were dark with frustration as you stared at Billy, who simply looked back at you like he didn’t give a damn, like he was just waiting for you to cave to him.

And how the hell could he tell you wore a double D?

You sank in your seat a little while attempting to cross your arms even more aggressively in front of your chest, feeling your cheeks growing red. Billy gave you that smooth, lazy grin that you’ve seen him use before, his eyes hooded as he leaned back in his chair. The feeling of his indecent gaze on your body practically made your skin crawl.

“Fine, Hargrove,” You quickly grab up your belongings and shoot to your feet, fumbling with your bag and sweater to make sure they kept your chest covered, “if you wanna be a prick who won’t focus, we’ll do this next week.”

You started to march out of the library, to retreat to safety. You didn’t like the way Billy was looking at you - it was objectifying and disrespectful and vulgar. Billy never once gave a fuck about - or even noticed - you before, but the second you remove a stupid barrier of clothing, suddenly he’s oh so interested. He was such a pig.

But shit, why was it also… kind of hot?

No, it was not hot.

You couldn’t let yourself even entertain that thought because there sure as shit wasn’t anything hot about it. It wasn’t hot that he objectified you, it wasn’t hot that he drank your body in with impropriety, it wasn’t hot that his tongue ran slowly along his lower lip as his eyes met yours with practiced allure.

No, no, no! You could’ve kicked yourself. Nothing about that should’ve been hot, god damn it.

“Oh, come on, killjoy,” Billy grabbed your wrist, spinning you back around to face him, having followed you through the library. His grip was firm as you looked between his face and hand and back again.

The library wasn’t exactly busy on a Friday afternoon, but you looked around to find that the librarian and another student both looked in your direction. It made you even more nervous to know that eyes were on you; what if you got in trouble, what if the librarian reprimands you both for being disruptive? You looked back to Billy, your brows furrowed in annoyance as you whipped your wrist out of his hold with hostility.

“I’m serious, if all you want is to slack off and look at my tits that’s your business.” You immediately clamped your mouth shut, your eyes widening slightly - that is not what you meant to say at all. Oh god, why the fuck did you say that? Shit, you should’ve just told him that you’d regroup next week, that you weren’t going to put up with him. But no, instead you said arguably the stupidest thing you could, and it was clear on Billy’s face that he was relishing in your stupid words, enjoying them even.

He looked back down at your body, luckily hidden behind your bag and sweater, “My business, huh? Sounds to me like permission to stare.”

“No.” You answered firmly; your cheeks and neck felt so fucking warm. You tried to get back on track, tried to shake off the stupid thing you said just a moment ago, “I just want to finish this project. So, go home and jack off to your Playboys all weekend, and then maybe we can actually get some work done next week.”

Despite your jabs, Billy still grinned wickedly, dipping his head a little as he took a step closer, his voice low, “So, that’s what you’re thinking about, huh? Me jacking off? You enjoying that thought?”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to find some quick response to that, but you couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. A sound of disbelief left your throat as you gaped with loathing at Billy for a moment. God, you felt like a damn fish trying to breathe out of water. With a glare in your eyes, you clamped your mouth shut, which seemed to be a great amusement to Billy, whose smile widened as a laugh escaped him.

“God, you make it so easy.” He said, shaking his head, “You gotta lighten up, you know?”

You sigh loudly, eyes still staring at him harshly, “Whatever, Hargrove.”

You attempt to walk away once more, but yet again Billy snatches your wrist, “Wait, wait, wait…”

“Stop acting interested in me all of a sudden,” You try to shake your arm out of his hold again, but this time Billy’s grip is tighter, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Look,” his tone was firm as he instructed, “let’s go back over to the table, get some more work done, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you studied his face, “I don’t need a ride.”

“You don’t have a car.” He countered immediately.

“I don’t need a ride from you.”

“You don’t, but isn’t it generous that I’m offering?”

“More like devious.”

“I’ll be a total gentleman.”

You laughed right in his face, “You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

#billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x female reader #stranger things

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nexysworld · 1 year

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Road Trip 🎵

Requests are Open - Masterlist

Summary: A short fluffy oneshot where reader teases Olderboyfriend!Leon about his choice in music. Pairings: Older BF Leon x GN Reader Tags: Use of the F word This was inspired by this thread with @hxllfiredoll and @gigabyte-flare about DadRock!Leon. I loved it so much I just wanted to make a tiny blurb to start and explore that concept. (No hate I love dad rock tho lol)

You loved being in his Jeep, not only did it give you a great view of the scenery but it was the only vehicle you could trust Leon not to crash, finally there was no fear of forfeiting your life just for a road trip. However, for the past while you hadn’t been able to contain the soft giggles that kept escaping your lips while the wind blew your hair into a mess. “What’s so funny?” Leon asked, raising a thick blonde eyebrow at you. “N-nothing, nothing’s funny.” You said between stifling laughs. “Yeah right, you’ve been giggling over there for a good half hour now. What’s up?” “I just… Leon, is this really the music you listen to?” “Yeah, so what, got a problem with it?” “No it’s just, Alice in Chains really? That’s like my dad’s music.” “Ouch you wound me baby. I’ll have you know that Alice in Chains is a pinnacle of 90’s grunge. Their earlier work was a little too rough but when Dirt came out in 1992 I think they really came into their own.” “Thanks Patrick Bateman.” You said, rolling your eyes.

The next song came on and Leon decided to sing out loud obnoxiously tapping on the steering wheel cutting between lyrics as he drove. “♫ And I feel that time's a-wasting, go So where ya going to tomorrow? . . . And I feel it . . .Where ya going for tomorrow? ♫”

“God, the only thing worse than your choice in music is your singing.” You tossed an empty snack wrapper at him.

He laughed in return. “Fine, you want something more modern?” He pushed the button and removed the current mixtape before replacing it with another. Of course Leon still had a tape player in his car. “Oh god . . . Hawthorne Heights? That is not modern babe. I never pegged you for an emo kid though.” Leon shrugged and continued with his singing.” ♫ And all I had was the memory of what was . . . . I never thought I'd live to tell . . .What's a dream and what is real, the way I really feel ♫.”

“Stoooooooooop.” You groaned flicking through the other tapes in the glove compartment of the car. You finally settled on something you would listen to, popping the current tape out and replacing it. “Oh so Stone Temple Pilots and Hawthorne Heights is a no go, but Nine inch Nails is more your alley?” He chuckled when he heard you fast forward the tape until ‘Closer’ started playing. “You naughty, naughty thing.”

“I guess some dad rock can be okay.” “Dad rock, huh? Fuck am I getting old?” “Yeah you are.” You leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “But I love ya anyway.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #len s kennedy x y/n #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #fanfiction #reader insert #fluff

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the-goya-jerker · 5 months

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do you have any thoughts on nine inch nails/their song “closer” and the music video for it?

to preface: i am autistic and nine inch nails is a special interest for me. “closer” has a deeper meaning than “the sex song” and is part of a big concept album, and i genuinely think trent reznor is a great artist & director, but people brush off his music/videos because it’s “just” sexual or controversially erotic. well, like klimt or whoever said, all art is erotic!! everything has value no matter what part of your brain it is appealing to. the-goya-jerker dot tumblr dot com i think you are the only guy who actually understands this. you dont have to agree with me i just respect how you view art from the perspective of a nine inch nails fan

Thank you for bringing your special interest to me, dear stranger. I am a king, presented a beautiful gift on a velvet cushion. A princess being given the dearest of unicorn foals to nurture here.

I never knew that The Downward Spiral was a concept album. (My music knowledge tends to be broad and shallow over narrow and deep, y'know?). I knew a few songs (The Only Time is a personal fave) but I didn't know much about the band.

So, just as an overview of the album it's about the narrator's titular downward spiral. Wikipedia lists the themes as: "religion, dehumanization, violence, disease, society, drugs, sex, and finally, suicide."

Just looking at Closer, it's not hard to see why people think of it as a "sex song", honestly. But much like a lot of popular art, I encourage the audience to really listen to the lyrics here, to examine it in a different way.

The backing track (hiiii Iggy Pop! Iggy Pop cameo here!!) has a strong rhythm. The breathy vocals add to the sexual feeling of the song. The lyrics are, on a surface level, talking about sex. But there's some pretty loaded language included. The narrator doesn't just use your typical words like making love or fucking. He "desecrates" he "violates" he "uses". The use of the phrase "I wanna fuck you like an animal" isn't about the intensity, it's about self-degradation.

I think a pretty fair general interpretation (and do come correct me if you think otherwise anon!) is that the narrator wants to escape himself, his flaws, his self loathing, by having sex with people. He wants to be someone else.

This isn't a song about just having sex, this is a song about hating yourself so much that sex feels like it must be degrading for the other person just because it's with you.

There's also some things going on with religion and sexuality here. Sex is a desecration of the partner, it is making them worse, it is using them. But also there's this desperate devotion to this person. The way he says "You make me perfect / Help me become somebody else", the constant pleas for help dispersed throughout, even the section where he offers up himself entirely... it feels like borderline religious devotion. But this contrasts against the desecration in a way that's very fascinating to me.

As a review? I give this a 9/10. It's erotic, but not in the way most people assume. The devotion and degradation as constant themes really sell it. The religious themes add to it wonderfully. And I love to hear a man beg.

The only reason it's not 10/10 is because I know Closer to God (the reworking of this track) gets that honor. I think it just elevates the track even more when the two are presented side by side, and for me Closer to God wins out. The more staticky track is really right up my alley (I enjoy the more industrial and distorted sound of it).

In the end though, both feel transcendentally erotic in their own way.

The songs in question for anyone who wants them:

youtube

#Closer #Nine Inch Nails #Closer to God #9/10 #10/10 #art review

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pouralaura · 22 days

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writer interview game

tagged by @pricemarshfield, thank you as always for giving me the opportunity to talk about myself

When did you start writing?

pretty much as soon as I could hold a pencil tbh - I was always the kid who had notebooks full of stories featuring my friends as characters; said friends would always be eager to read my latest updates. I started trying my hand at fanfiction around age 11 or 12, always written in a shitty wide-ruled notebook.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

themes/genres? not really. I write what I want to read. I'd say the biggest difference between what I write and what I read is length - I don't write plot well for more than a couple of chapters. I can do vignettes, shorts, or a few chapters up to 20k words or so and that's as far as the plot part of my brain gets, oops

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

here's a link to my favorite fic of all time. be warned; it's Mad Men stepdad/stepdaughter (very distant, everyone is of age). I've read it a thousand times and it's influenced my writing style so fuckin much. this author writes a lot of stupidly good shit too if you like this one

I don't really get compared to anyone (at least, not to my face) which is fine. I don't know if I want to be.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

it's wherever I am, but mostly at my office desk in our spare bedroom with my rainbow glowy mechanical keyboard and a nice-smelling candle. sometimes I listen to nine inch nails

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

read something else, by someone else. look at somebody else's art. find something that speaks to you in something you didn't do. search for that point of connection, that thing that you feel too, and let it make you think differently about something you've been looking at the same way for a while

also watch a horny tv show or movie that helps too

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

indecision, reluctance, stubbornness, hot old men. this is not surprising to me

What is your reason for writing?

to entertain myself, first and foremost. like I said, I write the stuff I wanna read. and I don't think I had a good reason for writing until I started doing that. I always used to write what I thought I was supposed to write, or what would make my friends ooooh and ahhhh. I guess I still do that to some extent but it's sickos only baby

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I love when someone points out a favorite line. it's usually one that I had in my head for a super long time; one that I wrote first, before anything else. makes me feel Understood

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

as just some guy! because I am! I've made such good friends on the internet from writing my dumb bullshit, please feel free to be one of them! love to chat and share opinions and invent scenarios and what-ifs. I'm also just a thirty-year-old woman sitting in my little house doing my silly little job and it's really fun to meet people who are also doing Exactly That but make time to create in a similar way.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I've been very kindly complimented on this numerous times and I think it's fairly accurate - if I write a character, I take Great Pains to ensure that their voice is accurate. I exploit their flaws for views. (raphael I am talking about you) I make it funnier and sadder until it feels real - or, as real as I can make it in a fantasy setting.

How do you feel about your own writing?

it's better than it's ever been because, again, I am finally writing what I want to read. it's visceral and silly and fun and horny in a way that makes me really proud of myself!

I think all my writer buddies on here have been tagged already, but if I missed you or you wanna participate please feel free!

#laura's writing #personal

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in-death-we-fall · 3 months

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Scar Tissue

Scar the Martyr marks Joey Jordison’s first new music since the death of his Slipknot songwriting partner, Paul Gray. It’s helped heal his wounds and got him excited for the future…

Words: Paul Travers Photo: Paul Harries (drive link)

Joey Jordison and Paul Gray were in many ways the beating, bloody heart right at the centre of Slipknot. They were both in there from the start. They named the band. They were also the core writing team. Joey once said that when he was writing, he’d always just know where a Paul idea would fit just right. When the bassist died in May 2010, Joey lost an important piece of his musical puzzle.

Some of Slipknot’s scars have healed, through their live shows, including an incredible headline slot at this year’s Download. But now, Joey is finally flexing his creative muscles again, with Scar The Martyr. It’s not the new Slipknot album, but their self-titled debut is the first new music the drummer has written since the death of his best friend and songwriting partner. For Joey, though, Paul Gray’s influence still permeates everything he does.

“It’s always going to be difficult,” he sighs. “It will never not be hard to write without him, because he was my partner and my best friend. But there’s a huge part of Paul in me. I know what he’s thinking, I know when he’s upset, I know when he’s happy; I can read his emotions. This might sound weird to people, but I still talk to paul. He still talks to me and it’s spooky. He might not be here in the flesh, but he’s still here in the spirit. When I get stuck I go, ‘What would you do now?’ and he tells me. He helps me when I get stuck.”

That songwriting partnership might still survive in an ethereal fashion, but Scar The Martyr is a very different beast to Slipknot. The album is dense and dark, taking in post-punk atmospherics and tempering its noise-flecked industrial clatter with vibrant melodies and surging synths.

“Do I think it will surprise people?” Joey muses. “Perhaps not so much as other things I’ve done. When I put out the Murderdolls record (2002’s Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls), that was a completely left-field move from what I was known for. But for the record I do think that Slipknot fans will totally dig this album.”

That is good. Because the seeds for Scar The Martyr were sown when Joey began the painful process of trying to pick up writing for Slipknot’s long-awaited fifth album.

“I went into the studio and wrote a load of songs for Slipknot. A load of songs,” he says. “I wrote about 30 songs and the stems of another 20, so that’s 50 songs. But when I realised Slipknot wasn’t going to be happening for a while I stayed in the studio and started this.”

Hang on, 50 Slipknot songs? How come this isn’t going on the new record, then?

“The timing just wasn’t right,” admits Joey. “We have to all be on the same page at the same time, but I still have those songs ready for the new Slipknot album. Once we get together we’ll tear them to pieces and see what works.”

So you’re saying the album’s written?

“We might use one song or we might use all of ‘em. I don’t know what the fuck we’ll do.”

Okay. So did Scar The Martyr allow you to make an album without the pressure that the new Slipknot record would?

“There is less pressure,” says Joey. “There are no expectations, so yeah, it’s a lot easier. But I’m not sitting in there just jacking off. This band is now a part of me, just like Slipknot is.”

With the music written, Joey assembled an impressive bunch of ex-men, with Jed Simon (ex-Strapping Young Lad) and Kris Norris (ex-Darkest Hour) on guitars, and Chris Vrenna (ex-Nine Inch Nails) on keyboards. Joey handled drums and bass himself and recruited a largely unknown vocalist, Henry Derek.

“I did want a vocalist that no-one would know,” Joey explains. “Someone put me in touch with Henry and I sent him four songs. When he returned them, I was blown away – he was totally who I was looking for.”

Henry was given free reign on the lyrics. As a consequence, Joey isn’t willing to discuss the themes on the album. The drummer does, however, reveal that much of the turmoil and anguish of the past three years has been channelled into this new project.

“It’s different from anything I’ve ever done and I think you can tell the emotion in the music,” he nods. “I was in a really different place when I was writing this stuff. It’s not just anger, although there is some in there. There’s reflection, beauty – all kinds of different moods.”

And how is Joey Jordison feeling right now?

“I’m ecstatic,” he beams. “I’m really excited. Whatever happens in the long-term isn’t the focus right now, but we’re going to be around for a while.”

That’s good news in one respect, but where it leaves Slipknot’s immediate future is still unclear.

“I can’t tell you an exact timeline,” Joey shrugs. “Stone Sour’s still out [on tour] and I’ve got this record, but [Slipknot] are still playing shows to keep in touch with our fans. It’s just a matter of waiting until it feels right for Slipknot to get back in there.”

What do you think it’ll be like when that happens?

“Whenever it is, it’s gonna be the perfect time, because we’ve never had this much material, ever,” enthuses the drummer. “I just got three song ideas the other day from Corey [Taylor], and they’re fucking awesome. Corey’s primarily been a lyricist in the band, and it’s cool to see someone who doesn’t normally write the music getting so excited about making Slipknot’s next record.”

So Slipknot is still for the future. But for now, Joey has Scar The Martyr to immerse himself in. You get the feeling that somewhere out there, his songwriting partner and best friend would approve.

Scar The Martyr’s self-titled album is out on September 30 via Roadrunner

We’ve seen it live!

Joey unveiled his new band in New York on August 10. We got the first look! Review: Hardeep Phull Live photo: Shaun Regan

It only takes a few songs of Scar The Martyr’s first headline show to realise that Joey Jordison is not trying to create Slipknot Mk II. Instead, the band are attempting to carve out a sound that has more in common with industrial pioneers like Ministry and Killing Joke through songs such as Never Forgive Never Forget.

Although the broader scope and ambition is impressive, it’s the traditionally heavier songs that Scar The Martyr perform more confidently. With it’s (sic) siren-like opening riff and relentless pace, the first single Blood Host is already a crowd-pleaser, if only because it’s the only song anyone has heard to date, while the crushingly heavy finale of Last Night On Earth is where the band give a tantalising glimpse of how good they could turn out to be.

So, with Slipknot still on hold, this is Joey’s main bag for a bit. Us maggots can wait a little longer, as Scar The Martyr are a brilliant distraction.

#joey jordison #scar the martyr #interview #this was from a collection of loose pages #i don't even remember how long i had this one waiting to be typed up jesus christ #my heart </3

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the-hungdeli-hermit · 3 months

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finally wrote up a somewhat proper explanation as to why Roulette doesn’t like Chai at the start of her rather tumultuous journey. I don’t know if this can be considered a long read post but here’s your warning. Oh, and you can scroll down for some lineart pieces (really proud of those two) and another mention of a NIN album.

because we love NIN in this house

At first glance it might seem like Roulette hates Chai’s guts to an unimaginable degree, but “hate” is too strong of a word here, even in her own opinion. Yes, she does find him rather annoying, arrogant, idiotic in his antics and just in general the biggest dumbass she’s ever laid her eyes on. At the same time, she knows it’s rather pointless to be as nasty as she is to him at times, yet she feels as though she can’t stop now, like she has to be mean to him. Acting all nice and calm towards him after everything she’s said to him would be like admitting some so sort of defeat to herself.

(And she’s can be a stubborn bitch sometimes, even when she knows how she’s acting towards him is incredibly mean and stupid (her first meeting with him basically clouds her judgment; the reason for initially disliking him is really petty, a spur of a moment situation))

The issue runs deeper than that though. Ru is angry with Chai not just because he feels like a caricature of every lazy loser who thinks they’re the hottest shit out there, but because she is extremely envious of him, both his character and position. Seemingly a nobody from God knows where gets a prosthetic for garbage collection and then becomes an ambassador for one of the departments of a multibillion tech company just… because? A literal college-dropout, a slacker who doesn’t take his job seriously and just seems to leech off of the company he works for? And people even like him?!

Is it really because of his positive attitude? His stupid smile? Or… is he just that charming and lovable compared to her? It seems as though everything comes to him easily, without him even trying, that he is just that incredibly lucky.

Of course, Ru doesn’t knows his situation, what he’s been through to get to this point in time and who he had to face. Heck, we don’t even know what his past was like, but we can only assume that it wasn’t that great. She thinks her comments don’t really affect him much, that he brushes them off with ease and just goes about his life being all “rockstar” or something.

And he does, but some of them just hit way too close to home without even meaning too.

She dreamt big too, you know? Big dreams of her own, that she couldn’t fulfil due to her life circumstances. And here he is, a reminder that more often than not, hard work is not enough. Just one lucky moment can be enough change your life completely, and her hard work couldn’t compare to that.

At least she got lucky this time, getting accepted into Vandelay Tech as a mere HR-assistant. She thought she could change her life around completely, start fresh in a new and unfamiliar environment.

And she did, but wherever you go, you’ll always have yourself, right? And you can’t really outrun your own problems like that. It might give you more motivation to work on yourself, but in the end… who is to say that it’ll actually help you?

Their relationship will improve eventually, but only after someone will be saved once and at least one attempted murder/voluntary manslaughter? Hard to tell

Also LISTEN TO «With Teeth» BY NINE INCH NAILS IT LITERALLY DESCRIBES HER CURRENT STATE AND FEELINGS. YOU CAN JUST READ THE TITLES OF THE SONGS AND ALREADY GET A GOOD PICTURE

Actually JUST LISTEN TO NINE INCH NAILS IN GENERAL. And I’m not just talking The Downward Spiral or Pretty Hate Machine (both are wonderful, of course), but listen to other works too.

And now, the little art pieces:

Still experimenting with style and how to draw Roulette. The last post with her was leaning more into being somewhat realistic, while this one is just… cute. Which I really like! And of course, the second is more of an experiment with lineart. Still love my Sakura Pigma Micron pens to death, they just hit different. The scratchy look turned out lovely on the second piece.

oh yeah, and these two are the same person

#hi fi rush #hi-fi rush #hi fi rush oc #lineart #i want to do more colourful works #But I haven’t touched my watercolour in such a long time #I’m scared of touching it #But I will because I’m not a pussy #wrote this to All The Love In The World and drew the last pic to The Background World #almost went a bit coocoo there with the loop getting more and more distorted at the end #Ru/Roulette

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collecting-stories · 2 years

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Ice - JJ Maybank

Request: I have Tourette’s and I would love to see a fic where JJ has mild/moderate TS and that's why his dad abuses him. After luke beats him one night he goes over to john b’s and has a tic attack. Here are some tics he could have Verbal tics: pop sound, whistle sound, throat clearing, squeak sound, clicking sound, sniffing. Motor tics: Neck jerking, shoulder shrugging, blinking hard or Repetitively, eye rolling (which gets him in trouble) grimacing. please no Coprolalia because its actually a stereotype

Author's Note: Some of this is very descriptive in talking about tics and honestly I had to stop a few times while writing cause it made me feel like I was tic-ing. So just, be aware of that if you're reading and you have any neurodivergence that would cause you to tic.

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

He knew he was doing it. Not that it was hard to miss or ignore or not know, but JJ was distinctly aware of the cracking of each of his knuckles individually and then all together. When the familiar pop didn’t sound on his ring finger he kept pressing down on it and then pushing it back, trying to manipulate his joints into submission.

When it refused he finally gave up, instead popping all the pockets of air in his neck, back, right knee (easily manipulated since he’d fractured it when he was nine), and his toes. All ten cracked satisfyingly and then he felt the familiar wash of relief over him as if encouraging arthritis in all his joints was the only way to calm down the nerves that were short-circuiting in his body. 

John B was supposed to be back from his date with Sarah soon and JJ was trying in vein to chill out before that happened. He’d been around the house already, opening every cupboard once, then once more, fiddling with the loose handle on the cutlery drawer (which was mostly plastic takeout utensils) until it fell off and he had to fix it back into place. He’d twisted so hard in the opposite direction that the nail left an indent in the cheap wood. JJ had thought about laying on the hardwood floor and trying the breathing exercise that Kiara had tried getting him practice a handful of times before. He imagined it working every time but every time it just made him more agitated. Breathing in and out to a steady rhythm and focusing on every limb until he was sinking into the floorboards like quicksand, too heavy to climb back out. Thinking about made his skin crawl and then he was itching at his forearms, red marks littering with little white flakes of dried skin from the combination of sunburn and saltwater. His short nails ran up and down and up and down and up and down and his head still felt like it was going to implode. Like he couldn’t think or talk and if he stopped moving...he couldn’t stop moving. He made it to the freezer and popped ice cubes into the sink and then he shoved one in his mouth and bit until it was warm enough to break and he chewed and chewed. One after the other until all twelve of them were gone and his mouth was numb and his teeth hurt but he’d stopped moving. His brain freeze went down the back of his neck into his shoulder and the pain felt like heaven it was so distracting. Like he’d turned himself into the ice and numbed out every inch of his brain so it stopped working and he could just breathe.

And then the door slammed and he startled, turning away from the sink to catch Pope coming in with Kiara and John B. He nodded when Pope said his name and John B was still talking, loud like he always did, and JJ frowned involuntarily before stretching his jaw but not opening his mouth. He tried to crack his ring finger again and it worked this time, Kiara’s nose scrunching at the noise. She shot him a disapproving look, she hated the noise, he knew she hated it. She hated the ice chewing more, for a list of reasons from it being bad for his teeth to it being obtrusive to listen to on a daily basis.

“You okay?” The words cut over the end of John B’s sentence and JJ was still standing there holding his right hand and staring at Pope. He felt like he was hearing everything underwater and all the nervous energy that had been there before came flooding back over him. He blinked, eyelashes fluttering at a rapid succession as he tried to collect his thoughts or a least have any coherent ones.

“Good. Great.” He nodded, then nodded again for effect and also because the motion of his hair flopping against his forehead was a nice distraction. “Good.”

“Are you sure?” Pope looked skeptical as he walked further into the room.

About to nodd for the third time, JJ felt the familiar tightening of muscles, like someone was pressing their hands on either side of his head before it shook, rather violently, for a split second. He twisted his fingers, hearing another series of cracks from where the joints had stiffened up again. “Just shit at home.” He finally said, falling into his normal rhythm. He felt like he was deflating, the shake of his head a crescendo to his mild breakdown. He could breathe. He opened and closed the cabinet near his head twice, opened it a third time and took out a box of pop tarts, and closed it again. “How was the date?”

Pope was still watching him, mildly concerned that something had thrown him over the edge, but John B launched right back into a story about Sarah and Ward being weird and Wheezie bothering them while they were out on the Druthers. Kiara took one of the sleeves of pop tarts, moving over to plug in the toaster that was only unplugged because JJ had missed it on his trip around the house (unplugging everything that was attached to the wall and then plugging it all in again, except the toaster).

JJ clicked his tongue once, tapped on the counter, and then took his pop tart when it was expelled from the toaster.

“Hey,” Pope had replaced Kiara, leaning against the counter and side-eyeing JJ as if they were in on some secret together. And it wasn’t like John B didn’t know, hadn’t clocked it immediately when he noticed all the coins scooped off his coffee table and disappeared (moost likely into a drawer somewhere). It was just that John B never said anything and Kiara only ever said things that sounded like she was trying to placate a disease. “Is it Luke?”

He blinked. Once, twice, breath in, calm down, breath out, two steps to the freezer and-

“JJ, can you not with the ice?” Kiara looked guilty for asking but annoyed that she had to. As if he’d forced her hand.

“Sorry,” he mulled it around in his mouth and felt it melting against his gums as he tried to get back that feeling, that numbness that had stopped it all in the first place.

“Sorry.” Pope echoed the sentiment. “I wasn’t trying-”

“It’s fine.” JJ lied, now he was the one placating. Cause it wasn’t really fine at all. He didn’t want to talk about it because then he’d have to think about it and none of the words he wanted to say could come out of his mouth. And then he felt his ears fill up and all his joints stiffen and he tried too breath but all he wanted to do was stick his whole head in a tub of that ice and hope it froze something inside of him long enough that he could breath. “I’ll be right back.”

The air outside was warm and sticky and not even a little refreshing but at least he was outside and he stood there with a glass of ice cubes and he chewed, bare feet sinking into the gravel of the driveway like some kind of pseudo-acupuncture. And then the door opened and John B’s converse creaked on the wooden porch step.

“Yo, you want a beer?”

JJ imagined relaxing enough that he didn’t have to feel the tightness in his chest and the pressure in his head, “yeah...yeah.”

#jj mayback imagine #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fic #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank drabble #jj maybank oneshot #jj maybank fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #outer banks one shot #jj maybank one shot #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #collecting stories imagine

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fandomdaydreamer · 2 years

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The Lighthouse and The Ocean

Pt 25 - Tragically Longing

Pairing: Pedro Pascal/OFC

Warnings: angst, valium consumption

Summary: Pedro's and Nini's break up takes a heavy toll on her until she receives an unexpected visitor on Christmas Eve.

Notes: Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist and Playlist -here-

Sorry for the wait, life's been sooo busy Q_Q

Length: 8k

The Tweet had followed a couple of days after our break up.

Pedro Pascal he/him;

I am disgusted by my so called "caring fans" who send @ninivanfleet hate or threaten her! Please be sensitive, for this is painful enough.

What a noble way of finally publicly admitting that we weren't together anymore.

Of course, words of our break up had gotten out, right along with rumours of one heartbroken Pedro Pascal moping about in forced society.

Truth be told, I didn't even blame him for the severe backlash I received because if he even felt half as miserable as I, he would have broken down and cried every time anyone on the job had come up to ask if he was okay. But guess who was the bad guy? The one having pictures of him running through the streets of Brooklyn with a bouquet of flowers or the one who had released an aloof rock song that was addressing her ex?

The unmistakable sound of eggs cracking against my door and my security yelling at the perpetrators rang through the living room. So let them, I thought and dug deeply into my ice-cream. It reminded me about the fact that this was entirely my fault.

At one point in my life, I must have forgotten what real hurt felt like. It was the incomparable sensation of keep hanging on, full of heartache and anger and still, endlessly in love. None of it made sense, the suddenty of our break up, the excruciating pain and tragical longing. No amount of screaming or crying would ever help.

I wasn't in touch with life itself anymore for the time I hadn't seen the light of day. I had come to merely endure it while Nine Inch Nails blared through the house.

Everything I know goes away in the end

I kept eating my chocolate brownie Ben and Jerry's, slowly spiralling into the song's heavy music as I sprinkled my desert with two valium and fed myself a spoon full of misery.

I will let you down, I will make you hurt

New tears spilt down my cheeks when I looked back ahead. As often these last couple of days, I remembered the things Pedro and I had said to each other. Hurtful things that had torn away the ground beneath my feet, things I'd never expected to come from him. Not him.

How badly I just wanted to beg him to come back.

Alas, the harsh bangs of whatever rotten stuff hitting my door and office windows were not easily mistaken for a visitor. Still placing full spoons of soft ice cream into my mouth, I was tempted to throw the pint down the hall and at my door.

"Fuck off!" I yelled against the music instead and scared the cat to flee upstairs again, poor thing.

Too many days and worried friends later, there were still no messages or calls from Pedro, even after I had given in and tried calling him. I only reached voice mail and broke connection before the beep. No visit or tearful reunion would ever happen or even a fantasy of me heartlessly turning him out again after he begged me to take him back. No, it seemed he was determined to keep his word. He stayed away and I stayed stagnant, lying here for hours or for weeks.

Until the contracted interviews spent hidden behind dark sunglasses, with constant supervision and fake smiles. There wasn't really a night show to appear on or stage lights to feel exposed in or a hyped up audience who listened to the fruits of my love and heartbreak. There was only the possibility that all of this was just a bad dream and I had taken enough pills not to notice.

The audience roared. Mere moments later I blinked and suddenly I was backstage again, ripping the wires off my body. They were still cheering for Pedro's song when I walked through the exit and wiped away my tears.

Fingers prodded at my cheek and neck. The hand on my shoulder felt invasive, my skin was cold an numb. "Oh, no, darling. Not again." A dull, faraway voice rang past my veil of vengeful bitter thoughts and sweet valium hazed memories. The people's silhouettes looked like my friends, but my vision refused to focus for a few seconds. "Nnno, leave me." I mumbled tiredly and almost went back to sleep to ignore Hugh tutting about and sorting through my mess while Olivia went to flush my pills down the toilet. "Don' tell Tom." I only managed to say, fearing my best friend would leave me too if he knew I had broken my promise to never rely on tranquilizers again.

Sammi had been the one examining my pitiful, drugged condition. "It's alright, come here. Hang on, baby, hand on-" Strong arms picked me up and next thing I knew, I was put into bed, dozing in and out of consciousness in the ambiguous light of the Venetian blinds.

I just wanted to sleep and have dreams. Dreams of a wide ocean and warm brown eyes and an even warmer laugh. His picture on my nightstand, his clothes on my chair, and me in my bed without the warmth of my life.

"Promise me to keep an eye on her?" Olivia's voice. "Of course." Sammi sighed from somewhere at the foot of my bed as he tucked in my feet.

His sweet but muted, incoherent voice telling me that I'd be alright again only made me cry into my donkey stuffie.

Yet here I lay for another week, worn out and unwilling, barely even present, wondering if I'd ever rest in peace.

On Christmas Eve I finally promised myself to start healing and accept Hugh and Sammi's help. I sent the security home to their families and visited my neighbours and pump some life into me with a rich variety of food and some of Sammi's famous umm-ali pudding. Somehow they even succeeded in making me smile again with their uplifting trash-talk and sweet Doo-Wop atmosphere.

It meant much to me but nevertheless, I had called it an early night and dropped onto my side of the wall. After a lengthy call with my grandparents, I decided I would take the next flight to London tomorrow morning. It was the first day I met with hope. Hope that I could disappear for a while and take some time off.

My own song played in the kitchen when I came home to my cat and I shut the radio with a sigh. 'The Lighthouse And The Ocean' was hitting the top ten charts. Not that Pedro cared. "I wonder what became of the original record I sent him." I muttered, more to myself than my cat. "Maybe he threw it in the dust bin or melted it. Maybe he made the disc a frisbee and it's lying a ditch somewhere. Stupid, he could have least sold it on eBay." I tutted.

Poentje grumbled, otherwise, everything remained quiet. My brain wasn't muddled with medication anymore. It had begun to snow outside and though I was tired, a softness I hadn't allowed to resurface before made me yearn for comfort instead of self-destruction. Sometimes, it was just you and some leftover Manakeesh against the world. This was good. Maybe I'd even touch my guitar again.

My voice had grown only weary these days. "Zuur pruim," I pouted at my cat when she turned her nose at my affections. I was in desperate need of a cuddle but she was having one of her stubborn episodes, most likely the aftermath of the rock music abuse. "We got you a ragdoll, they said, ragdolls always want to cuddle, they said," I complained, chewing and faking my insult.

A sad smile grew on my lips when I got an idea and abandoned my greasy food. "Just wait, I know exactly what you like." I left my living room, hurried up the stairs and into my closet to open a drawer and pull out the softest jumper I 'didn't' own, the grey cashmere one that belonged to Ewan and my cat adored even more than me.

Replacing it with my current piece of clothing, it dawned on me that I had a stereotypical habit of never returning my ex's clothes. But when I pulled it over my head, I immediately basked in its softness and regretted nothing.

Downstairs, Poentje's yellow orbs lit up when I emerged with one raised brow, presenting Ewan's very long-sleeved jumper like I wore it for a fashion show. "Like what you see?" I asked her and mirrored her arrogance from earlier when I strutted past her towards my sofa. My back had barely hit the cushions when my little purring machine had already climbed onto my belly and started kneading dough. "Aha," I said in triumph but my initial victorious feeling was replaced by utter sadness. I was comforted by someone who loved me no matter what.

The heartbreaking realisation that I was apart from the one person I needed it from most struck something devastating inside me and my eyes welled up with tears again. It resulted in my cat chucking up and down with the sobs I produced. Yet Poentje purred loudly and stepped onto my chest, kneading my boobs and staring at me through soothing cat eyes. I cradled her soft body and she let me squish her against my chest. "I miss him so much." I cried miserably to her but the feeling only intensified as soon as I had admitted it. My cries poured into the room until my cat got uncomfortable and bolted at the hysteria.

She looked up at me expectantly, licking her lips. I sighed. It was either taking care of her or passing out in tears again. "Why are you hungry all the time these days?" I quizzed her uselessly. "Chicken soup, how's that sound?" Poentje meowed with a high voice I knew was her agreeing statement. I sniffed and walked over towards the kitchen. Maybe I could make do with a distraction. Maybe I had some stuff I could use to make biscuits from scratch.

The little song I sang her sounded nasal and pitiful. Poentje received her dinner while I collected the ingredients for granny's famous gingerbread men and I selected a soul playlist. Every song would make me cry but I could try my best.

Hey, this was good. I could do this. I could move on. Eventually. After a while, my apron was over and over scattered with flour and bits and pieces of dough. I had made a mess out of my kitchen during my manic baking episode but it blended in perfectly with the mess around my entire living space.

Soul music continued ringing familiar tunes over towards my spacious kitchen area. Keeping myself busy was helping and made me feel less alone. Although Poentje didn't like gingerbread and I didn't know if she could even appreciate Otis Redding.

The night continued while my thoughts drifted into a fantasy realm of the potential happiness that had slipped through my fingers. If only Pedro would call back. If only he'd show up on my doorstep and let me hug him close. How often had I thought we'd finally found the one? It had been so easy to tell ourselves we were already married and were meant to be a real family one day.

I sobbed at my already tear-infused dough, wiping my eyes with a sleeve until they felt raw and puffy and then I cried some more.

Pedro deserved the world and now I knew I wouldn't be in it. He was also a huge arsehole and I imagined his stupid face in my dough as hit it with the rolling pin. "You said you'd never leave me!" Bang bang bang! Poentje jumped off the bar. All those broken promises. Lies. "Motherfucker!"

'Slip Away' started playing and I lay the pin down gently again and rolled it out evenly, cutting out my gingerbread men and painting second tray of them in butter.

I sniffed into my elbow and caught one last tear before I refused to start crying about the painfully obvious, mainly why I kept ending up alone. I had managed to fuck up every single relationship of my life but I was determined to never love again. I've had it.

The first tray of of gingerbread biscuits was waiting to cool off and I hadn't even gotten rid of my apron yet when the doorbell rang.

"Pedro?" My head shot up in hope. Maybe it was him. Whoever it was, they had to have had the code to my gate. I ran to the door and ripped it open.

Specks of snow had settled onto his coat and beanie and the warm light from the inside of my house illuminated a face I had so dearly missed and yet had dreaded to ever see again. The cold night air hit my body and still, I could have sworn the sensation of feeling solidly frozen came from being caught in his eyes.

My lack of energy didn't make me sound as surprised as I really was. "Ewan." I gasped, having never expected 'him' to show up.

Nonetheless, Ewan smiled as if the sun was radiating from inside of him. That cheeky, toothy grin of his, the kind of smile that made you think he'd invented it. "Happy Christmas, Nini. I- umm... I wasn't sure you'd be home." He said, slightly breathless.

"Hap- Happy... Christmas. What are you doing here?" I stammered, still looking down at him from the top of my stairs. It was only then that I noticed the beautifully wrapped present in his hands.

"I came to give you this." Ewan held out the present and I gingerly took it while carefully avoiding to let our hands touch.

"All the way from LA?" I replied, feeling as puzzled as ever when I looked back into his blue eyes. This was overwhelmingly awkward but he was not an unwelcome guest. "Would you like to come in?" I asked anyway, sounding a little nasal. "I wouldn't want you to freeze to death and I made gingerbread."

A somewhat strange expression appeared on his face for only a split of a second. Almost as if hurt and sorrow mingled with his surprise at my simple offer of hospitality. "I would love to." He gulped out.

I stepped aside to let him pass into the house and close the door behind him. "What was that smell?" He asked curiously. Ewan shivered out the cold clinging to his limbs. Like old friends, we greeted each other with friendly kisses on our cheeks and I smiled when he remembered the Dutch kissed each other three times.

"Rotten eggs people tend to throw these days." I excused the faint odour lingering on my porch, even after the regular cleaning service one of my friends had organised. "But it keeps the bugs away." I sarcasmed as Ewan began shrugging off his winter clothes. His hair had become somewhat floppy in the front and he ran a hand through his thick stubble. The navy blue jumper suited him. Putting his coat on the hanger to dry, he moved so naturally like he'd just done this yesterday and in a way, it was hard to imagine that he ever went away.

"Oh, yes. Christmas bugs." Ewan grinned broadly and at least made it sound like this made total sense.

My smile grew tired.

"I see you were busy. I hope I'm not intruding." Ewan noticed and I shed the kitchen gear in an awkwardly flustered way.

"No, well... at least you're not Carol singers." I joked dryly. I was still holding my oven miffs and looked down to see the mess on my apron, wishing I had put more effort into presenting myself at the door. Oh fuck, I was wearing his jumper.

"I can still sing you a Carol." Ewan promptly began teasing me in his good natured way and before I could protest, he began singing, softly and wonderfully. "In the bleak midwinter, Long, long ago-"

Grinning, I could hardly hold his gaze and I rolled my eyes about at the blush creeping up my cheeks. When he managed to catch my eyes again, he sang into my face. "Angels and Arc Angels may have travelled there." Finally, I gave in, harmonising with his tune until my voice cracked and my eyes began to sting with fresh tears.

Ewan's expression turned tender and worried. "You've been crying." Ewan noticed and I bit my lip to hold back a sob.

I nodded but refused to cry in front of him. "Pedro and I broke up," I explained the obvious and he cooed at me, rubbing my arms in a comforting way. "Yes, I... I heard. What an idiot." He remarked and I shook my head.

I somehow put up a too-brave femme fatale act to amuse us both. "It's probably okay. I live for raw emotions. Yes, I already made up my mind." I shrugged and threw my hands up. "Become a sad and possibly problematic rock star. Sex, drugs and rock'n roll. Live fast, die young, become a legend. Forever beautiful and tragic." I predicted and believed that my new year's resolutions consisted of becoming the most disastrous version of myself.

"Oh, you always were dramatic," Ewan replied with a tut, leaning in with a warm smile until I scoffed at him in a rather fond sort of grumble. "I wish I could say it'll get easier." He added.

"Life?" I asked, bitterly and let him walk me into my house while I turned my present in my hands, stopping myself from showing too much of my inner turmoil. Maybe he had come here just to go down memory lane and give me a hard time.

"Or love." Ewan laughed or maybe, just guessed. "If it's any comfort to you, I was kicked out too." He said with a sudden weariness in his voice and I frowned, turning back to him.

"Shit- the wedding?" "Paid for." "Damn." "Yeah."

"I'm so sorry. How could I feel comforted at that?" Hugging him was an impulsive reaction but it was nice and he pulled me closer with a sigh. "Yeah, me too. Shite holidays for the both of us."

"It's really good to see you though," I admitted back at arm length. Despite everything, his presence was comfort, he felt like family, like history. An old friend I didn't know I needed.

A fuzzy dark head poked out of the cat tree and began to cuddle against the fluffy little nook as soon as she saw Ewan walk in. "Oh, look who it is! Hello, Poen." He petted my cat's head and I was surprised at how loud her half purr, half meow had been. "I think she missed you." I wondered and watched her jump down towards him to practically slam herself against his leg and let him pet her. Honestly, where was the sisterhood solidarity? I crossed my arms and scolded her with a silent glare.

Poentje blinked at me and strode off to possibly find another napping spot and knock herself out on my bed upstairs.

"Tea?" I offered, finally remembering what a good host was supposed to behave like. "Yes, please," Ewan quickly replied. Walking into the kitchen area while unfastening my apron, I was only half aware that he slowly followed behind.

"It smells fantastic," Ewan noticed as I busied myself with the kettle and the selection of the tea brand I knew he liked best.

"You know my gran's recipe but oh, better don't eat any, I think I cried on most of them." I cringed at the plate of perfectly fine-looking gingerbread men.

"Should I reconsider then? Oh, wait not a chance." He looked like a child on literally Christmas Eve when he took a shaped biscuit and settled on the stool behind the kitchen counter.

I awaited his reaction as he sank his teeth into the man, biting his arm off and his eyes lit up in delight. "How are they even better than I remember?" He asked, watching me select a gingerbread man myself and chew on his head.

"I added orange zest this time. Some extra heartbreak too. Makes it oh, so sweet." My words had taken a sharp edge.

"Delicious." "Oi." I snickered with him while he profusely apologised for the really bad joke.

When the kettle was done boiling I let the tea brew in silence as if the task of dipping the bags into hot water required my fullest attention. But when it was time to add the milk, I had no excuse left to not face him again. Setting his mug in front of him, we finally took an honest look at each other and I could see he was tired and troubled. A guarded conflict stirred behind those eyes I'd sung songs about.

"Thanks." His expression was strange. He had obviously noticed that I was wearing his jumper and I sighed, not even caring about what he thought of it.

"Ewan?" I asked carefully and although he didn't answer, he was listening. "Don't get me wrong but I know when you're acting, I mean.. hiding something. You don't have to. Not with me."

It was only then that I was met with an expression which slowly betrayed a hidden sadness. Ewan took his time before he could muster a reply and I didn't push.

"You always see right through me, don't you?" he circled his mug and made little waves ripple through the milky liquid. The memory our past relationship was implied and it bothered me that he was sitting here, reviving my hurt and crumbling down my progress. It felt like bitter-sweet torture.

"Were you only just delivering a present? What are you really doing here?" I asked, poking the box with my index finger.

He looked up from his tea. "I know you just got back from a job and just broke up with someone and I will leave if you need a little peace and quiet but... My daughters are with their mum over the holidays and I.. well, I guess I wanted to see a friendly face. Thought we might both be happy with some company." After a pause to let his explanation sink in, I gave him a compassionate smile and nearly touched his hand to show him he was not alone, retreating last second. I couldn't help but feel bad I had not wasted a thought about how he might have been all this time. Turned out we were both a bit lonely while everyone else was with their families. "I'm sorry to hear that," I said, abandoning the gingerbread and cupping my mug for warmth.

"Don't be," Ewan replied softly, lifting one corner of his lips.

Secretly, I was pleased that we had gotten to a point in our post-relationship friendship where we could turn towards each other if we were two sad, abandoned singles who felt like retreating into mutual understanding. We didn't need to explain ourselves to each other, we never had to. Of course, I would be there for him if he needed me, even if it meant that I could only offer my sympathies when he had broken up with someone as well. That must have been cruel for both of them. After all, they had been planning to get married. Pedro and I had only lasted one month.

"Shall I open it?" I suggested as a change of topic, sounding a bit more cheerful as I pulled at the silver satin ribbon and raised one eyebrow. "What is it?" He chuckled and instead of giving into my inquiry, his eyes twinkled and he took a quiet sip of tea.

It was a flat box with a lid and when I had removed that too, I was met with the sparkling reflection of dainty, silver hair combs in the shape and texture of crystal daisy flowers. My breath had become a little shallow as I took in their magnificence. "Ewan, they're beautiful." I raised one of the combs from the box and noticed that it was heavier than I had thought.

I began fumbling with my messy braid and tidy it up a bit but Ewan was quick to assist. "Allow me?" He offered and I nodded. I turned my back to him while he rounded the bar and approached me from behind. Silently, I let him arrange my hair and for the first time during a very long and carefully kept distance, his fingers were touching the skin on the side of my neck. Practised fingers from years of doing his daughters' hair gathered my braid into a knot until I felt Ewan sink the combs into my hair and hold it in place.

His melodic voice behind me grew quiet, for he was right behind my ear. "I don't know what's normally the custom for what to gift one's former girlfriend but even if it's not pretty jewellery, it reminded me of you and I thought you needed to have it." I hadn't realised I had been holding my breath until I turned back to him and let him twirl my curtain fringe to shape them around my face. I was smiling before even looking up and seeing him standing right in front of me.

"Thank you," I whispered, smiling despite my slight discomfort. He was close. Way too close. I had genuine friendly platonic feelings for him and wished he wouldn't ruin it. Holding his gaze, I frowned at this suspicious behaviour. What were we doing?

Ewan took a breath as if he wanted to say something and he chose not to take my hands into his, even though I saw he would have wanted to. Instead, he took a step back and put his hands into his trouser pockets.

It was almost like shame struck him then. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." He nearly turned away, grinning shyly.

Finally, our mutual awkwardness relieved some of my tension. "It's okay. We're both in a vulnerable state." I accepted it and tried a step towards healing. "What happened?"

Ewan struggled to tell me but eventually, he admitted. "I heard your songs. Well, and so did my fiancée." He said, his grumpiness then changing into tenderness. "They're beautiful and I- I didn't know you had this in you- and then I got a bit too defensive about them I guess. About you."

I was torn between guilt and compassion. "Ewan, I'm so sorry. Shit, I keep ruining everything, I-" I cried but Ewan interrupted, gathering my hands in his.

"No, no, you're soaring, darling girl. Don't ever apologise. I just- I know I hurt you. You said, in your songs, how much you miss me and I couldn't bare the thought of... taking the light inside of you and it..." He shook his head. "It killed me."

My hand came to rest on his reddish bearded cheek. "You didn't take anything," But assuring him of this seemed to make him even sadder. I stopped smiling, realising the touch was too familiar.

"Here you are, treating me with kindness when we both know I didn't deserve it." He replied, taking my hand from resting on the side of his face to hold it. "When I rang your doorbell, I didn't know what to expect. Maybe that you would turn me away and slam the door but-" his voice cracked. "-you invited me in for... gingerbread." The waterlines in Ewan's eyes were shimmering when he finally looked up again. He had laughed out those last pair of words and the raw emotion in his voice had caused a tear to run down my cheek.

Ewan saw it before I had a chance to wipe it away. "I'm sorry." He told me. "I seem to keep doing that."

My voice sounded strange to my ears. "Yes, you are." A moment, in which we both didn't know what to say passed through us.

This was the difference between Ewan and Pedro. Ewan made me feel small and delicate in a way I couldn't imagine being anything but perfect and sensitive for him in every way. With Pedro, I had allowed my faults to surface unfiltered because I knew he accepted me with all of my layers, and let me be vulnerable the way I needed to be. I used to cut parts of myself off in a destructive manner to fit into the person I was before but that wasn't possible anymore because I found that nothing was like it used to be

I chuckled. "What happened to the good old, 'I miss you' text from your ex?" I guessed.

Ewan joined in with my restrained laugh. For a moment, it seemed like bitterness and regret had struck him. He took a moment to gather his courage. "He does... miss you." "Ewan-" "More than you think." I didn't know what to say but he beat me to it anyway. He gulped heavily. "You're right. I'm not... I'm not over you."

"No." I frowned, not believing him and looked down at our hands to pull mine back and hug myself. "You might miss me more than you remember me." I turned away when his presence started to hurt again. It was true, I had just taken it as a fact that I had closed this chapter of my life. Why was he telling me this?

Our eyes met, mine hazy, his begging me to listen. "I miss your laugh, your jokes... your kindness. The way you sing when you're busy or the creative, yet absolute mess you leave behind in every room." We looked at the kitchen and both cracked up a smile at the evidence. "I remember, all the things I did not appreciate enough... and which memory only seem to be opening my eyes now that they're gone."

I closed mine so I could gather a clear thought. "Where were you six months ago to tell me that? I can't do this anymore."

"I didn't know what I wanted." "Yes, you did. You wanted to get married!" "And you wanted to be with Pedro." "Maybe it only means we both tend to drive our partners away cruelly."

Ewan shrugged with a nearly cocky smile playing on his lips. "Seems like we could make a good pair after all." He concluded.

I let out a deep breath, shaking my head at him. "We deserve more than being each other's consolation, not feel like the unclaimed prize at some kind of wheel of fortune." I tried to reason. We just weren't meant to be.

"I know." Ewan sighed and I felt his hand on my arm, thumb gently brushing against his jumper. Slowly, he started to speak. "But just know- there's no one like you, you're so sweet and gentle and... funny. You're a big win, never a consolation prize." He said, sincere and uplifting.

"Thank you." It made me smile, yet I sighed and channelled my last bit of humour. "And here I thought you were living your life. I should have told you that in case you ever have a bad day, just remember you were a sensitive topic in my relationship."

It made him chuckle a little and it grew on me, warming me up inside.

I could finally breathe more freely and left his proximity, realising I wasn't being myself. I didn't want Ewan here and my voice finally showed it. "I used to think you left a hole in my life but I have just begun healing things that haf already been messed up with... light and happiness and with lasagna with an enye," I argued, bordering on grief.

Ewan didn't understand, of course, but he didn't ask either. I thought about the happiest time of my life and bubbling laughter and about the easiness and freedom I had never experienced with another person before. None of those feelings could be provoked by Ewan. They belonged to Pedro and me. "Now that's over too but you know me, right? I don't know how to let go."

It was all too much. I paced the room, feeling hot and cold and itchy. Slight panic crept onto me and I circled my bracelet around my wrist in a hurry.

"I feel dizzy," I admitted and felt my body tilt forward. Ewan caught me and held me up by my arms. "Please, let me help you sit down."

With what felt like clouds in my lightheaded mind, I smiled at the way he spoke with a soft Scottish lilt. It was in this moment of weakness that I wanted to just row back and fall into his arms. Return to what I assumed would be easy and familiar. Numbed down and perfectly content in docility.

Ewan directed me towards the living room area and I sat me down on my sofa. He left to grab something from the kitchen and sat right next to me as soon as he returned. I accepted the glass of cool tap water but recoiled at the faint smell of chlorine. "Thank you," I said anyway and forced myself to take a sip.

I wiped away another tear when I continued to spill my heart out. "I just wish I didn't have a heart at all. You said it yourself, I shouldn't loved you either."

"No, Nini-" "Yes, that's what you said." I was close to sobbing and I let myself be held by him.

"But it's not what I meant." He spoke in such earnestness I could almost believe him.

Ewan let his hand rest on my lower back to offer me comfort. "I said it because I was absolutely crazy about you and calling it off was the hardest thing to do because it was unfair to you. Maybe if I hadn't been such an arse, we would still... if you could ever forgive me-"

"Oh, why are you saying these things? I accepted your apology already." I gasped for words. Have mercy.

I turned away from him with a laugh. "I poured my love into that song when I wrote it but it wasn't a recent feeling, let me be clear. I published 'Blue Eyes' because it's a good song." I had almost had enough. "Ewan, what do you want from me?"

He looked at me with sad eyes. "I can't bear to see you hurt." he began. "And I had to know how you felt about me." I had to take myself away from him because I couldn't pretend there were only cold feelings between us. I knew I could have done worse than loving him.

I couldn't escape his gravity but the memories and feelings kept coming back. My head sank onto his shoulder so softly. I could just give in, I was nearly there. Why did I let him card his fingers through my hair and kiss the top of my head like this? Why did I let my body sink against his body and return to him when it made me feel homesick for a place I would never see again? Did he think he could just turn up out of the blue and expect me to start things over when whom I really wanted was Pedro... I wasn't considering it... I wasn't- I was so sad, I would die for the feeling of being loved again.

Regret, that we had lost us too. Now we were in the same boat. Both, desperate to revert into comfort. We would kiss and everything would go back to the way it was.

With all the strength I had left, I broke our longing gaze and lifted my body up and away from him. "Ewan, we can't do this. I can't tear open an old wound, can't risk another heartbreak." I whispered and turned my face the other way and yet, I felt a hand tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers afterwards, like he had done so many times before.

"I understand." He smiled and his voice sounded so pleasantly smooth when he spoke beside me. "I know I will never deserve you but if there's one thing I don't regret, it's the time spent with you. I would have not gone back home if there had been even the smallest chance that you had wanted this."

Our eyes met and I remembered the way I had looked at him more than ten years ago. Adoring, for there was nobody whom I had loved for so long. I touched his face with such slight and tiny butterfly caresses and then my hand smoothed out the hair on the side of his head.

The devil on my shoulder told me that kissing Ewan could never feel as wrong as it should. His nose was tilted at mine and my breath must have grazed his for a second. Maybe my downfall would be my fault because I was dangerously close to kissing him. He would push me back into the cushions. He would kiss me like he had come back and he would taste like tea and gingerbread.

Our bodies gravitated towards one another and as I leaned in, I felt him drowning out all of the alarms that had been ringing inside me. Could we really try again? It could feel serene, numbing. Would I even care if I made the same mistake twice? His eyes flickered down to my lips and he carefully closed the distance. We could try.

Wait a minute. Rewind.

A mere inch away from his lips, my eyes shot up and I felt the gears turn in my head. Promptly, I pushed myself away by a hand firmly placed on his chest. "Not go back? Wait, did you or did you not break up with your fiancée for a chance to get back together with me or-" I was about to pass this as a stupid thought when I caught a glimpse in his eyes. They darted to the side and the way he looked at me afterwards and didn't respond spoke a thousand volumes. His body had tensed up and he failed to speak the truth or even exhale.

The strand of hair fell back in my face as I tilted my head in disbelief.

"Oh.. my god." I suddenly felt repulsed and got away from him. "You didn't break up with her at all! You're still engaged? And you're here trying to kiss me? What the fuck is wrong with you?" I cried out angrily.

He tried to hold me back by my elbow. "Just one word from you and I will call off the wedding."

I shrugged him off. 'Homewrecker', the last point on my list of faults. "Oh, no! Nooo no no, no. This cannot be happening again. You know what? That's it." I jumped up and leaned over him, spitting out my rage. "I can't believe I almost fell for that twice. I was this close-" I showed him how close by bringing my fingers an inch apart together. "-to let myself be wrapped around your finger again, letting you into my life- my... my bed- while a hurt woman is sitting at home, hoping she's the only one for you. Am I supposed to feel flattered?" I practically yelled out.

I threw my hands up. "Well, if this is closure, then it's a good thing." Strangely, I felt nothing but release. All this tension, heavy weight and guilt fell off my shoulders as they shook with a cold, ironic kind of laughter. Count myself deluded, he hadn't changed one bit. Oh, I was so done with him.

"Why?"

"Because you're a fucking ocean and I'm an ocean and we can't be a lighthouse for each other."

"What? Darling-" he began but I interrupted him, emphasising each word. "Don't darling me." I bit out. He had gotten up and it was obvious that I was inviting him to leave my house. "You should go back to your fiancée and if you have any decency, ask her to forgive you for deeming her one aspect of your choices. Or ask yourself if you're doing her or yourself a favour by getting married at all." I was finally putting a bullet into the head of our relationship. This wasn't the storm after the calm, this was the dying breath of whatever past we shared.

"I see, if this is the wrong time-" his silly excuse was interrupted by my moment of clarity.

"It's never the wrong time, it's just the wrong person." I closed my eyes against my palm, letting the truth sink in. This meant the right person at the wrong time was still the right person. Oh, Pedro. I was such a fool.

I sobbed out, desperately aware of whom I let simply leave. "I love Pedro and I met this person, you know this person I want to take care of and am comfortable with like I've known him my whole life and I don't have to pretend anymore, be something I'm not or be... anything. I've never- I've never cried so much because I finally thought I knew what true love was." I spoke through tears.

Of all people, I wouldn't have guessed that Ewan would be so moved by my outburst. His lips had parted as he truly reflected upon my heartbreak and seeing the tears forming in his eyes only made my cry harder and uglier. "Pedro said he loved me and I turned him out." I balled my hands into fists. "I loved him since the first time we met and I will love him forever and I wouldn't have it any other way."

A moment of silence and defeat wavered into the room, in which I sniffed my tears away.

"You need to go to him," Ewan said and I looked up from my hands.

"What?" I asked dumbly and found myself at the receiving end of a soft, compassionate smile.

"Tell him you love him. If the man has two wits together, he will beg you to take him back immediately." Ewan said. My gaze flickered back and forth, trying to find the lie in his eyes. "It's very clear to me. You both want to be with each other. What are you waiting for?" He said like it was just that easy.

Well, could he be right? Neither Pedro nor I could ever feel complete again. If I just vowed my undying love then, maybe...

Slowly, I started nodding. "You're right." Determination clawed at my bones. My skin felt antsy. "I'm going to tell Pedro I love him."

Ewan was properly grinning now. "There, that's the Nini I know."

I huffed out a confused laugh and was about to leave immediately when I smelt something burning. "Damnit, the biscuits!"

"Fuck the biscuits! I'll deal with it. You go." He ushered me away from the kitchen.

"Thank you," I said, hectic and passionately and kind of, still mad at his audacity. "For making me realise what's important. Show yourself out!" I threw back over my shoulder as I ran towards the door.

"Nini, wait!" "Hell, what now?" "A coat, put on a coat!" Ewan called after me and I yanked the first coat off the hanger I could find and jammed my feet into a random pair of boots.

"Goodbye, Ewan!" I slammed the door behind me, skittering to a halt at the edge of a pavement covered with a thin layer of snow.

"Taxi!" I screamed and put myself in harm's way to make it stop in the middle of the street. The driver honked at me but I had already ripped open the door and climbed in to shuffle into the seat and tell the him to push it. "To Red Hook! Go go go!"

I would knock on his door, I would knock it down if I had to, I'd cry out how much I loved him, that I wanted to share my life with him- should I have brought a ghetto blaster?

We were driving too slow, the traffic was riling up my nerves but I had a smile stretched from ear to ear when jumped to the edge of my seat. We were nearly there.

"Stop the car!" I ordered my driver and he looked back in confusion. "Ma'am?" "I said stop. I'm walking." I paid the man a hundred dollars and moved out of the taxi to run the last block while trying not to stumble across my open laces.

But just when I turned around the corner into his street, I was stopped dead in my track. My feet came to a skittering halt and the shock ran down my spine colder than the winter's chill.

There he was.

I saw Pedro walk down the road and I stared for a while as the world around me disappeared.

It was unmistakably him and he looked so well. Pedro was walking down the street towards me, to his apartment building with an umbrella in his hand and a gorgeous woman hooked onto his arm, shielding her from the snow as they talked and laughed.

My lips parted as I took in the scene before me. She was so pretty, young, with dark hair and long legs, a model beauty queen. Each carried a grocery bag under their arm and she leaned into Pedro who was grinning about something she said. He draped his arm around her shoulders and she gave him a long kiss on his cheek as she held his cloudless face in her palm. His hand rested on her back affectionately when they shared a laughter. My heart shattered anew.

I was cold but I shivered for a different reason. They walked inside, not noticing I stood here, nor anything around them.

I remained in the dark, freezing, undetected, watching them enter the building and disappear into the warm light with smiles on their beautiful faces.

The orange glow of the city lights got reflected in the white streets. The snow fell tantalising slow from the heavens as the innocent intruders on earth that they were.

I stood there for several more moments longer to digest what I had just seen. Pedro was fine, more than just fine apparently. What did I expect? He was a handsome and kind man, he could have anyone. It couldn't have been hard for him to find someone new fairly quickly. Too late. I was too late.

Looking up the snowfall without explanation, I wished it was me up there. All those white specks swam before my vision, spiralling down the black sky and circling so perfectly among their kind and yet so alone in their journey. I stared at the descending frost and could finally relate to their short existence as I imagined all the things I should have said and done to prevent this. As I caught a snowflake, I watched it melt in my hand and it was the saddest thing I'd ever seen.

I turned and felt numb as I walked home in whiteness, dragging my feet down the street and not caring about the world any longer once it had stopped turning. Walking along the empty street, my eyelids flickered like the movies, in a screening of my dream that had slipped out of reach.

Part 26

Translation notes:

(dut): Zuur prium - (eng): grump

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal rpf #pedro nation #pedro pascal/oc #pedro pascal fanfiction series #pedro pascal ff #pedro pascal ao3 #pedro pascal actor fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal angst #angst #pedro pascal ofc

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thesinglesjukebox · 9 months

Text

††† - "INVISIBLE HAND"

youtube

Claire recommends a Deftones/Far superduo with an ungoogleable name. (Literally! "Your search - "†††" - did not match any documents.")

[6.09]

Ian Mathers: Wait, is ††† just Chino from Deftones doing noisy synthpop? Did I forget about this? Was I not informed? [8]

Claire Biddles: This time last year, ††† released a cover of George Michael's "One More Try", a swoony bit of December melancholia that also served as a direct acknowledgement of inspiration. Much like Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor, Chino Moreno has always carried Michael's influence in his vocal performance, and no more so than in his work with †††, his Depeche Mode-ish duo with producer Shaun Lopez. In "Invisible Hand", Moreno's croons are propelled by internal drama, lifting and surging in the middle of words. His lyrics are either enigmatic or nonsense, depending on one's position, but the song itself is dense with narrative. Lopez switches modes and textures with every verse, laying a sheet of synths only to shoot through it with ten-foot-tall industrial drops; stabs of synthesised voices are weaponised; glass shatters as if in a locked room. Listening to the song, looking at the blue-lit model on the album art, I'm struck by the commonalities between the sheen of '90s/'00s alt-rock and Michael's contemporaneous "adult" period: the thread that links "Spinning the Wheel" and "Digital Bath", ending up with "Freeek!" and "Invisible Hand" -- the kind of industrial that isn't made from scrap, but from chrome coated in silk. [9]

Michelle Myers: What kind of Deftones girl are you? I'm from the Saturday Night Wrist era, but I probably would have told you my favorite album was Around the Fur if you were a metal dude I bummed a lighter from at a party in 2007. Anyway, I like this as an album cut, though I'm not sure it stands on its own as a single. Still, nobody does hot, sleazy angst better than Chino Moreno. [6]

Micha Cavaseno: I've said plenty about Chino over the course of my life, so let me go over to Shaun Lopez (or "Slopez" for those of us with far too much familiarity) first. At one point, this guy was a great post-hardcore guitarist, responsible for a number of great records with his band Far. "Love, American Style" and "Bury White" still get regular play from me, and even though that comeback album was bad and his post-Far band The Revolution Smile was some of the worst middle-of-the-road radio rock possible... the guy's had great moments! Chino -- again, I've said so much about my love for the guy! Crosses... ? Always getting worse! Part of it is that Shaun is such an unimaginative producer. So many of these riffs and little digital stabs of "hard clubby synthpop" just come off like the worst sort of adult-oriented electronica. Deftones have been mostly uninspiring to me in the last decade and a half, but if I wanted Chino doing his best faux David Gahan over Phantogram-level cliches, I know he's done better. (Team Sleep was right there! And all their gimmicky electronica was perfectly in vogue with the '00s!). So here I am, begging these men to get off TikTok, stop scrolling through legions of goth girls calling themselves "baby bats" dancing to warmed-over faux-'80s music mislabeled as "darkwave," and get their heads back in the game. [2]

Katherine St Asaph: Chino from Deftones going Dave Gahan mode (NOTE UPON REREADING: pun actually not intended, god) over a song composed entirely of bridges and final choruses. So when the actual bridge and final chorus arrive, they're identical, no more tension to be had. The half-time bit at the end could have gone somewhere. [7]

Nortey Dowuona: I was kinda excited to hear Chino's powerful yet silky voice rise over the swollen stolen valor of the 808 kick by Shaun Lopez, who also provides the newly drowned synth keys and seething guitar. But then they decided to add a Phil Collins drum track throwaway for the chorus. Big sigh. At least it's only a test. [5]

Alex Clifton: When the synths hit in the chorus this is pretty cool, but the rest of the time it feels like a knockoff Imagine Dragons song. [5]

Brad Shoup: The AWOLNATION EP was a dud, so this will have to tide me over for yowling modern rock with self-conscious electronic production choices. (Well, this and the Pumpkins' space opera.) Chino's voice remains a marvel. His sighs still don't feel like shtick, which is why I'm amazed at how much I enjoy them on the chorus paired with bog-standard synthwave. [6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: An expertly executed take on some shit I really, really don't want to listen to -- every big noise and faux-gothic tone here has clearly been assembled by true appreciators of a dogshit form. The hook soars and the bass breaks the speakers and oh my god this is so tedious. But honestly, I respect it -- relative to the active rock and alternative radio baseline that these guys are pushing up against, this is a masterpiece. [4]

Frank Falisi: That sound is stuck in me. You know the one. [10]

Tim de Reuse: An unnerving, staccato vocal sample and an pleasantly grimy bass stab segue abruptly veer into a competent synthpop cruise. It'd go down smoother if the lyrics reached beyond the vaguest tendencies of early-aughts nu-metal. By their tone I understand that we're not happy, but I haven't a clue what we're supposed to be upset about. [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#chino moreno #shaun lopez #deftones #crosses #music #music writing #music criticism #music reviews #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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te-pu-si-ti · 2 years

Text

The Burnt City: NYE Remix

One month on?! I've finally written it up.

What a night. What a privilege to be a part of it. What a joy to ring in the new year in my favourite place.

I was already in the party spirit right from the start. The mood in the queue was infectious - everyone greeting each other, saying hi to old friends or meeting new ones, appreciating each other's outfits and wondering what would happen once we got inside. My heart was already full before I even entered the building.

To my surprise, they had released a cast list - and a number of the roles had two names next to them. So, as predicted, there would be some switching going on.

Sally gave her entrance speech the same as always - I didn't hear a word of it, but we all cheered at the end.

"Welcome to my exhibition," said Hades, "Part museum, part maze, part party." Oh, the suspense was killing me.

I started in Mycenae - I had a rough plan of all the scenes I wanted to hit, and 80% of them were in Troy. So I started here, because I wouldn't be back until the finale.

It was the right decision. The first remix switch of the night was the phone call to Agamemnon, which I watched from the mezzanine. The phone rang... and it was the Nokia ringtone. All of Mycenae burst out laughing. Vini picked up, and instead of Iphigenia, it was... "Hello? Is it me you're looking for?"

I've had many experiences in The Burnt City, both deeply personal and beautifully communal. But I've never been there laughing with a hundred other people before.

Not all the song choices were so comedic, but I loved it all, because all of a sudden I was seeing everything with fresh eyes. I found myself paying more attention to the choreography than usual, shocked out of my routines.

Lizzo, Taylor Swift, The White Stripes - and Whitney Houston, Chaka Khan. A mix of modern and classic hits.

I stayed in Mycenae up to Agamemnon's staircase ascent - to the music I knew from the opening titles of The Fall. Then I left, to arrive in Troy in plenty of time to see Hades (a song I didn't know) and Persephone (a song I didn't know, but I had a feeling).

My knowledge of the show served me well, because if there wasn't a scene occurring, the soundscape was mostly normal. I had to seek out the moments with songs.

I stuck my head into Peep for some water, and very nearly - very nearly! - walked out. Because I wasn't sure if Peep would be remixed or not. And I heard the intro music to Sweet Love. And I very. Nearly. Walked right out. It's the providence of the gods that I didn't, because I witnessed Nance (Mallory) singing Closer by Nine Inch Nails. With choreography to match. To Cici (Ali).

And that's when I went straight to the bar and got myself a rum punch.

Peep was a GREAT place to be. Fred Gehrig was on as his incomparable Kampe. Nathan's Orpheus led a singalong of Hopelessly Devoted To You. Sam Booth's Hades spoke-sang one of the many earworms of the night, Never Ever by All Saints.

I left Peep near the end of the loop, to catch the tango (Ain't Nobody, Chaka Khan). I also caught a glimpse of one of the performer switches - Polydorus was lying on the ground in the tenement square, and another Polydorus was stood right by him in a white mask. I wish I could have seen this switch in detail, or any of the others, but I wasn't in the right place at the right time. By the time I got to the loop 2 blinding, Hecuba had already switched to Fania.

I stayed in the Klub to watch Kampe reset (Fred Kampe shows were heartbreakingly numbered, I wanted to spend this moment with him. This night was also a send-off to the departing cast, whose last shows were just a week after this). Then, I went down to Troy square, basically to catch some of Hecuba's greatest hits.

At the birthday party, Luba was singing the impossible opera from The Fifth Element - maybe my favourite choice of the show.

I watched Hecuba's premonition about Polydorus, not because there was anything remixed about it, but just because it's a beautiful scene, and because Jordan and Fania are wonderful. I just enjoyed the moment, no FOMO.

After that was DDR, and I was dying to see what Dobbie had picked for that.

What could live up to Fire by Fatrat?

How about Moana?

The pop version of How Far I'll Go.

Sure, why not?

I never know where to go from the invasion. Run after Eury or Neo? Or stay with Hecuba? Follow Cassandra and Agamemnon??

Luke's Neo ran past me but I decided to watch Hecuba for just a moment (it's *my* remix and I can watch her if I want to!). When she left Alighieri's, I split off from the crowd and up to the Klub, where Georges Laocoön was still dancing marvellously.

Laocoön runs out, Neo runs in, and the last time that I see Luke Murphy do his absolutely devastating dance in the Klub, it's to The Weeknd, Blinding Lights.

(This is the one scene, by the way, that we have confirmed had a different song for each of the 3 loops. So it was a surprise to the performers each time.)

I went to see Hecuba in the shell bedroom, and before the scene finished, I rushed off to Peep to see You Should See Me In A Crown. Actually, Lorde's Royals. Or rather, a mashup of the two. (A perfect song for Naomi to sing, suits her voice so well)

Follow Kampe out to the Troy finale - how can things already be nearly over? It went by so quickly! I heard drum & bass, I was pretty sure I knew, and the reaction from the crowd confirmed it. The witch's rave from Sleep No More.

Everyone was cheering, whooping , hollering, and I have *always* wanted to cheer when Polymestor has his eyes ripped out, and by gods we all did. I always have a swell of emotion during the blinding and especially the Troy finale, and I felt it stronger than ever and got to let it out.

Of course I rushed off before the finale finished properly, because it was still a busy show and I could not risk any black masks stopping me from getting to the other finale.

Overall, everyone was remarkably well behaved. I didn't run into any issues with the audience - granted, I wasn't trying to follow any characters and I didn't get anywhere near a 1:1 door the whole show. But, knowing it was an audience full of regulars, I didn't even try to get a spot at the front of the circle. I hung back.

The Mycenae finale began as normal with its droning sounds. Only when everyone was down the staircase did a remixed track begin: Adele - Skyfall. And then at the end, Daft Punk - Around the World. Perfect.

Oh, how we applauded. Clapped until my hands stung. Cheered my lungs out. We filled that warehouse with all our joy and gratitude of the past 9 months.

The lights came up, and suddenly I realised I had no idea what to do next. Where were we going? I won't say much about the party that followed, except it was wonderful and so much fun and I love everyone I spent it with. And after we got kicked out of The Burnt City and the Dial Arch, I could not get to sleep the whole rest of the night because of everything racing through my head.

Kat & Carl & Naomi kept Peep running through the party, Maya and Will were on DJ duty, and Sam, Omagbitse, Ali & Jahmarley were running around being fabulous entertainment on top of it all, so extra props to them. Oh, and one more thing: We truly don't deserve Keyboard Sam.

The night couldn't have been much more perfect. Maybe this is the only SHOPTY we get, maybe it's the first of many events to come. Either way, it was special.

#the burnt city #punchdrunk #shopty #the burnt city remix #remix #i just 🥲🥲🥲#they announced it so late and we were sure they weren't going to do something for new years #and then THEY DID #and it was wonderful #there's nothing like being at an event where everyone loves the thing just as much as you #writeup

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imaginedisish · 3 years

Text

Like an Animal (Bruce Wayne x F!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!!! So It’s 2:00am...and I only proofread this once. I’m getting pretty lazy with proofreading, so I’m sorry if it’s loaded with mistakes. I’ll check back tomorrow. Anyway, here’s the sex pollen fic!!! I really hope it doesn’t totally suck. It’s based on “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails. I would’ve titled it “Closer” but someone else already has a Bruce fic under that name so it didn’t feel right :) Anyway, enjoy!

Summary: After the Riddler strikes again, he leaves some unusual clues behind for you and Bruce...including a strange green dust.

Warnings: SMUT! It’s completely consensual (and there is mutual pining), but bc this is a SEX POLLEN fic, imma give a dub!con warning. 18+, cursing, violence, grammar mistakes, and once again, some canon divergence with a Nightwing!reader/life long friend!reader but it’s not really important to the plot at all so you won’t even notice.

Word Count: 4,407

You swallow firmly as your boots clunk against the ground. The music blaring from the DJ booth below echoes off the walls of the club, the sound ricocheting through your eardrums and back out again. The metal floors of the balcony vibrate underneath you, threatening to fall onto the packed crowd on the dance floor.

You let me violate you

You let me desecrate you

You let me penetrate you

You let me complicate you

The red and white flashing lights mixed with the undeniably loud, crashing bass of the song that was currently playing, hypnotized the sweaty bodies dancing beneath you. They didn’t even notice when you and Bruce took out the bouncers. The fight was uninteresting to them, normal even. It was just another night in Gotham, just another brawl at the Iceberg Lounge.

You didn’t exactly love clubs. They were overwhelming and chaotic to you, which was a hellish combination, but happened to be a perfect elucidation of what Gotham was at its very core. It was an uncontrollable nightmare, one that you and Bruce swore to fix. You keep that thought in the back of your mind as you trudge on through the club.

“So, what’s the plan?” You question, trying to raise your voice over the cumbersome noise. You weren’t quite sure why you were at the Iceberg Lounge to begin with. Earlier, Bruce had said that it was where the Riddler’s clue had said to go, and so you went. You look over to Bruce, searching his voice for some sort of answer.

His blue eyes gaze into yours in return. “We need to get into the club within the club,” He says it nonchalantly, expecting you to know exactly what he was talking about.

You furrow your brows in confusion underneath your eye mask. “There’s a club within the club?” A small smirk plays upon your lips. You involuntarily snort at the thought. It seemed comically absurd, but the reality of its existence was far grimmer than you had imagined.

“It’s safer for certain people to be…” He trails off, searching for the right words. “Unethical there, where they can’t be seen.”

You quickly connect the dots, nodding your head in response. A slight nervousness creeps up on you, twisting a knot in your stomach as your heart pounds rhythmically against the walls of your chest.

You look behind you, keeping watch, as Bruce pushes the button for the elevator. There are no guards visible, which seems odd to you. Last time you and Bruce had gone to the Iceberg Lounge, you caused more of a ruckus. The bouncers latched onto you like leeches, putting up a real fight. This time, they fought just a little and fled.

Something was off.

The elevator dings and Bruce heads inside. You’re frozen, your nervousness growing, the uneasy feeling continuing to settle further into your gut.

“Ready?” He asks, concern heavy in his gruff voice. You’re still staring behind you, watching the sweaty bodies clash against each other under the strobe lights.

You nod, finally entering the elevator.

“You sure?” He asks again, pressing the button that leads to the club below. Bruce wasn’t always this attentive to you, this kind. It’s a bit shocking, and you know it must mean Bruce knows that something is wrong.

You shake the feelings off, replacing them with a confident facade. “Yeah definitely,” You push out. “Why?”

Bruce’s eyes squint, as if he’s surveying you, looking right through you. “Just making sure you’re okay.” There’s a softness in his voice. His icy exterior melts away, revealing the soft spot reserved for you, the very thing he tried his best to hide. You were his Achilles-heel. If something happened to you, he’d never be the same. He normally hid it well, but not today.

“I’m fine,” You assure him, but his face doesn’t change. His lips are still pursed in disbelief, his eyes still glued to your own. “I just feel like something’s wrong,” You finally admit.

Bruce opens his mouth to speak, but the gliding open of the elevator doors cuts him off.

The club is completely empty. Not a single person is seated any of the tables. The servers and bartenders have seemingly disappeared. Half drank glasses of whiskey, wine and martinis are scattered atop almost every table, indicating that people had been there recently. The very same music playing upstairs rings out downstairs as well, as if people had been dancing just seconds ago. Scraps of unfinished food line dirty white plates; black cloth napkins with lipstick marks and food remnants are thrown about the floor.

The place had been abandoned, but only recently.

But the only thing you can focus on is the music. It’s almost as if it’s louder down here, more distracting, headache inducing.

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

Bruce walks towards the right to inspect one of the tables. You look to your left. There’s a faint line of something red, presumably blood, trailing towards a closed door on the other side of the room.

“Hey,” You whisper, catching Bruce’s attention. You point to the red line, apprehensively walking towards the door it leads to. Bruce rushes to your side, walking with you. You grab the nightstick attached to your holster on your side, holding it tightly in your hand as you get closer to the door. Bruce grabs the knob and twists it slowly, opening the door.

In the center of the room, tied to a chair behind a table, is yet another victim of The Riddler, his face wrapped with duct-tape. You look away from the body and down to the ground, your nausea and nervousness growing by the second. Bruce approaches the body, inspecting it carefully.

You look back up and notice two boxes. One has a post-it-note that reads, “To the Bird.” The other, in the same writing, says, “To the Bat.” You look over at Bruce, who seems to be more focused on the body than the two “gifts” that the Riddler had left for you.

The sound of heavy, stomping boots cuts through the tension. “Gotham PD!” Somehow rings out above the incredibly loud music.

“In here,” Bruce says simply, almost as if to ignore or undermine their authority. It was his way of saying, We got here first. We got here before you. You’re too late.

Gordon walks through the door, a slight gasp escaping his lips. “Well shit,” He says, taking his place next to Bruce. You can hear the cops shuffling around behind you, knocking tables over, searching for something, anything. But you and Bruce already knew there was nothing, save for the two clues that the Riddler left just for you.

Once the scene is clear, the forensic investigators get to work. Bruce and Gordon are off in a corner discussing what had happened, but you simply stay in the room, staring at the two boxes, wrapped up in bows like birthday presents.

After a few minutes, Bruce walks back over to you. He picks up your box and hands it to you. He grabs his and begins to undo the bow.

You rush through yours, practically tearing the bow off. You’re too anxious to wait another second. Your thoughts are clouded by what could possibly be inside.

“Slow down, don’t open it until-,” Bruce tries to warn, but you rip the cover off, cutting him off in the process, yielding his words useless. Bruce jumps to you, trying to push the box away from you and onto the table, but it’s no use. A puff of green dust emerges from the box, landing on both of your faces. The cops and investigators quickly exit the room, luckily unscathed.

You close your eyes for a few seconds, expecting to feel something, but there’s nothing. At least not yet. You open your eyes hesitantly, looking back down at the box that’s now in Bruce’s hand. There’s a small card. You pick it up.

The cover reads, “Get well soon!”

Your hands shake as you open the card up. It says:

You have a half an hour,

Before it kicks in.

And if you can’t figure it out,

You’ll both end up like him.

Your eyes widen. You pass the card to Bruce, and he grabs it with his free hand. He opens it up carefully, and after a second, the box in falls to the floor with a thud.

He reaches for his box and knocks it over so that the green dust is released away from the two of you. Once the dust dissipates, he grabs the box and opens his card. It has the same “Get well soon!” design as yours.

Bruce recites the card out loud: “I make the Riddles; you solve the crimes. There’s no justice in Gotham—only lies. Now there’s nowhere left to hide. How far would the Batman go to make sure he and Nightwing don’t die?”

Your first thought would be to go to the hospital, but you know you can’t. That would be the end of everything. Your identities would be revealed. The Gotham Project would be forced to end, and all of this would have been for nothing.

“We need to leave,” Bruce whispers, grabbing you by your wrist. He collects the two boxes, taking the lead and pulling you out the door. He ignores Gordon’s pleas to stay put as he finds the stairwell that leads back up to the main club. He pulls his grappling hook off his utility belt and sends it launching up to the landing at the top. Bruce grabs your waist, pulling you tightly into his chest.

He presses a button and you’re quickly hoisted to the top. He helps you over the railing, following close behind you. He then unlatches the hook with one hand, his other hand still firmly holding your waist. He pushes you towards the door, his grasp on you shifting to your hand. He pulls you across the mezzanine as you look down to see a now empty dance floor. The strobe lights are still bumping to the beat of the music, barely illuminating each step you take.

He brings you to a different door than the one you had come in from. It leads you to the alleyway that Bruce had parked his bike at the end of.

“Take your suit off as we walk,” He commands, letting go of your hand to do the same. You do as he says, stripping yourself of your eye mask, revealing the dark black eyeshadow around your eyes. You struggle to slip out of your suit, settling on jumping out of it instead.

You hand the different pieces to Bruce, and he shoves your suits, along with the boxes, inside the center console of the bike.

“Get on,” He says, throwing one leg over the motorcycle. He puts the key in the ignition and the engine turns over. “We don’t have much time.” His voice trembles a bit. He tosses you your helmet before putting on his own. You nod, doing as he says, slipping the helmet down over your matted hair and getting on the bike. The minute your hands find their place around his waist, he takes off, the wheels screeching against the wet pavement.

You get back to the cave in a flash. Bruce practically carries you off the bike and inside, his hands pressing firmly around your waist. He lets go once you’re settled in.

He frantically walks back out to the bike, grabbing the boxes from the console and bringing them inside. He sets them down on the counter and then opens a drawer. Bruce pulls out a pair of gloves, a small scraping knife, a cup, and a few toxicology test strips. He gets to work quickly, scraping the dust into the cup with his gloved hands. He adds a touch of water before slipping the test inside.

You find yourself watching him more closely than normal. You’re enamored by his movements, hypnotized by each grunt of frustration that falls from his lips. You’ve always had some sort of feelings for Bruce, but normally you’re able to hold them down, to bottle them up. Despite how strong they were, how intense they were, those feelings never got in the way of your friendship with him. But something was different now.

You couldn’t ignore them.

You find yourself focusing on the way the muscles in his neck flex and contract as he breathes. Your gaze settles down on his gloved hands. His slender fingers wrap tightly around the test strip, and you can’t help but stare as he stirs.

Suddenly, you feel a pulsing heat radiating from below. The heat rises up through your chest to your cheeks. Your heart pounds rapidly as your breathing grows heavy. You feel like you’ve run a mile in the middle of a heat wave.

That’s when it finally dawns on you. This was it. This was the poison finally kicking in.

“B-Bruce,” You stutter, your mouth going dry. “I think it’s happening.”

Bruce whips around to face you, chucking his gloves off in the process. You can feel a thick line of sweat developing on your forehead. The pulsing feeling at your core extends up to your heart. Bruce rushes over to you, the newfound closeness causing your breath to hitch in your throat. He kneels in between your legs, his large palms resting on your thighs. You involuntarily moan at his touch. You’re shocked at how sensitive you are.

“Just stay with me, okay?” He pleads, his voice cool and crisp, cutting through the heat like a knife. His words make you feel relieved, make you feel good.

That’s when you realize, Bruce was what you needed. The dust wasn’t necessarily poison. It was…

“E-Ecstasy,” You stutter, struggling to speak. The feelings were starting to alter you, to engulf you. “The poison…I think it’s p-probably some toxic level of MDMA,” You manage to get out. You can feel yourself dripping in your underwear. The strange pulsing at your core quickly begins to feel like a fire.

You curl yourself into a ball in the chair, rubbing your thighs together, searching for some sort of relief, some sort of friction. You look up at Bruce. His pupils are massively dilated. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he takes you in, looking you up and down. He quickly stumbles back, as if he was embarrassed that he’d ever look at you like that.

“No,” He mutters to himself, struggling to get back over to the counter, yanking open random drawers, searching for something to cure you and him. He knows there’s nothing, but it’s worth a try. “There’s gotta be a way to-,” He cuts off, his palms pressing firmly into the counter as he hunches over. He groans audibly, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

You push yourself out of the chair, practically tripping over your own feet as you walk across the room to him. “Bruce?” You whisper, resting your hand on his. The mere contact of your hand on top of his is enough to drive him mad.

“We need to,” He pauses, taking a deep breath, trying to collect himself, “to take care of this.” His normal confident, nonchalant attitude has faded into nothingness. “I-If we touch ourselves…” He says softly, hopefully, but you know that won’t be enough. It won’t satisfy whatever need you had deep down inside. Something in you told you that it wouldn’t be enough for Bruce either.

He chews the inside of his cheek, fighting to stay composed. You notice every twitch, every movement, Bruce makes. You watch his chest heave, rising and falling rapidly. You squeeze his hand a little tighter, testing the waters, waiting for his reaction. He shuts his eyes in response, forcing himself to resist you.

“We don’t have much time,” He explains as one of his hands slides off the counter and down to his crotch. He groans as his fingertips trace the outline of his strained length. “You need to-,”

But you’re one step ahead of him. Your hand slides down the inside of your pants, pushing your underwear away. You moan audibly as your fingers finally reach your clit, and Bruce’s eyes fly open at the sound. He watches you as you touch yourself, his hand reaching in his own pants to take care of himself. The site of him getting off to you is more than you can handle.

“Bruce,” You whimper in between labored breaths. “It’s not gonna be enough.” You take a step towards him, your fingers still circling quickly around your clit. You pick up your pace, pressing harder and faster. It feels good, but all you can think is how much better it would feel if it was Bruce’s fingers instead of your own.

“Just keep touching yourself,” He orders, his hand pumping up and down his shaft from inside his pants. He takes another step towards you, closing the gap between you. He rests his forehead against yours, his hot breath blowing against your cheek. “Be a good girl and don’t stop. Keep going for me.”

You can feel yourself getting wetter at the sound of his words. You need him more now than you did seconds ago. But you do as he says, rubbing yourself harder.

“Such a good girl, just like that,” He praises you as he continues to stroke himself, and you feel yourself fall apart. You imagine him fucking you, taking you right then and there, and you finally reach your peak, your walls clenching around absolutely nothing. You keep your hand in your pants, circling slowly and softly around your heat. You feel a sense of temporary relief. Your breathing and your heart rate seemingly slow down.

But you can still feel your core aching for more. It wasn’t enough.

As if out of nowhere, the intense heat starts up again. A fire spreads across your skin, engulfing you in its flames. You shut your eyes, struggling to fight the pain. It doesn’t work.

You needed more.

“Bruce,” Your voice is low and unstable, threatening to crack under pressure. He slows down his pumps as his eyes bare into you. “I-It didn’t work,” You admit, your voice breaking in between heavy breaths. You press yourself even closer to him. “I need you.”

He pulls his hand from his pants and brings it to the waistband of your leggings. “Are you sure about this?” He asks, his lips just inches away from yours.

You swallow harshly and nod against his forehead. “Yes, please,” You beg, the aching becoming more than you can bear.

He sinks to his knees as his fingers work diligently to slide your leggings and underwear down your thighs, casting the pieces of clothing to the other side of the room. Bruce stands back up, his fingers immediately traveling to your clit, circling firmly against the spot you needed him in most.

You groan out at the feeling of his fingers rocking against you. He dips them down a bit as they stagger into your folds, spreading around your slick.

“Fuck,” Bruce mumbles. “You’re so wet.” His words send you into a frenzy. You grind against his hand, wanting more. He takes the hint, inserting two fingers inside of you without warning. Your walls clench around him as his free hand finds your clit, circling around the sensitive bundle of nerves rapidly.

“B-Bruce,” You cry out, his fingers pulling in and out of you with ease. His pressure on your clit increases as he settles into a rhythm.

“You like that, don’t you?” He whispers in your ear, almost teasingly. You can feel your walls contracting around him, begging for release. Still, you knew this wouldn’t be enough. You needed him, and you needed him now.

You reach your hands out towards his crotch, feeling his length up and down. You slowly yank down on the waistband of his pants. Suddenly, his fingers pull out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He grabs your hand at his waistband, stopping you before you can go any further.

He picks you up, taking complete control, and places you down on the desk of the cave. He knocks a few things over in the process, ignoring them completely as they fall to the floor and break. He was only focused on you. There was something in his eyes, something you had never seen before. It was a primal need, it was animalistic.

“Lay back,” He commands, and you do as he says. “Good girl.” His praises alone could send you over the edge. He spreads your legs apart with his warm, wide-open palms. He pulls his sweatpants down, his cock finally springing free. It was far larger than you had ever imagined. He lines himself up at your opening, the head of his cock rubbing softly against your wet folds.

“Bruce,” You mewl. “Please fuck me, I need you.” And you really did. You needed him more than anything else.

You always did.

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

Bruce stares deeply into your eyes, stroking his cock, base to tip. “I’ve always wanted this,” He confesses, his head teasing you. “Not like this…” He trails off, bringing a hand up to your cheek, his fingertips gently tracing against your skin. “But with you, I mean. Always.” The admission only ignites the fire in your stomach, furthering your need for him.

Suddenly, he pushes into you. You groan at the feeling of his length filling you up completely.

“Y-You’re so tight for me,” His voice is gruff and raspy as he twitches inside of you. Your walls tighten around him, taking him in. He gives you a second to adjust to his size before pulling out and slamming back into you again. It felt so good, so satisfying, so right to feel him inside of you.

He quickly finds a pace, thrusting into you deeply, almost recklessly. He pumps in and out of you hungrily, as if he’s trying to force himself further inside of you, to meld into you. He leans down over you, supporting himself with his forearm. His lips come crashing down on yours, his tongue brushing over your bottom lip, tasting you, savoring you. Your lips melt into his, teeth clashing together as you catch your breath.

His lips remain on yours as his free hand finds its way to your clit, rubbing quick, firm circles around your swollen heat.

“Yes, God yes, Bruce,” You cry out as he hits you in the very spot you needed him in most. He picks up his pace, circling your clit faster, harder.

“You’re taking me so well,” He says in between thrusts. You shudder at the sound of his words. “Doing so good for me.”

He pounds into you, his hips meeting yours with each pump. He grunts and curses, whispering your name like it’s a prayer. His length fills you up completely with each push, and it’s growing more and more overwhelming by the second. You can feel yourself quickly approaching your climax.

Bruce can feel it too, your walls tightening around his length. He presses down harder on your clit. “You’re close for me, aren’t you?” He whispers, his rhythm becoming sloppier, more frantic, indicating that he’s not too far behind.

You nod your head once. “Y-Yes,” You whimper, stumbling around your words in pure ecstasy. “So close.”

Bruce smirks, ramming into you. “Then come for me, now,” He demands. He pumps in and out of you a few more times before the waves of pleasure wash over you. Your walls flutter around his cock again, finally feeling release as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Bruce is incredibly close too. He speeds up, grabbing your bare hips with the palms of his hands. You feel him twitch before finally spilling inside of you. His hips continue to crash into yours for a bit longer as you ride out your orgasms together.

He slowly pulls out of you. He’s cautious, apprehensive, wanting to make sure that the effects of the dust had finally warn off, or subsided at the very last.

“Are you alright?” He asks, carefully pulling you up from the desk and into his chest.

You rest your head in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head. His nails drag across your scalp, scratching lightly, soothingly. “I think so,” You say back. You wait a minute, but there’s no new aching, no new fire engulfing your body. It seems to have settled down.

“What about you?” You ask, your arms wrapping around him, settling on his lower back.

He inhales deeply before speaking. “I think so too,” His voice is quiet and calm.

You two stay like that for a while, refusing to move. It’s comforting, especially after all that had happened. Thirty minutes ago, you thought you were going to die.

“Do you remember what I said before?” Bruce asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

You lift your head, smiling lightly, remembering instantly. “Yeah,” You answer. “I do.”

"I’ve always wanted this. Not like this…But with you, I mean. Always.”

He smiles back. You’d give anything to see him smile like that for the rest of time. “I meant it.”

“I know,” You respond. Bruce never lied to you, even in near death situations. He once said that it was because he hates lying to the people he loves, the people he cares about. That wasn’t the first time he had made you feel loved, made you feel important. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “I’ve always wanted you too,” You confess.

“And I still want you now,” He says. Those were the words you were hoping to hear, the feelings you hoped he had felt.

You press your face into his chest. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Tags: @spookysins

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irulaan · 2 years

Text

this isn’t meant to last— eddie munson x reader (TEASER).

summary: he’s full of shit, so are you. until you catch feelings.

word count: 0,6k.

warnings: self-hatred thoughts. one degrading word — i think. very ooc eddie, he wouldn’t do this, he’s a sweet boy <3). angsty.

a/n: this feels beyond personal to me <3 be nice bc it’s pooorly edited oops. this piece is inspired by the downward spiral by nine inch nails.

you always would lay there for a while, yearning for something you know it wouldn’t come. but you were expecting it, anyways. your hopes crashed into the ground as you heard his voice. eddie’s voice always felt far away from your reach, like he wasn’t speaking at you at all. and his tone was stoic, wounding your mind.

he had a few phrases to tell you. sometimes you think you could predict them; you should go, it’s too late. you should pee, i’ll help you. you should drink some water. you’ll be clean in a minute. maybe there were more —it has to be more than that. maybe you forgot. but your lack of shame made you smile at the little gestures you had took and hide deep inside your heart. in your state of mind everything was sugarcoated, everything was seen through rose coloured glasses. his annoyed eyes melted into the cutest stare someone would gave to you, any of his actions would turn into the purest type of care. you couldn’t hide he made you, in that moment, feel all fuzzy inside.

in the back of your mind, you knew it was all bullshit.

you cursed yourself everytime you accept his invitations. you were put into a personal hell everytime he called and said two o three things and you whispered a little okay, i can do that. and you were walking into the same situation from a long time now.

a few minutes later, when you feel he was gettin impatiente, you decide to dress yourself. feeling ashame of what you were doing to you body and mind. it was hard to look your clothes around the own mess eddie had in his room, even harder gather them together. pulling the green skirt up felt like the worst job ever. and pulling the panties back up felt so humilliating after you spend at least one hour looking for a cute one at the mall just in case he would say something nice. just so you could see the beginning of a smile (because you knew he was capable of smiling).

you’re a pathetic whore. oh, it even sounded like he was inside of your mind, or did he said that outloud? maybe he said that before and you can’t remember.

“i got hellfire on friday night” he spoke from outside the room, startling you. you were glad he was out of the room, without saying a thing, leaving you alone with those heavy thoughts.

sighing, feeling so nervous you could throw up right then on the dirty carpet, you gather some strenght to reply. “yes, i know. so i guess i see you this saturday?” walking again through hell, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. hoping you could see him again sooner than later.

your feet inside your white sneakers decided to walk outside the room, searching for him. he stared into your eyes from the kitchen. he took the time to puff on his cigarrete. “i don’t know” he shrugged.

you swallowed, leaving his trailer wasn’t easy anymore, even if you didn’t want to stay holding eddie’s disinterested stare. a cold breeze slipped through some window, giving you chills. your hugged yourself thightly. “it’s cold outside” you said, in a pity attempt for him to show he cares about you.

he shrugged once more, thinking in what you wanted to hear. what, do you wanted to talk about the weather? “yeah, you should have brought a jacket” you frowned at his cold reply. the reply you just expected, but didn’t want.

you lowered your head, opening the door to finally get out of that place, whispering your next words, “i’m a fool. see you, then” hoping he would realize you wanted him to care. you wanted to help him. that if he lets you, you could care.

if you lingered on the door for just a few more seconds maybe he would have agreed with you. you, indeed, were a fool.

ooookay that’s all (for now), please let me know what you think !!! would love to hear anything. english isn’t my first language.

reblogs are appreciated too <;3.

loooots of love, mwah ! - poppy

#eddie muson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst

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tteokdoroki · 4 years

Text

saccahrine sundays | k.bakugou

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 5.3K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, married!au, fluff + smut.

♡ summary: katsuki can never find enough time to get some sleep. between being a full time pro hero, a father and a husband— hours of rest are hard to come by. unless it’s one of those sweet, sweet saccharine sundays.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, pwp ( characters aged up to late twenties ), somnophilia, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), fingering ( female recieving ), tummy bulges, mating press, pregnancy!kink, daddy!kink, breeding!kink, light!exhibitionism, cumplay + needy bakugou has a praise!kink... <3

♡ author’s note(s): brrr hey guys! it feels like forever since i last posted a full fic, january was bleh so im happy to get this out !! special thanks to @greenchild for feeding me this idea and thank to all of you for your love, support and 2.8K. i love you all, enjoy <3

♡ masterlist | requests

katsuki bakugou couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full nights sleep. between being a pro hero and family life, the full eight to nine hours of pure rest wasn’t easy to come by— now he wasn’t complaining, he was far too grateful for the life he lead to whinge and whine about the finer details. bakugou was right on track to becoming the number two, he had a beautiful wife who loved him and supported him no matter how reckless he might have been and two little brats that he adored more than anything. he was miles ahead of his high school classmates, never letting up or resting so like he said, there was no room to complain.

but even as the faintest wisps of light slip through drawn curtains and a vermillion gaze settled on the old all might digital alarm clock ( reading 9:01 AM ), katsuki bakugou can’t help but feel grateful for the sleep he just had. no interruptions from wailing toddlers or infants who need changing, no late night call ins for patrols— none of that, just an arm around his wife’s waist and the soft sound of her breathing to coax him out of his sleepy state.

bakugou remembers now, a distant yet far from faint memory of where he and his wife spent two days of their honeymoon under slumber’s spell, having ravished each other the very night they arrived in paris for their honeymoon ( all mina’s idea, she had told katsuki it was the perfect destination for newly weds in love— and whilst the several districts his alien friend recommended did appease you, the blonde had promised to take you on a more luxurious getaway when he was hire up in the hero rankings ). of course that very honeymoon lead you to fall pregnant with your first little miracle— taiga bakugou, the very spitting image of her father except or the slight tilt to her nose and the sparkle in her eye that only her mother possessed.

raising her had proven to be both an enjoyable and exhausting experience for katsuki, with a matching explosive personality to rival even her daddy’s— there were many restless nights the pro hero spent butting heads with his daughter while his sweet spouse was away on missions and getting used to the field again. even during the pregnancy, full nights of rest were little to none— the cravings taiga gave you were almost unbearable for the blonde, not to mention the 2AM labour his little girl put you through...and yet he would repeat the last four years of lack of sleep all over again if it meant reliving every single moment with you. raising tatsumo was much better; however.

so as the weight of well deserved slumber lifts from katsuki’s shoulder’s he’s forced to deal with the memories of your sweet cries from the night (or rather, nights) he made you his wife. he stirs under cotton sheets, a familiar hardness pressing against his inner thigh as he recalls the way you tightened around him— “honey baby,” the desperate whisper tastes foreign, bitter across his tastebuds as he licks his lips. katsuki was usually much more composed when it came to sex, he could hold out for hours while you pleaded and begged of him to give you more. but this morning was different, very much so.

skilfully, the ash blonde slips a hand between your sheets, finger tips calloused with years of training and battle, dancing up your bare thighs from where you wear only his shirt and a pair of panties. the fingers trail up to your underwear, pressing them against your cunt as bakugou watches your face for any reaction— you twitch once before falling back into a deep slumber, letting your husband know that he can continue. he peels like orange silk away from your core and down your legs, half resisting the urge to sniff your undergarment like the dirty man he is but he decides that he can longer wait, already turned on by the feeling of your bare pussy against his hand.

the pro knows exactly how to turn you on, dragging is nails down your thighs just an inch from your wetness and his mind fogs with lust at the thought of the sounds you’d make for him if you were awake...not yet, he says to himself. his next move is to fuck your mouth, two of his digits sliding past parted lips from where you snore— gathering the drool that pools on the surface of your tongue. back and forth; move bakugou’s fingers until he’s satisfied with how wet you’ve made them with your spit. returning those very same fingers to your cunt, he parts your folds— already slightly sticky and hot with the nectar he’s used to savouring. if this were any other time, bakugou would be eating you out like a man starved of his last three meals but the rising sun tells him that his moments to fuck you are very few.

so now, he slides those lubed up fingers right into your tight little hole, shuddering under the sheets at how you automatically clamp around him— even while you sleep. katsuki’s vermillion eyes seek out your face in the warm light of the dusk, watching as your expression contorts into that familiar look of pleasure— lips blossoming into a cherry pout, brows furrowed as if you’re focusing on the way your husband makes you feel.

“fuck, honey baby, so good ‘n pliant for me even when yur fuckin’ sleepin’,” katsuki slurs against saliva that slips along his tongue, he’s hungry to fuck you, make you moan and scissors his fingers deep inside your obedient cunt in away that makes your slumbering body jump. pressing a thumb to your neglected clit, bakugou twists his fingers in search for your g-spot, pumping them into you with vigour. “gonna make you cum angel, baby, please cum while you’re like this s’you can take my cock.”

if there’s one thing pro hero dynamite knows, it’s that your body is a slave to him, no matter what state it’s in. your thighs part instinctively; giving your husband room to curl his fingers and press down hard on your pleasure spot— gummy walls sucking him in deeper. he makes you cum while you sleep, juices staining your supple skin, honeyed from the warm light outside.

“atta girl, cummin’ for your husband like that even when you’re sleeping— so fuckin’ naughty...” katsuki grunts, locks of sun kissed hair beginning to plaster itself against his forehead. his body shakes with the desire to be inside of you, his internal temperature rising with every second that he’s not sheathed within your walls. pulling his fingers away from your twitching mound, bakugou slides them, cum soaked and all, into his mouth to taste your very sweetness. “would eatcha out like a starved man, honeybee, but we don’t gotta lot of time left baby...”

with that, bakugou shuffles his sweats down enough for his cock to spring free, tip bright red and leaking against his toned, scarred abdomen. with practised ease, he hooks your right leg over his waist and positions your dripping cunny right over the head of his length. it takes everything katsuki has not to plunge deep inside of you, to abuse your tempting cunt until it’s formed into the shape of his cock but for once he wants to take you slowly, enjoy his time with your limp body at his disposal.

pressing his girth against your slick entrance, your husband sighs, coating himself with the remainders of your delightful release. the mess you made just for him, makes it easier for him to guide his cock between your velveteen folds that take him so well. his free hand comes up to brush over your cheek and even in the depths of your rest you manage to nuzzle into katsuki’s palm and make his coo— what a precious little doll you are, so good for him and always so obedient no matter what state you’re in. fuck, it drives him so insane that he can’t even think straight.

“...suki....”

fucking hell. the way you sigh out for him so mawkishly whilst you dream makes him twitch, not even half the way inside you. “c’mon honey baby, don’t go moanin’ my name like that when i haven’t even had a c-chance to make you mine yet—“ the blonde shudders, eyes screwing shut as he finally bottoms out inside of you. katsuki let’s out a choked moan, from deep within his chest while you welcome him into your lethally syrupy cunt. “ohh, fuck, that’s the stuff, good girl...”

bakugou’s thrusts start slow yet, forcing your limp body to jolt up the bed and your tits to bounce in tune with the rhythm of his hips— your little hole sucks him in so greedily, so selfishly, clamping down on him as if to prevent him from leaving your body as a whole. pro hero dynamite is shaken to his core, how can his precious baby take him so darlingly while she’s asleep, refusing to let go of him and keep his cock tucked away inside of you.

shit, shit, shit.

he wants to defile you, asleep or not, ruin how pure and angelic your body appears even after years of being together. it’s your fault he’s like this anyway, you deserve to have your pussy destroyed no matter the circumstances— ruby framed eyes threaten to roll back into his skull while bakugou picks up the swirl of his hips between your sticky thighs, you flutter and squeeze around the girth that’s stretched you out so many times before and yet you still remain a tight hole designed for your husband and your husband alone.

lips map their way up the column of your neck, committing every dip and scar and blemish to memory even though katsuki knows where each of them are. the amber colour of the morning sun highlights each of your marks, your husband giving you as many lovebites to match each one. “nn, suki...more..” you whimper, so quiet he almost misses it underneath the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin. could you feel how he deflowered you in your sleep? ruining such a good girl while you resting? he wants so bad to corrupt you from the inside.

static stretches across katsuki’s brain, crackling as his neurones fire and dopamine fizzes in his veins. cum. cum. breed her. it’s too soon but the blonde can’t help it, pent up and high on the morning sunrise— addicted to the taste of your skin licked with light perspiration. it’s been ages since he’s had you like this, can you blame him for not hanging on so long? bakugou lifts your thigh higher on his waist, using it as leverage to plough into the deepest parts of you, his precious wife, desperate to cream inside you before wake up.

“mm, know you’re close lovebug, won’t you cum for me suki?”

katsuki’s gaze hones in on you, vision blurred and hazy with lust from his impending orgasm. your own eyes are heavy with sleep but the soft smile on your face is filled with a familiar adoration and saccharine love that the blonde can never get tired of. he knows that you know your voice alone is another to send him speeding off of the cliff of release— your hole squeezing around him, beautiful hips that once brought his children into the world gracefully moving up and down to coax his girthy cock to its final release.

“honey baby,” katsuki whines like a broken man when you cup his face, hot puffs of air warming up the space between you. his hips don’t let up though, driven by the way you move against him beneath the sheets, he’s so close he can almost taste it. “c-couldn’t wait for you to wake up, needed you so fuckin’ bad...”

your mouth hangs open in a quiet groan, getting lost in the claps of sweaty bodies against one another and katsuki latches onto your lower lips to swallow your noise— breathing it in and letting it spread through his body like oxygen. “oh, lovebug, y-you don’t...” you pause, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the angry tip of your husband’s cock grazes against your gummy spot, sending your walls into a flurry of flutters that make katsuki twitch. “ ...you don’t ever have to wait with me, d-don’t hold back, kay?”

you’re a breathless mess, a sight to behold and he can’t take not having you filled with his seed any longer. the lazy push and pull of your bodies smacking wetly against each other become erratic thrusts, heat pooling in the abdomen of the pro hero boiling him alive in feelings of desire for you and you alone.

bakugou quivers from his lips to his toes when he cums, filling your slippery walls with a creamy white and lining your insides with the claim of your man. your man. your husband. “fuck, fucking hell, h-honey, gimme that pussy...gimmie that fuckin’ pussy,” his groans linger in the crisp early morning air, dancing with the static while he orgasms within you, endless bouts of white stuffing you to the brim. you kiss in an attempt to calm him, squeezing around his thick cock to ride out his high. you taste of orange liquor and manuka honey, addicting while he sucks lavishly on your tongue and spares you the air you need to breathe. ‘cause at the end of the day call you need is him.

“did you cum, precious one?” ever the gentleman, katsuki has to ask but even you can see in his blood red ruby eyes ( no matter how tired they may seem ) that he’s gearing up for a second round, shallow thrusts pushing his own release deeper into your fertile womb. there’s about thirty minutes until the kids wake up, but your lover can make you see stars in fifteen.

you shake your head once as bakugou rolls you onto your back— strong arms caging you into the prison if his love. large hands dance tenderly up the back of your thighs and you meet his eyes with such a saccharine smile his heart bursts at the sight of you. “you’re insatiable, lovebug,” the tingling notes of your moan caresses bakugou’s cheek as he manoeuvres your legs to fold you into a mating press, shifting his weight above you. “did you really need me that much, daddy bear?”

“think y’already know the answer to that, honeybee,” katsuki drawls, tripping over his words filled, oh so generously with blazing desire. he still remains sheathed inside you, a darling whine dripping from his cherry lined lips— the ones sore from kissing you— as he gives an experimental thrust into the tight heat of your core. you accept him willingly, opening up for him like a blossoming flower which makes katsuki’s hot breath stutter from the overstimulation. neither of you can look away, sharing the intimate moment of his length sinking into you— katsuki groans as you suck him in inch by inch before leaning over and attaching his lips to yours, licking at the seam of them in order to coax them open. his wife is a tease however; denying him the pleasure of sucking on her tongue...for now at least.

but it’s all worth it, for katsuki wants to burn the erotic sight of you beneath him into his mind forever. your skin shines like it was kissed by the setting moon, eyes hooded and holding a lust that only burns brightly for him while your chest heaves in anticipation of your husband claiming you for the second time that morning. “m-move suki, please—c-can’t...” the tail end of your pleas fall away with the fading night sky.

the man doesn’t need to be told twice.

save for a few shallow thrusts to get going, katsuki soon finds himself pistoning into you at an unruly, god speed pace. the blonde revels in the way one hand of yours twirls strands of his hair between your fingers whilst the other digs crescent moons into his blemished honey skin. helpless huffs and candied cries tickle bakugou’s ears while he presses your body flush against his and pins you down with his hips.

their movements don’t ever waver, cock catching on every ridge your damp pussy has to offer him, each thrust calculated amplify your pleasure that rolls in heatwaves throughout your body. katsuki’s mind grows blank, thick with the mirage you’ve cast over him from the way you push back against him, taking more of his inches into you.

“ngh, lovebug,” you say, high off of euphoria while katsuki’s leaking cock bears down harshly on your g-spot and you smile up at him deliriously— looking like the eighth wonder of the world. you grab the hand your husband uses to keep your thighs up and bring it down to your tummy for him to feel what you feel. “can feel your cock inside me, love, so big...makin’ my tummy bulge like a good daddy bear...”

something snaps within katsuki at the sound of your breathless praise; a feral blaze setting alight deep inside his chest— spreading throughout his body as his cock drives deeper and deeper inside your spongy, wet cunt— just about breaching the gates of your cervix. breed her. fuck her. make her swollen with your cum. bakugou can’t even think straight; intoxicated by the way you move against him, the way you look so full of him and his thick length.

he wants you to look full all of the time. so katsuki does with the only way he knows how. dropping his head to your neck, sharp attack your neck with blossoms of bruises forming under your skin in the name of love— you whine, a gorgeous symphony of his name against his ear while you tangle your fingers in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. “y’can’t jus...jus say stuff like that to me, honey...” bakugou croons against your skin, screwing his eyes shut while his hips pick up the pace and plunging his length right into your womb. the sounds of your arousal wetly spill into the sex scented air— fuelling katsuki to thrust into you faster. “not if you...n-not if you don’t want me to fuck another one of those shitty brats into you.”

as stuttered as his words are, bakugou means every single one of them. a primal desire activates in the back of his mind, overriding every single of senses. just the thought of lining your womb with his pungent seed, making you pregnant once again and seeing you round and full with katsuki’s child is enough to drive him off of the rails. And the pro hero knows that you feel the same, he can tell by the way your heat clamps down on his cock and strangles him, as if to milk him of every ounce of his cum.

“yes, want you to make me pregnant suki, make me a mommy again, please—!” you simper out loud, desperate tears springing to your eyes while the bed groans beneath you. visions of you round and swollen with a baby drives him to thrust into you harder, faster so that more and more of his precum spills into you. “know you want it, want it too...your cum, deep inside me—ohmygod suki—yes!”

bakugou slaps a hand over your mouth, watching as your sweet doe eyes brim with tears at the languid roll of his hips against yours. “careful honeybee, don’t want the kids to...fuckin’ hell... h-hear—“ he stutters, eyes rolling, limbs shaking violently. his other hand drops between your conjoined bodies, drawing vicious circles into your swollen clit to draw you closer and closer to the edge. star dust is littered behind your eyes, the bright white signifying the race to your high that only katsuki can give to you. “or do you want to be heard, you want everyone to hear how full you’re gonna become when i get you pregnant again. how you’ll whine and beg me to suck on your tits when you start makin’ that sweet milk for our baby. is that what you fuckin’ want, yn?”

you can’t help the way your pussy flutters around his cock that brutally grazes your g-spot— the dirty words your husband speaks like music to your ears. a symphony with his moans and the sounds of his balls slapping against your bare ass. “oooh, shit baby, you must do with the way your lil cunny clamps down on me—just like that...”

“oh god, lovebug please...cum...cum! need it daddy bear—can’t take it anymore,” you babble against katsuki’s hand, brain turning to mush at the unbearable pleasure. the knot in your tummy becomes tighter, close to snapping as the white light of pleasure clouds your view.

patterns drawn diligently against your clit speed up; turning to quick figure of eights to tease your orgasm. “‘course you fuckin’ do honey baby, my little breeding bitch. my sweet little wife who can’t wait to be a mommy again. take this cock, you dirty whore. take it and I’ll give you my fuckin’ baby.” bakugou slurs, losing all control as the pace of his hips begins to falter. you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, tip pulsing with the need to paint your insides.

your gazes lock within the frenzy, while your back arches and hips lift to take your husband deeper inside you. dynamite is feral like you’ve never seen before; an animal reduced purely back to instinct. unfocused red eyes become teary like your own with hot pleasure while they lock onto you but you know that behind lust; loved the adoration and love your husband holds for you. thats all you need to reach the edge and tumble into your orgasm,

it takes but a few more thrusts and a pinch to your clit before you’re cumming— release squirting out and splattering against bakugou’s toned abdomen.

the blonde never lets up while you cum undone on his iron hot rod, letting him pump into you with unrelenting feverishness. katsuki is desperate, needing an extra push even with you strangling his cock with your insides. “s-say you’ll make your daddy a daddy baby, say you’ll give me another fucking kid. fuck, fuck yeah...please honey baby—“ bakugou damn near sobs, trembling violently above you as his breath hitches with ever hiccup.

smiling gently, you pull his head to your neck, cradling your husband while his pace slows to circular grinds. “i’ll make you a daddy again, you can cum for me now lovebug...”

“shit, shit, oh god— cummin’...” thats all bakugou needs to hear before bottoming out inside of your abused hole— screaming against your bitten flesh and forcing his cock into your fertile womb as he sprays with his thick, sticky seed. white coats every ridge and crevice of your pussy while impatient thrusts slow to sensual grinds. you feel the tears of neediness soak the supple skin of your neck, rocking your hips against katsuki to milk his cock for all it’s worth— even if slow waves of his cum seep down your folds and to the sheets below.

“g’morning, katsuki,” you sigh blissfully, fingers combing through your lover’s sweaty mop of sun kissed locks. the pair of you lie still, limbs still intertwined as you catch your breath under the orange hues of the light outside.

your husband shifts his head to look at you, eyelids heavy over blood red eyes with a satisfied look on his face. he’ll never get over having you all to himself first thing in the morning— katsuki bakugou will always consider that a luxury and as he looks to you, a great smile soon takes his features. “yeah...good fucking morning to you too, angel face,” bakugou doesn’t dare pull out of you, intent on keeping his word. “love you yn, you’re always so good to me...”

katsuk’s lips mould into a pout as you continue your earlier ministrations of brushing back sweat slicked hair away from his face before pressing a chase kiss to his lip and making his cock twitch from over sensitivity, inside of you. he was always a sucker for the romantic moments after a passionate round of sex, he was a domestic, love struck son of a bitch what could he say? “suki...lovebug, you know you can pull out if it’s too much,” you remind him, the sound of your voice pulling his attention back to you. as he stares; katsuki maps out every detail of your face, the way your eyes glitter in the mellow light that peeks from between closed curtains or the slight dip across your cheek in the form of a scar from where you’d been injured on the field— he spends time committing it all to memory as if it’s the last time he’ll get to witness such beauty. “you’re staring, bug.”

“nuh uh, not pulling out.” huffing, bakugou leans up for another kiss, which you happily provide him with as he curls up onto your chest like a kitten seeking warmth. “keepin’ you plugged full s’you can get preggers like i fuckin’ promised.”

“you were serious?” you question him first, earning yourself another grouchy huff before your eyes roll and a comfortable silence sweeps across your bedroom, periodically interrupted by the morning birds waking up and chirping. “always a man of your word, huh bug? don’t worry, we’ll make you a daddy bear soon, but i’ve got to clean up before the kids wake up.”

“don’ you fuckin’ move— leave the dumbass kids, they’ll be fine on their own.”

“not with taiga’s quirk coming through, now move, you’re heavy.”

with that, you manage to shove bakugou off of you and he only hisses lightly as his softened cock hits the cold air, already missing your heat. the banter between you both as husband and wife is always light and you always win; he wants to bite back but anything he says will be soft on his sharp tongue. damn you and you being the love of his life. bakugou watches as you fix his shirt over your frame and head to your en-suite bathroom to make yourself more presentable to your kids— mumbling something about how many times katsuki came inside of you.

sure there was a lot of it, but he’d only cum inside you twice and he was trying to give you a baby. again.

the shower turns on and he can hear the sound of water running but it doesn’t cover your sweet voice as you call for him. he could never miss that. “katsuki bakugou, you horny bastard, i love you, my daddy bear!” you sing for him; making the blonde smile.

“i love you more, honey baby,” he chuckles back, tucking himself back into sweats before settling back into the ruined sheets.

bakugou was so luckily to have you and you’re beautiful children— he wouldn’t trade any moment of his life for the world except for maybe more time with you. he swore, he’d spend forever loving you if he could.

“daddy?” sweet thoughts are cut off by the groggy voice of bakugou’s eldest daughter, taiga, who stands in the doorway of his bedroom rubbing her cherry red eyes.

the blonde grins, rising from his place in bed and crossing the room in three short strides. he quickly crouches down in front of his little girl and ruffle her unruly mop of matching blonde hair. “g’morning brat, what’s up?”

taiga clutches her shoto plushy tightly, the one uncle todoroki had gotten her for her first birthday ( the one that bakugou hated because it was his daughter’s favourite— kirishima hated it too because he had always thought he was the favourite uncle ), and pouts down at her father, scowling sleepily. bakugou knows if you could see the two of them now, you’d be saying she was the spitting image of him. “tatsumo woke up n wouldn’t stop whinin’, fink he’s hungry, daddy!” the little girl grumbles, clearly still reeling in the after effects of her sleep that got cut short.

“how about we go get him and make some pancakes then?” katsuki suggests softly, hauling his daughter onto his bare shoulders and being mindful not to drop her stupid fuckin’— i mean her plushy to the ground. “y’gonna help me mix up enough batter for ya ma n’ brother, you got that brat?”

taiga squeals as at the new found height, wrapping a singular chubby arm around bakugou’s head for support, making his heart burst at the tiny hand that grips his chin. fuck, he loved his life. “only if we can add choco chwips, daddy!”

“oi, don’t you push your fuckin’ luck with me brat, ya mommy might let you get away with eatin’ shit like that but not me—“ bakugou makes an attempt to scold his daughter while they make way towards his son’s room, but he already knows he’s going to give into her. he can’t say no to taiga.

“i’ll tell mommy you cursed at me!”

“why you little sh—“

“careful, katsuki, if you keep cursing her out i might have to put you on punishment later,” taiga bursts in to wriggly giggles on bakugou’s shoulders, making it harder to keep her in place as you brush past him to grab tatsumo from the nursery.

“daddy’s gonna get in trouble!”

the teasing tone to your voice lingers in the air while you fetch your son, who seems groggy and pouty when he comes into katsuki’s view— wrapped up in your arms while you wear a cleaner shirt of his. there’s that glint in your eye, similar to the one your children posses when they’re doing something mischievous. and that alone tells the ash blonde he’ll be getting punished in ways that could lead to another little one rushing through your house.

bakugou can roll with that.

but for now; he reaches up and pinches taiga’s nose— telling her to stop running her mouth and sending you into giggles while you carry your children downstairs for breakfast. katsuki bakugou couldnt remember the last time he’d gotten a full nights sleep, but what he did know is that he’d always remember the very saccharine mornings he’d get to spend with you and your beautiful children after.

bonus:

“taiga, did you put chocolate chips in the batter even though i told you no?”

bakugou had turned his back for but a mere second to grab some milk for tatsumo; who played happily with smooshed bits of banana in his high chair— and suddenly, the batter was littered with the offending, tiny pieces of candy.

“no, it was mommy!”

“yn...”

you quickly throw your hands up in the air as defence, dropping the packet of sinful treats to the counter. “what? i’m having cravings, bakugou!”

“you’re not even pregnant, yn!” the man himself raises his spatula at you accusingly with a scowl, biting down on his tongue to prevent himself from cursing again.

you smile up at your husband, knowing he can’t stay mad at you for long. “but i will be, katsuki, it’s the thought that counts.” your eyes flicker up as you wipe the melted chocolate on your finger tips off with your tongue before moving to settle your daughter down for breakfast. bakugou splutters, cheeks flaming with a reddish rose at the thought of your soon to be baby and all the activity that comes with making one which makes you laugh. “oh and lovebug? your pancakes are burning.”

with a jump, katsuki turns to flick off the flame and save his batch of pancakes while you tend to your kids— leaving him to contemplate over your chocolate chip breakfast, how lucky he was to have you.

“i crave chocolate, can i get a pregnant?” taiga squeals shortly after.

“not a chance in hell, brat.”

♡ taglist:

@ozzy-bozzy @bakugous-mamas @meg-mystic @runningon-5percentsleep @cyans-bliss @husband-to-tomura-shigaraki @paintedr0ses1 @69meggg69 @sapphoscolonoscopy @toshidou @saucey-kneecapzz42020 @candybabey @alrunemara @greenchild

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