#all shitty owned by shitty management companies

[yestrday]

: ̗̀➛ YANDERE SALARYMAN IS A FOOL FOR YOU .

ahhh, looks like you caught the attention of an overworked white collar! who is truly the victim here, you or him?

( yandere, perverted man!!!, nsfwish but no s3x, hes creepy :(( ) + thanks to my bbg for being my beta reader mwah mwah

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who is constantly overworked to the bone by his abusive boss. He's clocked in so many overtime hours that human resources is beginning to suspect something, but his co-workers keep pushing their work onto him that he can't help but go overtime. Working days always seem to be like this— constant yelling by his shitty boss, papers jamming the printer, co-workers dumping more work on him before time-out, the side-eyes and whispers of women directed at him in the elevator, and somehow always forgetting to bring the lunchbox his roommate made for him.  He's a pushover with no backbone, so he spends most of his nights banging loudly at his keyboard and cursing his own spinelessness.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who's just a walking black hole of negativity. It's already bad enough that he's been dealing with a lot of mental baggage from his childhood, but this stupid fucking black company is making him this close to fucking losing it.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who only wants to go pick up a coffee after work and sees you manning the cafe. Just a sweet little thing, working their student debt away at the new cafe's that opened up near his workplace. He tells himself that it's all part of your job to smile and be polite but fuck— your sweet grin's making his hands go clammy and his voice tremble.The line behind him shoots him judgmental glances because the creep is blushing and sweating and stumbling over his words but if you were ever annoyed, you don't show it on your face. No one’s been this nice to him, but when your fingers brush over his shaking ones when you hand him his order, electricity spikes from his fingertips and sends his heart into overdrive as you flash him another service smile. He has never believed in a god before, but upon meeting you, he might as well declare himself religious.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who feels super guilty about drooling over you when you're several years younger than him. You're just a college student trying to finish your studies while he's a white-collar slave about to enter his 30s. The contrast between you and him is like heaven and hell, and he curses himself for being such a stupid filthy pervert as he palms himself to your Instagram page he's managed to find.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who is once again tired and about to die from another night of overtime, heading out to catch the last ride home and surprised to see you closing up shop. You brighten when you recognize him as one of your regulars (he could give two shits about the black coffee he was ordering when he was too busy ogling you). He stammers and shrinks when you ask him about how he's doing out of concern. You mention his eyebags and his pale skin and his overall sickly demeanor and you fret over him as you two walk to the station. He's at a loss for words when you force the ham and cheese croissant into his hands and tell him to eat up, before waving at him with a grin as you enter your bus.

Woah. So like. You're in love with him, right?

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who goes fucking crazy over this interaction. He knows, he knows, he knows, okay?! You’re just nice like that, but his affection-deprived mind is going into overdrive and can’t help but overthink. But he has to stop himself. You’re probably only like that because you pity him, huh? Whatever’s on his pallid face and baggy eyes must have had you pitying the minimum wage salaryman. … This pity act is probably only to make you feel better about yourself, handing croissants out to whichever near-death white collar you see on the street like some sort of good Samaritan. Well, he doesn’t need it! You can fuck off with your—

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who finds himself in front of the cafe again, nervously adjusting his tie and wiping his clammy hands on his slacks before pushing the doors open. You’re on the morning shift today (haha wow what a coincidence) and the grogginess from waking up extra early today is wiped clean after you look up from the tabletop you’re wiping and shoot him one of your megawatt smiles. Fuck fuck fuck why’d you have to be so damn cute! A man could get the wrong idea, you know?!  

“Espresso for Doppo!” Your bright voice rings throughout the cafe and the salaryman has to gulp down his anxiety as he makes his way to the counter. His neck grows hot as he feels glares boring into the back of his head, and the only relief he has is your sunny smile when he picks up his order. “Thanks again for your patronage! Quite the regular here, aren’t you? All staff’s been ecstatic over a Matenro member stopping by here.”

Ugh… The staff knows him? Not only is an insignificant water flea like him taking up a space in your mind, but there are others as well? What could they be possibly saying about him? He nervously laughs, eyes darting around the place as he fidgets. “Uh, ah, y– you know me…?”

He can feel the look that you’re shooting him right now, and he wants to dig a hole for him to hide away in. “Of course! Matenro, the winners of the first Division Battle… waaah, I was so ecstatic when I saw you for the first time! You guys were so cool. I was even cheering you on during the second Division Battle.” You sigh sadly. “Well, Fling Posse’s good, but a Shinjuku local’s gotta stay loyal, y’know?” Oh, so it’s just about being loyal. What was he even thinking, getting his hopes up that maybe you liked Matenro, liked him, for their rap. Stupid, stupid, stupid— “Oh, but don’t get me wrong though! I love the way you guys do hiphop. Especially your screaming shtick, Kannonzaka! Can really feel the pent-up stress from Chuohku all the way to here, haha!”

Doppo shrinks into himself, using his work bag to try and hide the shaky smile that’s been threatening to break out onto his face. To… To think the cute barista he’s been crushing on for a month now is a fan of him… This kind of stuff only happened to Hifumi, not him! He doesn’t… He’s not quite sure to handle the situation. Instead he nods as you gush over Matenro and at the end, finally squeaks out a tiny little, “Th– Thanks!”

You shoot him a pitying look. Clearly all that rap about his pent-up stress and rage is clearly stemming from somewhere. Sighing and looking at the building in front of you, you see the skyscraper’s soulless windows and architecture and sigh. “Enjoy the coffee then, Kannonzaka. Being a black company worker is stuff but!” You shoot him a grin and a thumbs up. “I’m rooting for you and Matenro!”

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who’s reeling from your compliments and praise. Oh… Oh god. You– You liked him! Actually liked him. And, and you said you were cheering for him too! Well, him and Matenro, but still! He goes back to his apartment feeling more chipper than usual, something that his roommate notices. The creepy smile matched with the dark laughter as he enters their apartment isn’t exactly charming, but he’s happy to see him happy nonetheless. He thinks that he’s been wearing that gloomy look for far too long and he’s glad to know that he’s found someone to brighten up his days.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who has gained some courage to hold longer conversations with you. When you’re working the night shift and run into him after closing up, he’s glad to know that you take his dry humor very well. As the two of you silently walk together to the station, he can feel his heart beating so fast that he might near collapse. He wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks and swallows down the anxiety in his stomach. It’s already weird to see a near 30 man walking together with a fresh-faced uni student alone and at night, so he might as well not add more to his creepiness.

YANDERE! SALARYMAN who has to bite down his tongue when you press up against him in the jampacked train. You smell like coffee and pastries and he— he tries not to sniff himself— probably smells like sweat. A sudden lurch of the train has you clinging to him to maintain stability and oh god oh god oh god you smell so fucking good shit. He suppresses the urge to sniff your hair. Instead, he (oh gosh he was really about to this) shakily wraps one arm around you, his palm on your lower back to offer you more support. You smile at him so sweetly, as if the dirty old man didn’t have the agenda of just trying to feel you up. Oh… oh gosh he can feel the dip of your lower back… trailing to your—

He hopes you don’t feel the tent down… there. Though with how tightly you two are up against each other, he highly doubts that.

“Bye Mr. Kannonzaka!” You cheerily wave to him as you both part ways at your stop. Though he is unable to match your energy, he waves you off with a faint smile before you bound off to your home. His eyes linger long as your figure disappears into the distance and he’s left all on his lonesome.

— Then he runs off to the nearest bathroom. People cast him weird glances as he rushes off to the farthest bathroom stall and sits on the toilet, burying his head in his hands as he tries to make sense of the numerous thoughts rampaging in his head.

Oh god. That just happened, didn’t it? Something straight out of those perverted doujinshis that happen on trains. And he was the ugly bastard, wasn’t he?! The weird, creepy, scummy ones preying on innocent girls that don’t deserve their fantasies. He was a hopeless case. He should do the entire world a favor and make away with himself, but then he couldn’t see your pretty face in the hell that he was going to. You didn’t deserve this—

His phone dings. He checks the text notification that comes from you.

[Your Name]: heya ! just curious about what brand your bag is. felt it on the train and dats sum serious quality leather!

He screams into his hand. The man in the stall beside him angrily knocks on their shared wall to shut him up. He rack his brain to try and figure out any possible way to properly answer without rousing suspicion until you send another text.

[Your Name]: just kidding~ (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ 

…

… You’re going be to the death of him, you. Youngsters these days.

you thought this was a general yandere fic, didn't you?! get hypmiced!!! /matenros you/

[a-killer-obsession]

PITCHING TENTS ⛺️

Kid Pirates x AFAB Reader Modern AU Campground Series

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

It wasn't something you'd ever admit to those who knew you, they all made the reasonable assumption that you went camping to spend time alone. At first, that had been the case, but you'd quickly come to learn that other single men your age were doing the same thing, and you found yourself loving the thrill of a romp with a stranger.

Masterlist || AO3 || Part One

PART 4/6 - GODDESS (Heat)

CW: sex with a stranger, afab reader, drug use, public sex, semi-public sex, outdoor sex, face sitting, p in v sex, body worship, roleplay, foot fetish, squirting, cumshot, mutual masturbation

WC: 4k

Taglist: @nocturnalrorobin @bbnbhm

The rest of your neighbours pulled into the carpark as you happened to making your way down the shop ramp, bag of ice in hand. Killer, behind the steering wheel of the noisy vehicle, noticed you immediately and pulled up beside the ramp with a shit eating grin on his face. You waited for him to roll down the window to talk.

“What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here on your own?” He joked, playing like he'd never met you.

“Getting ice for your friend's dead body,” you laughed back, feigning a cruel smile and holding up the bag of ice, “poor Kid couldn't handle me”

“Damn, you got him to shut up?” Killer snorted, “Hop in, we'll give you a ride back to your tent”

The passenger on your side in the back, Heat you now knew he was called, shuffled over so you could jump in the door closest to you. You had to almost throw yourself in with how tall the truck was, but you managed.

“Heat, Wire, this is [y/n],” Killer introduced you quickly before pulling up next to the gate to swipe his access card.

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled sweetly, sitting the bag of ice on the floor between you and Heat.

“Hey, do you come to this site often?” Heat asked, “I was wondering if there was anywhere for a bonfire you knew of”

“Oh, yeah absolutely,” you replied, “there's a field near the hiking trail that has a somewhat permanent burned out patch where the teens like to set a bonfire around New Year's. You gotta watch for the sheep if there's any in the field but the farmer doesn't seem to care about bonfires. You planning on lighting one up tonight?”

“Yeah, did you want to join us?” he asked, a little shyly. It wasn't hard to notice the way he was eyeing your exposed thighs in your slightly hiked up short dress, and you made no move to pull your dress down.

“Absolutely, Kid owes me a beer,” you smiled knowingly in the mirror at Killer.

“Oh does he now?” Killer smirked back, clearly catching your meaning.

“Met him in the pool,” you explained, mostly for the benefit of the other two, “kept the poor lonely man company since you lot left him here”

“The poor baby,” Killer snorted, noting the fresh marks on your neck and chest through the rear view mirror.

Heat grabbed the bag of ice for you as Killer parked in their spot, carrying it over to your own site without even having to be asked, what a gentleman. “Where you want this?” He asked as he followed you. You unzipped the tent door and opened the cooler for him.

“Just in here, thanks for carrying it,” you smiled, sitting on the edge of your tall blow up mattress. Heat spilt some of the ice as he noticed the large dildo sitting casually on the covers, right where you'd left it after pleasuring yourself before heading to grab ice. You knew full well it was there, and made no attempt to hide it, curious as to how he would react. Flustered, was the answer you got.

“Fuck, sorry,” he stuttered, kicking the dropped ice out the tent door before it could melt. The small room wasn't quite tall enough for him to stand, but it was pretty close, a damn lot taller than his own shitty tent. An average height man would no doubt fit easily in here, but he was absolutely taller than average. “I should get back,” he scratched his head, awkwardly standing sort of bent over in the first chamber of the tent.

“You don't have to,” you purred, opening your legs just enough for him to get a flash of your lace panties, “but if you have to, let the others know it's about a ten minute walk to the field, come grab me when you're ready to head out later”

“Okay, yeah, no problem,” he coughed, fleeing with a vibrant blush on his face that made you giggle at his bashfulness.

You weren't surprised when Killer presented you with a plate of barbecued meats and deli salads before you even had a chance to make your own dinner. A thanks for ‘keeping Kid company’ he said as he left the plate with you. A few hours later and the blue mop of hair belonging to Heat appeared at one of your mesh windows, having been inside your tent to watch some more trashy tv on your laptop.

“We're gonna head out soon if you're ready?” He asked awkwardly, trying not to look in the window in case you were… doing something.

“Thanks Heat baby,” you cooed back, closing your laptop and grabbing a small backpack you'd filled with the essentials, aka snacks, a small blanket, condoms, and a bluetooth speaker, in case they didn't have one.

“We have plenty of booze in our cooler if you just want to drink what we have,” he suggested as you zipped your tent shut behind you.

“That'd be fantastic,” you hooked your arm around his and could already see the pink blooming on his face. “Shall I lead the way?”

The other three boys collected their things, Killer carrying a large cooler, Kid and Wire carrying bags of store bought firewood, and Heat grabbing a backpack and slinging it over his other shoulder before letting you lead him away. You led the boys out past the camp store, now closed, locked up and abandoned for the night, through past a old wooden sign marking the start of the hiking trail. The first ten minutes of the trail was actually just regular grazing fields, and Heat being a gentleman helped you over the wooden stiles that allowed for easy passage over the wire farm fences. You almost lost your footing on the uneven ground a few times, the grass full of small holes from the cattle and sheep that were occasionally rotated through the fields. As you approached the edge of the forest you veered off to the side, leading the small convoy to a decently sized circle of rocks in the middle of a secluded field, the middle of the rocks filled with ash and the remnants of old fires. Around the rocks were several small wooden benches that someone had added a few years ago, you weren't sure if that was the farmer's or camp owner's doing but it seemed they had some sort of agreement regarding the bonfire field. The boys dumped their things around the ring and set about starting the fire, the daylight quickly fading as the sun disappeared behind nearby mountains on the other side of the valley that the campgrounds were sitting in.

“Nice quiet spot,” Killer noted.

“Yeah, teens like it cos nobody gives a shit if they underage drink out here,” you explained, “this time of the year nobody comes out here though”

“And you said there's a hiking trail nearby?” Wire asked. You wondered if it was the first time you'd heard the tall man speak.

“Yeah, we passed the sign for it on the way in but its not well known since you gotta be in the camp carpark to see the sign, only locals and avid hikers with guidebooks come out here.” You pointed to the thin dirt trail that disappeared at the edge of the forest, “real trail starts just over there. It's about a three hour hike from start to end,” you looked at his long legs, “maybe one and a half for you,” you smiled at him, “and ends on the other side of the camp, through a few more fields. Then you just gotta make a ten minute walk back up the road to get back to camp. I prefer to just get to the summit and come back the way I came though, there's a lot of trucks on that road that couldn't care less about hikers, and no real path, just grassy shoulders.”

“Noted,” he mumbled, sticking his hands in the pocket of his hoodie as he sat. He looked a little ridiculous on the short bench given his height. In fact, they all looked a little funny. Apart from the bench you were forcing Heat to share with you, your arm still linked with his, the others had all opted to claim their own bench each. Just as well, you weren't sure these handmade benches could handle more than one of them at a time. Big boys. Big… big… boys, you smirked to yourself. “I'll probably check it out tomorrow, if the weather is good,” the hooded man continued.

“I was planning on heading up myself,” you replied, “you want company?”

“No,” he replied sternly. You rolled your eyes, grumpy man. You had a feeling you wouldn't be climbing that particular tree this holiday. No matter, you had Kid and Killer, and Heat was looking promising.

Hours passed and among good company you'd managed to get a good buzz on. The fire was roaring, but the last of the wood had just been thrown on. Wire, being the grump he was, had already excused himself and headed back half an hour ago to head to bed. You felt like you hadn't learned anything additional about the man, who had spent most of the time sitting quietly while everyone else talked.

At some point you'd managed to cheese your way into Heat's lap, sharing a joint with him while he stroked your bare thigh. His hands were so very warm, they left goosebumps whenever they moved and exposed your thigh to the cool evening air. One of your hands was buried in this hair, scratching the back of his head, you swore you heard a small whine from him when you first did it.

“Come on Kid, these two have more than enough company,” Killer laughed, a little wobbly on his feet from drinking as he stood.

“What, but I wanna see her tits again,” Kid complained.

“Again?” Heat blinked. You snorted a laugh at the whole situation.

“Kid, if I show you my tits will you leave?” You offered. Kid pondered for a moment, his shaved brows furrowed in drunken thought.

“Only if I can give em a grab,” he decided. Killer rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Alright, deal,” you stood and pulled your dress over your head, and Heat made a surprised little gasp as your tits fell loose from the fabric, having not worn a bra. “You don't mind, do you Heat?” You purred, making yourself comfortable in his lap again, this time with your back to his chest. He'd been half hard underneath you all evening but now he was twitching to life. You encouraged him to wrap his arms around your waist, mostly because you were cold now without your dress and he was so very warm.

Kid smirked and raced over, taking one of your tits in his hand enthusiastically and groping you. You were certain he would have stayed there forever if Killer didn't drag him away by the ear with a disgruntled “come on big guy, let Heat have a chance”, but not before taking a cheeky grab for himself. You got up just for a second to turn in Heat's lap as the others finally left, not that you wouldn't have gladly fucked Heat in front of them anyway.

“Finally I have you all to myself,” you smirked, rolling your hips against him. He let out a shaky rasp and grabbed your ass, fondling the soft fleah and leaning back a little as you grinded against him.

“Are you… are you sure you want me?” He asked nervously, not meeting your eye as his confidence suddenly faltered. “You wouldn't rather go with them?”

“And miss riding this pretty face?” You cooed, running your fingertip over his fascinating facial scars, “you will let me ride it, won't you pretty boy?”

“Yes! Of course,” he replied enthusiastically, his confidence reignited. “Please”

“I love your enthusiasm,” you purred, your lips so close to his he could feel your breath against them, “but I wanna get a taste of you first, before you taste like me”

He groaned and squeezed your ass as your lips crashed against his, his tongue greedily hunting for yours immediately. The groves on his scarred lips felt nice against yours, an interesting new texture, and his tongue was strong and hot against yours, saliva and moans exchanged as you rolled against him. He let you dominate the kiss, a refreshing take for you. Nine times out of ten, when offered a willing hot wet hole, the strangers you pulled liked to dominate you, and you had no problem with that. You loved the rough fucks they gave you and the dirty degrading things they called you while they filled you. But once in a while came along a rare gem like Heat, soft and sweet and ripe to take a juicy bite from, an opportunity to flex your more dominant side.

“You're so cute,” you mumbled against his neck as you broke the kiss to nip and suck at his tattooed neck, tracing the inked maroon thorns with your tongue, “so unbelievably sexy as well, I think I'd like to ride that pretty face now though”

Heat made a soft moan and swivelled on the bench so his legs were either side of it, pulling you with him. He laid back and you took the opportunity to properly grind yourself against his erection now that he was flat. You could feel the wet patch in your panties as you rubbed against what felt like yet another massive cock, what luck you were having. He admired the way your breasts bounced slightly with every movement, he wanted to suck on them so badly but he'd be patient for now, he knew he'd get the opportunity later. You stepped off him for a moment to remove your panties, leaving you entirely naked in the field. Heat thought you looked like a goddess as you straddled back over him, the orange light of the fire making your skin glow like you yourself were a deity made of fire, your hair shiny and wild in the firelight like it was set a flame.

He watched with hungry fascination as you sat on his chest, your pussy within eyeline, glistening in the flickering light as you spread yourself for him with your index and ring finger while your middle finger ran circles on your clit. His hands travelled up your sides, making you shiver, till they found your breasts and grasped them, his thumbs flicking over your pert nipples, making you buck slightly.

He stuck out his tongue for you, begging for you to ride it, wide and hot and wet, and you smiled fondly as you accepted his invitation, lowering yourself onto his face with a moan. His hands moved to your thighs, wrapping around them and holding you down tight as he lapped at your pussy, bullying his thick tongue inside you. One hand reached around to play with your clit, and you leaned back with your hands on his strong thighs as you savoured his mouth on you.

“Ohh that feels so good pretty boy,” you moaned, one hand burying itself in his hair “good boy Heat, good boy”

He whimpered against you and doubled his efforts, your hips rolling and rutting against his tongue and nose on their own accord till you shook and came on his face with a short spurt of fluid. He nosed your clit as he used his tongue to clean you, moaning as the aftershocks of your orgasm rocked through your body. You shuffled off his face to sit on his midriff, leaning down to kiss him and tasting yourself on his lips, still wet with your release.

“Fuck,” you said with a shakey voice as you sat back up, “and here I was intent on riding that dick too, but you made me cum so damn hard my legs are jelly”

He gave you a proud grin as he sat up, moving you down to his groin with strong hands like you weighed no more than a bag of grapes. He pushed your hair out of the way to kiss your neck, running his tongue up it and tugging on your earlobe with gentle teeth. “Let me take care of you then, goddess,” he mumbled against your neck.

“Goddess? I like that,” you purred.

“I'm gonna,” he kissed down your chest, “worship,” kiss, “every,” kiss, “part of you.” You moaned as he took your breast in his mouth, running his tongue over your nipple and sucking on the malleable flesh before letting it go with a pop and moving to the other, his groans vibrating against your skin as you eagerly grinded against his clothed erection, leaving a wet spot on the front of his pants. God you wanted him so fucking bad.

“There's a blanket in my bag Heat,” you moaned as your hands threaded through his hair. Never before had you ever felt so intimate with a stranger, but the way Heat touched you and laid soft kisses over your chest and neck made you feel like you were with a long time lover. “Lay me down and make love to me”

“Whatever you want, my goddess,” he groaned against your bare skin. You slid off his lap and grabbed your bag, handing him the blanket. He laid it over the grass and offered you his hand, and he helped you lay on the blanket, the fire still lighting you in a warm orange that made his dick twitch at your beauty. So smooth and soft in the firelight, bare to him like you'd emerged from the fire itself just to sate your lust with him, a humble devotee, blessing him with your mere presence.

You watched with hungry eyes as he removed his clothes piece by piece, devouring him with your eyes as more and more of his muscular body was revealed to you, a hand between your spread legs to touch yourself as you watched him. The firelight made small glints on the underside of his large cock as he stood in front of you stroking it, the two of you getting off on watching each other get off, and you bit your lip as you realised he was pierced and the glints were the light catching on the metal ball bearings. His cock was somehow longer than Killer's, wider towards the end, a set of three piercings like a ladder up the underside.

Enjoying the goddess roleplay he was setting, you leaned into it, slipping off your sandals, the only items you still wore, and lifting a foot to point it towards him. “Come worship me, come show your goddess how devoted you are”

He stepped closer and took your ankle in his hand, running his tongue up the sole of your foot, making you squirm at the tickling sensation. He groaned as he took your big toe in his mouth, sucking on it and watching you with a dark look in his eyes that made you unbearably wet. It was quickly clear to you that Heat enjoyed feet, you often found that men were more willing to let themselves go to their kinks when it was with a stranger, and you were happy to indulge even if it wasn't really your thing. Your other foot lifted and pressed against his cock, pushing it up against his abdomen so you were stroking him with the sole of your foot. He whined against and bucked against your foot, the piercings feeling strange and pleasant against your sole. Desperate to feel your wet heat on his aching cock, he kissed up your ankle, lowering himself to the blanket like a man kneeling at your altar as he kissed all the way up your calf and thigh. He stopped for a moment to enjoy your pussy, already craving that taste again like a man addicted, before you pulled on his hair with a whine, needy to have him inside you.

He took the hint and quickly fumbled around in his discarded pants, kneeling between your legs while you stroked him languidly and he searched his pockets. He pulled a condom from them and threw the pants aside. You let him go so he could put the condom on, and you spread wide for him as he lowered himself over you, his tip pressing against your entrance.

“Come worship me, Heat,” you moaned, your eyes locked with his as his brows furrowed and he sunk inside you. “Oh fuck, yes~”

His hands and mouth drifted over your body as he started to thrust into you, kissing and touching whatever he could reach, the pull of your walls on his cock driving him insane with lust. He leaned back and tucked his hands under your ass, forcing it upwards, the new angle making you whine as he supported you above the ground effortlessly while still fucking you hard at a rapidly increasing pace.

“You're so beautiful goddess,” he whined, “so fucking beautiful”

“I want your cum, worshipper,” you moaned, “show me how much you love your goddess, make me cream on your cock and paint me with your sacrifice”

He let out a throaty groan as his thrusts became irregular and desperate, fucking into you with everything he had. You reached down and rubbed your clit furiously, crying out as your orgasm crashed through you and you squirted, the hot liquid splashing against Heat's abdomen and dripping down his thighs, glistening in the firelight and soaking into the blanket beneath you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pulled out and tore off the condom, raising himself slightly to jerk himself off over your stomach, “I'm cumming goddess, fuck, accept my sacrifice please”

Long ropes of cum shot out over you, spraying over your breasts and neck with wet splats as he threw back his head and let out a carnal groan, one of his hands gripping your thigh for support. He crumbled on himself as he finished, his hand still wrapped around his softening cock, panting hard. When he finally came back to earth enough to admire his work, you ran two fingers up your stomach and swiped the cum, sucking it off your fingers with a satisfied hum.

“Such a good boy for me Heat,” you purred, “come lay with me, your goddess is pleased”

Heat collapsed on the blanket next to you, uncaring that you were covered in cum as he draped an arm over you and pulled you close. The two of you laid there for a while longer till you began to shiver, and Heat made quick work using his shirt to clean you up, only bothering to put his pants back on while you redressed yourself. He snuffed out the fire and carried your bag for you as he led you back to the campgrounds hand in hand. He was prepared to go back to his tent alone, but you insisted he stay with you, so the two of you curled up in your bed and you fell asleep with his warm chest against your back, his leg trapped between your thighs, and your fingers intertwined over your chest.

[NEXT PART] - link soon

[captainchokchok]

Hate my apartment complex so much lmao

[medicinemane]

Ok, wasn't my fault I opened that window

The image came from from piece of shit website that won't let you right click here, and won't let you right click on the site (which has a fucking overlay here and basically funnels you to that site)

Well fuck you, I downloaded it anyway. You added more work to it, but that just made me more determined. Bird photo is mine now

[pippin-pippout]

For those following the SAG and WGA strikes there’s new shit a-brewing, this time targeting background actors (aka extras).

Some may know that one of the issues SAG is fighting is that studios want to take virtual scans of background actors and use them in perpetuity (meaning forever) without any additional compensation to those background actors. So you would just see a bunch of AI generated humans in future movies based off of a background actor that worked one day.

This is already shitty because working as an extra for 3 days on a union set (if you receive a union voucher each day) is one of the main ways to qualify for SAG eligibility. This means that a lot of actors working background do not yet have union protection and likely do not have an agent or manager to protect them. Disney has already allegedly told background actors to do this on the set of Wanda Vision: https://www.avclub.com/wandavision-background-actors-say-disney-scanned-them-1850709900

Here’s where it's worse.

There is one main company that supplies background actors for major union and non union productions. Central Casting. They love to brag about their very long influence in the industry - in old movies dating back to the 40s you can hear jokes about hiring extras from Central Casting.

Central Casting has been including an electronic document for all actors in their database to sign as part of onboarding. Signing it gives Central Casting the right to use your images, your videos, and YOUR LIKENESS in perpetuity, forever. They would OWN your likeness. Instead of it being a studio supplying the AI background actors, it would be Central Casting instead.

Receiving any work from Central Casting in the future is conditional upon signing it. No signature = no extra work = no extra income for union actors trying to make health insurance minimums, no union extra work for pre-SAG members.

SAG already reached out to Central Casting to tell them to stop. Central Casting refused.

Edit to say: this is not new. It’s part of actors onboarding and is called the Photo, Image, and Video Release. It’s phrased to sound like you are just giving them permission to use your image and video for CC’s website and promotional purposes. But the actual language is much broader. It's only recently being brought up as a point for discussion because some casting directors (who are generally supportive of the strike) started pointing it out.

Central Casting is owned by Entertainment Partners which is also a giant software conglomerate and owns a lot of the software used to organize background casting and pay actors. https://www.ep.com/company/about-us/

[sassmill]

My brain is like. Weird right now. Is it related to not taking my Lexapro because I know it doesn’t interact well with dayquil and I needed the post nasal drip to stop? Theoretically but also this has been building for days.

[praeluxius]

STEPS

Newjeans Hanni smut (M reader) - the title is a hint to the TW.

6.6k words

masterlist donations/commissions

It didn't happen through a cliché.

Well, maybe it did, but not one of those where she's stuck head-first into some kitchen appliance or something of that ilk, though you would say this really did happen by accident.

What? She tripped, fell, landed on your dick?

Not quite like that, but the point still stands. You didn't begin that day, or even that evening, intending to fuck your step-sister, but, well…

"My apartment. My TV. My choice," you told her, as you have so many times before.

"But this film is supposed to be the best. It's got great reviews. Dani loved it..." Hanni was talking far too fast to even really pay attention. She soon started reeling off a cast list and everyone involved, and how this review called it a revelation to the genre, but you had long since started ignoring her. You know how she gets. Excitable beyond the point that someone normally would be. It's an endearing trait, if not also annoying. The rundown of her reasons was cut short as she threw her body at you in attack.

"Hanni! What are you—"

"Just gimme the controller already!" She shouted right into your ear as she threw her arms over your shoulders. You held it out in front of you, keeping her behind your back so her arms couldn't reach; not that it stopped her from trying. "Just one time. Please? Pretty pretty please?"

You climbed up from the sofa. Hanni clung to your back like a young panda, with her legs locked tight around your waist and her arms still fumbling around. You grabbed her by the ankle, trying to pry it away so you could drop her, or something, anything other than letting her continue. "Alright fine. Just let go, you idiot. You’re going to tear my arm off."

She loosened her hold, just enough for you to swing her around; one arm and leg slipping free so you could throw her onto the couch. In your flailing she managed to take the TV remote with her, but the moment of peace, of silence, of satisfaction in hearing your idiot sister bounce against the cushions before breaking into a laugh and asking, "what the hell was that for?"

"What did I ever do to deserve the step-sister from hell?" You said as you flopped down at the opposite end of the couch.

"Have a mother hot enough that my dad wanted to fu—"

"You're sick." You cut her off before she finished. She smirked, lifting her sock-clad feet onto the sofa and settling in for movie night. She brought her knees up below her chin and started flicking through the options on the screen to find the one she wanted. Her eyes were wide in her stare, her lower lip bitten. It was pretty much the last time you ever looked at her in this innocent way again.

It was another one of those shitty horror flicks. The kind that didn't even slightly live up to the billing she gave it before. This, however, was Hanni's thing—whenever she convinced you, or otherwise, to finally give up control of your TV, she would put on one of these cheap horror movies and spend the whole night tucked behind a cushion.

As much as you tried for it not to be, it's become something of a ritual, pretty much any night that she was at home, and not unbelievably tired from being overworked and didn't have to be up at the break of dawn.

It's your acceptance of things like that which really showed how much the two of you had grown. You remember fighting for your life against your mother and stepfather to not have to take her in. Convinced that if she wanted to move into the city so badly, she could get her own place, or go to one of those company dorms. Ultimately, you were made to see reason. Your apartment is close to her company, and you had a spare room, after all.

Not that she ever stopped annoying you beyond belief.

The movie, if you could call it that, had you fall into a slumber, and when you woke up Hanni had crawled across the length of the couch and was laid against you, her arms wrapping one of your own. She didn't even realise you had woken up, staring as the credits rolled with a slight, peaceful smile on her face.

She had tied her hair up by now into a ponytail, pulling the hair away from her mostly bare shoulder, where the thin strap of her cropped pyjama top rested. As you peeked down at her, your eyes accidentally fell on the space down her top. It wasn't your fault; they were just right there.

"Shit..." you muttered, catching Hanni's attention.

"Still alive there?" She chuckled a little as she gently patted her palm against your cheek. You feigned a yawn and shut your eyes, settling your head against the pillow once more.

"Hanni, put something else on. This movie is dumb."

"You fell asleep after like ten minutes."

"Yeah, and it seems it didn't take long for you to use me as a body pillow."

Hanni pursed her lips. A red flush ran through her cheeks, and then she quickly sat up. You were watching her the whole time through half-open eyes, chuckling under your breath at her reaction.

"You're an idiot," she says. "Always have been."

You shrugged in reply, "And you're easy to tease, always will be."

"Asshole." She kicked at you.

She tried to kick again, and you caught her foot. You held her bare leg in the air and then lightly kicked her back, hitting her thigh.

"Let go! I'll kick you again. Asshole!" She shouted at you, again and again, struggling to break her foot free from your hand. When you finally let her go, all her struggles made her stumble off the couch. As she went, you kicked out again, this time catching her right on the ass. "Ah! Fuck be careful you hit my plu—" She brought her hands right to her mouth when she realised what she was saying.

"Your what?" You asked.

Hanni cleared her throat, blushing to the point of matching the colour of her red short shorts. "Nothing."

She turned away from you. Just standing there. There's a part of you that wishes that you could go back to this moment. You would have left it there and gone to bed—never kicking her a third time.

But you did it.

Your foot flicked gently against her ass a final time and you felt it. Something hard tucked between the softness of her cheeks. She yelped again. You pinpoint this moment as the catalyst for everything that followed. It’s the part where her innocent image crumbled before your eyes and that’s what allowed you to do what you did. Though really, can you ever be sure that if it didn’t happen now, it wouldn’t have just happened the next day, or next week, or a few months down the line? You tell yourself it was inevitable.

"Is that what I think it is?"

She spun around, facing you once more, trying to muster something. She stumbled over and stuttered her words. "No! I... it's not mine. Minji loaned me one for... just to try... it's not." She held the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "This is... oh, god. This is so embarrassing."

Hanni slumped back onto the sofa and pressed a cushion tight against her face. "Why'd you loan it?" You ask her, only to see her tighten her grip.

"Because."

"Because what?" You sat up by her side and said something that at the time you thought would make it better, but looking back, probably came off rather creepy. "I clean your room, Hanni. I have seen worse things."

Hanni slowly dropped the cushion into her lap and looked at you with a glare. "The fuck?"

"And if you're going to use my laptop, try deleting the history." At this point, you were just piling on the embarrassment.

"Fuck! Oh my God, what did you see?" She threw the cushion into your face.

You picked it out of the air. "Nothing." You lied.

"Bullshit!" Hanni swore. "Did you see everything?"

"Nothing at all..." you said sarcastically while standing up. "I definitely didn't see all the step-brother porn you were binging last week."

She screamed and jumped up. You threw the pillow to stop her and stepped out of reach. "I hate you! You freak!" she shouted, cheeks burning red as the fury rose within her.

"Says the chick wearing a buttplug." You taunted her again as you darted across the room away from her.

"What happened to boundaries!?" She lunged at you again, and you quickly sidestepped her. 

She tried jumping at you once more and missed, only to strike her knee against the corner of the coffee table. She hopped back on one leg with the pain.

"You're an asshole, you know that!?" she shouted, holding onto her knee. You stepped closer, thinking she was really hurt. Until she used the chance to lunge at you and grab you. "What's wrong with a girl enjoying some fantasy? Not like I want to actually fuck you."

You realise now that the proper thing to do would have been to match her disgust. Tell her something along the lines of how the thought repulses you. Continued to tease her about how fucked it is that she would even look at that sort of stuff. The whole thing could have dissolved, but it's when she had hold of you, hammering her fist into your arm, that you said, "don't you?"

Then the long silence ensued. The one that said a hundred unspoken words. As her punches turned into light taps and then to her just holding onto your upper arm. She looked up at you with her pretty eyes open wide. Her lips parted slightly and the tip of her tongue rested on the bottom one as if she had something to say, but the words wouldn't come.

That's the first time you kissed her. Your own step-sister, a girl who should be off-limits in every conceivable way. Yet she opened her mouth and accepted you in that moment. The taste was so sickly sweet.

It was brief, but it told you everything you needed to know, and everything seemed to spiral from there.

First, there was the confusion. The immediate aftermath where you both let go of each other to turn away. Your backs turned on one another as the awkwardness reached its peak. Neither of you was willing to confess the enjoyment of that little exchange.

Then came the passing of the blame. First, it was Hanni who turned to you with a "What the fuck are you doing?"

And you replied with "Me!? You're the one who kissed me!"

She scoffed and shouted a response, "That was all you! Stop being such a perv, freak!" Hanni stomped past you towards her room, face half-full of anger and topped off with shame.

"I'm the perv? You're the one who I hear moan through the walls while, apparently, watching step-brother porn! I think that makes you the messed up one!” you called after her.

A pause. The hesitation. The possibility of confession. She reached her door, and it flew open. In she walked before slamming it closed with a, "you're sick!"

You stared at the door and vainly said under your breath, "you're the sick one." In your head you had realised the real truth to that; how maybe you're both sick because, as the dust settled, you can only think about a handful of things.

The kiss. Her ass. Her cute little tits.

You didn't see her again for the rest of the evening. She reserved herself to her room, while you resigned to the couch with nothing but the television keeping you company.

It had been a long time since you had a shouting match like that with Hanni. See, it used to happen all the time when she first moved in. The problem with a girl like her whose whole world revolves around singing, dancing, media training and beauty is that she lacks any sense of what it's like to be an independent adult. It seemed like the fights would never end, on account of her being seemingly incapable of washing a dish, her clothes or even cooking the most simple of things without burning it or setting something on fire.

But this? This is uncharted territory.

The night wound down, and you were headed to bed, but you found yourself outside her door. Your hand raised, ready to knock. Your breath held. Right when you finally built enough courage is when you heard it. Heard her. Moans muffled through the wood of her door. Your stomach knotted. Your groin twitches.

You lingered, unable to tear yourself away. Even as your logical side began arguing with you that you were in the wrong. That you're probably the worst sort of pervert imaginable and you should feel nothing but guilt.

The other voice, the more confident one; the devil on your shoulder told you that it's Hanni's fault. You had just warned her, and this is what she did in response, like it’s all some sort of game. You refused to admit to yourself that hearing her groaning, whimpering, and moaning through the wall influenced you—tempted you.

Louder and louder. Her voice raised higher, getting to the point where you knew she was practically screaming in the throes of pleasure. Harder and harder you grew. The rational side of you was saying that you should ignore it. Just go to sleep. Forget about it.

"Fuck!" she moaned, and you remained, listening through the door—lost in imagination.

Then you heard footsteps. Bare feet patting on wooden flooring coming closer and closer towards the door. A rush to retreat and you slipped toward your bedroom door. You barely reach the handle before the door across the hall opens.

There was a moment. The two of you locked eyes. Every fibre in your being fought against looking down.

"What?" she asked with a stone-cold expression.

"Nothing." You said, and your willpower broke. You glanced down. Completely naked, she stands at the door, her nipples peaked to fine little tips. And your gaze drifted down her soft curves and slender figure, her wide hips and full thighs.

"Nothing," she mocks.

Her eyes glanced down for a second, then back to your face, and her gaze narrowed. You panicked, dipped into your room and slammed the door just like she did earlier. You press your back to it, the cool wood against your burning body. Your mind raced.

Her feet slapped again against the wooden floor and headed toward the bathroom. That should have been that. You slipped into your bed, frustrated and confused. The sound of the shower running quickly drifted through the walls, but her cries from earlier replayed in your mind until you fell asleep.

That should have been that.

You woke to the darkness of the room—not the morning sunshine—sometime later. Half in a haze, not quite conscious yet, but something had roused you from your slumber: a movement under the sheets and a strange sensation. Warm and damp. Your eyes flicked open, adjusting to the darkness. Your hands jerked reflexively toward your groin and then your senses sharpened.

Someone between your legs. A warm and wet something sliding up and down the shaft of your hardness. Tongue? Yeah, a tongue. Your fingers reached and buried themself into hair. Stomach muscles spasmed as your hips thrust up on their own. Your lips parted as you moaned, "Fuck."

You glanced down.

Hanni.

Naked.

The tip of your cock at her mouth, lips pursed around it. Her smiling eyes sparkled and her skin glimmered, bathed in moonlight coming through the open curtains. Hanni giggled when your eyes met. Your hand dropped to her shoulder.

"Hanni..." Your throat choked dry, and you pushed at her shoulder.

"Shhh." The word whispered against your sensitive tip.

"What the hell are you..." You tried to ask, but Hanni shook her head before sucking in a breath. Then she drew the length of your cock into her warm, wet mouth and the question escaped you. "Holy shit," you gasped.

"This can be our dirty little secret," she said when she lifted her head, fingers stroking you. "We can pretend it didn’t happen in the morning, but for the rest of the night," her finger tickled down the underside of your cock as she spoke, "it can be as real as you want it to be."

You remember being convinced that it was a dream. Maybe one that you would wake up from with a mess in your shorts and, honestly, that probably would have been bad enough—having a wet dream about your step-sister. Reality intruded and threatened to drag you back from your delusion. Hanni took you into her mouth again and it was so very real.

There was no doubting the pleasure, and it was too good to make her stop. You took your hand away from her shoulder, allowing her to do as she pleased. Maybe if it was just a dream, you could allow yourself to indulge in the madness just one time…

"Fucking hell, Hanni." The words slipped from you, and with it, her warm mouth left your throbbing cock.

You peered down at her. She wiped the drool from the sides of her lips and smiled at you. Her eyes were wide as she lowered her head and slipped your dick into her warm mouth once more. Your body jolted as she put her tongue to work. She swirled the tip along the contours and ridges, then licked down the underside of the shaft and then right back up the top, leaving a thin film of saliva on your hardness.

She clasped her hand around you and it all felt far too real. Mixed emotions. There was a cold sense of terror in your heart, even with the heat of arousal radiating all over. The things she did with her lips and her tongue made you doubt your sanity.

"Does that feel good?" She said as she took a quick pause, stroking her hand along the full length. She had just caught her breath in the one moment where she stopped sucking, the first chance where her mouth wasn't busy trying to draw the soul out of you through the tip of your cock.

"You were right." She spoke almost as quickly as your mind spun. "About... the step-brother thing. It feels sick, and gross, and... wrong. It makes me feel dirty." Hanni pauses for a second, seemingly running her eyes over your body and then asks, "how depraved does it make me that it gets me really, really horny?"

Hanni had no clue that the same thoughts filled the back of your mind. Only that you weren't able to string it into words like she did. She was right. It felt really wrong, and yet there was a rush to do something that should never be done. This was where the next step began. The breaking of the boundaries. The perverse excitement in the face of the taboo.

Her hand reached out behind her and pulled back the sheets that covered her body. She was crouched between your spread legs, head still by your cock, her soft ass in the air. The cool light from the moon kissed her skin as she slowly slipped her fingers between her plump cheeks. "And this only made it worse. I've been so horny ever since I started wearing it."

Her hand moved slightly, just out of view behind her, and she let out a breathy moan.

"Hanni. What're you—

You're interrupted. "It hurt a little at first. Just a bit but you get used to it, and if it's in a good spot, if you hit it right..." She kept touching herself in front of you, and another breathy gasp escaped her lips and then she looked up at you still lying there. "What are you waiting for? Isn't this what you want?"

That's when you stirred. Reciprocated. You sat up and she rose to meet you. In seconds, you were embracing. Frenzied. Wild. All teeth and tongues and roaming hands. Shorter than you. So much smaller. She let out a yelp when you grabbed her, though she instantly silenced it by shoving her tongue back in your mouth and kissing you deeply.

Pressed against your bare chest, her breasts felt small but supple, perfect little handfuls. Her waist is slender beneath your grasp. The thick flesh of her thighs was so full and shapely. When she opened her eyes, they had such want. Lust—pure and undeniable.

So close, and the faint whimpers at her throat are a seduction. You felt it was an invitation, and your lips kissed her chin, trailing kisses down her neck. "Yes. Yes. Yes..." she encouraged you lower. Your tongue tasted the saltiness of her skin, teeth grazing and then pinching softly. Her arms were tight around your head, nails biting into the base of your neck.

She trembled at your every caress, shook each time you teased a pert nipple. Gasped louder each time you nibbled her collarbone. You turned, lifting her, and then she fell back and presented herself to you. Her legs splayed open and her bare, wet cunt dripping, begging you to take it, but...

"No," you told yourself, "it's too fast," and you began a line of kisses down her stomach, beginning at her cleavage and trailing straight down her stomach. The muscles beneath her pale skin twitched and clenched in response and her breath had gone erratic. You reached her belly button and she hooked her legs over your shoulder, and when you dipped further she clenched her thighs and squeezed as you toyed with her.

You remember savouring the moment. Savouring the pleasure, savouring the veniality.

"Lower, please," she begged in the most needy voice. "Please, I... fuck, oh, fuck please..."

It's hard to describe it all.

Somehow, in the night, you both reached a state of understanding. A state of consensual debauchery that came with a sense of agreement; a pact signed with tongue on skin in this moment of depravity.

You kissed her, playfully moving between her legs. Thigh to thigh, to dangerously close to her wet core, and there you lingered. The air grew humid. Hanni's sweet scent filled your nose. You ran your hands up her legs and felt the warmth in your palms. She gripped onto the hair at the top of your head; her fists tightened.

"Why're you teasing me, asshole?"

Hanni's moans grew louder and more needy when you used your tongue against her. Her legs wrapped tight, hooking behind your back. There was something satisfying about her reactions to your actions, something exciting about seeing her squirm.

The tip of your tongue ran up the lips of her cunt, dipping between the fleshy folds and coming to suck upon her swollen clit. Her eyes widened at the touch, and her jaw slacked to the point her words went incoherent. Her whole body spasmed as she arched and moaned out something filthy.

One moment you had hold of her thigh, feeling her clench up and quiver, the next you found that your fingers had moved downward and pressed against her slick opening. At the slight touch of your fingertips to the tenderness there, a short cry slipped out of her again. She tightened and clenched around them as you pushed in deeper.

"Who's teasing?" you asked before you buried yourself to the knuckles in her.

A smirk formed, and Hanni was about to speak, but no words came. You pumped her at a steady pace, curling your digits within her while lapping at her clit. The taste of sin never tasted so sweet. 

The combination drove her insane, and it didn’t take long until you were on the verge of making your step-sister cum.

You wrapped your lips around that swollen nub of hers and flicked it with the tip of your tongue, faster and harder, until her many moans became one, long, drawn-out and passionate, as a climax rocked through her.

Her ass lifted off the bed and her legs quivered, shaking uncontrollably while her fingers tugged painfully at the hairs on the back of your head. She jerked and gasped with a look of ecstasy on her face as she moaned your name over and over, almost reaching a scream. Your name on her lips again, and again, and you were drunk on this euphoria.

She released your head, and you postured over her, still slipping a pair of fingers into her, but slower. She drew a deep, trembling sigh and forced a smile, watching you. "I hate you," she managed.

"Do you?" you asked as you drew your cum-soaked fingers out of her. Her legs rested on your hips and the underside of your stiff cock was against her pussy. You reached around her hip, to her ass, to the plug still sat between her cheeks. Hanni hissed at your touch, biting her lip at the sensation.

"Yes. I hate you," Hanni whimpered, giving the softest moans as you tugged on the metal. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Why?" you asked.

"I just do," Hanni weakly gasped, struggling to stay strong in the moment. "You make me feel things. Things I shouldn't feel. It shouldn't be this easy."

"In that case. I hate you too, sis'."

There was this moment after you said that, where you shared a stare. Maybe the most confusing stare of your life. Calling her sis', in this position, should have been horrifying. And it was, but only at a peripheral level. Otherwise, it felt surprisingly... hot.

You dipped into her for another kiss, and this one seemed ever more ravenous than the last. You kissed with hunger and her hand ran around the back of your head. Kissed as lovers would. She was just as aroused as you and eager for more.

Slow and soft, you rocked yourself against her wetness. Your length dragged between her lips, up over her clit, and down again to poke at her entrance. You moved over and over, enjoying the tease.

The slow, sticky friction between the two of you. Her breath was sharp, as you slipped yourself over her and kissed at her neck. Every rock of your hips, she ground back against you.

"I think..." She hesitated. "Fuck. I think I'm ready. Just... go slow?"

The guilt of what's happened was a distant thing, a buzzing fly on a summer afternoon. The kind of thing that when you're so enthralled by something else, it becomes invisible. Then, with a nod and a shivering sigh, she reached down and gripped your cock. You bent back from kissing her so she could guide you.

Her tiny cunt. Her beautiful wetness. Her forbidden, decadent treasure.

Her breath was shaky. Her next words came out amid a tremble, "I've never... No one else."

You brushed stray strands of hair out of her face and ran your hand over her cheek. You gave her the reassurance she needed.

She told you, a few weeks later, how grateful she was that it was you. See, for all the filth that ran through her mind on an almost daily basis, she never imagined what it would be like. It being you—who you are and everything you meant to her—made it easy. Natural. Wonderful.

That first time, you took it all so slow. With her legs raised over yours. Watching the subtle changes in expression as you gradually moved more and more of your cock into her. Sinking deep between her pink, delicate walls. Your step-sister, panting and squirming beneath you.

"You okay?" you asked her.

"Ah... yes. This is... I love it," she responded between whining breaths.

It was just enough, the reassurance, so you could push into her the rest of the way. Her hand found its way to your shoulder; bracing as you eased in, her delicate frame tensing as you buried fully.

You watched her reaction and tried to be still as you felt her slick cunt pulse around you, wanting you. She swallowed and gripped you with the muscles within her. The second of respite didn't last long though; you weren't sure if it was a request or accident when her feet tapped against the curve of your ass, but it prompted you to fuck her.

"Feels... fuck." You sucked your breath between your teeth and braced yourself up on a shaky arm. You drew out slowly, and you noticed her nails digging into the arm you supported yourself upon. 

You groaned in relief more than anything else as your hips pumped the shallow strokes that sent electricity through your body. She started pushing herself onto you as she clutched your back, drawing her heels over the small of your spine. You looked down to see her eyelids were flickering, and the sight only served to inflame you more. Her moans were so erotic and encouraging.

That first time, it was special. You took your time together to explore each other's bodies, the curves of hips, the muscles, the valleys and ridges. You caressed your stepsister's gorgeous body and then tried your best to put her through another climax, as if your efforts to reach your own were less important.

"Fuck you're so tight," you told her, during those final thrusts, buried to the hilt in her tiny, soft pussy.

She spoke, her voice weak and shuddering, "You're big... inside me..."

The fact that she held you tighter in her embrace and how it seemed that she refused to let you out of her even as she came apart was telling.

She came that night, again, this time all over your cock. The first of many times to come. A string of incomprehensible cries erupted from her in the throes of that first proper fuck. Hanni's thighs flexed around your hips. She clung desperately to your body as she cried into your mouth as she climaxed.

Not long after is when you felt it too, that impending release. A coil of pressure. Unfamiliar and intense. The mere thought of emptying inside her drove you mad. Your fingers dug into her hips as you fucked your step-sister with complete abandon.

"Don't. Not inside. Please, not inside," she murmured in an incoherent mantra of guilt and pleasure, right next to your ear.

You didn't, of course. You drove yourself right to the edge and pulled out. Her juices coated your length, slick and wet as your cock twitched in anticipation of the final moments. Hanni wanted your release as badly as you did. She took you into her hand for the finish, gripping tightly and jerking that first hot shot of cum onto her soft tummy. You thrust through her hand to let the pleasure course through you. Each thrust sent a long rope splattering onto her naked skin as she grinned up at you, flushed and sweaty, covered in your lust.

That was the first night, but definitely not the last.

The next morning arrived with Hanni in your arms—the little spoon. The little naked spoon pressed against your body. Skin to skin. She woke you with the slow rocking motion of her body, grinding her plump cheeks against you.

"I could get used to this," she whispered under her breath, smiling against the crook of your arm. "Good morning," she said to you over her shoulder. "Sleep well? You had some pretty naughty dreams last night, didn't you?"

You responded with your erection growing against the warm crevice of her butt and a gentle hum as her ass rocked over it. That was no dream. "I did," you said groggily. "As naughty as yours."

"Mmmm," is all she had as a response, lost in the pleasant distraction, grinding herself back into you even more. As she did so, you grew harder, until your stiffness pressed against the plug still wedged into her ass. Hanni had left it there overnight. "The thing about dreams is that they're easy to forget. Want to remind me of mine?"

You ran your hand down her thigh, and that's how the second time started. You caressed her flesh for a while, feeling the softness of her thighs while she silently lay there, patiently allowing you to enjoy her.

Then, you grabbed her by the knee, opening her legs and then she spoke, "Are you going to make your step-sister cum again?"

So quickly did she become so utterly shameless. You grunted in reply and then you held her leg up by hooking under the knee, and shuffled down slightly, letting your hard cock slip from between her cheeks and go between her legs.

You closed your eyes and leaned into her. Lips at her shoulders, the kisses soon trailed to her neck. She hummed as you ground your cock between her folds. Not even putting in the effort to try to actually enter her just yet, just teasing your stepsister for the moment.

Her voice filled with the sweet sound of passion.

Your heart began pounding and a flush rose to your cheeks. You could have written that first night off as a mistake. One you would regret, forget and never make again. Not after this. This is a definitive choice. One of sound mind and body, not under the tension of an argument or anything else that happened before.

This is different.

Hanni reached her hand down between her legs, pulling your cock so it would slip into her when you shift your hips. "Fuck me," she begged.

You did. You slipped inside her and heard her moan in such sweet ecstasy. She gripped the pillow she slept on the night before, burying her face in it, and moaning into it in such sweet rapture. "Fuck, yes, harder," Hanni moaned.

When she pushed her hips back onto you, her ass brushed against your belly. The rhythm began. Slow. Lazy thrusts. Enjoying every sensation in the post-sleep haze, savouring the fact that you knew how good she felt on the inside. How incredible her wet, silky, tight depths felt when you slid in and out of them.

"Is this what you wanted?" Your voice is low, near a growl. Your arms around your step-sister. It shouldn't, by all accounts, feel natural to have her like that, but it did.

"Yes, it feels incredible. Please don't stop." Your cock bottomed out within her. As deep as you could go. You groaned, and stayed there for a while, feeling your stepsister clenching down, her inner walls trying to pull you in further.

Hanni's hands gripped at the bedsheets, clutching tightly to them. The position pressed the metal of the plug between her asscheeks, and as your thrusting continued, the sensation sent a tingle through her body. It was a filthy combination. One that allowed every stroke you drove into her cunt to simultaneously send an equally blissful shock straight into her ass.

It was madness for her to indulge in the ecstasy—for both of you to lose yourselves.

You grew faster, and she unwound completely. She grew limp as she reached her climax. She couldn't even grip the bedsheets, or the pillow, her body simply submitting to the pleasure. She merely lay there as your hips battered against her soft ass, fucking her right through it.

Then she asked you, right after it subsided, "Ever fantasised about cumming on my ass before?"

The way she asked that made the question feel almost normal. "That the sort of thing they do in the porn you watch?" You slowed for a bit to deliver the tease.

Hanni couldn't keep the shy smile from creeping across her lips. "There was this one video where a guy put it all over his sister's butt. Seemed like he really liked it."

The fact she talked to you about the dirty things she likes helped it all along. It was the extent of her experience, the videos, but it helped. What it told you about what she really likes, what she enjoys... It became the basis for all your dirty experiments.

"That sounds hot. You have a cute ass."

She giggled to herself, rolling her hips, getting up onto her hands and knees and facing away from you.

You seated yourself onto your calves, giving her space and watching as she turned, giving you the view you craved. "I do?" She said as she glanced back over her shoulder, showing her innocence and naïvete in all its splendour. Her eyes sparkled and then a smile spread over her lips to match that look in her eye.

"The cutest," you told her as you kneeled behind her. One hand caressed the outside of her thigh while the other gripped the base of your cock. Eyes firmly set on that beautiful plump ass. That was the second time in just a few hours that you covered Hanni in your cum.

She watched every second as you did, barely managing a blink. Arousal and delight danced over her features in equal measure, and your name left her tongue in the form of a delightful, drawn-out groan. The effect was very apparent. With every streak and ribbon of white landing, she gasped and moaned while staring at the mess.

From that moment on, you entered regularity. It seemed like for months, every chance the two of you got to fuck, you fucked. Her room. Your room. The shower. The sofa. The kitchen. Against that window that overlooks the city's skyline. A public bathroom. A hand job in the car while you're stuck in traffic. Riding your face in a park, hidden among trees, grass, and bushes. Fucking, kissing, and biting until the both of you are exhausted and sore and dripping with sweat. It never ceased. Two insatiable appetites. Your mutual loss of control continued. The affair felt so exhilarating. An explosion of forbidden sin in an otherwise normal existence.

It all came with its fair share of close calls. That Saturday morning surprise visit from your parents where you answered their knock at the door and they invited themselves in, all while Hanni lies naked in your bedroom. How you sneakily warned her before she emerged and spun the story to them both about how she slept on your floor out of fear after watching another one of her horror movies. They bought it, of course, because they couldn't imagine there being any other explanation.

Then there was Hanni's near miss with her group. She told you all about how Minji had picked up on how something had changed with her; about how convinced Minji was that Hanni had found herself a boyfriend. About the look Minji gave her as Hanni protested, and finally how she got away with a half-truth.

She told the girls it was because of you and how you would work out together on weekends to make her feel better.

Everything was going so well, which made this week even more confusing.

It's been days since you last saw her. The longest you have gone in some time. Long hours and staying over with her members are one thing. Going days with no word or anything at all is another. She ignored your texts, never returned your calls, and stopped showing up at home like you'd come to expect.

No warning.

Nothing.

[daycourtofficial]

Come to Bed

Summary: based on this request - a text from Azriel was meant to go to you, but went to his entire family instead.

Author’s note: I loved this idea this was so fun and definitely very on brand for the inner circle tbh

Az: Come to bed :(

It was a short message. Azriel had been sick for two days now, and since meeting you, he can’t remember how he’d just go on during his sick days.

He used to go to work just fine while sick. He’d wear a mask and keep his distance, but he’d be able to go no problem.

But ever since you came into his life, now he was too spoiled when he was sick to go anywhere or do anything. You had insisted that your cuddles would heal him, along with the various soups you made him eat every day.

Honestly? It was a little awesome. If it weren’t for how shitty he felt, that is. You rubbed his back until he fell asleep, whenever he got up to shower you washed his sheets, and you brought him medicine every few hours. He didn’t have to lift a finger, and he was soaking in every moment of your attention.

But now you were downstairs, talking with Elain about something or another. You had told him what for before you left, but his feverish haze had made him forget. He woke up alone, having dozed off in your absence, and all he wanted was you to come back. He had just texted you to come back to bed when his door creak opens.

Azriel pops his head out of the nest he made to find Cassian crawling up his bed on top of the covers, wrapping his arms around Azriel, and spooning him over the covers.

Azriel coughs, “what are you doing here?”

“You asked for me to come to bed.”

Azriel’s head hurts trying to figure out what he means when his door opens once more to Rhysand strolling through the room, lying on Az’s other side.

“Ah, come on Azzy. It’s just like when we were younger,” Cassian tells him, his body heat helping with the chills taking over Azriel’s body.

Azriel sniffles, “we were like eight years old.”

“Well, Cassian hasn’t matured much since then,” Rhysand chimes in, staying on the bed but not too close to Az. He’ll provide some level of comfort with his presence, but he’ll be damned if he lets his brother get him sick.

“Why are you two here?” Azriel croaks, every word hurting his poor throat.

Rhys opens his phone to show him the family groupchat they had, the last message coming from Azriel saying, “Come to bed :(“

Azriel groans reading it, “I’m sure you could guess I sent it to the wrong person.”

Cassian chuckles, causing vibrations through Azriel’s back. He’s too weak to fight Cassian off of him, and the weight of him actually feels nice. Maybe Cassian would make a great weighted blanket after all.

“I never second guess any texts I receive. I assumed you missed me, it has been days since you’ve seen my glorious face.”

Cassian and Azriel continue bickering while Rhysand watches in amusement.

Mor comes in shortly after, bringing a warm cup of tea for both herself and Azriel, handing one mug to him while lounging across the foot of the bed. The tea soothes his throat, and he hates to admit it, but he does appreciate the presence of his family. He had been quarantined for days, trying to keep to his room as much as possible. He had grown quite accustomed to his big, invasive family. Your company was more than enough, but he did miss Cassian’s daily debriefs of his day.

Feyre comes in, taking residence next to Mor, as Cassian tells them all ridiculous versions of how he managed to destroy that building in the Summer Court. Each tale more ridiculous than the last, with Feyre even adding her own absurd version of events.

“I heard that a dragon flew in and Cassian fought it off with his bare hands and the only damage was that one building!”

Their laughter rings in Az’s ears as he closes his eyes, dozing, but not truly asleep.

You were shocked walking back to Az’s bedroom to find both of his brothers, Feyre, and Mor all lounging in bed with him. Azriel perks up at your figure in the doorway, somehow knowing you were there despite his resting state. His voice crackles from his sore throat, “save me?”

You walk in, squeezing yourself between Rhys and Azriel, and your boyfriend melts in your arms, falling asleep quickly as his family still chatters around you.

The next time Azriel wakes up, it’s dark outside, but he’s still cuddled to your chest.

“Hi sweetheart,” you tell him, setting your book down. He practically purrs at you running your hand through his hair.

“Sleep well?”

He presses his face back into your chest. “I would have slept better if they weren’t all annoying.”

You laugh, leaning over to kiss the crown of his head.

“Poor baby with a loving family,” you coo, and he huffs.

“They’re not loving, they’re annoying busybodies. Except Feyre. She hasn’t gotten that bad yet.”

You smile, untangling his hair with your fingers.

“They might be annoying busybodies, but they love you and you love them.”

He squeezes you a little tighter. “I’m sick. I only have so much love to give and it’s all going towards you.”

You laugh, your hand moving down to stroke his back. He relaxes in your embrace, your fingers soothing his clammy skin.

“Okay, you can wait until you’re feeling better to love them again.”

“Deal,” he tells you, eyes growing heavy once more. “Just - don’t tell Cassian. He’ll get upset.”

[stevieschrodinger]

So one day, I'll write this, but today is not that day.

Steve point blank would not go and work for his dad, he still took the money he was offered though. Argyle pitches a pizza place; Steve thinks, fuck it, and invests.

Jon does deliveries, Robin does the accounts, Nancy swings in once and a while and makes sure they're insured and up to code. Steve does whatever Argyle tells him on busy nights.

It does so good in little old Hawkins. It does so good they expand. Steve buys a run down diner. Steve knows how to cook, and Argyle has taught him how to cook large scale. Steve falls in love with the line cook gig.

The expansion is crazy, within five years Nancy becomes site manager for their 12 restaurants; they have diners, pizza joints, and one fancy Italian place that Steve has been inside of (Maybe) five times total. Robin is the company accountant, Jon still does deliveries, but now it's more logistics and stock management; if a location is stuck for something Jon is the guy they call.

It's all successful enough that Steve just...stops being involved. Nancy is pretty much running the show, he can just...be paid his CEO salary, and take the midweek nightshifts that no one wants. He loves that Diner; it was the first one they opened and it has a special place in his heart.

He loves the quiet of the night shifts, just him and his grill plate and the slow but steady orders for the lonely people who can't sleep, just like Steve.

And then there's this new hire. This..kid, who granted is stupid pretty, but he's all long sharp limbs and clumsy pointy joints and he smashes like, three things on just the first night and Steve is gritting his teeth because his quiet serenity has been disturbed ...because this kid will not shut up.

He has no idea Steve actually owns the company, but that doesn't stop him apologising every thirty seconds for one thing or another. If he's not apologising he's talking about his nerd games, or music, or asking Steve what he's into, not loosing any steam at all of Steve doesn't even answer. Eventually, Steve growls at him to shut it for a bit. And the kid just kind of. Droops.

And Steve feels pretty shitty, and that same night a rowdy bunch of kids come in and even from behind the pass, Steve can see that Eddie Does Not Want To Serve Them.

But he does. It's his job.

And Steve can hear these kids calling Eddie ta freak or whatever. And Steve is not having that; he throws the kids out by the scruff of their necks and tells them to never come back again.

And Eddie's just looking at Steve with his big pretty brown eyes like Steve's an actual Hero. And yeah. Steve has a.problem.

They definitely fuck about it in a supply cupboard or a bathroom or something at some point. Maybe in the pantry and Robin pulls a face about kitchen hygiene. Or something.

Maybe I'll make it A/B/O and put Eddie in a cute little uniform, just to really stress Steve out.

[honestsycrets]

dedication | young!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | young geneticist!miguel o'hara x scientist!reader

❛ type | oneshot, explicit.

❛ summary | alchemax is a dangerous place to work. miguel's new assistant may be over her head. maybe he can help her, though.

❛ tags | virgin reader, f!reader, shitty science, plot heavy, loose canon references, literary liberties, loss of virginity, overprotective Miguel o'hara, jealous miguel o'hara, some objectification, workplace politics, aftercare (as requested), corruption (is it tho?), bc what bc, Spanish is not translated, young!miguel, heel-foot fetish, somewhat romantic.

❛ fulfilled request | can we please have a miguel x virgin reader and he didn’t even know until he was already putting it in?? And then voila his corruption kink unexpectedly growS? @a--dedicated--fangirl

❛ sy’s notes | miguel sort of works on that whole corruption aspect throughout this fic, but i wanted to meld these two ideas together to create a reader who is entirely dedicated to Miguel. This piece was a bit long for me.

“Miguel, your new assistant is here.” 

On paper, you’re an excellent candidate for the genetics program. 

An excellent GPA, renowned company internships, decent publications, and a diverse upbringing. It was all good. Great, even. But as the head of the genetics program at Alchemax, he has a little thing called priorities. Interviewing everyone himself was low on the rung of shit he felt like he should be doing. There was, however, one little, itty bitty, tiny problem with bringing you on board.

“Dr. O’Hara? ¿Estas bien?”

That shirt-- is not meant to hold those-- His brain was left field, glimpsing at them. A slightly sheer button-up revealed the outline of your bustier and its inability to conceal your body. They should have been illegal. He was pretty sure they were illicit in the handbook on his table. He should really read that again. Maybe then he wouldn’t be salivating over something as simple as a co-worker-- He needed to get out of the lab. The bleached walls tightened around him, the space smaller than he remembered. He was going to get caught.

Realistically, the lab was full of witty people. Many of them were witty men with subpar looks and stupider dicks. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. Not only because your lips were plump, painted petal-pink, and kissable or because the depth of your sultry eyes went straight in the dick. No, but because that would be improper of a man of his stature to tell one of the only women in his care that she was too gorgeous for the job you were clearly qualified for. 

“Sí, coño,” He fixed his glasses, crooked on his broad nose. He stood up from his desk and grabbed his lab coat, swirling it around his broad shoulders. If he wasn’t mistaken, you tracked the movement with your eyes. “Do you want a cafecito? Miss…”

You told him your name. He mulled it over on his tongue, lathing it in a gentle acknowledgment. Cemented it in a place he wouldn't forget. You tinked your head to the side, your lashes fluttering when he cleared his throat. Great, just shocking-- 

“After you,” he headed for the door. He held it open for you, plastering his back to the wood. It didn't matter. You slid by closer than he’d prefer, your hand catching on his belt buckle with muttered apologies. This wasn’t going to end well. 

Cafecito is an excellent excuse to pull his dumbass together. 

It also calms his nerves, centers his mind, and allows him to compartmentalize. Whether or not you could hold your own wasn’t his issue, his issue was the necessity of someone he could trust. Ugly, beautiful-- so long as they were efficient, Miguel would make due. The cafeteria was a large and clean space. The many tables were crowded with wrap-around stations for poorly crafted, misery-inducing meals. Miguel paid and took a seat at a creaky table. One where he could see the door open, shut, and keep an eye on the comings and goings of meager scientists and annoying managers. 

“You’ll be working with me.” 

You pursed your lips around the warm cup of coffee, taking a ginger sip. He noted your lipstick stain that remained as you pushed the cup toward the middle of the table you shared with him. This damn suit vest was stifling. He gave you a long, slow look, tilting his head to the fact that you’d not drunk anything. It’d be rude to acknowledge.

“Delgado told me,” you smiled warmly. “He said you’re a genius. I don’t know that I believe in geniuses.” 

Hmph. Delgado, things fell into place. That sycophant knew what he liked. He also knew that Miguel was better than him, always was, and always would be. Miguel offered you a slick smile, convinced he could assure you otherwise if he needed to. “Delgado says a lot of things. I’m surprised he gave you to me.”

“Why is that, O’Hara?” the way his name slipped off your tongue was a hot sin. If only he believed in a god. His eyelids shifted over his eyes, heavy-lidded and dark.

“You’re beautiful. He likes to collect beautiful things,” Miguel tried, curious.  Your nails clicked in succession over the table. A repetitive click, click, click. He would be annoyed too if he were no more than a ploy. A distraction. Miguel wasn’t sure that it wasn’t working. His eyes flickered down, catching one of your palms curling into a tight fist, tension rolling through your fingers and up your arms. “He knows I do too.” 

You leaned in, close enough that he could spot the unique freckles spread out in a crescent moon beneath a layer of makeup on your face. Beautiful. “I’m not here to belong to you, O’Hara. I hope you know that.” 

He was off to a great, fantastic start.

 “Understood.” Miguel leaned back in his chair, a smirk creeping up his lips. Or, believe that you believed that. You spared him any more mincing comments. Appeased by his suggestion, you brought your drink back to your lips.

“Good. What are we sequencing?” 

“Me.” 

You swallowed. “You? You can’t be--” 

Mhm, he stared, lips pressed tightly together. “You’ll code my DNA. Then we’ll splice it.” 

"With what?"

"You'll see."

“Is this your little,” you swirled your finger in a circle. “Pet project?” 

Unfortunately not, he would have liked to say. That information was confidential, and though you worked on the project, there were levels to his willingness to involve you in the delicate flow of workplace politics. Still, you might make a healthy distraction from his work. Miguel took a swig of his cafecito, boring into the black substance.

“Something like that.” 

Having a pretty assistant means things don’t always get done according to schedule. Not quickly enough, not by far. There is a time limit to everything at Alchemax. The quicker, the better. Thus this project demanded more hours of his time. The project was spliced between the work required of him by superiors and you, your quirks, and your preferences. 

Miguel has learned a great many things about you in a short amount of time. You don’t appreciate misplaced pet names. You actually can’t handle coffee because of the caffeine or the sugar. He also learns things about himself. How little he likes when Delgado comes to check on progress because he isn’t actually checking on shit. He's checking you out. 

He likes to weasel his nasty fingers around the door, peering in to try and find out what specimen he’s actually working on. Miguel was much too smart for that. His beady eyes caught Miguel over your shoulder, mumbling up to him about a new finding in tests you ran earlier that day. Your face mask twirled around your index finger, finally free and at a documentation workspace.   Funny, because he clearly redacts information from your well-recorded notes on the daily. You refuse to include less.

“Hey Mike,” he said. “How are things… Oh hey, you. You settling in, honey? Mike treating you ok? I can discipline him for you.”

“As if you could,” Miguel huffed. 

But Delgado spying on you, the way you record progress by pouting out your lips, shifting between paper and your lab reports, was intolerable. Because... well, he has sensitive information on there. Your nose scrunches in distaste, but you bow your head just slightly as a hello. He might be his supervisor, but Miguel doesn’t need one to know why this asshole is in his lab turning his smarmy brown eyes over the way you sit: one leg over the other. You seem to realize it too, trailing your eyes over his gaudy suit to Miguel’s sinewy hand on your shoulder. 

“Stop being a creep,” Miguel complained, “She has actual work to do.”

“Actual work? As opposed to--“

“Yes, what you do.” Miguel spat out. You eschewed a giggle, turning your face over a pristine white lab jacket that thankfully, you had no qualms in wearing. Otherwise, he might not finish any work in the lab at all. 

“I supervise--

“You’re still talking but we’re not listening,” Miguel waved him off, plucking up papers by your side. Your eyes snap up to Miguel’s deep chocolate eyes hidden behind the thin frame of his metal glasses, waiting for a proper response. “Goodbye, Aaron.”

Miguel walks to the door, locks it with a click, and returns to your side. You glance at his white lab coat, fluttering around his tapered waist. He loves the way your eyes look at him with a soft, inviting expression, beseeching him to come to sit by your side as he always did. “Not a fan of Delgado, I take it.” 

“Are you?” Miguel sits with his legs spread, his fingers threading through his thick brown hair. You set your papers down, swiveled toward him. The wheels of your rolling chair squeak on either side of his thick, black boots. His eye catches your thick thighs, squashed between your midi skirt, its atrocious slip causing him discomfort. His hand leaves his thick hair, dropping in unison side by side. 

“I can’t stand being called honey, Mike.” 

“Shut up.”

The days proceed similarly. Days filled with brushing past him as he slides in samples and reagents. He might lose a sample, clattering on the floor, and you always rush to help him clean up. Lunch together, because no matter how late he eats, you’re there beside him. Then as night falls, you stay until he has finished whatever he needs to do.

“Time to eat something,” you slipped into his office. The clock ticked past midnight. Miguel flicked through handwritten pages of information that did not need to be recorded in computer files. You watched his eyes scan over the ink on the page, acknowledging you with a grumpy grunt. Not now, not when he was so close to finishing the last section of the project.

“Empanada,” you turned his palm over, placing the flaky pastry in his hand. Caramelized apple. He loved a good apple empanada. He watched as you walked over to the coffee maker, drawing him a warm cafecito just how he liked it. Miguel dropped his pen, stretching out his aching spine. 

“Gracias. From where?” 

“I made them,” you set down the cup a little harder than intended. The surface rippled, throwing hot coffee drips onto his pages. His eyes flickered up from the pages to your eyes. Without thinking, he blathers:

“That so?” A pause. “Don’t you have a man?” 

“Miguel. With this sequencing project, you’re the only man in my life. Shut up and eat the empanada.” 

“Huh. Good. I like that.” He swallowed the empanada with a bob of his head, his tongue lathing over his teeth for any more of the sweet sugar. He stood up, finding your expression soft, drawn out by a sense of longing that he couldn’t imagine he saw.  

“You like my sad love life?” 

Yes.

“No, we have a company event. A ball,” Miguel chided, his tone gentling as he slipped away from his desk, abandoning his steamy coffee on his desk. He backed out of the doorway, “It’s all Stone’s politics. You know how these things are. I have to go. Come with me.” 

“Is that a request or an order?” 

“A date.” 

I’d love to. Your words were the only thing that made tonight bearable. Slinking his tanned skin into a dark blue suit that cinched everything too tight was… unbearable. It clung to his skin like a second skin and choked off his air. But it might be worth it to see your face-- just maybe. He tracked the fluttering tails of fish behind bulletproof glass, following them as they fluttered away into their rock. He wished he could too. 

“Miguel?” 

“You’re here,” he turned around, dropping the champagne he idly held in his hand. It went forgotten by his boot as you called his name again. His gaze fixed on yours, the slinky navy blue dress caused his heart to thrum through his chest, chasing the sight of your body at his feet, picking shards of glass up with the aid of a worker, apologizing profusely for the mess. A soft puff of breath slipped from his lips as you stood back up, gripping your purse a little harder in your hands. He ran his hand over his jaw, drawing himself back to his senses.

“Miggy,” he husked out. “Call me Miggy.” 

“You look handsome, Miggy,” his name felt unreal on your lips until he felt the pressure on his elbow. Your soft hands slunk around his, cradling him for some security in the face of the large doors. He shook himself back to his senses. Right, there was a reason he was here. “But shouldn’t we go?” 

He should have-- but did he want to? No, not really. He didn’t want to see Stone’s greasy face, let Aaron take a peek at how you looked dolled up, or any of the rest of these fuckers. What he wanted was something else entirely. 

“Listen.” Miguel stopped, his other hand coming to the jeweled bracelet on your wrist. The doors to the ballroom lapsed, groups of older men filtering in and out with their pieces of the night: doting wives, longing husbands, and partners that their wives or husbands probably didn’t know about. “Don’t wander off from me. They’re all snakes. All of them.” 

“Even you?” 

“Hermosa,” you didn’t leer at him. “I’m the least of your worries.” 

He wasn’t wrong. The ballroom was dolled up in lush fabrics, fine china, and a copious amount of food as it was every year. Miguel found the attempt to distract from what really went on behind closed doors at Alchemax a bit cloying. This year the music was at least tolerable. It filtered out into the ballroom in a syrupy melodies driven on by the soft, promises of rich men for the exchange of sex. For much of the night, he could stomach the various men poking and prodding at him about his impending research. So long as you were here.

“Miggy,” you breathed, a hot puff of air against his ear. He leaned down, his hand atop of yours. “Will you dance with me?” 

Dance? Miguel had two left feet-- it’s why he was a geneticist. For all the work you did on his behalf in the lab, including this very night, he owed you the benefit of whatever you wanted. He searched out a quiet area, one where the only disruption could be the stream of moonlight in through a window. You preferred it over the wall of vivacious men and over-powdered women. He preferred it over the atrocity of his footwork.

“It’s not much of a date,” Miguel’s hand slid around yours. He encompassed your small palm with his large hand, the other gliding across the soft, exposed skin of your back. You swayed with him, side to side. He was an awful dancer, but there was something endearing about that. He saw it in your eyes, the glimmer of curiosity, gliding your dark heels against the inside of his foot. Damn, he still sucked.

“No,” you agreed, shifting to take the lead. He followed your steps. Right, back, left, up. Maybe he stepped on your long dress once or twice, too. Shock, he cursed again, stepping over your foot.

“You’re remarkably bad at this.” You settled your head on his chest, letting your box steps fade into little more than the shifting of your hips. 

“I know. Let’s just-- sway?” 

“Swaying is good.”  

“O’Hara,” boomed Stone. But of course— peace couldn’t last forever. Like a bullet through the chest, a voice caused him to turn in startle. His tan cheeks flushed with warmth, feeling cut off from the cover of others. He was dressed in the most gaudy of clothes that almost seemed to match the crooked expression on his pale face. No matter how many times he tried to fix it, it always looked… wrong. 

Stone’s hands came together, clapping multiple times to force the crowd of politicians, scientists, and bought-in participants to fade away. His voice caused Miguel to growl, a low rumbly noise that you soothed with your breasts pushing gingerly against his arm. He could do it. He could handle this pompous little shit-- “And who is this beauty? A new girlfriend, perhaps? Fiance? O’Hara could do with a wife. Settle him down, y’know.”

Miguel huffed out of his nostrils. “This is my lab partner,” he cleared his throat, leaning forward. “For… the project.”

“Her? A lab partner? Ha!” 

Shock. He didn’t have to look at you to know you were insulted. Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing out the tension as you smiled through the interaction, taking over for Miguel. “We have measurable results.” 

“That’s what I like to hear, sweet thing. Now, Miguel, Aaron has found a test subject…”

“I’ll interview them.” 

“No need! I--” 

“Excuse me, Mr. Stone. I’ll let you two talk,” you slipped away, your heels clicking off into the busy crowd. Stone was talking. Miguel knew he should listen closely. His half-formed plan to see what the future held for his research was wafting into the air, wisps of it in his ear. Tomorrow-- test-- can you? Panic blinded his senses. He could find you nowhere in the room, and even if he did, would he be too late? 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine, it’s… excuse me.” 

The issue with falling for someone was the scythe of his fear. His position was inherently risky. No matter how many groups of people he cut through trying to find you, you weren’t there. No tiny little appetizers of shrimp on half a skewer. No booze, because your head would swim. Not near the bathrooms, either. He rushed down the steps when he found you, just before the large iron gates, staring up at the stars peppering the sky. 

At your feet, Aaron. His drunken fingers trying and failing to guide the strap off of your ankle. You, of course, sat there staring dumbly down at his failed attempts to do something as simple as fix your damn heel.

“I’ll take it from here.” Miguel booted Aaron out of the way. Who, with his sloppy sloshed curses, tried to win a fight with him. He eventually won out. Aaron slunk away, somewhere up the steps. Miguel wasn’t counting. “You didn’t listen.” 

“Hm?” 

Miguel loosened both straps, sliding his open palm under your foot for one then the other. You gazed at him, sliding the black heels off your feet, tutting his tongue at the blistered back of your feet. 

“I told you not to wander off.” 

“I just wanted to see the stars. Besides, it was just Aaron.” 

“It’s never just Aaron. It’s Aaron and Stone.” Miguel’s eyebrows pushed against one another, recording your failure to listen. You crossed one leg over the other, sliding your toes over his silk tie, kept beneath a vest. He knelt before you, searching your eyes for the right answer. “You don’t know… what you’re getting into. I’m trying to keep you safe.” 

 “I don’t need you to. I can take care of myself, Miguel. Please don’t--” you sighed. “Don’t be like them.” 

He knew what you meant. Like Aaron, peeling off your shoes at the sign of discomfort because you were a pretty woman. Or Stone, who couldn’t comprehend your value as a scientist. Those who doubted you because of your color, gender, or a mixture of the two. His mouth twisted in frustration. He was in deep. Whatever you desired, he wanted to give. It came at a price.

“Are you mine,” the words came out stiff, “or theirs?” 

“Miggy,” you turned the word over on your tongue, willing him to stand down. His dark eyes settled on yours, unmoving. “Why do I have to pick?” 

“You can’t have both. You’ll have to choose. One day.” 

Your mind worked. He knew from the way you pursed your lip out, then in, puncturing its pillowy surface with your teeth. You shifted your gaze to the water, the stream coursing down the unfeeling stone. Miguel's fingers ran across your inner thigh, causing you to gaze down at him. The steps of others on the other side of the fountain, fading into the depths of the night caused you to break his gaze. Miguel offered you his hand, fitting the shoes under his other arm as he walked toward the valet. You took his hand and interlaced your fingers.

“Do you trust me?” 

“Of course,” you said, though the words felt thready and thin, nary a whisper. Something in the undercurrent of your voice concerned him. A thread that needed to be snipped, convinced of the vileness of the city-- of who you worked for. 

He doesn’t make mistakes. 

But he left the project code on his desk. It should have been there, yet, the corpse of a decrepit, awful creature withered on the lab floor proved otherwise. Someone had taken it because he was distracted. As a result, someone lost their life... even if it was Stone's doing.

Now, scouring through his papers, his hands tremored like a common drug addict. He supposed he was one, a druggie, tremoring like a shot hungry, Rapture crazed-- 

“Miggy?” 

He snapped around. His gaze melded your figure into one beautiful blurb, even with the glasses on his broad nose. It was your voice, coded in something close to concern. Miguel ran his hands through his hair, long strands falling messily over his eyes and cheekbones. He flattened his hands out atop his head.

“What are you looking for?” 

“The notes,” he weathered a breath. He doddered about the room, throwing a stack of paper onto the floor. They crumpled over the floor, mixed projects, notes on the specimen, but none were his. “Where are my notes?” 

“You’re sick,” your voice broke gently, as if speaking them alone helped. A horrid crack of laughter slipped from his throat, drawing into a long lament as he repeated the words after you. Sick, you said, he was sick. If being sick was the least of his issues, he would have been a happy man. Your steps rang into his ear, heavier than before, painful and loud. He crumpled onto the couch in his office, his hands cupping them. Your soft hands coursed over his chest, unbuttoning his starched button-up and sliding it down his muscular upper arms. “This might hurt.” 

No kidding, needles always hurt. But the instantaneous relief that flooded his system overrode the momentary pain. As your fuzzy figure came into focus, he recognized the drug that you set aside. 

“You didn’t--” 

“You were right, Miggy, about the-- Mr. Sims.”  Miguel gazed at you, leafing through novels of notes with trembling hands. He cursed himself for subjecting you to seeing that. Not quite human, not quite... The twisted look on the poor man’s face. What months of research with one another had offered. He would fix it. He knew the research was on point. It was the application that was lacking.

“I have a copy of your notes,” you murmured as if someone could hear. They likely could. “¿Ay, puñeta, dónde está? Ah! Here, here it is. Your… profile.” 

“You kept it,” he glanced down at the hastily scribbled note attached to the clip. ‘Miguel’s profile’ alongside a soft pink heart. He stopped your hands from thumbing through another leaflet. His eyes traced the dry ink of the heart. His thumb moved to stroke it, catching the sight of bubbling tears welling over in your eyes out of the corner of his eye. The tears slid down your full cheeks, triggering his discomfort to well up in his stomach. Miguel shifted closer, flicking fat droplets off your slight jaw.

“Hermosa,” Miguel shifted his head, cocking his eyebrow. “¿Que te pasa?”

“I should have listened to you Miggy,” you began, inhaling air forcefully through your nostrils. Breathe, you murmured. Miguel's soft hand cupped the back of your neck like a collar. You were happy to be collared by his hand, it felt safe. 

His eyes narrowed, thumb caressing the loose strands of hair at your nape. “You should have. You know I'll take care of you."

You nodded.

"You have to be fully dedicated to me.” 

“I am.” 

“Show me.” You fluttered your eyes, the gears of your mind working to understand what he meant. His hand fell away to trace the bow of your black blouse. He tugged on the knot, slipping the bow loose and running his fingers over your exposed cleavage below. “Take off the blouse.” 

Was it necessary? Some might have said no-- but sex, in its connective nature-- was the ultimate dedication. At the end of it all, that's what he craved: your eyes, your actions, all born with him in mind. With trembling fingers, you untucked your shirt from your black slacks. Miguel sat back, tracking the soft lace of your balconette bra teasing his eye. You loitered for a minute too long, enough for him to lift his thick eyebrow.

“Don’t stop now,” he said. Your knees knocked together, slipping the shirt over and off your torso before draping it on the arm of his couch. Your bra followed quickly after, slipping out of the twisted straps. You skimmed your hands over your breasts, holding them for comfort.

"No." Miguel flicked his fingers, motioning for your hands to move from your thick nipples.  You pushed your breasts together, allowing him to marvel at them a second longer. “Que maravilla... You have no idea how long I’ve waited. Go on, take off the rest now.” 

You suckled in breath, sliding the button of your pants loose. Then the zipper, its cloth scratching your thighs on its way to pool around your ankles. You stepped out of them, joining them too with your shirt. Miguel sat up, running his calloused fingers over the side of your hip and waist. His thumbs hooked in your panties, drawing them down over your pussy, a moist spot on your panties connecting a small string of wetness to your pussy. His palm slid between your thighs, pinned by your thighs pressed together, whether out of an innate need for more pressure or shyness to show him how wet you were. Hm. Miguel melded your ass, striking your skin with his large palm, it jiggled.

“Miggy,” you breathed, shy and intimidated. “I have to tell you something…” 

“Lay down,” he told you. 

“But Miggy, what if someone…” Your eyes darted away from his, chewing on his cheek as you slid back down beside him. You settled on the couch, your legs thrown over his thighs. The couch was stiff, hard against your neck. You stole a haughty glimpse at his face, focused entirely on coursing his palms over your calves and thighs, then back down to your slight toes. He ground your feet over his stiff cock, obscured by the fabric of his slacks. He felt big-- bigger than you could have imagined from the look on your face. 

“¡Basta!” Miguel growled, “No one is going to come in. Let me see you.” 

You flushed. 

“You want me to…” you glanced down, your curls were soft to the touch. 

“Touch yourself for me.” 

With your heart strumming in your chest, you shifted your hand down, spreading your lips, soft and wet. You were so wonderfully shy to follow his orders, the pads of your fingers rubbing along your outer lips, massaging them warm and swollen. You buried your eyes into your other arm, dragging up and down, over and over. A delightful sigh greeted his ear, ensuring that though you were too embarrassed to look at him, you loved it. He allowed it for now-- because he was a gracious, forgiving man. 

“Shock,” Miguel shuffled at the button and zipper of his pants, freeing himself from his slacks. He spat into his palm, stroking over his fleshy length, squishing his cock against your foot. Your toes curled over his cockhead, engrossed in Miguel’s rumbling pants, the soft pleasure that bloomed from his chest. Your eyes trained on his lips, the slight breath suckled between his teeth. Your fingers glazed over your stiff clit, pausing as though you needed his permission, just how he wanted it. Your sweet submission. 

His eyebrow perked. “You can touch it.” 

“Oh,” you glanced down, tracing the way Miguel fisted himself, swirling up to his cockhead, along fat veins and the bubble of salty fluid on his tip. His permission seemed to spur something else in you, flicking your swollen clit to the sound of his pleasured growling, your own pleasure growing in tandem with his. 

“¡Ya!” he annunciated, watching as you failed to stop. All at once he stopped his ministrations. A sigh escaped his chest as he pushed himself up, smacking your hand away from your puffy cunt. His cock bobbed between your bodies. You wanted to touch it, but couldn’t.

"Wait," you cried out. His cock twitched as he lowered his hips down, drawing sweet lubricant on his cock, stroking your pussy. He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a warm kiss. He dipped his hand down, his cockhead prodding and poking, dipping lower with the aid of his hand. 

“MiggyI’mavirgin,” you said all at once, his cockhead nudged against your entrance. Miguel’s head about snapped as he looked up, eyes popped wide open in disbelief. Before he could quite form a coherent thought, your hands shot out to grip his suit vest, stopping him where he was.

“¿Qué dejiste? Say that again?” 

“I haven’t… I haven't had sex,” you murmured. He hadn’t put it together. Your shyness, the awkward way you shuffled around, loosening your bra and hiding your perfect breasts from his eyes. The words were finally out in the open but didn't register.

"A..." Miguel fisted his cock, once, then twice, shifting back to kneel before you. Your eyes fell on his muscular thighs, the way his hand fisted his dick. “You’re a virgin?”

“I’m too old for this,” you mumbled, hiding your eyes with your palms. Miguel shifted to cast aside your hands from your eyes, his muscular body caging you underneath, looking for an explanation. “I just. Between school, work, I never had time.” 

Not that he was complaining.

"No boyfriend?"

You shook your head. He couldn't believe his luck. Not only were you gorgeous, but you were untouched. His, completely and fully. He liked it better that way-- to be the first memory smeared in your head. So that when you looked back on this moment, right now, it would forever be marked by his face.

"It's mine," he blurted out all at once. "I want your first to be mine."

His hand dropped down to your cunt. The pad of his middle finger worked at your entrance as though he were exploring the truth of your statement, stretching you with the aid of his fingers. You were tight, it had to be true.

You nodded, face buried deep in your arm. It didn’t take but moments for him to draw his hand back, suckling the lubricant from his fingertips. You distantly registered his words, “Damn it, you... you don't know what you do to me.” 

Before you could say a word more, Miguel positioned the head of his dick against your slippery virgin hole. You clenched, glancing down between your bodies again, as you had a dozen times, anxiously waiting. Miguel hushed you, the repetitive shushing of his lips soothing you into complacency, forcing your muscles to relax. “It might hurt. But the pain won’t last,” he assured you.

He rolled his hips forward. His sharp exhale shook with every centimeter that gave way. Your walls were forced apart, suffocating you on the shock of adjusting to having someone, no not someone, Miguel-- your Miguel, sinking into your tense body. He throbbed, twitching in your body. His hands fisted in the aged couch, catching the breath in his chest. 

“Ay, Miggy,” your nails dug into his shirt, loose around his firm muscles. “Miggy, no puedo,” 

“You can, you’re so good, eres tan buena,” Miguel swept your lips between his, taking the moment of your surprise to bury himself further, swallowed by your cunt that resisted his intrusion. Your lips fluttered in the kiss, keened out a cry. The pain of his dick, forcing its way through your passage is quelled by the knowledge that he’s here, with you, his girth forcing you apart, stretching you apart, seating himself flush against your womb. His voice was caramelized, sugared over, and so good. “Look at how well you’re taking me already.” 

“Coño, that’s a tight pussy,” He slid his hips back, the warm sensation of his withdrawal pulling free before shoving back in, a cry shoving forth from your lips, filling his office and the connected lab with your cries. He might have heard someone draw the door open, his hips driving back in, centered on the magnificent groans that stuttered free from your chest with Miguel’s careful thrusts. You keened his name, a repetitious Miggy, Miggy, Miggy-- it was Aaron, probably. He recognized the way his feet drug on the floor. 

He hoped he didn’t just hear it. He hoped he saw it too, the way his balls slapped against your ass, the mess of blood soaking the already unhygienic couch, the way his cock pulsed. You were blissed out, so full and well of him like no one else ever had-- because you were his, and his alone. It wasn’t just sex. It was more than that. From Aaron, whose shuffled steps fell out of his office, to any other little bitch in the office who had their own gain. 

“Damn,” Miguel shifted back, hooking his hand around your thigh to drag you back onto his dick. He swirled his thumb against your stiff clit, whirling it around in one circle, then another, and by the third your knees knocked together, bearing down on his cock to hold him still. “I can’t--” you stuttered out, I can’t--” 

“You’re going to,” he hissed. “You’re going to cum right here, right now, split open on my dick.” 

With another circle, you croaked an ugly cry, a terrible, ugly cry that Miguel couldn’t find any more beautiful as your body buzzed around him, tightening and squeezing your already tight cunt around him. Blissful pleasure radiated there, riding his dick for the friction against your virgin walls, your thoughts fading into a realm of insistent pleasure, where thoughts were space mush.

Miguel withstood the pressure on his cock,  clamping his hand down on your hip. His thrusts stuttered, filling your belly with whip after whip with his full hot cum. Your body twitched in the throes of his orgasm. He tracked his eyes down to your body, withdrawing with a bubbly pop of his dick from your abused hole, the intermingling of cum and virginal blood dribbling down your cheeks. 

Your gaze tracked Miguel, pressing his lips toward yours one more time. You shifted on the couch, legs pathetically tremoring. Miguel chuckled and walked toward his electric kettle, papers crunching underneath his feet, “Don’t bother moving. Not that you could, anyway.”

He warmed a warm cloth with hot water, testing its temperature on his palm before sitting beside your crumpled legs, spreading your legs to clean his mess and sooth the abrasive way he took you. He spread your lips, ensuring you were clean before he would flip the cloth, dropping it on top of your vulva. 

“You know you’re mine,” he asked, though it came out as a statement. With another cloth, Miguel cleaned his soft cock of the mess, exhaustion of the sex and what was to come returning to his gentle, deep voice. 

“Sí,” you answered. 

“And you’d do anything for me. Only me.” 

The words were laced with something more than a suggestion, but an affirmation of your loyalty. Your love. You pushed yourself up, hanging off his arm after he tucked himself into his pants. “Para siempre.” 

He leaned down, plucking the bundle with his sequenced DNA information. Your eyes coursed the information on the page, darting up to his tired eyes. You wanted to ask why or what he knew. Miguel knew it didn't matter. You were his now, from the top of your head to the bottom of your gorgeous toes. You trusted him fully. As you should. With the empty vial of Rapture sitting beside him, forgotten, he spared you a mincing smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Good. Let's fix our project.” 

[st-eve-barnes]

Leverage (Michael Gavey x fem Reader)

Chapter 4

Summary: When your ex threatens to release some very personal videos you are left with no choice but to do what he asks: seduce the biggest nerd on campus, Michael Gavey. Will you rock his world or will he fundamentally change yours?

This chapter: Michael loses his virginity while you try to fight your unexpected and unwanted feelings for him

Word count: +3600

Warning for the entire fic: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

Fluff, smut and of course angst (my favorite combination! lol) I haven't watched Saltburn yet so all characters in this fic except for Michael are my own.

Read the first chapters Here

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

You couldn’t stop yourself from replaying that night in the pub over and over again in your head, remembering too vividly how soft Michael’s lips had felt when you kissed him, how good he’d tasted or how warm his shaking hands had felt on your skin. Just thinking about his moans and whimpers in your ear was enough to make you wet at the most inconvenient times of your day.

It wasn’t like you to develop feelings for someone so fast. It wasn’t like you to develop feelings for anyone at all, especially not since Ben. It had never been like this with any other guy. 

But then Michael wasn’t like any of the other guys you had ever been with. 

He confused you and it was completely ridiculous because you did not have a crush on Michael Gavey of all people. Despite his sweet side he was still insufferable and totally self absorbed and he was not your type at all. You had to remind yourself that he was just a means to an end for you, helping you deal with your shitty ex and his threats.

But then why couldn’t you stop thinking about having his dick in your mouth?

You were supposed to distract him, not the other way around.

You didn’t see him again during that week and you were kind of grateful for that, as it allowed you to focus on your classes. But as soon as you left university’s grounds that Friday evening he was right there, leaning against the side of the building, as if he’d been counting the minutes until he could see you again. He was trying to act casual but failing horribly. You couldn’t help but smile when he eagerly walked up to you and gave you a shy awkward smile while fixing his glasses.

”Hey,” he beamed,”Fancy running into you here.”

“Yeah, fancy that,” you laughed,”What’s up, Michael?”

“Not much. It’s Friday.”

“Yes, it is,” you confirmed.

“I was just…wondering if…you were doing anything tonight?”

You had started walking again and he didn’t hesitate to follow you, like an overly enthusiastic lovesick puppy. It was endearing but you didn’t want to give into him right away.

“Crashing in my bed in front of the tv probably,” you blurted out.

“Oh, okay,” he was fumbling with his glasses again, struggling to find his next words,”Would you…like some company?”

You bit your lip but shook your head, your heart wanted nothing more than to take him up on his offer but your mind was a bit more hesitant,”I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Michael.”

You watched his face fall at your rejection but he tried hard not to show it,”Oh…okay. Yeah, okay, I get it.”

“Do you?” you sighed and stopped to look at him.

“Course I get it,” he said, unable to hide how disappointed and bitter he felt,”Last week was a one time thing for you and now you just want me to fuck off and leave you alone, don’t you? Clearly you’ve had better dicks in your mouth and mine wasn’t special. I get it.”

“God,” you sighed in frustration,”How do you always manage to say the absolute worst thing?”

Michael avoided your eyes, his lips quirked up in an awkward, sad smile,”It’s a gift, I guess.”

The sadness in his blue eyes was making your resolve crumble. You hated seeing him feel bad, especially because he’d done nothing to deserve the way you were treating him right now. This wasn’t even about him, it was all about you and your inability to deal with your unexpected feelings towards him.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed,”It’s just…that night at the pub…Maybe we shouldn’t have…I’m sorry, Michael. I never meant to…”

“It’s fine,” he stopped you,”You don’t feel the same way, I understand, you had too much to drink and you just wanted Ben to believe we were fucking, but you don’t really want to…fuck me. Of course you don’t.”

He sighed deflated.“You could have just told me, you know,” he then spoke quietly and with the saddest expression on his face,” If you didn’t want to see me again. If it was all just fake, you should have told me and I would have left you alone.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you explained. 

“Yeah, well, you did anyway,” he blurted out and then shook his head in regret,”I’m sorry, I’ll just…I’ll leave you alone. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine and as Michael turned his back to you, you realized he wasn’t the only one hurting. You’re not sure what came over you but before you could think about it you reached out to grab the sleeve of his sweater and pull him back to you. 

“Wait,” you spoke softly, letting your eyes meet his,”Wait..I…please don’t go.”

“Why not?” he sighed,”You just said…”

“Because I don’t want you to go,” you interrupted him softly. 

And you meant it. Michael was everything you shouldn’t want but your heart hurt at the thought of him walking away from you right now.

He let out a long, annoyed sigh,”Jesus Christ, girl, first you tell me it was all a mistake and we shouldn’t hang out anymore and now you don’t want me to go? Which is it? Can you make up your fucking mind, hmm?”

“I don’t want you to go,” you repeated, a little louder this time and you kept your eyes on his.

Michael leaned in closer, keeping his gaze on you as well.”Well…what do you want then?” he whispered.

You weren’t sure who kissed who first but the next thing you knew you had your arms wrapped around his neck and his lips on yours in a hot, hungry kiss. Michael didn’t hesitate this time, he grabbed your hips to pull you close to him while his mouth devoured yours, kissing you deeper until he was all that filled your mind and all those doubts were pushed to the background. 

You couldn’t deny the one feeling that remained: you wanted him.

What was it about this nerd that made you so needy for him?

He leaned back to look at you, nothing but hunger in his beautiful blue eyes.“Okay…I’ll ask again, do you want some company tonight? We don’t have to do anything, we can just…hang out.”

You nodded, biting your lip and leaning into him,”Your place or mine?”

“Yours,” he whispered.

***

Michael didn’t have time to look at your small apartment because your mouth was on his as soon as you set foot through the door, and he didn’t seem to mind. His hands wrapped around your waist, kissing you back and pressing himself up against you.

His kisses were still a little awkward but he was growing more bold and confident by the minute.

“I’m sorry,” you leaned back after a while,”I’m sorry. I didn’t…mean to jump you like that.”

Michael just grinned,”I don’t mind. Jump me, do whatever you want with me.”

“Whatever I want, huh?” you smiled and his eyes lit up in excitement at your flirty tone. You grabbed his shirt and pulled him towards the bed with you. “I know you said we don’t have to do anything, and…I’m okay with that. If you just want to watch tv or anything that’s fine by me…but…”

“I just said that so you’d let me come with you,” he interrupted you and then bit his lip, seemingly surprised by his own honesty.

“Oh, did you now?” you were still holding onto his hand,”What do you wanna do then?”

“Well,” he moved closer to you, carefully pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear,”I was thinking…it’s quite unfair that you made me cum last time but…I didn’t get to return the favor.”

You licked your lips and looked up at him,”You want to make me cum, Michael Gavey?”

He nodded his head eagerly and then leaned in to nuzzle your cheek, his breath hot on your skin, “I want you to teach me,” he whispered,”Teach me how to make you feel good.”

His lips found yours in another hungry kiss and suddenly you needed him more than anything. You kissed him back and pulled at his sweater. He interrupted the kiss to take it off and you didn’t waste any time, unbuttoning his shirt next. Michael sighed into the kiss, shivering as your fingers touched his stomach and pushed his shirt over his shoulders.

He followed your lead and started pushing up your sweater, you lifted your arms, helping him to take it off. You moaned softly when his hands found their way underneath your t-shirt to caress your back, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Your hands feel so good,” you hummed softly into his kisses and he moaned in response.

“Fuck,” he was breathing heavily already and you could feel his fingers trembling with every movement.

You reached for his belt but Michael was quick to stop you this time.“No, not yet,” he pulled back to look at you,”You first. Please.”

His voice broke with his last word and it only spurred you on.

You carefully pulled down your jeans and took off your t-shirt, leaving only your panties and bra on as you moved to lay down on the bed, keeping your eyes on him. Michael didn’t know where to look first, his eyes moving from your breasts down to your panties and then back up to your face. He looked so helpless standing before you, his hands nervously balled next to him, not knowing what to do with them.

“Come here,” you reached out your hand to him. He was quick to take it and let you help him on the bed, but not before removing his shoes and cargo pants. You smiled at his tiny white boxers, already showing a very prominent bulge.

You pulled him into your arms and into another kiss and then your legs wrapped around him, letting you feel his clothed erection against your panties. The both of you moaned into the kiss, hips moving on instinct. You could feel every vein and every throb of his cock against your clit, even through he layers still separating you both. Michael was quickly grinding against you like an animal in heat, his breath growing heavier with every roll of your hips.

“Fuck,” he whimpered,”We need to slow down, please, I don’t want this to be over too soon.”

You halted your movement to look at him, giving an encouraging nod,”It’s okay, we can go slow.”

He nodded in relief and moved from in between your legs to lay down next to you. You couldn’t help but whimper at the loss of contact but then he softly started kissing your neck.”Show me,” he whispered heavily against your ear,”Show me how to touch you…please….I need to make you feel good.”

“Touch me, right here,” you covered his hand with yours and guided him in between your legs, and into your panties, until his fingers brushed over your clit. You both moaned at the first contact and Michael’s eyes went wide.

“That feel good?” he asked softly,”Right there?”

You nodded and bit your lip to keep from moaning out loud.”Use two fingers,” you instructed him,”And just…move them over my clit in circles, like that…fuck yes.”

He eagerly did as you asked but he was a little too enthusiastic. You grabbed his hand to stop him with a little yelp,”Not so fast!’

“God, I’m so sorry…oh shit did I hurt you?” he blushed and stumbled over his words, his hand shaking suddenly.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him and gently cupped his neck, giving him an encouraging smile,”Don’t worry about it. Just…focus on the movement, not the pressure, you need to build it up. Start slow, and soft. You’ll know when I want you to go faster.”

He nodded and placed his fingers back on your clit, circling your bud ever so gently now, keeping his eyes on you to read your reactions.

Michael was a quick study, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you. Within a few minutes he had you on the edge of your first orgasm using only his fingers. You were breathing hard, fingers digging into his neck while your hips bucked up against his hand for more friction.

“Faster,” you breathed.

He obeyed enthusiastically, adding a little more pressure and rubbing quick circles now, pushing you towards that edge.

“Fuck,” you breathed,”god, that feels so good…please….please kiss my neck…I need your mouth on me.”

He nuzzled your neck gently, his breath hot against your skin, making you squirm underneath him. Then his lips latched onto your collarbone, licking and teasing your skin and covering you in wet, open mouthed kisses. Combined with his fingers it was enough to send you toppling over the edge.

“Don’t stop,” you begged,”Please don’t stop…I’m so close…so close…”

He increased pressure on your clit and sucked on your skin and you came with his name on your lips, back arching off the bed.

Michael was breathing heavily as he looked up at you, face completely flushed and his glasses all fogged up,”Fuck…you can come just from that?”

“Hmm,” you nodded with a blissed out grin.

“That’s so fucking hot,” he leaned in to kiss your lips, his kisses sloppy and wet and absolutely perfect. His fingers were still teasing your clit, making a new wave or arousal emerge quickly.

“Take off my panties,” you whispered into his kiss.

With shaking hands he did as you asked, pushing them down your legs, you took off your bra as well, leaving you completely bare for him. 

Michael’s eyes took in every inch of you while he licked his lips and then his hand was back between your legs, spreading your folds and finding your entrance.

“Can I put a finger in you?” he begged,”Please…please, I’ll be gentle.”

Then he kissed your lips again, slow this time.

“Show me,” he whispered,”Show me how you like it.”

You guided his hand lower and urged his finger inside of you, both of you gasping at the sensation.

“Oh shit,” Michael breathed,”Oh god, it’s so wet…is it supposed to be this wet?”

You nodded with a smile,”Wet is good. Wet means I want you.”

His pupils grew dark with lust at your words. “I want you too,” he whispered,”You have no idea how badly I want you.”

His finger was teasing your walls, slowly pumping in and out of you and then back up to your clit.

“Add another finger,” you urged him.

Watching his long, slender fingers disappear into your pussy was a sight to behold and it turned you on even more.

“Now curl your fingers a little bit,” you told him.

“Like this?” he asked, following your instructions perfectly and finding that spot with ease. A proud grin spread on his face when your head fell back into the pillow with a deep moan.

“Yes,” you whimpered,”Just like that….holy shit…right there…oh god, you’re so fucking good at this.”

“Yeah?” Michael asked with another smug grin on his flushed face.

“Put your thumb back on my clit,” you pleaded.

“You gonna come again?”

“Yes,” you moaned, gripping the sheets and falling into your second orgasm,”Yes….yes…”

Michael watched you with hooded eyes, rutting against the bed to offer himself some relief but determined to keep his focus only on you. He didn’t stop until you were a whimpering mess clinging to this back and burying your face into the crook of his neck.

He hugged you gently and let his fingers caress your back and your hair, letting you come down from your high.

“So, did I pass?” he then asked softly.

“With flying colors so far,” you smiled and pressed your forehead to his,”But…there’s one final test.”

You stared into his eyes and watched how his breathing picked up instantly at your words. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him back between your legs and then pushed his boxers down over his ass.

He was rock hard and leaking against your inner thigh. His forehead pressing back against yours and he moaned shamelessly when the tip of his cock brushed up against your entrance.

“Can I?” he asked in a soft whisper.

“Ask me nicely,” you teased.

“Please,” he begged,”Please can I fuck you? Please, I’ll be so gentle, I swear…I want to be inside you so bad, please let me fuck you.”

You cupped his face and pushed his sweaty hair back on his head, giving him a teasing smile.”I don’t want you to be gentle,” you then whispered and you wrapped your legs around him, sinking down on his cock.

Michael’s heavy moans filled the room and for a moment you thought he was going to fall apart right there but then he started moving his hips, fucking into you slowly.

“Wait, wait,” he whimpered,”I don’t have a condom.”

“That’s okay, I’m clean and on the pill,” you reassured him. “And I think you’re clean as well,” you added with a grin.

“Pathetically clean,” he joked with a muffled moan.

He cupped your face and then moved his hand over your neck, down to your breasts, squeezing softly while he started fucking you a little faster.

“That feel good?” he checked.

All you could do was nod and hold onto his shoulders as he sank deeper into you with every snap of his hips. It felt entirely too good to have him fill you up like this.

“Does it feel good for you?” you asked softly.

He nodded while biting his lip, smiling down at you.”Too good,” he then whispered, squeezing your tits again while his mouth devoured your neck. His kisses were sloppy and desperate and he was breathing so hard in between you knew he was close.

“Fuck,” he moaned,”I’m not gonna last…I’m…oh god…I’m sorry…I’m gonna…”

You were just as close as he was, clenching around him already, unable to hold it off any longer. “It’s okay, let go,” you breathed, pressing your forehead against his,”Let go, baby.”

He came with a quiet whimper followed by more moans as your own orgasm crashed over you as well. Both of you clinging to each other and breathing heavily until it was all over.

“Holy shit,” Michael whispered after a while,”That was…holy shit.”

You laughed and gently pushed him off of you. “Was that everything you imagined it would be?”

“So much more,” he grinned, putting his glasses back up all the way while he moved to lay down beside you on the bed, his gaze never leaving yours. The satisfied grin that remained plastered on his face made you laugh.

But then he gave you a more serious look, his voice soft when he returned the question,”Was that….everything you imagined it would be?”

His question took you by surprise but you eventually nodded your head.”Yeah,” you whispered,”It was.”

Michael leaned in to place a slow, lingering kiss on your lips, making you feel those conflicting feelings again. You tried to remind yourself that this was just sex and nothing more. Michael was just a horny virgin wanting to get laid and you just wanted to get your ex off your back. There was no other reason why this had happened. 

Michael gently cupped your face and looked deep into your eyes.”Can I stay?” he whispered.

You softly placed your hand over his but then shook your head with a sigh,”I don’t think that’s a good idea, Michael.”

He nodded but you could tell by his sudden, sad expression how your words shattered him. He would never show it to you though.

“Alright,” he nodded,”If that’s what you want.”

“I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” you tried to explain yourself.

“What’s the wrong idea?” he asked, taking his hands off you and leaning back against the wall, creating some distance between you two. 

The loss of his warmth on your skin made you shiver instantly and you pulled up the blanket to cover yourself.

You sighed,“I don’t want you to think that this is more than…what it is.”

“And what is it?” 

You let your eyes meet his,”You know what this is. I’m using you and…”

“I’m really not complaining,” he finished your sentence for you, putting a little smile on your face.”Besides,” he added,”I’m using you just the same.”

“Right,” you nodded.

“Listen, if you want me to go, I’ll get dressed and leave you to your night,” he continued in a calm voice,”But…if you let me stay and give me a few minutes we could do it again, practice some more. I can do better, I know I can.”

“Always the overachiever, huh?” you teased but he was looking at you with those hungry eyes again and you knew you were lost.

“We could do it slower this time, I’ll make it feel so much better for you, if you let me,” Michael continued, growing more confident with each word when he noticed your breathing speeding up,”I think…there’s a lot more you could teach me so…we could help each other out. I help you get your ex off your back and in return you teach me everything you know about sex.”

He placed his hand on your thigh and looked deep into your eyes.“What do you say, sweetheart?” he whispered,”Will you tutor me? I'll be such a good student, I swear.”

When he bit down on his lip and moved his hand up your leg, you caved.

[thehighladywrites]

Sugar daddy Rhysand

SUMMARY: What would our High Lord be as your sugar daddy?

warnings: mdni, nsfw, sexual themes,

A/N: This was so fun to make!!

banners: @cafekitsune

- sugar daddy Rhysand who overhears you and your friends at Rita’s talking about how you’re struggling with your rent and scholar fees.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who initally seeks you out and introduces himself for it to be more of a business transaction.

- Sure thing, it's a win-win for both of you. Rhysand covers your expenses, and you take care of his physical needs.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who has an overload of money which would be perfect to spend on you.

- In return, you give him company and comfort. You accompany him to balls, go on dates, shopping sprees, listen when he needs someone to talk to.

- You both agree that this is a good dynamic, and that neither one of you view this as a romantic relationship. You agree that neither one will fall in love. It’s strictly physical.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who at first seems to just like hanging out with you, making you wonder why he's into the whole sugar baby thing instead of dating. But after he starts sending money your way following your first few meet-ups, you stop questioning it.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who picks out luxurious lingerie in the hues he believes complement your skin tone and shape, choosing the finest laces and silks available. He's well aware they won't stay on for long, but he still likes seeing you in them either way.

- sugar daddy Rhysand whose cock hardens everytime he buys you something. Seeing you flash a smile and your little ” thank you daddy, I love it!! ” makes his pride and ego skyrocket

- sugar daddy Rhysand who makes you an authorized user on his account so that you never have to ask him for money. He links your accounts together so that anything he earns ends up in your account aswell.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who kisses you extra hard infront of males who try to hit on you, making it clear to them that you’re off limits.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who rewards you whenever you show him a good grade by eating you out on his throne, with you wearing his crown.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who punishes you when you’re bratty by edging you for hours, and when you finally think he’s giving in after apologizing and begging, he steps away with a wicked grin.

” Bet you’re never doing it again. ”

” M’so sorry daddy, I promise I didn’t mean to flirt with that guy! I swear I’ll never ever do it again, just l-let me come, please. “

- sugar daddy Rhysand who finally lets you come, but only if you ride him with no assistance, because at the end of the day, he could never truly deny you. But he still needs to show you that he doesn’t tolerate brats, so you’ll have to chase your own high.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who lets you know in you mind that Keir managed to piss him off yet again with his relentless talk, and commands you to wait for him in his bed, naked, to fuck his anger out on you.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who gives you 5000 $ for everytime you come on his fingers when you’re out for dinner at a fancy restaurant, who loved speeding his fingers up when the waiter comes to take your orders, watching your face flush, thinking it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who buys you an incredible and luxurious apartment in the fancy neighborhoods of velaris, making you his neighbor aswell. He pays for all maintenance and whatever decorations and renovations you desire.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who is confused when he finds out you spend your own money, demanding to see the receipt so he can give you back the amount you spent. He finds it almost offensive.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who lays on your chest as you scrape your nails against his scalp to calm him down after a shitty day

- sugar daddy Rhysand who cheers for you the loudest at your graduation. Who buys you the most thoughtfull gift that makes you bawl your eyes out.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who brings you along on trips to other courts because he desires your company so much. Is there a hidden agenda when he reserves the most romantic accommodations? Certainly not. He simply wants the best for his sweet girl.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who treats you as though you were tailor-made for him, with a captivating blend of gentleness and authority that never fails to turn you on. His imposing stature and unwavering willingness to fulfill desires, whether it be financially or physically, surpasses your previous lovers in every way.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who slowly starts to fall in love with the things you do for him, and starts to realize that he has broken your inital agreement to not fall in love.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who is wary of telling you incase you don’t share the same feelings. But he braves it and tells you anyways because it kills him to not be able to rightfully claim you.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who is over the moon and could cry from relief and happiness when you tell him that you’ve been feeling the same.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who fucks you so gently and romantic with whispers of sweet nothings and promises for the future the night of the confession.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who sees the way your eyes sparkle and cheeks heat when he first introduces you as his for the first time. He swears he feels his heart burst out of his chest to see you so happy and content.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who feels that golden thread, binding your souls together after a few months of dating.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who sets up to have the biggest, most luxurious and ornate mating ceremony in Prythian when you decide to bake his favorite pie for him, ultimately accepting the bond that intertwine your very souls.

- sugar daddy Rhysand who makes sure you never need or want for anything, who treats you like his queen, and gives you the life you deserve.

[faeriekit]

I’m writing this only to excise this from my body.

TIM (& DICK) ACCIDENTALLY START THE BATFAM AU!!!

So. Recently dropped out from college, kicked out of Wayne Manor, and fast tracked through police training Officer Grayson is having a real fucking shit time at the precinct. No one respects him or his deductions or his opinions. Everything sucks ass. His most familiar and longest-living support structure was ripped out from underneath him, he’s broken up and no-contact with anyone he’s ever dated, his Blüdhaven apartment is awful and full of black mold and there’s never enough food to sustain him, his creation of his Nightwing persona is slow-going and the public is reluctant to catch on, there’s a kid hiding under his bed, his partner thinks he’s a total nepo baby even though he has no money and no contacts, and—

There’s a what.

Dick double checks under his bed. Yerp. Sure enough, just hanging out, is a black-haired kid with a raggedy coat and a backpack, just peering back out at him with his big ‘ol eyes.

“What the fuck,” says Dick, before remembering not to swear in front of kids. “...freak.”

The kid scrunches his nose.

Dick doesn’t kick the kid out because, fuck, it’s cold out in November and at least his shitty apartment has heating, but he does tell the kid that this ain’t cool and that if he wasn’t literally in the cops to take most of them down, he wouldn’t let this fly at all. In the morning, the kid skedaddles, and Dick assumes that is that.

Except he’s here the next day.

“What the fuck,” Dick repeats, and commits to the swearing this time.

In the mean time, Tim already knows what swearing is and Is On The Fucking Lamb.

His parents were murdered in their bed on their one week in Gotham for the season, and escaping the same fate had been a lot of sneaking out of the house and hitching a ride on the Gotham city bus and laying low on the streets for the week, keeping only his most important photos, his camera, and a spare set of clothes on him at all times. There had been warnings of upset in the company that Tim had overheard, but he hadn’t expected this. With no safety in Gotham, no money, no food, and no one he knew personally, Tim was Very content with his plan of hiding out under Robin’s (ex-Robin’s?) bed until the murderers are appropriately found. The company can’t be bought, traded, or sold until Tim’s found dead, after all.

So. With a motivation to avoid getting murdered, Tim very rudely ignores Dick Grayson’s attempts to keep him out of his apartment with strategic uses of puppy eyes, lockpicks, and general knowledge of exploits in electronic locks.

“Little monster,” Dick warns, even as he has a plate for Tim in the hand opposite his own, “You can’t hide under my bed forever.”

Tim ducks back further under the frame. Yes he can!!!

It devolves into day-to-day shenanigans from there. Tim never speaks since he knows his Bristol accent is recognizable. Dick suddenly has to juggle his day job, Nightwing, and stopping this little kid with a camera from crawling around this crusty and crime-riddled city all night, just so the squirt can dart into the precinct in the morning with entirely inadmissible evidence of wrongdoing?? JUST managing the baby is part-time job. Fuck. Dick is buying double groceries now. He might actually learn how to cook more than ramen-with-egg.

It’s good that Dick has mastered some kind of weird almost-parent bullshit with the little monster, because overnight one kid under his bed turns into two.

“What the fuck,” says Dick. He tries to reach under his bed, and the new kid tries to get him with a knife. “What?? The fuck??”

“Back off! The shrimp was here first!!” the new kid growls, his street accent thickly prominent.

“This is literally my apartment?!”

“So what? What’re you going to do, call the cops to this shithole?”

“…I’m a cop?!”

Anyway. This new kid is deeply protective of the little monster, and his name is Jay something-something, mind your own fucking business, and Dick’s a little bit grateful because now at least the ten-year-old-monster has backup when he starts darting around town and also is wondering why it’s suddenly his fucking problem that he has to feed two kids he is not related to, and also apparently bailing them out at work when two not-even-pubescent kids get caught breaking and entering at seemingly random places in Bludhaven.

“Fuck off,” says Jay, to a cop, while the more silent kid is busy trying to get a look at evidence on cop desks. Dick watches from his own desk in silent horror.

“Is this yours?” asks Dick’s haggard partner.

“…Sure,” says Dick, to Jay’s clear surprise and suspicion. The monster beams with all of his adorable and also entirely fake innocence, the little shit. Dick bails them out, and then they all have lima beans for dinner as punishment for getting caught. I mean doing illegal things. (I mean getting caught.)

And then Bruce asks if Dick is coming home for Hanukkah.

Dick does not want to come back for Hanukkah.

…But the leftovers would feed the kids, actually. And it’s good food. And free. Maybe he can go for one night and not kill Bruce.

Spoiler: Dick cannot go for one night and not kill Bruce. Dick stomps to the other end of the house, texts Alfred an apology, and makes it all the way back to his car in order to drive home. Dick is on the parkway and on his way back to Bludhaven by the time that the tiny assassin in his car tries to Get Him.

They tussle. Dick only wins because he is An Adult and the assassin is, like, four foot nine.

Anyway. Cass is driven home in an improvised belt-and-dress-shirt restraint and cannot live under the bed, as she has to receive lice treatment. She stays because there is food and also other kids her age.

“Where are you getting all these kids?” Dick’s work partner asks, which is a fair question.

“…Cousins,” Dick lies.

“They live at your place.”

“Until their moms get sober again, yeah, probably,” Dick says, banking on the fact that he looks ethnic enough that no one will question the blatant reference to substance abuse or the basically-still-a-kid raising kids.

No one questions him.

He’s kind of disappointed in them about that.

Jay drops a reference to Crime Alley about this point. “You’re from Gotham?” Dick asks, perplexed. “Then why are you here?? This place sucks ass.”

“I’m in hiding. Duh.”

“From who??” Dick is fully prepared to go Nightwing on someone’s ass.

“Batman,” Jay says, severely. “I stole his tires. And then I hit him with a tire iron.”

Dick gapes. Monster gasps. Cass doesn’t get it, and takes a good heaping of spaghetti off the monster’s plate while he freaks out.

Much cute domestic shenanigans, and then it all goes to shit when the party is crashed by an assassin, who has been paid reasonable amounts of money to kill Timothy Jackson Drake.

Fighting ensues. Jay, who had known everything But the fact that Dick was Nightwing, freaks the fuck out.

"YOU?!"

"Yeah," Dick says, sheepishly, putting the escrima stick back in his pocket. "Uh. Whoops?"

"BUT YOU'RE A COP?!"

"I'm harboring you all, aren't I?" Dick points out, and rightfully so. "Cops do illegal stuff all the time. I literally got you out of trouble for your little B&E adventure in the inner city warehouses last week. If you weren’t fake related to a cop, you’d be in juvie right now for repeat offenses."

Jay, who was pretending that didn't happen and whose face is a bright scarlet, changes the topic. "Why didn't you tell us you were a fucking vigilante, then?? You should have said something?"

Dick points to the under-the-bed monster who has been squatting in his apartment since last year for that exact reason and the mostly mute mini assassin, both of whom had already known this information and said nothing. “I assumed they told you tbh.”

Jay stomps away.

Unfortunately, Tim's plan of hiding in Dick's apartment is no longer safe, and now everyone has to haul ass to move somewhere more secure.

This means needing more money.

This means needing somewhere to hide until a new place can be secured.

…Shit. This means playing nice with Bruce and asking for favors.

Dick does not want to play nice and ask for favors.

…Dick looks at the kid who’s depending on him to protect him from assassination, another orphan with nowhere else to go, and a girl who underwent abusive training and who’s never known a safe space apart from them.

Dick is going to have to get his shit together.

And he will hate it the whole fucking time.

Everyone piles into his early 2000s toyota something and off they drive, one bag each, to the house with the guy who never quite adopted Dick into his family and probably never wants to see him again, based on how literally every time Dick tries to spend time with him, Bruce can’t help but push on every one of his fucking buttons.

From there it’s a slow-churning reconciliation arc, baby! Bruce learns how to actually communicate with his kid, finds out that having the kids around improves his quality of life by 200%, and Alfred gets an early plural grandkid arc. Dick struggles not to take shit personally while they solve the deaths of the Drakes, Tim breaks his leg falling off of a place he Should Not have been, and Jason continues to learn that protecting others isn’t the same as genuine vulnerability and intimacy, and that he has value, and Cass learns that although she hates killing, she loves fighting, and using that for good isn’t bad.

Reasons I will never write this fic:

Too long!! I would never get it done in a reasonable time frame, and I can’t commit right now.

I actually…writing mysteries bores me. Sometimes actual mysteries bore me. I couldn’t execute this the way I would want it to be read. I’d give up. (Or, you know, I technically already have?)

In-betweens between the action scenes are too vague. They’re not solid in my head in the way I would want them to be if I was writing this.

This entire fic was premised under the basis of Dick looking under his bed and finding a twelve year old Tim Drake. I wanted some good old fashioned Tim & Dick bonding that wasn’t Red Hood based, since it’s still one of the most prominent tropes in their ‘&’ relationship tag.

Want to use any of this…? Go nuts. Or don’t. This has been exorcised from my body. I am now free.

[ghostboybrainrot]

DPxDC Ghost Zone Amity AU Part 2

Part 1   Part 3  Part 4  AO3

Edit: I finally got around to adding this to AO3, link above.

Wow! I am completely blown away by the reaction the first part! It’s the first fic idea I ever posted. Thank you so much for all the likes and messages. I have a lot of ideas for this AU but I‘m new to writing so please be patient. I also would love to hear anyone’s ideas.

--------

Batman wanted to see the portal himself. Because of course he did. Nosy idiot couldn't let them handle it. And John Constantine just knew the bat was gonna make things harder on him.

"Can you disable it?" Gotham's knight asked.

"Of course not! This is some sci-fi bullshit and I don't do sci-fi. I do Magic, thank you very much.”

"You said you could sense death coming from it."

Constantine ran his hand through his hair, frustrated.

"Yeah but that doesn't mean I know how! This shouldn't be possible. And it radiates Death, capital D. This isn't just a device that has been exposed to death. It's owned by the Dead.

A grunt was all Constantine got as a reply, as the knight continued to examine the machine.

"Do you know where it goes?"

"To the DEAD! Haven't you been listening?! You know the Underworld? Hereafter? Netherworld? Hell with two L's? Hel with one L? Purgatory? Pandemonium? Hades? Tartarus? Any of these ringing a bell?"

Batman does not dignify the outburst with a response but he turns toward Constantine for the first time since they entered the building, narrowing his eyes.

"Which one?"

Constantine waved his hands noncommittally, "Eh, could be any of them. Could be ALL of them. They aren't completely separate. Like different branches of the same company. Different regional managers but all equally shitty.

Batman grunts again, turning back to the swirling mass. After a moment, he starts to fiddle with something on his belt. Constantine couldn't see what he was doing but he already didn't like it. Every time the bat investigated something that Constantine thought was better off left alone, his day would inevitably get MUCH worse. For the millionth time, he wonders why he bothers to associate with these idiots.

Batman pulls what he was messing with from beneath his cloak. His grapple gun? Constantine took several steps back. Nope. Nope, he definitely isn't gonna like this. 

Instead of firing the gun, Batman slowly pulled at the hook loosening the wire until he had roughly 10 ft of it coiled in his hand. Then without any hesitation, he approached the swirling green, tossing the hook inside. It promptly disappeared, quietly, as though it had simply sunk into murky water.

They both waited. No sound could be heard except the ambient buzzing of electronics coming from the large machine. Batman stood a few feet from the portal, watching the line intensely. He had braced himself as though he expected the line to snap taut at any moment and pull him in. After roughly a minute and no such thing happened, Batman slowly reeled in the line feeding it back into the gun.

The hook came into view, no worse for wear. None of the green substance lingered on it. After briefly examining it, Batman clipped it back to his belt. Constantine was slightly disappointed that it hadn't come back ablaze or melting, only because it would help him narrow it down. Having it come back unscathed didn't really tell him where it led. Then again the fact that it wasn’t instantly destroyed from coming in contact with the portal was probably a good thing.

"I think you gotta put worms on the end if you wanna catch something Bats." Constantine joked. He knew the man wouldn't react but couldn't help it. 

To his surprise, John heard a chuckle from directly behind him. It startled him but he did his best to not show it. He knew who it was and didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Boston Brand, Deadman, slowly floated into view in front of the magician. He was watching Batman but directed his comment toward John.

"I was expecting the Bat to get dragged in! A little disappointed if I'm bein' honest." Deadman laughed.

"I'd be lying if I didn't feel somewhat similar. When'd you get in?"

"Not too long ago," the ghost said conversationally, "I did a quick lap around the crater. Phew! That thing is huge!"

"No kidding? I hadn't noticed." The magician snarked, pulling a cigarette out and placing it between his lips. He wouldn't light up in here. He wouldn't want to piss off the Bat but the familiar feel on his lips brought him a small amount of comfort.

Batman seemed to have noticed Constantine's one sided conversation. He turned to stare at the occultist, his eyes narrowing again. 

"Boston?"

"Who else?" Constantine grumbled.

Suddenly, without warning, he felt a cold wave rush over him as the ghost phased into his body. He felt his mouth open, his cigarette fell to the ground, and a voice that wasn't quite his own spoke.

"Hiya Batman! Long time no see! I heard you guys could use a little help?" John's face grinned without his approval. The voice coming from John had a Brooklyn accent and was entirely too cheerful for his liking.

Batman nodded, unsurprised by the English man’s sudden accent and demeanor change. He gestured over his shoulder toward the machine.

"What can you tell me about this device?"

"Umm..." John's legs brought him a little closer and his hand came up to his chin as though he was thinking hard. "I mean it's definitely spooky, I get kindof a weird vibe from it but other than that. Meh." He shrugged. "Not really my area, Bats."

"Does it seem dangerous?"

"Honestly? I don't think so. Like Constantine said it definitely radiates Death but not like in like in a scary way. Hard to describe. Feels kinda like a nap after a long day, ya know?"

Batman didn't respond. There was a good chance he didn’t know. Constantine had never know the man to take a break. Did he even know what a nap was?

"Would you be willing to investigate?"

"Ya mean like go in? I suppose. Not like I'm getting any deader. Ha!"

As quickly as it appeared, the cold sensation that gripped him vanished and John Constantine's body was his own again.

"Bloody ghost! You made me drop my cig." He bent down to retrieve the cigarette, brushed it off, and put it back in his mouth. John hated when Deadman did that. Which was probably the reason he did it. He could have just asked John to translate. Or better yet ask him to magic Batman's eyes so he could see the ghost! But Boston loved to see John frazzled. As annoying as it was to be on the receiving end, John couldn’t begrudge the ghost his fun. He knew how lonely it could be being dead in the land of the living. No one even knowing he was there. Constantine may not be dead but he’d been around it enough to know how isolating it could be.

"Sorry John!" The ghost called back goodnaturedly, already heading toward the portal. "Wish me luck!"

The ghost flew through the portal and the room was quiet once again. Batman couldn't see the ghost had disappeared but he followed John's gaze toward the machine and waited. Accurately guessing he had already passed through.

After a short moment, Constantine wondered if he had enough time to go outside for a quick smoke. But before he could decide, Deadman's head poked back through the swirl of green. The rest of him followed close behind, looking exactly the same as when he left.

"Well?" John asked impatiently.

"Seems safe enough. It leads to another portal on the other side. No monsters or anything."

Batman spoke up, "What's he saying?"

Constantine, taking a page out of Batman's book, ignored the knight continuing to address the ghost. "And? Where does it come out?"

"That's the weird thing. I think it's just a garage."

-------

That’s all I have for now! Let me know how i did and what you think should happen next.

I have a lot of ideas on what happens to GZ Amity, and coincidentally humanity as a whole, as a result of it getting stuck. I like to think that over time this creates a whole subspecies of liminal humans and GZ Amity ends up giving a solar(ecto?) punk vibe.

Jack and Maddie are LOVING living in the ghost zone. After the initial shock, and a short adjustment period, they throw themselves into their research just as hard as before but instead of focusing on weapons they focus on researching the properties of the ghost zone. They use what they learn to better the lives of the residents of the town.

Amity Parkers don’t leave when they die. Old Evelyn Baker is still there like 300 years in the future. And because no one leaves, the town expands.

Blob ghosts wander around the city like stray cats. People treat them like pets. The Fentons create a blob collar especially for ecto-pets that is designed to stay on despite their semi-intangible nature. Using that design they are able to make equipment that will automatically phase WITH the user without having to dedicate extra energy to it.

I like the idea of Vlad coming around eventually. I think it would be funny for liminal!Amity Parkers gaining a resistance to overshadowing. And because Amity isn’t really part of the US anymore, his vast wealth doesn’t really do him any good. So here he is sad and alone. All his plans have failed and his power is rendered almost entirely useless. He can still overshadow people in the living world and the US is still a capitalist hellscape so his money is good there. But without any sort of end goal it loses its appeal. Eventually, he’ll come crawling back to Amity. 

------

Tags:

@seraphinedemort @bookreaderman @ronocnogard19 @apointlessbox @d4ydr34min9 @fylylowo @takingspagetts @vythika96 @catmaraudersfan @coruscateselene @gin2212 @running-batty @amercurio @victoria-has-no-secret @clarinetily @imsociallyanxiousgetoverit @ironicvixen @toomanyartsuppliesnotenoughtime @thewondersoflebanon @booklover4177 @malice-of-the-sunrise @thegatorsgoose @theamazingfox @xye-chan @farmercale @dontfightmecauseillcry @alcorbearson

[yanderenightmare]

stalker bakugou🥺 him being sad and lonely

Bakugou Katsuki

TW: yandere, stalking

gn reader

He’d tried ripping it out. He’d tried fighting it off and spitting it out along with a bloody tooth on the ground, leaving it there in the rubble. Forget about it. Sweat it out. Smoke it out. Forget about it.

But his feelings for you weren’t that easy to shake.

He doesn’t understand what the fuck he’s doing anymore – something in the forefront of his mind acts on impulses before that voice pushed way down into the very back of his mind is able to catch up and stop him.

But there he is – too late yet again – watching you in all your oblivious glory where you step about your kitchen, dressed only in underwear and a pair of slippers, dancing to the tunes of an old record player he can’t hear in the condo he’s bought across the street.

Completely baren aside from a kettle and a jar of instant coffee on the kitchen counter – plus the coffee cup held in his hand. He pays the electric bill but still stands in the dark, a hair’s length away from the glass while gazing at you.

He ought to just move in there, despite it being but a fraction of the size of his actual house. He spends more time there anyway, ten or so meters away from you.

It was a shitty place anyway – similar to yours, though you managed to make it look cozy – putting pictures over water stains and flakey paint, laying out carpets over the cold faux wood paneling.

He sits down and crosses his legs, continuing to watch you while wondering if you’d do him the same justice. He’s quite shitty himself… He wonders if you’d decorate his stains and flakes with pictures and wrap him in carpets to keep him from being cold. If you’d take time to make him cozy – if you could rest easy in his arms the way you do that old beaten couch you sprawl out on with dinner in hand.

You’re both alone, but somehow you don’t look lonely. Not like him. You don’t seem tortured by it – bitten and eaten and beaten by it.

You don’t seem to mind it at all... You seem happy – comfortable in your own company.

His coffee goes cold, and his eyelids begin to droop, and soon you turn off your TV and then the lights and head to bed.

He sighs, looking into your pitch-black apartment, knowing he won't be able to see you until morning. And with the distraction gone, he puts both hands in his hair and begins to ball them up, rip at the strands – bowing until his forehead thunks against the window.

What the fuck is he doing? The two of you barely even know each other. You’re just a silly intern who brings him and a dozen other people coffee. Is he really that pathetic and lonely to fall for the first cute face he comes across? And so awkward that he becomes a creepy stalker who watches them in secret while they're at home? And so desperate that he buys the condo across from them to continue indulging his insane antics?

He has no answers anymore… he thinks, lying down on the shoddy cold paneling, eyes staring up at the water stain on the ceiling, trying to find ways to make it look like you...

He closes his eyes.

You’re driving him mad.

[bugmomwrites]

Weary

Dr Flug x Reader

Stealing my sister’s bf’s HBO password is the second best thing I’ve done this week. Whipping up a solid drabble in 30 minutes and refining it into a whole oneshot in the same night takes first place.

There’s like, one innuendo towards the end but everything else is straight up fluff. Story came to me after reading yet another shady thing a certain airline I won’t name did, but it sounds like “we ain’t going”. I am changing the names so I don’t end up dead in a van somewhere, but if you know you know ;)

—•• •—• ••—• •—•• ••— ——•

“…And then what happened?”, Flug yawns, looking up at you through his goggles. You smile gently, kissing the front of the bag where his forehead would be.

“Well, according to some sources…the former production and safety manager’s exact words were ‘if anything happens, I didn’t do it myself’,” you respond, reading the article off your phone. Using the same soft voice you use when you read picture books to a sleepy 505, except it was a news article turned Wikipedia rabbit hole.

You two had gone from listening to him explain the differences between a 767 and an Airvan, to him resting his bagged head in your lap as you click on various entries and articles, bouncing information back and forth. The person, a known whistleblower who had retired from the controversial airline a few years ago, had tried many a time to draw attention to the company’s shady practices. For him to die so suddenly, especially as more inside secrets came to light, was too fishy for the public to ignore.

“I’m no detective, but…”

“Assassination?”, you finished for him, raising a brow. The two of you exchanged knowing looks.

“Does the Dreamweaver have flexible wings?”, he grumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist to bury his head further into your tummy. It tickles, but you try not to laugh lest you disturb his rare peace. Moments like these didn’t happen often, and you knew if any of the others were to see you like this, Black Hat would tear you both a new one, and Demencia would never let you hear the end of it.

A few more minutes go by, occasionally filled in with fun facts about the company’s various other incidents that had made the news in the past. You click off of yet another one where a plane was literally falling apart mid-air, having to make an emergency landing in a massive blaze. That was enough internet for today, at this rate you’d never want to hop in a plane again. You carefully set your phone to the side after checking the time.

“If I were him, I wouldn’t have let them get me.”

“I know, Flug.”

“And I would have documented everything.”

“Mhm”, you rest a hand on his back, your own eyes growing heavy.

“I’d go down there and put them back together myself. I’d personally take all of their shitty scrap parts, and make a better airplane than any of those so called professionals,” he says disdainfully.

You smile as he heaves a long sigh, like the weight of the world rests upon his weary shoulders; which isn’t far from the truth, if the way Black Hat nags him and Demencia torments him on a regular basis is any indication. Not to mention raising a son/care bear/science experiment through it all. But even if it’s not quite the whole earth, at the very least it’s the whole company. Everybody ought to give him more credit, himself included.

“If anybody could do such a thing, I know it’d be you, Flug. You’ve always had a brilliant mind.” He hums softly at the praise, feeling quite chuffed to know that at least someone in the manor besides his own son appreciated him not just for all he does, but who he is.

It’s quiet again for a few moments as he drifts in and out of consciousness, your hand gently rubbing his back until he speaks up again a few minutes later.

“And I’ll make you my co-pilot.”

This takes you by surprise, the hand rubbing his back stopping briefly as you let the words settle over the two of you. Reading between the lines was something you found yourself doing almost as often as reading his expression through his paper bag, the man still not quite comfortable enough to outright say all the things he’d had bouncing around in his head to you just yet. Your hand resumes as you test the waters, stuck between delicate hope and fear of possibly scaring him off.

“I…don’t know how to fly a plane. Nor do I have a pilots license.”

“Me neither, but I’ll show you how to do it in the cockpit. I’ll make sure you have a smooth ride for your first time.”

A pregnant pause falls over the both of you, and your whole face heats up, mind processing his words only to take a nosedive into the gutter. You open your mouth to respond only to be met with quiet snores from below, Flug blissfully unaware of the effect of his words.

‘Looks like the week finally caught up to him’, you think. Odds are he might not remember something like that when he woke up, but you could tease him about it later on. For now, you stretch your arms over your head and attempt to make yourself as comfy as possible without disturbing him, sleep beginning to overtake you as well. You glance down once more to where he dozes peacefully for the first time in years, committing it to memory before joining him in slumber.

“Buenas noches, Flug.”

—•• •—• ••—• •—•• ••— ——•