#like i know i should give myself a chance to relax but i don’t have anything to do.. there’s my myth class and ig i could focus my

[theswedishpajas]

The man truly can’t take a genuine compliment 🙄

[pallases]

okay well i don’t know what to do w myself now

[ellemj]

Off-Limits: Ch. 2

Bucky Barnes x Reader: Mafia AU

Read Ch. 1 here.

Summary: Bucky Barnes took the one thing he couldn't have: you. The only thing is...you didn't even know he'd done it.

Warnings: profanity, possessive!Bucky, mentions of firearms, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Idk what to say about this chapter so on a more personal note...I had a birthday recently and I'm treating myself by writing more smut, getting pampered, and going to bed on time.

            James Bucky Barnes isn’t used to having to ask for what he wants. Negotiating is something he’ll only put a very limited amount of effort into, and when it becomes more trouble than it’s worth, he stops negotiating. That’s why he snapped two nights ago in your father’s home office. Well, he won’t admit it to himself or anyone else, but seeing how pretty you looked on your knees was what really made him snap. The pain of negotiating was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

            You’re definitely worth negotiating for, more so than anything else he’s ever negotiated for in his lifetime. He gave it a try, but hearing your father once again label you as off-limits would be enough to set anyone off. So, as the man sits quite comfortably in his desk chair, studying his own clean yet metaphorically blood-stained hands, he feels justified in his actions. He fired a couple of rounds, pressed the barrel of his gun to your father’s temple, and took what was his. Well, maybe that’s overstating it a bit.

            If he’d really taken what was his in the way that he wanted to, he wouldn’t be so on edge right now. He wouldn’t have had to fuck his hand both last night and this morning just to get you off of his mind long enough to make it into his office today. He knows he could’ve avoided feeling like this if he’d just told your father that he was taking you that night, that he had no say in the matter whatsoever. But no, after maiming two of your father’s men, Bucky pressed his gun to your father’s head and a pen into his hand and he proposed a deal that would keep you from resenting him for the rest of your life. Your father signed whatever he needed to in order to spare his own life, even at the expense of sending his only child into the arms of the city’s most feared man.

            You’re the last thing Bucky should be focusing on right now. His eyes flit over to the security monitor on his desk, where he sees his expected guests stepping out of a black SUV one by one and coming to stand near the entrance of his currently closed nightclub. It’s going to be another evening of negotiating. Heaving a deep sigh, Bucky shifts his gaze to the bottom right corner of the screen, where he sees his new assistant sitting just outside of his office. His new assistant who, while so attentive and polite at work, looks at him with the vilest disdain every evening when he escorts her out to the car that carries her home. One would think she’d be nothing but grateful for him, having first spared her father’s life and then taken her on as an assistant with no work experience whatsoever. You really should be grateful.

            Unless James Bucky Barnes is so far past pissed that he can barely see straight, it’s hard to tell that he’s feeling anything other than relaxed and calm. For the most part, he’s a very level-headed man. He gives people chances, he understands and accepts small mistakes and mishaps as they occur. Even now, as the three men seated in front of his desk bicker on amongst themselves, taking up entirely too much of his time, Bucky looks almost bored. His gaze routinely darts from the faces of the men in front of him, down to the golden crevices of his vibranium hand as he traces them with his flesh index finger, and then to the watch on his right wrist.

            3:58 pm.

            Two more minutes, he tells himself.

            “This is going to keep happening if we don’t post more men at the docks when a shipment is coming in, and if the men who are supposed to be there keep showing up late.” The first red-faced man snaps, unintentionally hurling a light mist of saliva at the man to his right.

            “That’s not on me, I don’t know why you’re looking at me when you say that. I’m doing the best I can with the numbers I have, we’ve lost a few good men lately and I can’t do anything about that.” The man on the right retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

            3:59 pm. Bucky’s eyes roam over to the heavy wooden doors that maintain the privacy of his office. He can hear you standing on the other side of it, taking a deep breath and pushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear before wrapping your little hand around the big metal doorknob. God, he can’t help but imagine your little hand wrapping around something else.

            The volume of the argument reaches an all-time high just as you’re tugging the heavy door open. It isn’t surprising that the quiet sound of the door sliding open doesn’t break the men out of their tiff, that only Bucky hears it.

            As soon as you’ve stepped into the office and realize what you’ve walked into, you freeze by the door. Your eyes dance over the backs of the three men who sit in front of the desk, watching as they engage with each other but none of them turn around to take notice of you. The only person who looks at you is Bucky, with his steely blue eyes and focused gaze. He watches intently as your own focus shifts to him. You’re fully expecting him to tell you to leave, that your presence isn’t needed at the moment, not when something so important is obviously going down. But he doesn’t. Bucky only stares at you, waiting to see if you’ll do your job and approach his desk.

            You take small steps toward the desk, toward the angry men that sit between you and your new boss. It isn’t until you’re halfway across the office that the man in the middle hears the sound of your heels clicking against the hardwood floor and he glances over his shoulder at you. The up-and-down look that he gives you sends a nauseating shiver down your spine while simultaneously making Bucky’s trigger finger itch.

            “You let bitches walk in here without knocking?” The middle man asks abruptly, effectively silencing the room with the way he’s just addressed Bucky. As is the norm, not a soul in the room can tell that Bucky’s seething on the inside. He keeps his cool, he remains level-headed as he makes eye contact with the burly man. He offers no words in response, and instead simply chooses to tilt his head slightly to the side as if he’s daring the man to say more. “Run along, little girls shouldn’t be privy to a man’s business. This is no place for you.”

            The man’s dark eyes are on you again, sizing you up as he waits to see how long it’ll take for you to listen to his bold command. Again, you freeze, unsure of whether to obey the piece of shit who’s just spoken or to obey Bucky’s rules. You’re too check in with him in his office every evening at four to see if he needs anything else before you leave for the night. It’s why you’re here now, in your tight black skirt, tights, heels, and black knitted sweater. It’s why you’re frozen in place, searching his eyes for any clue as to what you should be doing. Bucky says nothing, he doesn’t even so much as raise an eyebrow at you. So, you turn to head right back out the door.

            “Sit.” His tone is commanding and authoritative, ten times more so than the flushed, angry man who tried to tell you what to do only a moment ago. When James Bucky Barnes speaks, everyone listens. You turn around slowly, coming to face the desk again, but you don’t take any steps forward to do as you’ve been asked.

            Bucky would like for you to do as you’re told after only being told once. Though, he has to remind himself, you’re new to this. He can give you a little grace. If it takes being told twice for you to listen, he can work with that. But if it takes much more than that? He may have underestimated just how much trouble you’d be for him. As you hold his gaze, he fights the urge to speak again. He told you to sit, you should already be sitting. He narrows his eyes at you in one last effort to get through to you without words. That’s what spurs you into action. He watches as your legs carry you forward slowly. He watches as your eyes coast over the three men, who are staring at you with varied amounts of attraction, annoyance, and shock on their faces. You’re realizing that there isn’t a free chair anywhere in the office. Your first thought is to sit on the corner of Bucky’s mahogany desk, because where the hell else does he want you to sit? You’re making your move to perch there when you meet Bucky’s gaze again.

            The harsh, offended look on his face clears things up for you quickly. He most definitely doesn’t want you sitting on his desk. The way he pushes his chair back a few inches and spreads his legs to make room leaves a mix of anger and excitement swirling around within you. You stand there beside his desk, staring at him with a cold expression of your own. With a little tilt of his head to the side and another narrowed look, you find your legs carrying you forward once more, toward the man you’ve always been inexplicably drawn to.

            “Who is she to you? We’re not going to sit here and talk business in front of one of your little playthings. She has no part in this.” The bold middle man barks out, directing his anger at Bucky now. Bucky’s in his own world for the moment. The soft curve of your ass is pressing against the junction of his hip and his thigh, the sweet scent of your perfume is making his head spin, and the way your cheeks are turning a gentle shade of pink is making him question every illegal thing he’s ever done. It’s as if he has an actual angel in front of him right now. He’s quiet for a bit too long after the man’s harsh question, and you turn your head to look at your boss. You notice the way his normally hardened gaze softens when you make eye contact with him, the way his pupils dilate in the slightest and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smooth out. You’re lost in him for a moment, lost in the sea of blue that rims his widened pupils, lost in the way your anger seems to be dissipating more and more with every second that you look at him.

            Bucky likes that you hold eye contact with him even as he reaches up to his desk with his right hand, even as he wraps his fingers around the gun that he laid there before the meeting began. Even when he aims the gun between the eyes of the man in the middle chair, you’re still lost in his gaze. It isn’t until he pulls the trigger and ends the man’s life right there that your eyes snap shut and your body tenses up. Instinctively, Bucky’s vibranium hand moves to the small of your back to steady you, to make you feel safer.

            “Does anyone else have anything to say about my wife?”

            That’s the moment you find out that somehow, without your knowledge or agreement, you’re married to James Bucky Barnes.

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[gaysindistress]

What if Simon didn’t listen when Price told him to apologize to his girl before she does go off and find herself a better man? - part two

a/n: I know John isn’t American but I kept picturing him as Joe from SIX and honety Gibs from NCIS and I couldn’t stop myself. I sincerely apologize that this John is American-grumpy-hot-military-older man coded (not really). Also I know it took a month and I’m so sorry 🙈 I got so busy at work but it’s here! Enjoy!!

Warnings: smutty smut smut, phone sex

non-mcu masterlist

part one

Taglist: @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @calicocat45 @whos-fran @vonev @yyiikes

The situation at hand is tricky to say the least. Waiting around and trying to be careful of everyone’s feelings will push you away. On the other hand, he’s wanted to show you the love that you deserve and now is his chance.

Fuck Simon.

Fuck him for treating you like a safety net and like you’re replaceable. Fuck him for letting you shoulder the burden of your relationship and expecting you to always be at his beck and call. Fuck him for lying to you instead of having the balls to just be honest about why he wanted to break up. Fuck Simon Riley for saying that you could find a better man and expecting you to not listen to him for once.

“I want a lot of things,” he starts and takes a moment to choose his words, “I might be a gentleman but I’m a selfish man. I won’t take what’s not offered but you’d be hell bent to find me sharing my life with others. If you say that it’s over and mean it, well then love, I’ll be the most selfish man you’ve ever met when it comes to you. Im not some young lad anymore; I’m settled in my life and now that things are stable I want someone to share it with. I’ll follow your lead when it comes to how we share it but just know that I don’t want something casual or even friendship.”

You’re still resting your chin on his shoulder, listening to his every word as hope begins to fill your eyes. It’s the last sentence he whispers as he gazes down at you that causes your breath to hitch;

“I’ll love you until my lungs give out.”

And this man Delivers. The capital d is not a typo. John Price understands that you’re an independent person and he respects that. That’s not to say that he doesn’t spoil the absolute shit out of you and ensures that you are happy in every facet of your life imaginable.

The dogs are being wild today and overwhelming you? As soon as he gets home, he’s taking them out on a walk and giving you instructions to go have yourself a nice hot bath. Dinner is already taken care of so no need to worry about that. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the quiet.

He’s been on deployment for a couple weeks and the loneliness is starting to creep in? You will be getting at least two check in texts a day and a call or FaceTime if he can before you go to bed. You should also expect some sort of care package to be on your doorstep weekly. This could be anything from flowers to your whole ass Amazon cart, all you need to do is say you miss him and he’s got you covered.

Things have been a little tense between the two of you? Well get ready because you’re going to be doing a check in that night where the two of you talk about whatever is going on. If it’s something small like you’re both stressed from work and a weekend getaway is needed, he’s already got that planned. If it’s something that needs more work, he’s ready to dive right into it and figure it out.

Still true to his internal word, nothing physical happens between you two at first. He wanted desperately to kiss you when he told you he would love you until his last breath but he didn’t. Disgusted by the enormity of his craving for you, John vowed to wait until you asked for his physical affection. Of course this meant he wouldn’t give into any of your advances until you told what you wanted.

After that night, you began the long and arduous process of breaking down John’s resolve. While it may have been unspoken, you knew what he wanted but you weren’t going to give into him so quickly. It started with closing the distance between you two. Instead of sitting on opposite ends of the couch, you’d lay your feet in his lap or move just close enough to trail your fingers over the back of his hand. Only would you move to sit beside him if he slung his thick arm over the couch’s back and beckoned you closer. Then you would take every opportunity possible to cuddle into his side and slyly skirt your hands across the waistband of his sweats when you wrapped your arms around him. If you were in the kitchen together, you were always just out of his grasp. His fingers could grasp at the back of your shirt but never fully grab you. You’d swiftly slip around him if he moved behind you but not before brushing your hands over him in some way.

Eventually you grew bolder and began to shower with the door propped open. You’d said it was so the dogs could still see you but John isn’t stupid. He knew that you wanted him to catch a glimpse of your body through the foggy glass doors. But here’s the thing; he’s not Simon. Simon would’ve joined you and fucked you on that glass door like your life depended on it but not a captain price.

No no no. John Price is going to make you say those three little words, ‘I want you’, before he touches you even if it means leaving on for a mission without so much as a chaste peck on the lips. No amount of sly looks and sneaky touches is going to convince this man to give into you.

He starts beating you at your own game though. his bedroom door is suddenly always cracked open making it so that you can hear every rumbling moan and gasp of your name when he fists his cock at night. You no longer feel the waistband of his underwear when you wrap your arms around his am waist during your cuddles. Instead your fingers find the thick trail of hair that disappears under his sweatpants. Speaking of which, John knows about grey sweat pants and he exploits that turn on every chance he gets. Soon it goes from just wearing them low on his hips to forgoing boxers (as mentioned above) and sometimes he even ‘forgets’ his shirt. The memory of his thick bare chest on display alone is enough to make you clench your legs together.

When he finally does have to leave for work, he presses a light kiss to your temple and tells you to be careful. It goes without saying but John makes your promise anyways. Eases his old heart as he likes to say. If only he would go easy on yours…

Nearly every photo, FaceTime, what have you, this man is bare chested with lidded eyes and a knowing smirk on his face. He knows that you’re frustrated with the way things have played out; namely his departure with no memorable moments. He’s already become an expert in you, knowing what your body langue means, what your blushes mean, and most importantly, what your words truly mean.

Probably about a month in to this mission is when it comes to a climax. Your hands were doing nothing to ease the ache between your legs and your toys were making it worse. It was as if your body knew that it was you instead John rubbing small circles into your clit late at night. You’d tried nearly everything you could think of aside from finding someone in a pub and telling the older captain about your dilemma. While you two weren’t anything more than roommates with feelings at this point, it still felt wrong to find someone else to help you out. With only one person that your body wanted and nothing you could do about it, you settled for being sexually frustrated and irritable.

John is finally able to get some alone time to call you and actually talk to you. Settled into some poor excuse for a cot, he makes himself comfortable as he waits for you to pick up. It makes maybe a few rings before your tight voice comes through with a short ‘hello?’

He wants to chuckle and fails to suppress it, “Well hello to you too, love.”

Immediately you sigh when you recognize his voice, “oh John it’s you. How are you?”

“Been better. What’s been going on with you?”

You let out another deep sigh, pausing to answer as you contemplate what to tell him.

“What is it, love? Something bothering you?”

“I…I’m just….im just irritable,” you attempt to pass off as the full truth but John knows you better than that.

“Irritable you say?”

You can hear him shuffle around on his end and it causes your legs to cross to even think about him. God it’s beyond annoying to be this turned on over just hearing him move around, let alone hear his voice right now.

“I’d say a relaxing day is in order,” he teases with a low pitched sultry tone, “find some relief in a massage maybe.”

Relief.

The word feels hot as it washes over your brain and invokes images that would make a nun curse under her breath.

You snort at his suggestion. In that small noise, he finds all the answers he needed; you’re about to break and murmur those three sweet words.

“No appeal to that, love?” He asks and you can just hear the smirk he’s wearing. “A massage isn’t the relief you’re looking for though is it? You need a different type of relief, isn’t that right love?”

That bastard.

You hear him shuffle again and you swear to god you hear the sound of a belt coming undone.

“Talk to me. Tell me how I can help.”

If you weren’t needy before, you must certainly are now. You feel pathetic, a bitch in heat with the way your body starts to react to his simple words. Practically mumbling you attempt to tell him to fuck off but it doesn’t sting as much as you’d hoped. John laughs off your feeble attempt at hiding the true reason you’re in a mood.

Instead of adding flame to fire, he stays quiet.

It takes 40 agonizing seconds of silence for you to groan his name out of frustration. The captain only hums his acknowledgment that you spoke.

Phone sex isn’t new to you by any means however there’s something about this time that causes you to falter. There’s something about the way he initiated it but is allowing you to lead where it goes. There’s something about the way he knew what you needed within seconds. There’s something about the way your body seems to know that it craves his without ever touching.

“Yes,” you mumble while your cheeks burn and your body sings at the thought of getting what it truly desires.

John chuckles under his breath and the sardonic sounds causes your eyes to squeeze shut.

“Be a good girl for me and slip your hand into your panties.”

Your hearing dulls to a muffled tone as your hand follows his instructions. Barely does your ears register the sound of skin on skin, a slick hand taunting an impossibly hard cock. Your name comes out as a groan when you tell him to continue.

“Fuuckkk, love. Tell me are ya wet?”

“S…soaked.” You sigh as you roll your clit with your fingertips.

He lets out a string of curses as his hips buck up into his hand and his cock throbs from his slow pace.

“I want you to keep rubbing your clit and fuck yourself with your fingers,” the captain orders you, “and dont try to hide any of those pretty sounds.”

You mumble a weak ‘okay’ as you work your clit in small circles, feeling yourself become even more wet.

Strings of curses fall from his lips as he listens to your desperate cries of pleasure. The sounds of his thrusts get louder and louder in time when you bury two fingers in and become to fuck yourself like he told you to. It feels better than all of your other attempts but it’s not enough.

Nothing will be enough until you can feel John’s cock deep inside of you. Until you can feel his hips rut against yours and his hoarse moans in your ear. Until you feel the burn that his facial hair will give you when he eats you out like a starved and neglected dog. Until you feel his warm speed leak from you after he’s worked you through several of your own orgasms.

The thoughts of what is to come push you over the edge and you moan out his name in an absolutely pornographic manner. It stirs something disgustingly powerful and sinful deep in his gut when he hears it. He can only imagine the beautiful display of pleasure and bliss that you’ve come as you lay panting post orgasm.

You can only imagine how stunning he looks with his sweats pulled down to his mid thigh, his bare chest rapidly rising and falling while his stomach is painted with his own cum.

“John?” You whisper after your breathing has returned to normal(ish). “When are you coming home?”

His lips turn up in a smirk at your word choice, “missing me more than you let on, now are ya love?”

“Yeah it’s lonely without you here. you can’t leave on another deployment like this without fucking me before.”

“I promise it won’t happen again, my love.”

[wakeup01]

A Matching Pair

Goddammit. Why does he always have to argue about it. Can’t he ever put himself in my shoes and try and be more understanding.” I mumble to myself as my boyfriend fades out of sight down the empty train car. I sigh and stare out the window of the train, listening to the world outside shudder past.

“This space free?” Comes an excited voice, I look up to see a fit young guy casually drop onto the seat opposite me. He looked no older than 22 and was outfitted for some kind of sports game, with a designer tracksuit sagging off his hips, a red jersey that pressed against his lean stomach and a glossy puffer jacket.

“Uhhh…not really.” I remark, side-eying his trendy permed hair, perfectly styled and faded. I had never really understood the appeal of…‘fuckboys’; rich but devoid of personality - aside from the prepackaged one they adopt. In this case even I had to admit that he was rather attractive, in a blunt, dumb ‘grammer is for losers’ sort of way. There was a casual air of confidence in the way he carried himself, narcissistic? Sure, but maybe a little ego didn’t hurt, especially in the bedroom.

Shame he obviously wouldn’t be a sub - he’d look nice around my cock, although I can picture my boyfriend tripping over himself to placate his every whim. The perks of this ‘open relationship’ we had seemed increasingly one sided. Ugh. I’m quickly reminded of our argument, and my indignation wins out over my misguided lust.

“Mate, you look proper mad.” He chuckles, kicking off his trainers. He stretches out his legs and rests them on the seat next to mine.

“Name’s Dominic and I’m not….mad.” My voice trails off.

“Uh oh. Who is she then blud?” He gestures at me with his hands, rattling the horde of bracelets that buried his wrists.

“He.”

“Pftt. I should ‘av guessed. It’s all the same to me. I’m Trev ‘btw’. You off to the gay convention?” There’s a wry smile that is hard to be angry at, in fact I feel strangely comfortable with him. He seemed like a good listener.

“Funny, but yes. Meeting our friend Nate there.” I cross my arms in a futile attempt to appear more dominant.

“Wait, they have those now?” My eyes squint at him. “Just fucking with you. I got a game the next town over. I’m a player.”

“Wow, you don’t say.”

“Maybe you’ve seen me play on the tele eh?” He puts on a face and flashes his shiny white teeth proudly.

“Sure…” He was in a professional team? Like I’d know.

“So spill, what’s the issue with yuh ‘boy’? His ‘bussy’ too small?” My mouth begins to move before I really get the chance to think about what I’m saying, or why I’m telling him at all.

“Ugh. He just never tries to see things from my perspective, he always expects me to play the ‘top’. About everything. And I don’t share his weird kinks.”

“TMI. Oh. You’re the top? And your name is Dom? ‘Lolz’. Is your boy called SUBastian?” He laughs mischievously. His brazen use of text speech was strangely endearing, something I thought impossible.

“Dominic. And no, his name’s Addy.” I correct, flatly.

“Uh huh. Yeah, and have you tried the same? See things from Addy’s point of view. Find equal ground right. Maybe I can help. It’s like when there’s a disagreement in our footy team.”

“I don’t think it’s quite the same thing…”

“Should give it a try Dom, see how it feels to be the sub. It can be fun to let someone else take charge. Easy too when you don’t overthink it. Go on, just lay back and relax.” Yes, I’m sure this will solve all our problems. I humour him anyway, resting my back against the seat’s cushion. Ten seconds pass in silence, just the hum of the train carriage throbbing rhythmically.

“This is stupid-“

“Shush.” Trev stares at me intently, trapping my eyes into his own. I don’t think to look away, why would I. He continues talking, I hear the words floating past me but don’t register what they are. It feels like minutes until his fingers snap in front of his face, and the spell is broken. He just smiles and waits expectantly for me to reply. His legs move from the seat next to me and I follow their movement.

“I—I guess.” I stutter, unsure of what I’m replying to, feeling slightly dizzy, like waking from a dream. For some reason my eyes seem drawn to his feet, now resting on the edge of my own seat, fidgeting between my thighs. I didn’t notice that they were sockless before… or that they were so big.

“Deeper.” He snaps his fingers again. My eyes are feeling so heavy, it’s becoming harder to keep them open. “Picture your boy sitting in your place. See it in your head.” I think about him, see his dreamy smile, like the one growing on my face. “So easy.” Trev repeats, my head nodding absently to his words. He adjusts and pushes his feet against my groin. Hmmf. I should tell him to stop. To stop…

“Uhh.” The dull sound leaves my lips instead of the words I wanted, the rubbing sensation fraying the edges of my thoughts.

Trev’s fingers fiddle at his pockets. He pulls out a vape stick and blows a huge bubblegum flavoured cloud of smoke into my face. The fumes flow through my open mouth and circle my head. His hands appear to be moving in slow motion, like everything was suddenly at half speed.

“Being in charge is exhausting huh. Much better to just relax and follow along, like your boyfriend would.” Yeah, he would probably do whatever this guy asked him to.

“I bet he’d rub my feet If I told him to.”

“Yeah.” I agree, wrapping my hands around Trev’s chunky feet - he definitely would. I run my fingers up and down his sole, picturing my boyfriend in this situation.

“Eyes up here fam.”

*snap*

I look back up at him, falling into his stare once more, entranced. My hands continue to massage him, passing over the curves and arches of his large feet. The shame of doing this in a public place completely lost on me. “Good foot boy.” I fail to hold back a moan at the validation. Is this what it feels like? It feels…nice, good.

I sense my body start to slowly lean forward of its own volition. Trev loudly exhales, his lips pursing. Another dose of bubblegum mist fogs my view. “What else would your boy do?”

“Don’t know…”

“Bet he’d love to sniff my lush feet hm?”

Probably, I think. He was way more kinky than me about such things. This guy’s feet were quite ripe after all, maybe if I got a bit closer…no—no what am I doing? I begin to pull back when his intense eyes narrow at me.

“It’s okay. I can see you want to take a whiff too. Boy.” His inflection changed on the last word. There was something about the way he said it. Powerful.

“My—my boyfriend will be-“ My voice cracks.

“Put your fucking nose here. And sniff my cheesy feet.” He orders, accentuating each word, dropping all pretence - his finger snapping and pointing down.

It’s like a switch being pressed in my head. The words cut like a knife right through any lingering hesitation. My face lowers and inhales deeply, sucking up his harsh scent.

“Yeah.” I mumble from behind his feet in a daze.

“Yeah what?”

*snap snap*

“Yes sir.” I don’t know why I said it, it just slipped from my lips and then it was too late to take it back. Too late to stop, as my face leans down to his foot like a magnet. Too late to pretend I didn’t want a sniff, my nostrils breathing the thick musky air.

“A good start boy.” I tentatively take a couple more whiffs, a part of me still attempting to hold back, feeling self aware. He rolls his eyes and shoves his feet forcefully into my face, my nose pushed snugly between his big toe. His stench shrouds my head like a cloud. The concept of ‘disgusting’ faded to nothingness.

“Salt and vinegar flavour, your fav.” Trev asserts. It became true the moment the words left his lips. Salty and eye watering. My favourite. My cock liked it too apparently.

“You look so much better under me, worshiping me - where you belong. Keep going.” And I did. Breathing deeply, in and out. In and out. The heat from his foot radiates outwards, travelling down my body, seeping into my skin. “Wouldn’t your boy agree to be at my feet at all times If that’s what I wanted?” He—I would. I want nothing else.

“Of course sir.” I say, unaware that the words would seal my fate.

Something is changing. A shift in weight. My whole body starts to feel lighter, filling with air. My skin itches, a rash forming across it’s surface - bleaching every inch an even, clean white. The rash crawls down my chest, flattening my modest set of abs, leaving everything it touches incredibly soft, absorbent and flexible. Tiny strands of fuzzy cotton fabric poke out from each pore; the changes showed no sign of stopping.

Everything is happening all at once, alarms try and go off in my brain but it’s preoccupied swimming in a musky drunken stupor. My feet seem to leave the floor as my form inexplicably shrinks, the length of my arms folding inwards as my body simplifies.

“Look at you bruv. You were easy as fuck.” I gaze up at him, his smug face towering over me, looking so far away. A puff of vape smoke floats down towards me, particles dissolving on my cushioned skin. The sweet aroma mixes with the smell of his sour feet. “Just one look into my eyes and you were done. Get socked bro.”

Trev started to appear bigger and bigger, his feet dwarfing my new size, now taking up my whole view. It was like my essence was being pulled around his foot. My mouth opens and his toes slip effortlessly inside, stretching me out and making themselves at home. The rest of his foot follows, his ankle resting at my opening. It sets off my gag reflex momentarily, before feeling perfectly natural, like I was tailor made for his foot.

“Sorry bud, they’re a size 13.”

The taste of his potent sole explodes into me. I’m violently shaken out of my trance-like haze, the world around me speeds up. I try and desperately pull away, lucidity returning like a slap to the face. Why am I on the floor? Why is his foot in my mouth?! Oh shit oh shit!

“Get socked!” Trev yells enthusiastically. “Get fucking socked!”

Control is slipping away. My skin pulls taut around his foot, the fabric digging between his toes. It feels as though every part of me is pressed against him, his warmth surrounding me. My new shape settles into place, defined by his smooth curves.

I can’t move my ‘body’ at all, but all my senses still persist…somehow. My blurry vision clears, a sudden shift in view makes me disoriented. It’s as if I have a pov of the room from the bottom of Trev’s foot, he lowers it to the floor and my worldview erratically drops to carpet level before going dark. The material of the carpet brushes against me, the strange sensation is embarrassingly pleasing; bringing attention to the absence of my cock. Relief now seemed impossible.

“Socked. Man, I love that initial freshness. Tbh, it makes the inevitable even more fun.”

He pushes the weight of his foot into me, his sweaty soles sticking to my tight fabric body. It feels humiliating to be literally stuck on the ground. His stench clings to me, soaking me in his foot musk. The imprint of his toes yellowing my surface. It’s like having his foot down my throat, perpetually swallowing his mind numbing sweat.

“Mmm that’s good, you hang so tightly. A perfect fit. Hope you like sucking on my rank fucking toes. Cuz now you’re just my stinky ripe sock. Fucking idiot. Can’t wait to get you worn in.”

That’s not possible, I can’t be a sock…it defies logic. This is a nightmare I’m about to wake up from, any second now…any second…

He pulls at me and stretches my ribbed opening up and over his tracksuit, stuffing the silky material into me.

“So much more… pliable.” Trev wiggles his toes and my body conforms to it’s every movement, lodging in between each one. I try and desperately struggle, do something. I manage to achieve a light wriggle that only helps pull myself tighter against his skin.

Trev lifts his foot and points it towards the window, the dark night air rushing past outside. A clear reflection echoes back. I stare at it in disbelief, wanting to blink the reality from my eyes. A caricature of my shocked face is crudely printed on the underside of the sock - trapped frozen in time, with the word ‘SNIFF’ sewn into the fabric. The material was already beginning to discolour. Logic or not, That’s all I am now - a cheap white sock. His sock. An object.

“Basic as fuck boy makes basic as fuck sock. Lit.” He points out, smirking in the reflection while he checks out his new kit. Trev puts his feet back up on the seat, letting me watch the empty space where I had been sitting - back when I was more than just his property.

“Enjoy the view, while you can cheesy. You’re going to spend most of your time staring at the floor, or the inside of my fumigated sneaker.” What joy. I hadn’t even thought about that, about what comes next. Surely he didn’t plan to keep me like this? “Hmm. I think the name Dominic is a bit too fancy for you now, how about…sock. Simple, to the point.” Trev steps me back against the ground, his heel slightly raised. “Suits you, don’t you think sock?”

Light footsteps thud from down the carriage, getting closer and closer. “Hey babe. I wanted to apologise, Nate thinks—who are you? Umm where’s my boyfriend?” Addy had returned, this was my chance.

I wanted to shout and cry out to him, to get his attention anyway possible. I conjured a barely audible rustle and then nothing. All it did was reinforce how small and subservient I now felt, forced to listen to my owner in silence.

“Oh he’s not gone far, cutie. Sit.”

I hear my boyfriend stammer from above. All it took was one compliment and he turned to putty. In most cases it was endearing, but right now I needed him to be anything but agreeable.

I feel the weight on me shift. I glide through the air again, Addy’s expression coming into view across from me, from us.

“He’s…” Addy looks me over curiously.

“Yep. He got socked.”

“Gosh. That’s…hot.” His cheeks blush.

WHAAT! You’ve got to be kidding me! Damn, why did he have to be so kinky when I need him to rescue me. I can recognise his horny face a mile away.

“Now it’s your turn. Look at my eyes.” Trev’s voice taking on a more serious tone. Addy’s eyes dart up, quickly becoming ensnared by Trev’s hypnotic gaze. No, please snap out of it. “Good, keep looking. Relax. Let me give you the deets. In a few minutes you’re gonna have the privilege of having my foot up your arse, sucking up my sweat as a thin piece of fabric like your bf. You’ll be my sock puppet, controlled completely by my foot. You can already feel my toes pushing at your mind. You want it. Say it.” Trev waves me back and forth, hypnotically.

“But…mmm,”

“Say it.”

*snap*

“I — I want to be your smelly sock puppet. Pleaseee Master.” He moans in a trance.

“Course you do.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Addy’s shorts were noticeably tenting, a wet spot forming at the tip. He was getting off on the idea! “Sock puppet. Look at your boy, read the word sewn into him. You know what to do.”

Addy’s head leans towards me, eclipsing my vision. His huge nose presses up against me, his eyes dilating. I can feel his wavering breath brush at my cotton skin. He did exactly what the sock - me, said to and sniffed. The hesitant whiffs quickly devolve into enthusiastic huffing.

“Babeee. Hmmf. You smell so niceee. Mmmm.”

“That’s an obedient sock sniffing sock puppet.” Trev assured him. ”Now onto the other one.” Addy moves away from my view, I can only see him shuffling at the edge of my narrow locked vision. “Ready to join him?”

“Yes masterrrr.” Addy’s voice slurs monotonously. “Enter me and take control. We’re both yours.” Like hell we are!

“I want you to lick this foot clean like a dirty dog before it becomes your new home.” I hear him start to slobber all over Trev. “Good puppet. Get socked.”

The sound of my boyfriend licking and moaning in heat continued for what felt like an eternity. There was nothing I could do but be suspended in the air like my owner deemed appropriate.

“It’s time to become a puppet. Turn around and spread that cute bubble butt. There we go, feel my foot enter your rear, filling you up, fucking your tiny brain. Ufff. Tight. Fuck. Let’s stretch you out, nice and wide. Ahh that’s better. Your hole clamping around my ankle. Yeah. Becoming soft and flexible. A sock puppet. A sweat guzzling, empty-headed, dirty filthy sock puppet.” I can just about see Addy’s head, craning back in pleasure as he’s foot fucked.

“Butt feels…Hnng my—my body…” Addy pants desperately.

“Now belongs to my fat fucking foot. SOCK. PUPPET.

“Pu—puppet.” Addy’s bobbing head pulls out of sight, compressing around the invader inside him.

“Sock puppet. Surrendered all free will. Sock puppet. Commanded by feet. What are you?”

“I’m a sock… a sock puppet. Mmmmf…I’m a soooommfff.”

His voice goes silent. I can only assume he’s turning into a perfect match for Trev’s other foot. The thought horrifies me, but also gets me a little excited. I glimpse a pristine white shape shudder next to me. Trev sits up and places both feet flat on the ground, in order to admire his new additions to the collection.

“Hell yeah. You two make the cutest pair. Glad I could help bring you ‘together’. And no more worries about disagreements ‘lmao’. Go on, kiss and make up.”

Trev bends his legs and points me at Addy’s new form, his lustful face captured on the socks sole; the word ‘LICK’ was immortalised above. I was for sniffing and he for licking, it made a bizarre kind of sense to my addled brain. He brings his feet together and rubs us both against each other, our ‘faces’ pressed closely. My mind blurs, the friction bringing searing white hot bliss. God it’s amazing. He was so soft! Please more. More! Babe. Don’t stop. Get socked!

Trev eventually pulls us apart, I watch the folds of Addy’s loose fabric pull taut, finalising his transformation. He made a cute sock, just like me. We were now on equal footing. Wait, what am I thinking? This is insane, I don’t want this! Was I stuck like this? Would it be really so bad? No, stop.

I realised that the smell was permeating my thoughts, twisting them. Knowing that didn’t change how good it felt, how good his touch felt, his musk.

“Don’t worry, when I go to replace you I’ll be sure to sell you on as a pair to one of my foot sluts. Let’s be honest, as socks go, you’re kinda ‘mid’ at best.” The comment did nothing to reassure me about turning back to human. “Man you gay nerds are so dumb, none of you can resist my scent. It’s like you want to be part of my fit. Even my sneaks gave more of a struggle than you two lovebirds. All I need now is some new undies to stretch over my ass and hug my fat dong and balls. Know anyone?” Trev pauses and then laughs to himself.

As each minute passed my mind became more subdued, it was relaxing, becoming content. The part that was angry, defiant, was shrinking. A bubbling happiness was slowly expanding within me. I did my best to push it back but with my senses overwhelmed, it was a seemingly losing battle. Addy was probably already loving every second of it.

“Let’s have some fun. Which one of you will make a good cum sock? Who am I kidding, you’ll both be great. But for now…”

He peels me free from his foot, holding me limply in the air. For a moment I feel incredibly empty, already missing his warmth. The disappointment is short lived; I’m quickly filled out as he pulls me over a stiff pole. His cock. His glorious thick shaft. I’m forced to swallow it whole, it’s tip poking at my edges.

With his hand around me he wanks me furiously, using me as sleeve. ‘Don’t enjoy it’, I shout internally. This sucks. This sucks! It’s hard to ignore the pleasure it brings the both of us. Oh god I’m being stretched out by him completely. It sucks. Sucks… this…mmm. Faster. Go faster! Fill me! Cum inside me, mark me as yours!

My sexy owners pumping reaches a crescendo, now with both hands thrusting me up and down. One final tug. A grunt. A twitch. Thick copious splooge unloads right into me, flooding my interior. His fuckboy seed is absorbed into me, my cotton body sucking up every drop. A dark patch spreads across me and crusts over as it dries. The bitter taste lingers, like the cum was sat on my tongue.

“Fuck me, that was sweet. But enough fun.” Trev pulls me off his dick and janks me back over his foot, his toes push against my cum stained dark spot, still damp.

Trev’s phone starts to ring with some loud trap song. “Trev. Yeah. Yeah mate. Course, you fucka. Be arriving soon. Mint, I got me some new gear too. Ace. Uh huh…K, chat tomorrow.”

What would have normally been inane babble to me made a concerning amount of sense, like his identity was somehow rubbing off on me.

He stands up, dragging something over to him with his other foot. I’m lifted high into the air, tauntingly hovering over his beat up shoe. I can’t help but look down at my future smelly prison. I don’t think my mind can take any more…

It didn’t help knowing that the sneaker was once a guy, now heavily used. It was like seeing a glimpse of my own fate. Mmmm.

“Let’s get you acquainted.”

I see the trainer hurtle towards me as I’m lowered to the floor. My edges slide effortlessly into the pungent confines of his sneaker, the thick stale air engulfing me. I’m pressed against the stained sole and squelch against it’s moist surface; the outline of his foot clearly indented into the material. My vision goes pitch black.

The stench is blasted at me from all sides. Fuck me. I don’t stand a chance against it, my mind is drowned beneath its waves. Sinking below as new, more simple desires emerge.

There’s a muffled sound of an announcement playing overhead. “Guess this is where we get off lads. I should probably warn you, me mates and I have a footie match tomorrow. And I don’t plan on removing you, after that I expect you won’t even want to be turned back. Not that I ever planned to. I’m sure you stinkheads don’t object? Sorted.”

I didn’t object, in fact, I— I think I was looking forward to it. My printed face would probably be completely yellow by the end of it, as it should. Mmm.

The weight of his foot lifts as I feel myself rise from the floor and then just as quickly I’m pushed back down to the ground. My boyfriend being subject to the same in tandem. A second later and it happens again and then again, each step the strength of his body squishes me against the shoes insole, which sticks to my surface. And each time, my brain is submerged in a pleasant sweaty haze, scattering whatever dim thoughts I had left. The weight flattening my mind to sodden mush. Rewarding me for fulfilling my role as his smelly, mindless sock, us both huffing at our owners beautiful addictive feet. Together.

“Maybe we should stop off at that gay convention first, see how many noses we can get pressed against you two while you get sucked dry. Plus, we could find that friend of yours to get wrapped around my big sweaty butt.”

Yeahhh…I bet Nate would make a perfect pair of fucking briefs.

[moonit3]

INTIMACY

➥ warnings/notices: yandere, nsfw, mlm, male/amab! reader, teasing, handjob (receiving), dom! yandere, sub! reader, reader gets paid to be touched by the yandere, reader gets bites by the yandere, blood.

➥ yandere! ceo x male! secretary reader.

➥ synopsis: the meeting is canceled last minute, leaving you and leonard alone in the hotel room.

➥ a/n: the first amab! reader writing of the blog! I’m a little to excited with this one, because at the same it was a challenge to myself, it was also quite fun to write it ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪ i know that some guys/amab people love yandere context, but there isn’t much context for them, so this is for them! also, this is probably the most smut one shot that i ever wrote it…

a business conference, that what he was invited him for. leonard is going to give speeches to others businessmen all over the wolrd like he always do almost every years to gain even more money. however, he doesn’t see like this, instead, the rich man sees this as an opportunity to get closer to his secretary.

young, clumsy and kind. those are the perfect words to describe you, his personal assistant who gain the position a couple of months ago after leonard fired the previous one for misconduct and it was the best choice he ever did in his life. because of that, he can sees you almost daily and bring you to those businesses travels without anyone asking why.

“it’s seems that tonight meeting got cancelled.” his words called your attention, making you stopping typing in the laptop to look at him. the way your eyes stares at him is adorable, too innocent to your own.

“did something happened, sir?” you asked him. a little worried over the meeting was canceled, you know how hard leonard worked to his presentation. “or they moved the conference to another day?”

“no announcements were made, but probably so.” he replied, getting up from his bed and stepping closer to yours. it was a good idea to share the hotel room with you, so he hadn’t to worry about curious eyes. “we have the entire night for ourselves then…any plans?”

you thought for a couple of seconds before speaking again, “how about we just relax? it’s been a while since i saw you resting, sir.” the worrying in your voice is noticeable. “you’ve been working twice as hard in recent days, so take a break. you deserve.”

as his secretary, you need to take care of him always and since leonard doesn’t know when to stop working, you have to remind to him that he is a human and that he needs to take a break from time to time. not to mention that you never saw him sleeping, only working.

“you should take a bath, sir.” you turn the laptop off, putting it away. “a bath always help me relaxing after a long day of wor.”

“really? then you should join me.” his lips turn into a grin.

your entire body froze freezes with his words. too shocked to speak something, this got to be a joke, a silly one. “i’m sorry? i think you said it wrong, sir….” your mind is begging to this to be a mistake, maybe you heard it wrong.

“didn’t you heard?” by his hands, leonard makes you stand up in front of him and there is no chance you can’t escape from his sharper grasp, not when he is too tall and stronger for the average person. “i said ‘you should join me to a bath’.”

this is getting weird. leonard shouldn’t be flirting with someone like you, a mere secretary who keeps falling in duty for simple reasons as tripping or forgetting important meetings.

“i-i don’t think that appropriate for the two of us, sir…”backing away from this situation sounds the best, but not when leonard’s hands are holding your waist and putting you closer to his body. “wait! y-you aren’t going to do anything weird, right?”

the bubbles in the water is enough to hide your nudity from leonard’s curious eyes and despite sitting in opposite sides of the enormous bathtub, it’s feel so small the distance between you and him.

“see? taking a bath with your body isn’t that hard~” he is teasing you, there is no way he would sit with his legs so widen like this during work hours. your eyes are struggling to not look at his thing. “it would be better if you got closer, [name].”

“no, thanks.” you replied. “i’m perfectly fine on my side.” you still can’t believe you accepted to be in the same bathtub with him for almost one million in any currency of your choice. “you said there is something else that i need to do in order to gain the money and i’m afraid to know what is it.”

leonard smiled, its finally happening. “well, you have to let me touch you…” okay, your boss is the strangest man you’ve know in earth, but who is you to judge? “how about you let me stroke your pretty cock?”

“w-what?!” okay, now you can judge him. “you c-can’t do that! it’s weird and y-you are my boss! it’s morally wrong to do those stuff with your worker!”

he doesn’t let you talk anymore, but he does bring you to closer to him to take a seat in middle of his legs, feeling his large bulge closer to your butt cheek. if he dares to take things further, it won’t fit.

“then, let’s keep it a secret between the two of us…” his hand goes lower to reach the head of your member and grab it around his large hand while the other one holds your waist, not letting you go away. “and if you let me do it, then i will add another million to your paycheck next month for the next five years.”

“really?” the amount of money that would enter your bank account is immense…it will be more than enough to rent for that travel across asia and to continue paying your younger brother’s intuition! “you can continue it, sir.”

you can’t see, but his lips curves into a smile as he continues to touch your cock, teasing the tip as whimpers began to come out of your mouths. the lewd sounds that echo through the tiles of the bathroom, little amounts of precum coming out of you and your body rubbing shading his is driving him crazy.

leonard is taking his time to rubbing your shaft, taking it slowly to see how easily your body reacting to his touch. your back keeps moving back and forth, giving him no option than holding your body closer to his chest…aren’t you an eager one?

“aren you enjoying it, darling?” he rests his face at your shoulder, admiring how much precum is leaking from the tip of your cock and listening to the sweet melody escaping from your lips. “i can go faster if you want, but you have to ask it nicely~”

you cried out in pleasure with a suddenly fast stoke, “ah—“ his grab gets harder, cutting your words for an instant. “p-please…please! i-i need it!”

the way your hips began to move in an attempt to make you come faster, however leonard holds your waist closer to his pelvis. not letting you continue it as the strokes on your cock gets faster and faster, til moans are the only things coming out of your mouth.

“fuck…i can feel that you are close, babe.” your body is reacting so well and seeing the tears from your pretty eyes by a mere cock stoking means that your body will react even more when he do the whole thing. “do you want to come? do you want to come by the hands of your boss?”

leonard’s hand moves from your hips to your neck, moving your head to the side and then biting your collarbone. a scream came out of your lips and blood start coming out of your neck, the crimson hits the water of the bathtub, making it slightly red. despite the scream of pain, but it seems that you enjoy the bite as you came shortly after.

and for the part time tonight, you moan when the cum came out of you cock, dirtying your abdomen and leonard’s hand. it’s feel so much and you don’t know if you can stay awake anymore…

“[name]?” he notices your eyes closing and how your body became heavier by laying against his body, how cute. “…it’s seem that i went to rough.”

your sleeping figure is a great view to leonard. the shirt he put on you after washing the blood and cum away makes you look adorable, his clothes are too big for someone so small like you. he is holding himself from kissing you all over, knowing that you are tired from the earlier events.

he sits next to your sleeping body, finally using his phone after a long day without touching it. leonard saw the unread messages coming from an unknown number, but the profile picture shows that it’s one of the associates that invited him to this business travel.

[unknown number]

-> it’s sad that you couldn’t come, leonard. don’t worry, nothing exciting happened there, but i will send the archives from the meeting.

leonard smiled to his phone one last time before going to sleep, this time, he is sharing the bed with you and holding your hand to assure that you won’t leave so soon.

@moonit3 writings

[fillinforlater]

Phone Part 10: Return of the Angel +3

Male Reader x Kim Minju, Yeh Shuhua, Jung Eunbi (Eunha), Hwang Eunbi (SinB)

Length: 1550 words

Tags: strap-ons, lesbian sex, spitroasting, double penetration, overstimulation, loveless sex, voyeurism, watching, fingering thigh riding

TW: messy crazy bs

(A/N: this series randomly returns because I just needed to get this idea out of my system for good. This might be the conclusion to it, but probably not... well, maybe you send me some ideas to where this could lead up to.)

"I'll get going."

Bomi kisses your cheek, that sore cheek, sore like every patch of your skin, every bone in your body and every damn muscle, some of them you didn't even know could hurt before today. Hell, you don't even have the strength to give Bomi a proper goodbye, a weak wave is all you can muster up.

She'll not be mad at you. For what might have been either 15 or 150 minutes, you have taken turns on her and Shuhua's pussy—licking, fingering, fucking them until those tight caverns each got a big load in them. In the meantime, Minju has been their plaything. Especially Shuhua has this cruelty towards her "friend", edging her with fingers, reddening her thighs with extremely hard slaps and always promising that she'll get your cock—just to claim you with her pussy again.

You turn around when Bomi closes the door. Shuhua and Minju wrestle on the couch, the latter clearly outmatched when Shuhua puts her in a headlock with her thunder thighs. Minju tries to escape with licks on Shuhua's clit but can't find it—the nightmare of so many guys.

"Cut it out, you two," you groan, fingers on your temple. 

"N-no," Minju whines. "Minju still needs cock, wants cum in her tummy!"

"I can't." Point at your limp dick, absolutely spent. "And I have a headache. At this point, I’ll start to hate sex. Fucking hell, I'll make myself tea."

"Oh, I have an idea," Shuhua smirks and reaches for her phone while you leave for the kitchen. Whatever it is, you don’t want to deal with it. You need something relaxing, something herbal, to heal all the soreness in your body. It’s incredible to think that there is something like too much sex. You’re really close to giving up on it, even though two nymphomaniacs have turned your house into sex hub.

“No, no, stay down. You’ll get cock soon,” you hear Shuhua belittle Minju, who just whines in her usual tone. She seems to not be a bit tired after all this.

“Well, it won’t be mine,” you shout back, watching the hot water fill your cup and turn the leaves into something magical.

“Yeah, I know, you’re basically useless at this point.” Ouch, that stings. “That’s why I called back up.”

“You what?!”

“They should be here any minute now.”

Shuhua is spot on. Before your tea is finished steeping, your door bursts open. But instead of a hung man, two rather petite women enter your house. Both have a bored look on their face and immediately get to undressing. Overcoats seem to be the shit right now, and no matter who comes through your front door, they always drop it on the floor. 

“Uhm, hello?” you carefully greet them before remembering that this is your home, your kingdom! You can’t let strangers just walk in like they own the place. “This is kinda rude, you know?”

“Don’t care,” says the taller one with long, raven hair, dressed only in jeans. “We have business to do. Also, it’s rude to just stand there, naked, while two ladies walk in.” You blush and hide your crotch with the tea cup.

“We aren’t ladies, stop kidding yourself,” the other snarks back, while climbing out of her skirt. “I bet he is a good fuck, you shouldn’t kill your chances already.”

“Eh, I’ll think about it, but first—” Both girls suddenly pull out two strap-ons from God-knows-where and put them on with the casualness one would wear a fricking hat. The taller one hasn’t even removed her jeans, wearing the harness over it, while the other is fully naked and flaunts her butt at you.

“Yeah, I know, we got shit to do.” The short haired girl slaps her butt and you almost drop the cup when she walks past you with a wink. “Shuhua, where is this needy bitch? Or are you the needy bitch?”

“Oh, it’s so nice to see you, Eunbi and Eunbi,” Shuhua greets them and points at Minju, still trapped in between her fat thighs. “Look who I found.”

“She is insatiable. Incredible that he can still stand,” the shorter Eunbi says.

“Hm, maybe he is a good fuck. Anyways, we’ll try our best to keep her down,” the taller Eunbi says. The three conspirators try to agree on a strategy on how to fuck the angelic girl. You’ve become invisible in your own house, your entry to the living room goes largely unnoticed. Except for Minju who pouts at you when the two Eunbis lift her up and put her in a doggy position. The shorter one is below her, the other is ready to press the plastic cock into Minju’s puckered hole.

"Should we do it at the—nevermind, you're already in." The small Eunbi groans in annoyance, the other looks unapologetic and starts to rut slowly against Minju's butt. The long shaft forcing open Minju’s hole, paired with the denim on her sore, pink buttocks, must feel incredible and incredibly painful at the same time. Who knows which of the two makes Minju wail and moan more.

"Come on, Eunha, shove it in her sex," Shuhua urges on the Eunbi below as she excitedly stares at the unholy sight of fake cocks on ready holes. Her eyes mimic the camera lens for a porn shoot, while you're the director, watching the scene play out. Either way, it's good content.

"Minju's pussy, Minju's ass, so full!" Minju is loud, louder than before. Shuhua is having none of it.

"Shut up. SinB, make her stay quiet. And don't let her cum."

Two hands move to cover Minju's mouth, two cocks move in and out at a rapid pace, two sets of eyes watch on in awe. Satisfied with what crazy madness she has come up with, Shuhua sits down next to you and lazily jerks your cock with two fingers. Oh, that victorious smile, glassy, lewd eyes, you'd love to wipe it off her face.

"You like what you see? Now you don't have to do anything anymore."

"What was that about me being useless?" Grab her by the throat and spit in her face. She looks pissed, you love it. "I came in you, even when Minju was willing to do anything to get my load and now you're still cruel to her? Seems mildly unfair."

"And what are you gonna do about it? Fuck her, if you can."

Shuhua is bratty, but just as much as she is bratty, she is also light. You easily place her nude frame on your thigh, her still dripping, creaming heat right on your skin. She hisses and you tighten your grip on her throat.

"I'm going to make you cum—you know I can, it's super easy—but only if you tell those two friends of yours to make Minju cum until she passes out.”

“Fuck, bastard,” Shuhua hisses. With your thumb on her clit, this is easily the quietest and tamest she has been for hours. Her body twitches, an honest reaction to how much she is addicted to the mind-blowing orgasms you can get out of her. Such a small finger, yet she is squirming, contemplating, faltering.

“Those two are so cruel,” you tell Shuhua, nose deep in her greasy hair. “They fuck her so hard, just to pull out at the last moment. Why do you want to torture Minju so bad?”

“Be-because she needs to get to the-the point.”

“What point?”

“The point where sex is no fun. She can go forever. She will never stop, your—fuck—plan to make her p-pass out, useless.”

This explains a lot. The Angel is insatiable, her lust seems infinite, but Shuhua’s plan—won’t it make things worse? At some point, SinB and Eunha will have to stop and Minju will be more desperate than ever. She will wobble through the house, tackle you the second she sees you and will force your cock in her pussy no matter what. A true tragedy.

“Well, I don’t care,” you say and tug at one of Shuhua’s nipples, she bites her fingers. “You’ve been too greedy, time for her to—”

“Fuck, fine.

“SinB, don’t hold back. Eunha, suck her tits, overstimulate this bitch!”

“What?” the two ask in unison and disbelief.

“Do-don’t ask questions, please, just do it!”

The way the two purple plastic cocks move in and out of Minju with the sole goal of too much pleasure has you satisfied and in a new heat, your cock hardening slowly but surely. With an ever increasing rhythm, you move your thigh up and down and Shuhua starts to ride, her loudness increasing again. She is as close as Minju and it only takes SinB pulling those messed up oak strands, you to rub Shuhua’s clit, for them both to explode. 

You focus not on Shuhua shuddering, shaking on you, but at Minju’s expression. Her eyes jump wide, then tears shoot out and flow down, just to be blocked by SinB’s hands on her mouth. She’d be so loud, words messier than her hair would fill the room. After this peak, both collapse. Shuhua meets the floor, Minju falls on top of Eunha, who still thrusts, even spanks the Angel’s ass. 

You’re hard again. Where is this going to end?

[blissfullyecho]

how to study + become a better college student

*i’m in nursing school for reference*

before classes/school:

#1. eat a good, hearty breakfast. i cannot concentrate when i’m hungry because i think about lunch or having a snack. i like to carb up for breakfast (carbs give you energy) and have things like pancakes, french toast, bagels, etc., as well as protein (because that keeps you full) like eggs, turkey bacon, yogurt, etc. i like to take a green powder or a multivitamin during this time to give my body what it needs so that i can function for the rest of the day too.

#2. i always bring water with me to class so that i can concentrate and not think about how thirsty i am. it’s super important to stay hydrated so come prepared.

#3. i know the lesson plan and what’s going to be talked about each day, and if your classes are run like that too, read the chapter or look over whatever it is you’re going to look over today in class to give you a general idea of what you’re going to learn today. this will help you feel like you’re one step ahead (which you are).

#4. wake up early enough to be relaxed in the morning. every time i didn’t perform my best in school was when i woke up and immediately rushed to get ready for class and not took the time to allow myself to ‘wake up’. your mornings should be chill, not a race against the clock.

during classes/school:

#1. actually jot down notes— do not rely on just using your phone to take pictures of the board/powerpoint. when you write your notes down, you get a chance to get that information stuck in your head. what i do if my instructor goes too fast on the powerpoints is: i take a picture of the powerpoint, then i write down what she/he says, then when i get home i rewrite what i took a picture of and the notes that i took in class (i’ll talk about this later).

#2. ask questions— who cares if you’re shy or whatever. asking questions will allow you to be more engaged and it shows your professors/instructors/teachers that you actually care (and they might even bump some grades up for you if you show you’ve taken initiative and tried). every question you ask, write your question down and their response in your notes. i’m telling you, this has helped so much and it gives you such a good look.

#3. use your lunch break for what it is— a break. 30 minutes isn’t a lot of time for an 8 hour day so actually rest and enjoy your lunch during this time. you need a chance to reset.

#4. if you can, always ask to review your tests with your professors/instructors. see what you got wrong and talk it through with them. in nursing school, we generally aren’t able to see what we got wrong on our exams and tests without our professor being there to review them with us. please do this.

#5. use a 1 subject notebook for each class and have pens/pencils that you only use for class. your notes in class should be legible but not super pretty. make your notes pretty at home, not in class.

#6. when taking a test, go over the questions and answers before turning in. there have been so many times i read a question too quickly and changed my answer and i ended up being correct when i looked it over again. don’t make those dumb mistakes.

#7. befriend the other students who do really well in the class. seriously, this will save you.

after classes/school:

#1. when you get home from school, unwind for an hour. take a shower, go to the gym, do whatever you want to do to allow yourself to relax and unwind. you need to take another break after school to regroup and to find a little bit of balance.

#2. review the notes you took in class that day and the pictures you took of the board, and rewrite your notes in a different notebook. so i suggest 2 notebooks for each class— one for your sloppy in-class notes and another for your pretty and organized notes. rewriting your notes will allow your brain to help retain that information.

#3. spend some time each day after rewriting your notes to watch a few videos on youtube about that topic. for nursing school, i like to look at 1-3 videos about what we’re learning to get a wider understanding.

#4. on the weekends, i like to spend 1-2, sometimes 3 hours each day reviewing everything i learned that week. i will watch more videos, i will read over my notes, and i will also create flashcards with my own practice questions in regards to the notes i take and quiz myself with those cards.

[luvring]

UNCONVENTIONAL DATES

gn!reader | gojo, geto, yuta, nobara, itadori

“satoru gojo if you don’t get your ass to figuring out a puzzle i’ll kill you.”

your boyfriend stares at you from the velvet armchair, leg hanging over the side and cheek resting against his knuckles. “aw, baby, relax. we still have so much time.”

“i knew i shouldn’t have trusted you to pick our date.” you huff and turn away from him.

it wasn’t that satoru couldn’t think of a good date idea. he’s brought you to countless places across the city—a roof to stargaze (he crossed his heart and hoped to die if he got you in trouble for it), a hole in the wall cafe with some of the best desserts you’ve ever tried, a vintage store that smelled of old books and sweet coffee, and had a fluffy balinese cat who would lay on its back and stare at customers, waiting to be pet.

but this time, in an escape room where he’s barely grazed the row of evidently suspicious paintings on the wall, and answered “hm, that’s a good question,” or something like it to three of your guesses, you wonder if you should signal the employees through the security cameras to let you, and only you, out of here.

“y’aren’t having fun?” he teases.

you roll your eyes, hard, hoping he could sense it even with your back turned to him. “i have to figure out some curse by a guy named frederick, alone. what do you think?”

and then you hear him stand up, hear the sound of him tapping, shuffling?—you’re not really sure, something, before coming closer.

his steps are slow, purposely louder than usual so that you can hear him travel all the way until he’s right behind you. then satoru, in typical satoru fashion, holds the key to the vault you’ve been trying to get into for five minutes in front of your face, before leaning over your shoulder with a grin. “how about now?”

“top 10 people i’d break up with my boyfriend for?” geto reads out the title of the slideshow before you can.

“hear me out.”

“you know i’m your boyfriend, right?”

“no way, really?” you ask in faux shock before giving him a look. “be quiet and listen, i’m presenting.”

“who you’d break up with me for?”

“number one.” you ignore him and switch slides. suguru doesn’t miss how your lips twitch, wanting to smile at your own cube slide transition you apparently took the time to apply.

“no one,” you say easily. “i love my boyfriend despite how annoying he is, and i would never ever think of breaking up with him. also, if he tried to break up with me, i’d throw up and cry to make him feel guilty and remember all the good times we’ve had and why he’s dating me in the first place.”

your boyfriend in question leans further back into the couch and lets his chin rest in his palm as he hums thoughtfully. “happy to know you’re willing to throw up and cry and beg, but—”

“i didn’t say beg.”

suguru says your name—quietly, smoothly, with an amused lilt at the end despite your slideshow and what he’s about to ask next. “you know i can see there’s 12 more slides, right?”

a beat passes.

he’s still watching you intently as you finally smile.

“of course. so for the real number one—”

“can you just fall over once so i can feel better about myself?” you huff with slightly bent knees, and fingers intertwined with yuta’s while he slowly skates in front of you despite, apparently, never having had the chance to try ice skating before this.

the sun keeps you warm despite the chill as a few other couples skate around the rink—some mirroring you, others faring better.

yuta blinks, and then he lifts his head just enough so you can see how the corner of his mouth twitches past his scarf. “would it really make you feel better?”

“i dunno, maybe. try eating some ice first.”

“okay.”

and before you can say anything, his hands leave yours as he falls onto the ice with an ‘oof!’

“yuta!” his name leaves your lips in panic. the sudden disappearance of support makes your legs wobble, and your skates dig into the ice before you make your way toward him.

your boyfriend groans, his cheeks flushed, though whether from the cold or embarrassment, you’re not sure. you feel guilty for laughing a little when you speak, “i was joking, oh my god, are you okay?”

his hands move instinctively as he goes to push himself up, before he quickly realizes how cold ice is against bare skin. “yeah, ouch—ah, cold, cold! i know—i just thought i’d be better at fake falling.”

he winces as you awkwardly help him up, standing still as you give him a once over and rewrap his scarf around his neck. you joke softly, “you know what? seeing my boyfriend hurt himself didn’t make me feel better. sorry for asking.”

despite the slight ache in his tailbone, yuta manages to laugh. “you know what would make me feel better?”

“what?”

his face, already tinted red, flushes more as he realizes what he’s asked. but it’s too late now, and he probably deserves it—”...a kiss?”

an ad for a vintage market had popped up a few days ago, and nobara had excitedly agreed to go when you sent it to her. (she was slightly less excited at the thought of waking up early to get there first, but the competition, fashion, and “getting to buy rich people’s things” were enough to motivate her.)

you’re pulling at the sleeves of the coat you’ve found when she pops up beside you, flaunting a grin and pair of shades on her face. “do you think i look cool or super pretentious?”

you smile back. “depends on if you think i look cool or super pretentious.”

she taps her chin and hums before looking you up and down, exaggerating the head movement so you can tell despite not being able to really see her eyes.

“want me to spin?” you ask. but before she can even answer, you turn 180° and lift your arms, letting her soak it in. she watches as you walk around the stall, careful not to go too far so it didn’t seem like you were stealing.

“maybe if you were older and lived in a house with four cars or you were gojo, super pretentious.”

the mention of gojo makes you snicker. “...but?”

nobara’s smiling at you when you turn to face her with eyebrows raised. she lifts her hand to shoot you a thumbs up. “you’re not, so i say you look super cool.”

her face suddenly gets serious. “but seriously, what do you think about these shades? cool? pretentious? gojo?”

“what would you do if i said gojo?”

“break up with you.”

“i never took you as a cat person.”

“neither did i, i don’t think i am? but look how cute he is. his name is waffle,” itadori says without looking at you, focused on the fluffy grey cat in his arms.

waffle purrs and rubs his head against yuuji’s chin, who lets out a noise between a whimper and coo in response.

you huff. “coming here with you was a bad idea.”

he gasps. “don’t say that in front of waffle.”

“because now i want to adopt a cat,” you continue, laughing a little at yuuji’s tightened grip around waffle.

he makes a noise of agreement and pouts. “but if we didn’t come, we’d have never met waffle.”

“and porridge?”

“and russell.”

you snicker at the thought of russell—an orange cat in one of the other rooms who was one of those cats that really looked like he didn’t have a thought in his head. maybe because he was orange. “yeah, you know what, fair enough.”

yuuji decides to put waffle back in his kennel, but keeps playing by pulling the pipe cleaner tied to one of the cage bars up and down, getting him to jump up and grab it. “ahh, hi waffle, you’re so cute. i hope whoever adopts you is the best person ever.”

the sight of them playing makes you smile and pull out your phone. turning on your camera and pointing it toward yuuji who tilts his head and laughs, eyes lighting up as his new friend flops onto his back, you think it’s as good a time as any to get a new lockscreen.

surprise.! Get jujutsu kaisen'ed. i've never done this format i had no idea how to divide them so i just. used dividers. hm. i'll figure out if i like that or not later. no i didn't have anyone in mind for geto's slideshow. didn't know who wouldn't be... weird.

@danyisapingu @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist @libbyistired @milkbreadforlife @sirimirihiro @aria-chikage

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Five Long Years (Chapter 2)

aemond x niece!reader

WARNINGS: kinda suggestive but thats is

WORDCOUNT: 1,290 words

last chapter series masterlist

You feel embarrassed by the whole interaction. Storming off yesterday surely didn’t make him think of you any less like a child but that embarrassment quickly turns to anger. He’s the one who acted rudely and you fancy him no longer. There’s hardly any way you could’ve loved him anyhow. You can’t love someone you don’t even know. You’ve changed in five years but so has he; a letter once a month isn’t enough to understand someone.

You change into your dress for the day, hoping you won’t have to interact with your uncle. If he doesn’t think you’re a woman now, then he’ll surely understand when he sees your gown. It’s respectable enough but clearly shows your curves as well. You look like a true lady in it, a true desirable lady. Not that you want to be desired by him… you perhaps just want to be seen by him…

You walk down the halls with your handmaidens and right past him. You wait… wait for him to call your name… and nothing. Nothing? He doesn’t call out for you, he doesn’t want to speak to you. Did he even look at you?

But he did. You never saw as his gaze followed when you walked past. He thought you looked ravishing but he also wanted to give you your space.

Perhaps I just made myself look even more childish. You shouldn’t care what he thinks. If he believes you’re a child then that’s that. Changing how you are to appeal to him is pathetic. A woman like you can get any man she wants. You don’t need your pretentious uncle.

“Ser, Brandon.” You greet the young knight, a handsome man who’s worthy of your attention. “How do you fare today?”

“Much better now that I am in such company, princess.” He replies with a pleasing smile. “Perhaps I could take you for a turn about the gardens?”

He doesn’t waste any time. You think to yourself. Ser Brandon may be a knight but he is also a second son. Even the possibility of a betrothal to a princess is much more than a second son could ever ask for. Just your conversation is a prize to him. Though, he doesn’t act like it.

“I would like that very much. I haven’t yet had a chance to be in the sun today.” You say politely. 

“Yes, I think the weather must be far too cold for the liking of a dragon-rider.” You take his arm as he speaks to you. When you walk past Aemond this time, you don’t even check to see if he’s watching. 

But he is most definitely watching, and thinking about why his rūs mandianna is spending her time with a wretched rake like the Tyrell boy. The cunt is barely out of his teens and he’s probably fucked enough women for his cock to fall off. He is no company for a princess, especially not you.

You have fun with Brandon anyways. He is flirtatious and charming and you make plans to have luncheon with him the next day. You think about your time spent with him as you make your way down to the library that evening. It may be late, but it’s most definitely not unheard of for you to be selecting a book at such a time. The guards have become accustomed to your presence; you just can’t find anything more relaxing than having the massive library of the Red Keep all to yourself.

Though tonight, you do not have it all to yourself. Aemond is there, looking like the epitome of Valyrian beauty standing at one of the bookshelves. You’ve always thought that he must have been pulled from the gods’ design and been placed in this world just to be desired. No man should be so tempting as he is.

“I would advise you to be more careful with your company.” He murmurs without looking away from the shelf.

“I don’t recall requesting your advice.” You snap before composing yourself. You didn’t even realize that he saw you.

“You ought to watch your tongue, mandianna. You are, of course, a woman grown but I am still your elder. Myself and my advice should be respected by you, and I know about the ways of men.” He looks at you now.

“I apologize.” You say unseriously, frustrated that you immediately understand that he is speaking of Ser Brandon and does not hold him in high esteem. “I do find that I have difficulty accepting counsel when it is unsolicited, kepus.” You bite back with a restrained level of snark and the corner of his lip quirks up. “Do you find my irritation amusing?” You ask, annoyed by his smile.

“No, I appreciate your boldness. You aren’t as reserved as you once were.” He says genuinely. 

“I thought a man as pious as you would believe women should be meek.”

“Do you wish that I wanted you to be subservient?” He is completely facing you now, any books on the shelves long forgotten.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Hmm…” His smirk must be from amusement now. “I do not want that from you.”

“That is interesting when you were just commanding my respect only moments ago.”

“I wish for you to honour me and my wisdom, not to submit.” He steps a little closer to you and you step to the side. You watch how his body follows to face you.

“Your age does not mean you hold so much wisdom over me.” You say defiantly. 

“Doesn’t it?… naughty rūs.” He tuts under his breath and your cheeks burn at the teasing words.

“Don’t call me that.” He steps forward.

“Why? Just because you are grown now doesn’t mean you don’t have things to learn.” He gets closer and your back hits the bookshelf as you try to move away.

“Do you wish to teach me things or do you enjoy the idea of caging a free bird?” He’s so close to you now that you have to tilt your head up to look him in the eye.

“I would never desire to cage a woman like you.” His hands come up beside each side of your head, caging you in in a different way.

“Well, I currently feel very confined.” You murmur quietly. There’s no need for anything above a whisper when he can practically taste your words.

“Not confined… enveloped.” He breathes back.

“I won’t fall fancy to your flowery words.”

“I’m not trying to trick you.” His mouth moves close so he can whisper in your ear before his lips brush gently against it.

“Aemond…” You breathe out in surprise.

“You have changed so much these past years.” And it means something entirely different when he says it now.

“You have as well.” Is all you can say to reply.

“You have become so…” He tilts his head to the side so his lips are a centimetre away from yours. “Alluring.”

You think he may kiss you. You think you may also want him to kiss you. It would be so so easy; it could be so quick… if it weren’t for the sound of the library door opening. Aemond is quick to move away so it doesn’t even look like he was seconds away from ravishing you. You, on the other hand, are flushed and breathing heavily. Luckily, the old lord that enters doesn’t even look your way as he goes right to find his intended scroll.

Aemond looks back at you. “You might meet me here again tomorrow evening?” He seems to ask but cuts off any possible answer from you by speaking again. “It would please me greatly, mandianna.”

And with that, he’s gone.

taglists(comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

Five long years: @ewanmitchellconnoisseur @moonlightfoxx @toodlesxcuddles @dixie-elocin @cloudroomblog @scarletbedlam @qyburnsghost @urbanleftovers @lothiriel9 @katzarantos @leia-isabell @thestarlithideout

[stories-and-chaos]

Shrike: Deal Makers

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]

[One shot, word count 3629, Cw: violence, blood, death, attempted assault, cursing]

——————

The sounds of Pentagram City, gunshots, screams, and explosions, were a vague drone from within your home. Alastor was perusing the newspaper while you looked over the selection on the bookshelf. You’d read all the books at least once. Many were worn from being read multiple times over the decades. None of them was immediately appealing though.

You heard the crackle of radio static as your husband noticed your hesitation. The lanky demon set aside the paper to focus on you. “Trouble deciding my dear?” he asked, the hint of amusement in his voice telling you he had thought of something interesting.

You looked over at him, relaxing at the breakfast table. “Just a bit bored darling. Anything in the news I should know?” You poured yourself some coffee before sitting across from him.

“Hmm, nothing unusual. The rabble securing space before Extermination Day.” The yearly event was roughly a month away and demons were stepping up their preparations. It was similar to humans boarding up their homes before an incoming hurricane. You couldn’t stop the force of nature (or Heaven), you had to try to weather through it. “I’ll admit I’m feeling some ennui myself.” He sipped his coffee before continuing.

“Although…I did have a thought for some entertainment, cher,” he mused, his smile becoming more of a smirk as he raised an eyebrow temptingly.

“Really? Do share Alastor, don’t leave me in suspense.” You leaned forward, both elbows on the table as you cupped your mug in both hands.

His grin widened. “We know how desperate demons get around now, yes? Souls are easy pickings. So, let’s play a game my dear Y/N.” Your eyes brightened at the prospect and you could feel your wings rustling in anticipation. He continued, “Let’s have a contest between the two of us, cher. Who can acquire the most souls before Extermination Day? The one who loses…” he glanced around your home, trying to think of a consequence.

“The one with fewer new souls does all the dishes for a month. By hand,” you suggested. Neither of you enjoyed washing dishes and being able to use your wind or his shadow tentacles made the chore moderately tolerable.

The two of you had played other games and contests in your afterlife. The stakes for losing were ultimately low between you. You were partners after all. Trapping one’s partner in a deal had no appeal to yourself or Alastor.

Deal making with any other demon? That was entertainment.

“Excellent!” His ears perked up and his antlers stretched slightly as he agreed. This would be a perfect way to alleviate your boredom.

An hour later, the two of you strolled together to a plaza in your shared territory. Alastor took your hand and pressed your talons to his lips. “Bonne chance, cher.”

You used a bit of wind to raise you up so you could easily give him a peck on the cheek. “May the best Overlord win.” You backed up enough not to knock him over with your downdraft and took to the sky. Alastor twirled his cane and strolled off in another direction, humming in amusement.

It was times like this that you missed Husk’s casino. It had been an easy hunting ground. You tend to ensnare souls over time. Offer something small that they desperately wanted. Again and again, building up favors with the other demon. Eventually the favors could only be paid with their soul. Or if they had managed to keep their debt to you to a minimum, they would come to a point where what they wanted wasn’t something small. And if you could provide multiple small deals, surely you could make a substantial deal with them, even if it meant their soul.

The casino had been perfect for that, giving you ample opportunity to tempt Sinners with enough cash for another hand or another roll of the dice. And they always came back for more. A favor to a delicate little thing like you was essentially free.

Until it wasn’t.

But sadly, Alastor owned Husk now and his casino was safely tucked away amid dozens of other strongholds of former Overlords. So you had to find other places to play the game.

Of course there were other places to gamble in Hell. But you didn’t have the same understanding with the proprietors; waltzing in to offer collateral to desperate patrons wasn’t encouraged. Bars and drug dens had just as many degenerate souls craving funds you could offer.

At the moment however, the whole city was clawing to avoid Extermination Day. Being out on the streets was second suicide. If you couldn’t secure a hiding place on your own, working for someone who could provide one was the best option. Protection was worth more than money for the majority.

While Alastor looked like a powerful Overlord, you weren’t immediately intimidating. Sometimes you wished you were of a similar mold to Carmilla or Zeezi. Few doubted them, their presence was so powerful. You were what you were however. You hadn’t let your form stop you yet.

Landing in a distant section of the pentagram, you kept your eyes and ears open for potential opportunities as you walked. Sure enough, you found a perfect chance. And it reminded you of how you met Alastor.

A much more run down neighborhood than you frequented, the Sinners here had no issue with committing atrocities in the streets. Case in point; a trio of demons cornered a much smaller one. “You don’t wanna be all alone on Extermination Day, do you babe?” one of them said. He looked like a skeleton held together by acidic gel. One bony hand was pressed against the wall, cutting off the small cat-like demon’s escape.

The cornered demon shook his head mutely, his eyes pinning in fear. One of the other Sinners, this one a blue and orange cyclops, spotted you. “Whatcha looking at birdie? You can come along too, you’re cute enough.” The third demon moved to grab your arm in a lizard claw. His yellowed scales gleamed as he swung you up to the wall.

You could have broken away, but where was the fun in that? Besides, this was an opportunity to establish yourself in this area.

“Oooo, two for one special. C’mon bitches, we’ll keep you nice and safe from the big bad angels. All you gotta do is work for us.” The skeleton grinned, a green haze leaking between his teeth. “Couple cuties like you, we’ll make you bigger stars than that spider twink.”

The demon next to you shrank into himself, unconsciously hiding behind your wing. You put on a concerned air. “Oh mais la cher, I don’t think you can keep yourselves safe. You all look rather…what’s the word…pathetic, that’s it!” The cat demon looked at you like you were insane.

“What the fuck did you say?”

“I said you all looked pathetic. Weak? Unable to perform? I can go on.” The skeleton pulled back his arm to slap you. Or he tried. The instant he moved, you produced a stiletto that you jammed into his throat. He stumbled back, blade dislodging, with green fluid bubbling out from this mouth and neck wound.

“Bones!” the cyclops yelped as the gel melted away from the demon. That was his name?! You felt more than justified removing such a cliche punk from the afterlife. Before he could do more than yell, you thrust the blade into his giant orange eye. It was a much more convenient target than the man you first killed decades ago. Retinal fluid gushed out as he screamed, flailing at the stiletto.

The lizard demon backed away. “Fuck this shit!” He skittered away on all fours, disappearing into the sparse crowd. You let him go. Dead demons told no tales after all. If you wanted demons looking to you for protection, then you needed tales to spread.

Your talons had fluid splashed all over. “Ew,” you said mildly. The gore didn’t scare you, you’d gotten over that fear in life. But that didn’t mean you enjoyed being covered in it. You flicked your hands back and forth, a bit of wind helping to get the worst off and dry your hands.

The cyclops continued to moan in pain next to the pile of bones that was his buddy. You delicately sidestepped around him, avoiding the splatter of blood and fluid he was making as he thrashed around. “W-w-wait! Wait wait please!” came a shaky call from behind you.

You couldn’t help but grin before twirling around. The cat demon had stumbled forward, reaching for you. “You…you saved me.”

“I suppose I did. You’re welcome, cher,” you said in an airy tone as you started to move away.

“No, please! Help me! I’m not gonna make it through Extermination Day, please I’ll do anything!” he called, fear mixing with hope in his voice. Apparently he was having a very bad time in Hell and saw you as a lifeline.

“Anything? That’s quite a lot to offer to a demon you just met.” You faced him fully. Drawn by the cyclop’s cries and the sense of drama, a small crowd started to gather. “What’s your name?”

“André.”

“Y/N, the Singing Shrike.” There was a murmur in the crowd as some recognized your name. “If you’re willing to offer anything to an Overlord, then I’m willing to make a deal. My protection for your soul.” You held out your hand, still stained with retinal fluid and now emitting a silver light. “Do we have a deal?”

André’s ears flattened as he looked back and forth between your hand and the two demons, one dead and one dying, at your feet. “It’s a deal.” He clasped your hand firmly with his paw. There was a swirl of wind around you both that formed into a collar and chain on your new subordinate’s neck. It was only visible for a second. That’s one, you thought in satisfaction.

“Wonderful!” you chirped, clapping your hands once. “It’s always a delight to form new bonds, is it not? Now then, I’m feeling a bit parched. Let’s find something to drink while we discuss your future André.”

The reality of what he’d just done seemed to be sinking in, but he followed you anyway. It took a couple of blocks of walking before you found a decent looking coffee shop. You ordered two coffees, settled at an outdoor table and gestured at André to sit with you. The coffee was decent and you sipped the hot liquid before focusing on the cat demon.

“Now then. I’m sure you didn’t wake up this morning planning to sell your soul. You’re welcome to live and work wherever you like, so long as you understand that when I call you, you will be there. Follow my orders and we’ll get along fine. Now, what are your skills?”

It turned out he was a stage actor. He’d only been in Hell for a year and a half. The prospect of trying to survive Extermination Days every year made him a literal scaredy cat. Finding out he was an actor was a bonus. “That is perfect. Most of my followers are performers, you’ll fit right in, cher.” You penned an address on a card. “One of the theaters in my district. They’re auditioning after Extermination Day. I can set you up in our territory or you can keep staying where you are. Either way, I’ll call you on the Day to hold up my end of the deal.”

With that you sent him on his way; he said he’d take a look at your territory before deciding. Now you could drink your coffee and wait.

Before long, a female Sinner that had been in the crowd approached you. She looked like a luna moth, soft fluff and light green wings. “Miss Y/N? Are… are you… willing to make other deals?”

“Depending on the terms and the demon. Take a seat, cher, let’s talk.”

By the end of the day, you had five more souls in addition to André. The area you had come to wasn’t currently in dispute, but whoever was in charge was not doing a great job of maintaining any kind of order. So a decent handful were looking for someone, anyone, that could offer more security.

You were back home before Alastor and decided to start preparing dinner. Shrimp and grits sounded perfect after a day of negotiations. Alastor seemed to agree when he arrived. Over dinner the two of you compared your days.

Unsurprisingly, he had a slight number advantage already. But the game had just started and you weren’t about to concede to a mere three soul lead. He’d made a deal with a demon struggling to maintain a few blocks of territory. Once Alastor had the leader on a leash, the few souls he’d owned became Alastor’s as well.

For his part, your husband was thrilled at your disposal of two lowlifes and the lure you’d set in that area. “You’ve come a long way from a singer with a hat pin my dear.”

“So have you darling, from a radio host stalking the night with a knife.”

The month passed. Some days you returned to where you acquired André. Word had spread and other Sinners looking to avoid a second death came to offer their souls for safety. Other days you did offer small deals in other areas, building up to gaining a soul.

Some of your new demons spread word to their friends. And others heard of you from the lizard demon you let escape. Including the wannabe ruler of the neighborhood you were siphoning souls from.

There was a week left before Extermination Day and the end of your contest with Alastor. You had returned to the coffee shop you’d essentially taken over for negotiations. The owner had actually made a deal with you not too long ago, after witnessing you make so many without abusing your new subordinates. So she now had a source of better coffee and new machines due to be installed after Extermination Day. In the meantime she kept you and whoever joined your table supplied with drinks and snacks.

The crowd of Sinners approaching you now didn’t look like they were coming to negotiate however. They looked ready for a fight. One of the baristas whispered, “That’s the leader of the area and his gang, Miss.” You finished your drink and handed the cup to them. “Have everyone stay inside until I come in, cher.” The barista gladly dashed in the shop. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the workers and customers within scuttling about.

You leaned back in the metal chair as they came up to your table. The group of roughly a dozen demons was led by a skeleton with poisonously purple gel attaching all his joints. Fluid bubbled within the rib cage and a dull blue haze surrounded his shoulders. You simply waited, talons interlaced.

Your silence and slight smile irritated the tall creature. He was used to small female demons being intimidated by him and his goons. Evidently your calm was unnerving.

“So you're the bitch stealing all my people huh?” he finally hissed at you.

You tilted your head, “That’s a very interesting definition of ‘stealing.’ It’s rather difficult to steal something that doesn’t belong to anyone. And I can’t really blame any of the residents for coming to me after seeing the state of things here.”

He slammed a fist on the table, denting it. “First you kill my cousin, then you snatch away my people and now you insult me? I’m gonna show you your place girlie.”

His crowd of sycophants started hyping him up: “You tell her boss, fuck that bitch up, show her whatcha got Knuckles, she’s gotta pay for Bones.” This fool’s name was Knuckles? This lot was just sad if they couldn’t think of anything better.

The haze around his shoulders turned into flames as the bones of his hands grew. More flames erupted along his arms and fingers as his hands turned into spiked boxing gloves.

In response, you summoned dozens of stilettos into the air. They glimmered briefly before launching at the group. Squishy thuds were followed by cries of pain as the blades found their targets; eyes, throats, guts. Knuckles whipped his head around at his crew suddenly dropping in a dozen bloody messes.

You stood up, made sure of your footing, and leapt at the surprised bag of bones. You were too close to manage a flip, but a stab to the torso worked just fine. Or so you thought. As the leader stumbled down, carried by your momentum along with the sudden pain, the gel holding him together spewed fluid from the wound.

All that vibrant color was for a reason you realized as your hand burned with whatever the bastard was filled with splashed on your hand. “Fuck!” You kneed the skeleton in the jaw, sending him flat on his back, before quickly making a little whirlwind around your hand to get the fluid off.

Hissing through the pain, you planted a heeled foot on his skull. “Do you own any souls?” you asked roughly. Amazing how well the skeleton could show fear and confusion. You repeated the question, enunciating each word. He shook head. “Mais la, too bad.” You pulled your foot back slightly, turning his head. Then you kicked sharply with a gust for added power, twisting his head away and snapping his neck.

Stepping into the coffee shop, you called out, “All clear ladies and gentlemen. Zoe,” you gestured to the owner, “I need your last aid kit and the sink. And someone to clean up the mess.” You ran your burned hand under the water for a good twenty minutes, making sure you got all the acid(?) off. It was definitely a chemical burn but it was superficial. It would just hurt like a bitch.

Zoe helped you pay the area dry and wrap it in a clean bandage. “Are you going home Miss?” she asked nervously. You could guess any of the skeleton’s cronies that you hadn’t killed would be out for revenge once they realized he was dead. It was barely after lunch so there was ample time in the day for word to spread.

“And miss out on the next act?” You laughed as you settled back into your seat outside. “What kind of Overlord would I be if I left the job half done?” Only four demons came looking for trouble, but without you there that would have been even one too many.

Three joined their former boss in a heap of bodies. One, yet another gel connected skeleton with a blue color scheme, took a look at the pile of corpses, and decided selling his soul to you was the better option. Once you had the former grunt under your talon, you felt you could leave safely. You summoned a demon that had been with you for years. The hawk demon was used to being your occasional muscle. So you left the two of them to guard the shop. Meanwhile the body clean up decided burning the pile was their best option, especially with the acid skeleton mixed in. As you took off, they were lighting the gasoline drenched corpses on fire.

Alastor was home before you. Once he saw your bandaged hand he insisted on inspecting the wound. “Cher, how did this happen?” He asked, brows knitted as he unwrapped the bandage.

“Folly on my part. I didn’t realize the acidic looking demon was in fact, acidic.” Alastor examined the area and determined it was superficial as you thought. He applied ointment and rebandaged your hand. “At least now that I’ve killed that excuse for a gang leader it will be easier to acquire souls. I’ve got to close your lead cher.”

Your husband returned to the jambalaya he was preparing. “Are you still up to the contest my dear? I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to call it off now.”

“Of course I am!” You smacked the table with your good hand. “I’m not about to let a little injury stop me! I’m having too much fun.”

Your prediction was accurate. Without the neighborhood’s erstwhile leader and Extermination Day less than a week away, already desperate demons were losing their shit. You kept your new muscle, Calve, with you. He proved to be a decent informant. He resented you of course; you’d taken out his whole gang including his cousins. Your charm wore him down and by the end of the week he had a grudging respect for you.

Extermination Day arrived. The night before you had ensconced all your new souls into your territory. Doors and windows were fortified; the angels liked easy pickings and extra barriers meant they often went looking for other targets. It was only when they couldn’t find demons in the open that they started breaking down entrances.

In relative safety, you and Alastor finished your final tallies. 122 new souls for you and 124 for him. The last six days had helped you catch up but he still managed to squeak by a win.

“Ah, I do feel bad, making you wash all the dishes when your hand is still injured,” he mused as screams filled the air outside.

You examined your freshly bandaged hand. “Well, if you are that concerned, you can continue with the chore until I’m healed up. Should only be a few more days. I’ll even add a few days onto my end as an apology.”

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed, thinking it over. He grinned as another shriek pierced the air. “It’s a deal.”

———————

@whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

[webslingingslasher]

‘who knows. he might even let me call him boyfriend.’…….trouble ate him up once again i’m sorry like this is so deserved 🤣 i hope you continue this on the actual fic or just more drabbles please. thank you bestie 🫶🏽

you do your best to ignore him, but he slid infront of you at the picnic tables and stared at you until you couldn't bare the unwavering attention anymore.

'what, peter?' the sooner you aknowlege him, the sooner he goes away.

'i miss you.' it's not the first time he's said it, but he said it with such sincerity you look up at him. 'i know i really fucked it up and you don't owe anything to me, but, is it over? like, really over?'

you don't understand the question, you've been broken up for weeks. doesn't that show how over it really is?

'if you want this guy, if you really want to move on and forget me, i need to know. because if there is even a fraction of you, that'd be willing to give me another chance, i won't stop fighting for you.'

your eyebrow quirks, 'are you telling me who i can and can't hang out with?' peter shakes his head, 'never. i just won't move on until you tell me i have to.'

the idea makes you queasy, picturing him with another girl makes you want to vomit all over the table. a shred of sympathy sparks, is that how he feels? like a thousand daggers cutting into him? you can't handle it, rushing to pack up your things, you ignore his question.

'trouble?' you shake your head, you need to leave, you feel an urge to cry. tears kiss the corners of your eyes, you can't be around him a second longer. 'okay, um, see you...' peter's talking to your back. '... later.'

———

for the first time, in three weeks, you showed up at his frat party alone. after you ran off on him a few days ago, peter assumed he had his answer. but, maybe he should just double check. just in case.

'where's your boy?' for a second, peter wonders if you're about to kiss him. you have such a focus on his face he thinks he’s feeling bashful. ‘i kicked him to the curb.’

peter felt every muscle in him relax, he didn’t realize how tense he was before. he sets his beer down and prays it means what he thinks. ‘why? what’d he do?’

‘nothing. it’s just that the thought of you with another girl made me feel like eating glass. i imagined that’s how you felt. take that as you will.’

a smile spreads, it means what he thinks.

‘so, i have a chance?’

you steal his beer, he doesn’t mind one bit. ‘take that as you will.’

‘so, i can full force, throw myself at you? and you won’t get annoyed?’

‘if that’s what you want to do.’

peter bravely pulls at your hip, it’s the first real touch since you called it off. ‘i want to. i’ve done nothing but want to. i just don’t want to make you uncomfortable if you already have your mind made up on something else.’

‘things have changed, peter. it can’t go back to how it was.’

it’s everything he ever wanted to hear, a second chance, the hope to fix it. and all he had to do was question if he should move on.

‘oh, no. i wouldn’t want it to, trouble. i’m gonna court the shit outta you.’

you won’t admit it, but you’re gonna love watching him try.

[entitled-fangirl]

That's a love rune. Casts a love spell.

Pelle x reader

Summary: Pelle carves the reader a love rune to make her realize their potential for each other.

Words: 2,122

Warning: Love runes, not forced love but manipulated?? Weird cult stuff

Author's note: This is my favorite thriller of all time, so obvs I'm doing this. :)

Masterlist

.....................................................................................

In the short few years Pelle and Y/N knew each other in college, she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear the day that he had to leave again.

It seemed that her wish would come true. Very true. 

Here she was, in the shared room of the Harga. Her bed felt cold and hard, and her eyes were barely able to catch any sleep. As hard as she tried, it just wasn’t happening. She sighed, sitting in bed, and rubbing her face with her hands. Her hair was wild from the consistent tossing and turning. 

She heard a noise.

Her head turns quickly to the side, her eyes scanning every bed carefully, checking on each of her friends. Pelle sits, two beds down. He sits on the end of his bed. He holds something in his left hand, and a knife in his right. It takes her a while to realize he’s carving something. He’s so focused, he doesn’t look up at her. He seemed to not notice her at all.

She pushed herself to the side of the bed carefully, her socked feet touch the ground cautiously. She stands, stretching her arms up. She didn’t want to scare Pelle. And she definitely didn’t want to wake the entire room.

His eyes finally flicker up at her movements, so vibrant, it’s like she could see the blue hue in the dark. Or maybe because as of now, his eyes were wide. He masks it quickly with a smile.

“Y/N, what ever is the matter? It’s nearly 3 am. You should be getting your beauty rest.” Even at the darkest part of the day, he still worried for her. Or at least, she thinks it’s the darkest part of the day. It’s hard to tell with all the windows and doors closed. 

She gives a soft shrug, walking to him slowly and quietly, “I’m not sure. Just can’t sleep.”

He chuckles softly, “Don’t worry, Darling.” He pushes his things further up the bed and away from her view, opening his arms, “Come here. Sit with me.”

She gives a soft smile and does so. Sitting by him always felt right. It felt cozy. And warm. Mostly because his arm had wrapped its way around her shoulders. “I’d hate to bother you from your… work, Pelle.”

He laughs quietly, “You did nothing of the sort. Truly.”

She takes this as an answer. “Tell me what you were doing?”

Pelle is slightly frozen in time, his gaze fixed on her face. What was he going to tell her? Whatever it was, he would have to say it quick, for he feared melting under her gaze if fixed on him for too long. A simple glance from her could send him to the moon or leave him in a trance for what felt like years. “It’s…. An old tradition.” Okay. He could make this work. But, Y/N is a curious thing, so chances are-

“How so? What is it?” 

He called it. He loved her open and curious nature, but in times like this, it could be his downfall. She turns her body to look back at the bed, but his hands come to each side of her shoulders, stopping her. They were now very close.

He could feel her breath on his face. It was driving him wild. He’d have to get this done, and fast. “It’s a rune. I’m carving a rune.”

She nods. “Carving a rune? Sounds interesting enough,” her voice was so soft. It made him want to reach out just a little further towards her and- 

“And why in the middle of the night?”

He looks down to the ground. Think of something, Pelle. “Uh, yes. I don’t find myself with enough time to do it during the daytime activities. And it’s a rather… intimate thing to do.”

Her cheeks turn pink. She stands quickly, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m so sorry, Pelle. I didn’t know. I hope I didn’t ruin it, or-“

His hand reach up to hers, pulling her towards him. “Relax. Nothing is ruined. Nothing at all. In fact, I believe it made it better.” His eyes bore into hers, as if he could read her every thought. If he could find a way too, he would have already done so. To him, this girl hung the moon and the stars. And if he didn’t already have a religion, he’d spend his days worshipping her. 

Her eyes bore back into his. “Are you sure, Pelle? I can leave like it never happened.”

He shakes his head with a smile, “No. I’d rather you stay.” He pulls her more towards him by the grip he has on her hands until her standing body is in between his legs as he sits on the bed. “Perhaps,” he even thought, “You could help me bless it?”

She shakes her head. “Bless it? Me? Pelle, what does it do?”

The panic sets in his head again. But Pelle was no idiot. “It helps things grow.”

“Grow?”

He nods. “It will be fine as it is, but,” He tilted his head back and forth, “it would be stronger with another soul to bless it.” He couldn’t have made this better if he planned the entire thing.

She lets out a shaky breath, looking down at his pleading blue eyes. She was a cautious woman, and while she liked Pelle, she couldn’t help but feel the strange vibes coming from the other members of the group. Or perhaps, just a dark spirit. She frankly was not spiritually sound enough to know the difference. 

He noticed this hesitation and pulled her closer, his hands now moving her the outside of her thighs. “Y/N. Please. It would mean so much to me.”

She sighs, “What do I have to do?”

He takes this as a yes. He quickly stands, turning to grab the ruin. He then takes her hand with his other and drags her out into the moonlight. Weird to finally see the moon after a few days. 

He holds the almost finished ruin in his hands, and holds it up to the moon. He brings it back down after a while, holding it out to her, “Now, you must kiss it.”

She tilts her head, “Just kiss it? Anywhere?”

Pelle is beside himself at this opportunity. Not only was it rare to have the scenario happen to a rune like this, but it was highly celebrated in the Harga. His eyes couldn’t look away from her as his breath became uneven. 

She takes it from his hand gently. She holds it in her own, her other hand running over the carefully carved dialect in it. For a piece of wood, it was quite beautiful like this. She looked back up at Pelle for one last chance of backing out. He didn’t seem to want to back out.

So, she pulled it up to her lips gently, kissing the top of it. 

Pelle let out a shuddered breath as if she had just kissed him. She was slightly weirded out, but the last thing she wanted was to embarrass her friend. She hands it back to him. “Does that work?”

Pelle’s smile was wide. She can’t remember the last time she had seen him this happy. “Oh, Y/N,” he said, taking her face in one of his hands, “You’ve done me an honor. An honor.” 

Still weird out by the event that just unfolded in front of her, she nods. “Of course, Pelle. Least I could do for ruining your quiet time.”

He seemed to melt at her words, “My need for quiet time could never outmatch the need to hear the sweet sound of your voice, Y/N.” 

While her heart felt something at his words, he was a friend. Just a friend. He invited her on the trip with their friends, and here she was, acting a fool. Dare she even think she was liking Pelle?

She nods, “I’ll just… go to bed now.”

He nodded as well, his hand dropping from her face. “Goodnight, Y/N. And may you dream the most pleasant dreams.”

She quickly retreats to the shared room, tucking herself back in. She tosses another 30 minutes in thought before Pelle finally enters the room again. He walks past all of the beds before stopping at the foot of hers. He quietly kneels, his hands reaching under the bed. He then stands up, his gaze on Y/N, and then he hesitantly moves back to his own bed. He simply sits on his, facing hers. He’s unable to sleep the rest of the night. But now, Y/N had no problem doing so.

Morning comes, and Y/N is awoken by Josh lightly pushing her shoulder, his voice low in her ear. “Y/N. Hey, Y/N.”

She stirs, her eyes opening to find Josh kneeling right beside her bed. She jumps back. “Jesus, Josh. Watch what you’re doing next time.” She pulls herself to a sitting position. 

Josh looks concerned. “Listen, Y/N. I… I found this under your bed.” In his hand, the rune Pelle carved.

Her eyes widen, taking it from his hand gently, “Under my bed?”

He nods, reaching down again, pulling a similar one into her line of sight, “One under Christian’s bed, too.”

He grabs that one quickly as well, comparing the two small pieces of wood in her hands. It was clear they were carved by two different people, for the markings were quite different, as well as the stroke of the carving tools they each used. She looked up at Josh. “Pelle told me that it’s a rune to make things grow.”

Josh takes the other rune from her hand, “Well I asked someone else, and they said it’s a love rune.”

Her eyebrows knit together, “A love rune?”

Mark’s voice is heard outside the house, “Josh! Y/N! C’mon!”

Josh sighs, placing Christian’s rune in his coat pocket. “Just, don’t tell anyone about this until we figure out what’s going on.” He then stands quickly and leaves the building, leaving Y/N by herself.

She looks down at the carefully crafted rune in her hand. Pelle had carved this just for her? She blinked. He is even more kind than she originally thought. And quite charming. Her fingers run over the markings. Maybe she’s liked him for a while but refused to acknowledge it. 

She looked up, dreaming about what he’s doing now. His long, wavy hair getting tangled as he runs his fingers through it. How he looks on his knees in the gardens. How skillful his hands are at picking the ripe vegetables. And his eyes. Oh, God, his eyes. She would do anything to have them gaze at her now.

As if her prayer was answered, a figure stood in the doorway of the house. Her head perks up, “Pelle?”

He walks to her quickly, kneeling by her bedside. “Good morning,” he says, setting a plate of food down on her lap, “Please. It’s from me.”

He failed to notice the rune sitting in her lap, now blocked from view by the plate. She nods. “Thank you, Pelle. That was very kind.”

Both of his hands go to her face, cupping her cheeks, “I would do anything for you. You must know that.”

She nods, watching him stand and turn to leave. His voice chips up as he goes, “You must stay here for the day. I’ll fetch you at supper.”

He walks a few more steps before her meek voice chirps up, “Pelle?”

He stops immediately, turning his body around. As he does so, she collides with him, having run from her bed. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him close and kissing him. He’s shocked, pulling back only for a second, before completely melting in her hold. His hands go to her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss is heavy, as if years of pining had finally led up to this moment. He pulls away, his smile bright. Both now breathe heavily.

“I shall be back at supper. You’ll wait for me, sunshine?”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

He nods at this, leaving the house. 

She moves back to the bed, holding the love rune in thought.

When her eyes do move from the rune, they go to her bed, where a folded paper rests under her breakfast plate. She picks it up as well, opening it.

Inside, a drawing resides. It's Pelle and Y/N sharing a gentle kiss. Under it, a scribbled note:

To today and many more with sunshine, Pelle <3

Her eyes move back to the door in thought.

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [9/…]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“And I know no one will save me, I just need someone to kiss.

Give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright.”

— Mitski, “Nobody”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  In which there is lost affections, mentions of the past, and re-bonding over a bath. Unshared thoughts and feelings of regret return from years of negligence, and whereas some aspects remain buried, others have a chance to resurface from the depths.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, dual-pov (though primarily Buggy's), Buggy being a simp, implications of Buggy being a horny simp

A/N: AND HERE WE ARE! FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY WEEKS, THE NEW CHAPTER IS UP! Seriously, I want to thank you all for your immense patience and support. As I mentioned in a previous post, work has been hectic as hell and I know I wrote that this chapter would hopefully be finished last week, but life took its toll. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, though I myself have mixed feelings about it.

INCLUDES SOME SELF-MADE SKETCHES AT THE BOTTOM, so you’re warned

The sun warms your face as you breathe in the fresh scent of the sea. You’re lounging on deck, hands folded behind your head and feet hanging over the railings in a rather peculiar position, but you’re perfectly content.

Luffy benched you for the rest of the voyage to Arlong Park, a decision you initially found insulting to no short degree. Well, maybe benched is not the right term to use, but more like “I don’t want you to die, and I think you need to relax this once”.

You had argued that no, you’re fine and the love bites Arlong left you are nothing compared to the marks Mihawk left on Zoro, and he’s still up and about as usual.

But Luffy is firm about his decision, and what the Captain says goes.

So, here you are, enjoying some quiet all while letting your wounds heal, and it seems that nothing can hope to put an end to this ambiance that is—

“HEY! THERE ‘YA ARE!”

…. You spoke too soon. Way too soon.

A shadow falls over your face like a curtain and blocks the view of the sun. A shadow belonging to - you make a lucky guess - a severed head that’s been talking for way longer than a severed head typically should, in your experience.

You open one lazy eye to pinpoint the exact perpetrator and see a bright red dot staring down at you from Usopp’s grip.

Buggy winks at you, making those mildly irritating clink-clink noises.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Usopp grumbles. “You take him! He’s annoying and keeps telling me my nose is too long!”

“Because it is, you shidiot!”

“It’s average!”

“That’s what your mom said!”

“You keep my mom’s name out of your mouth, you psychotic, fucking—!”

“Be quiet.”

Both the clown and the slingshot simultaneously shut their mouths before things have a chance to escalate on a non-verbal scale, and you take this as a sign that your break is officially over and buried ten feet under.

Stretching your arms out loud enough to pop a few vertebrae, you shift to lean your back against the railing and give both boys an unimpressed look-over, like a disappointed mother having caught both of her children in the act of something. “It’s too early for you to be making a ruckus.”

“It’s 11 am,” Usopp points out.

“Still too early.” Deciding that you’d rather not deal with this with more effort than you’re willing to spend, you return to your previous position. “Leave the head, or don’t. Just let me rest.”

“Fine by me.”

With a thud and an “OW FUCK!”, Usopp unceremoniously drops the clown and forgoes his Buggy-sitting duties to do whatever he wants to do, leaving you to pick up the slack.

A string of curses flow from Buggy’s mouth, which you only vaguely pay attention to. There was something along the lines of “Long-nosed asshat,” and “Right on the nose”, but you abandon all interest in favor of feeling the sun on your cheek.

“So…” you hear him jump a little closer. “Alone at last.”

You don’t answer.

“What? Don’t give me that! I thought we were good!”

You remain selectively mute.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I don’t like it!”

“You survived it for twenty years. I’m sure you can stand it for a few more minutes.”

“…. Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

You don’t know what possesses him, but he keeps quiet for most of the next thirty minutes, and you take the time to continue basking in the sun. 

It’s a luxury you can rarely afford, and you’ll be damned if it gets ruined now or all time, least of all by him. You’re not going to even open the can of worms that is last night’s events, so you lock it in a chest to be dug up for another day. 

Not now. It won't be that long until you reach Arlong Park, and shit will go down. This might be the only chance you get to replenish your strength and gods do you need it now more than ever.

"… Hey?” Buggy starts.

You let him decide whether to perceive your silence as an opening or a locked door.

“I’m bored.”

“Tough.”

“Can’t we do something else?”

“We could fish. Your head might serve as a good bait.” Despite yourself, your lip tugs a little in what is supposed to be a halfway smirk. The image of Buggy dangling above the shark-infested waters from a hook to his bandana would be an entertaining sight to behold.

He swallows audibly. “Was that a joke?”

“Keep bothering me and we’ll find out soon enough.”

“C’mon! Don’t be like that! Seriously, I’m bored! Ain’t much you can do when you’re just a head… except to give one, but that’s beside the point.”

Too much detailing, you think. He wants entertainment of any kind; you want peace and quiet. What to do and how to kill two birds with one stone? You open one eye and let it drift over to Buggy, who in turn is staring intently at you. 

In the sun, you make out every detail of his rugged face. His make-up’s almost wiped completely off the skin, with only remnants of the red lipstick and blue diamonds vaguely in place. His stubbles have grown slightly, given the lack of access to a barber, and if you get close enough, he probably stinks of—

A lightbulb goes off in your head. A devious one, blinking to every corner of your brain. 

Despite what anyone thinks, you’re not above being petty.

With a push, you sit up and glance over at him. “Anything?” 

Buggy raises his eyebrows and nods desperately. “Yeah! Anything! As long as I ain’t got to sit here doing naught-shit, I’m game!”

You turn to him, put each of your hands to the edges of his jaw, and lift him a little closer to you. Whether from the sun or just him alone, he’s warm and soft under your digits.

“Alright,” is all you say.

Buggy beams much like the bulb in your head, and a loud bark of laughter erupts from his mouth. You almost pity him, pity him for being oblivious to what’s to come.

But it needs to be done.

There’s no other way around it and he’s had it coming. He deserves this, you tell yourself. He deserves every inch of ruthlessness you can offer, and you’ll deliver.

————

Buggy blanches, lips wobbling in horror as he slowly glances up at you. Betrayal fills his bright-blue eyes and, for the first time since Orange Town, he sees you as the beast you both know you are. 

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of you.

He knows you can be vindictive; he knows you can be brutal, but in all the time he’s known you, he’s never perceived you as��cruel.

Maybe it’s time for him to reassess that thought.

“No,” he whispers softly. “No, please.”

Your face is blank, and cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or not, but there’s a shadow across your face that darkens everything but your eyes. Those bright eyes he used to hold in such high regard.

“You want my forgiveness,” you state calmly as you gradually lower him to his demise. “You have to earn it.

“Please, anything but this. I’ll do anything other than this!”

But his pleas earn no mercy from you. He wiggles in your grasp like a fish out of water, and as much as he tries to beg and move and free himself, your hold is iron incarnate.

Buggy lets out an ear-curdling scream the moment he feels the water under his neck.

“NOOOOO!”

————

Honestly, how childish, you think as you begin to soak him in the basin you procured from the kitchens. He hisses like a cat as you pour the water over his head, rinsing his hair. Try as he might, he cannot escape your grasp. 

It’s not even deep enough to reach his chin, and still, he acts like it’s acid he’s been thrown into.

But you’re determined, this has to be done.

“Oh, quit whining” you chastise, getting drops of water your way with all his scuttling. “You need this.”

“You’re gonna drown me!” he accuses.

“It’s soap and water, and it’s not even that deep.”

“You say that now, sure! But the moment you let go, plop! Oh, there goes Buggy the Clown! Taken from this world too early!”

You roll your eyes. “I’m holding you up, you’re not going to drown. Now, stop acting like a child.”

Buggy is restless and continues to thrash around for a good ten seconds more before finally relenting, a look of sour disapproval on his face. It’s so caricatured and animated that it threatens to make a suppressed chuckle leave your throat.

He still looks the same when he’s mad.

Now that he’s finally calm, you lower him so that the edge of his neck finally stands on the bottom of the basin. Then, you soak a rag and raise it towards his face.

Buggy flinches. “Can you …. Eh… leave the face?”

“There’s hardly anything there anymore, and it’ll irritate your skin if you leave it on for too long.”

“I think I can tell you what irritates me or not, like this bird bath for instance, thank you very much.” He scowls and edges further away from the wet rag. “Seriously, just leave it.”

“I’ll reapply the make-up.”

“… What?”

When you first boarded the Merry, you happened to find some leftover make-up hidden away in one of the shelves. It was strange, considering how the boat was freshly built, and imagined that one of the builders had taken some personal liberty in the large space before the project was finished.

For whatever reason, you didn’t throw it out, though you didn’t use it yourself.

If it can get him to accept the fact that he needs a wash, you’re willing to do it.

“I’ll put on your make-up if I can wash off what you currently have,” you clarify. “Deal?”

Buggy goes quiet, and his eyes widen slightly, but not out of horror or dread. It’s more like … when you catch the sight of something unexpected; a delayed reaction that stirs feelings you have yet to decipher. 

Finally, after some internal debates with himself, Buggy nods. “Fuckin’ fine then,” he utters, and despite the crudeness of his words, they’re lenient.

Content, you gently place your free hand to his left to keep him stable and use the other one to carefully drag the rag across his stained cheek. 

Buggy watches you intently through the process, never taking his eyes off you unless you’re wiping off the painted diamonds on his eyes. Your hands, for once, are soft to the touch. They’re soft for him, as though a single misplaced touch might shatter him like glass.

He used to be acquainted with the soft touches long before the cold and brutal ones. Soft fingers that pinched his cheeks as you helped apply the paint over his face. 

Soft touches against his arm when he was feeling particular for some reason, whether it was good or bad.

Your fingers intertwined with his’ as you came to terms with your captain’s death, sitting by the edge of the docks as the rain poured from above. It was cold, he was freezing, and too close to the waters for his comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in the rain with you and share the heat from your fingers.

Even after everything, you’re still capable of reserving those touches for him.

After wiping the makeup completely off him, you raise the cup and fill it with water. “Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to, but he does and feels the water rushing down like the rain on those docks.

When he’s finally finished, you fish him up from the basin and put him down atop a soft towel on the table. Like a cat, he instinctively shakes off the residue of water, only to find you already raising a new towel towards him.

He stops moving, and you takes this as your cue to continue. You’re attentive, he notices. You wipe his face first, then his ears, then his hair. You dry it and scratch his scalp at the same time through the fabric, and he instinctively leans against your touch.

This is … nice.

“When did you cut your hair?” You ask out of the blue as you continue to dry him, making sure to leave no spot too humid.

He almost failed to catch onto your words with how at ease he is. “Hmmm?”

“You used to have long hair before,” you elaborate. “Why did you cut it?”

“…. Too much of a hassle to maintain,” he answers after some thought. “It’s hard to find the time to take care of it.”

“… I see.”

The truth is, he cut it right after he left. Not particularly clean either. You know that feeling you get when you feel like you’re losing control, and ridding yourself of any additional weight seems to relieve it? 

Well, that’s what Buggy did.

He cut it with a pair of rusty scissors, severing chunks at a time — some bigger than others — until all he was left with was pieces sticking out to each side like a madman.

It didn’t help though. It didn’t make him feel any lighter from the weight on his chest. From that gnawing feeling.

Still, he maintained the habit and got better with practice. It became more of a practical thing with time; he was a busy man, and he could do well with fewer things to get in his eyes, but it never eased the pain.

But feeling the tips of your fingers lightly graze his hair, however, he feels more relieved than he’s done in the last twenty years.

After a few minutes, you remove the towel and give him a neutral one-over. It’s the first time you’ve seen him as an adult without any of that makeup, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s changed, but also how he’s not.

Even after all this time, it’s still Buggy.

Buggy sees you watching him, and he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious now that your eyes are on him without his usual armor.

But you don’t comment on it, nor show any surprise in any sense of the word. There are times when he hates your face, not because of anything superficial, but because you make it so damn challenging for him to figure out what goes in that brain of yours. He’s reminded of how you were when you were younger, how lifeless you used to be, and it feels like you’ve regressed to that state.

Another thing to add to the shitlist of things he’s regretful about.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something when the door suddenly bursts open. Buggy jumps whereas you merely look over your shoulder to spot Zoro standing there, his eyes narrowed between you and the clown.

Buggy frowns.

“Zoro,” you speak plainly, as if you failed to notice his annoyance towards the spectacle presented before him. “Is there anything?”

“The hell is this?” His eyes flicker between you and Buggy like it’s the worst show on earth. “What’s going on?”

“He reeked,” you explain. “I have merely been rectifying it for the sake of our noses.”

Buggy wants to argue with the statement that No, he fucking doesn’t, but he suppresses it for the sake of figuring out where this conversation’s headed.

“Since when do we make it a habit of bathing prisoners?” Zoro asks, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

“Since when have we had prisoners?” You counter.

The swordsman scoffs. “The clown’s needed upstairs in ten.”

“Sure.”

“I’m right here, you know?”

Zoro gives him a nasty look and nothing more before heading back out the door, shutting it with a forceful thud.

“Why do you even stick around with these nobodies?!” Buggy questions. “They can’t navigate for shit, they have no sense of preservation, and they suck at fighting!”

You shift back to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. “They defeated you, didn’t they?”

“That’s—! … I was outnumbered, it wasn’t a fair fight!”

“No fights are fair in the life of piracy,” you point out. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is, you’re too powerful to be with these losers. You could join my crew! Think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”

“You mean, join the same people who locked me up and whose asses I subsequently kicked?” 

“Exactly! Don’t worry, they’ll get over it! Once they see how awesome you are, they’ll accept you with open ar—!”

“I decline.”

Buggy pauses, his enthusiasm promptly vanishing and getting replaced with bitter disappointment. “You’re not even going to consider it?”

“Why would I?” You wipe away a descending drop from his right eye. “I have no interest in joining another crew.”

“You say that, and yet here you are with these losers.”

“I was never going to stay permanently.” 

He pauses. “You weren’t?”

“I’m here for Luffy, and once I’ve decided that he can hold his own weight above the waters, I’ll leave.”

“… Where will you go? After, then?”

It takes you a moment to answer, like you don’t know the answer yourself quite yet. Your hand stills for a moment before resuming with the task at hand.

“Who knows?” You shrug. “The sea is my home. I’ve missed it, so I will remain where the waves pull me.”

That won’t do on its own. Stay with me. Buggy wants to ask, and if he had knees, he’d ask on them. Come with me. Be with me. You won’t have to be an official member of his crew; you don’t have to bend to him. You just have to stay. 

Stay with him.

That’s all he’ll ask.

Stay with him until he has the opportunity to figure out a way to make it up to you. 

Stay with him so he can compensate for the twenty years you suffered in each other’s absences.

Just stay.

“Hey.” He’s surprised by his own initiative. “Why’d you even leave your crew and stick your feet on land if you love the sea so much?”

You raise an eyebrow in question.

“I mean, you were Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, for crying out loud! You used to be legendary!” He proclaims, almost saddened by your apparent dismissal of your previous title. “You had fame, berries, a reputation that preceded everyone! Everyone feared you! Why’d you ditch all of that? Because of that rubbery prick? Because of Shanks?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

“Yeah!”

You sigh through your nose and put the towel down to recline in your chair. “I didn’t become a Captain because that’s what I wanted. I became a Captain because it provided an outlet.”

“An outlet? For fucking what?”

It takes you a few seconds to finally reach a suitable response. 

“Anger,” you admit calmly, your arms crossing over your chest as the words stir on your tongue. They must taste bitter. “I was angry, and it festered every day, churning into a poisonous substance in my body. Being a captain with a crew, I could take it out on whoever I wanted. Pirate, marine, unruly crew member, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”

It makes sense now, he thinks, the reputation you’ve garnered over the years. Beware the Beast in the East, people would chant in passing towns and harbors, like you were a ghost story. Her eyes were like swords, and her hands were twice as sharp.

There wasn’t a single place where blood didn’t paint your steps.

He never met you while you were a captain; he didn’t want to, couldn’t find it in himself to pop by even once. Still, he kept your poster hidden in the dark depths of the chest in his quarters, if only for acrimonious reminiscence. He would spend some drunken nights doing nothing but staring at it, and it was like he could feel your rage seep through the ink on the page and scorch his fingers. A reminder of what he did.

Now, looking at you and comparing you to the poster, he fails to see the resemblance. He doubts he could’ve spotted it had you reunited earlier on. Captain Cross-Hairs was sharp around the edges, with pecks of blood on her cheeks and fresh scars on her face.

He licks his lips in deliberation. “You were pissed… because of what?”

Because of me?

“I don’t know.” He watches your chest expand with your breath, mesmerized simply by watching you commit to living. There used to be a time when you didn’t. “I didn’t care about money or power. I didn’t care for much of anything, except to purge that rage from my body. I fought, and I killed. It helped, for a time; I felt satisfied, but after a while, you grow bored of eating the same meal.”

When he looked at you when you were younger, he imagined he saw the scorching sun. Burning and bright and enlightening. 

You were … everything, but he never imagined that the same fire that used to mesmerize him would burn a thousand ships in his absence. 

But he was a boy back then. He’s older now, more experienced in the ways of life, he knows better.

He knows enough.

"But the boy," you say with a certain gentleness in your voice that does not evade his notice. "He's good."

"He's weak," Buggy scoffs, feeling his belly fill with sour smoke. He recognizes the feeling. It's the feeling he got when he watched Shanks talk to you that night by the fire. The same feeling he got when he watched you stay with Shanks that day. 

"He's defeated every opponent he's come across."

"Didn't beat Arlong, though." Buggy points out with a smidgen of childish pride and smirks. "Got his ass handed to him real good if I remember correctly."

You look back at him in that narrow way you usually reserve for him when he's crossed a line, and he can already tell he fucked up.

"I watched him grow, Buggy.” You say firmly. “I was there for all of it. I watched him learn, I watched him fight, I watched him leave land. He’s not like us — he doesn’t waste time on regret. He’ll become better than we ever were.”

Buggy glowers but doesn’t say anything else, insisting on letting your words simmer in his brain until he can find the will to let them go.

You procure something from the drawers and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes it’s the make-up. With gentle hands, you lift him and place him in your lap, the brush already blue and ready.

“I’m not here to talk about what used to be,” you say. “Now hold still.”

The diamonds across his eyes come first, the brushing makes his face tickle and it’s only by sheer willpower alone that he manages to refrain from staring at you. 

“Takes us back,” he whispers and closes his eyes so that you can finish. “Doesn’t it?”

He hears something akin to a chortle that doesn’t quite reach your throat, but he considers it a small win.

“You looked a mess,” you answer. “A child could’ve done a better job than I did.”

“Wasn’t bad for your first try, though.”

Except that it was. It was pretty bad. Your hands were shaking, and you held your breath like you were afraid of making a mistake. By the time you were finished, he looked like a canvas painted by a child, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that.

He used to think that it was strange. You were skilled at nearly everything you committed yourself to, without even trying. 

When he thinks back on it, maybe it wasn’t skill; maybe it was just an ingrained fear of failure that drove you to become the best at what you did.

Then again, your worst could never be the worst in his eyes.

You finish his eyes, and when he looks up at you, he sees the same determination and focus in your eyes as he did that day. It’s the same look you have when you’re targeting something, be it an enemy or a point of interest. It’s always the same.

And he can’t look away.

You move onto the crossbones next, and he’s happy he won’t have to close his eyes for this one. He’s not certain you can pull off his iconic look, but he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.

After all, you strive for perfection. He doubts this will be an exception.

Get it? Perfection and except— You know what? Nevermind.

He can feel your attention in every stroke of the brush, feel the white paint glisten on his skin before it dries. Your warmth lingers like burning embers, he feels like getting too close will burn him, yet he wants nothing more than blisters upon his skin.

He looks at you, looks into your focused eyes, and he feels … something tightening, back where his body is. It could be his stomach, his head… other places, but he can’t tell. Arlong’s been busy abusing his body long enough that he can’t differentiate between a kick or a punch anymore.

But this isn’t Arlong.

It’s you.

He can handle a tight body if it’s because of you.

When he was young, and his body began to work in the way of a man, he would sometimes wake up and feel sweaty and … stiff. He knew enough to know what it was, to know what caused it, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation.

He knew the source of his frustrations. He knew how to alleviate them, but he didn’t. He respected you far too much to ever dare cross the threshold. He figured that simply talking to you, simply holding your hand, and being at your side would be enough. He would be content with just that.

But he watched you … develop. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He imagined feeling your flesh under his digits. The softness across your chest and hips. The warm skin. 

He looks at you now, sees the scars peeking from under your shirt, on your face, and he wants to feel the rough edges. 

Buggy gulps and he’s rather happy now that the rest of his body is not attached to him. He’s lost enough dignity as it is.

“And now, the mouth.”

Yes, he wants to touch that t—

You take the lipstick, and in a straight line, smear it across his mouth in a way that snaps him out of his thoughts. He can feel the warmth emitting from your thumb as you finish his face, and it takes him half a mind not to—

“Done.”

Disappointment lingers in the clown’s visage, and even when you present him a mirror and see the identical likeness to his wanted posters, it does not alleviate the feeling. For what it's worth, he's impressed with how far your make-up-applying skills have reached since last time. 

It's perfect.

But it means you’re done, and the nobodies require his flashy expertise to get Miss Ginger back. 

You dump the discolored water out and put the rest of the equipment away, and he feels his head weigh another ten pounds at so. He somewhat hopes it would; maybe it would be heavy enough that you wouldn’t bother carrying him up the deck?

… Oh, who is he kidding? It’s you. You won’t have any trouble in that department even if he were to weigh as much as a boulder. Ten boulders, even.

To his surprise, instead of reaching for him, you lounge back into your seat and nonchalantly cross your arms and ankles. He’s confused. Weren’t you going to go up with him already?

“If Zoro needs you, he can get you himself.”

That’s what you’ll leave it be like. He, freshly washed, dried, and painted. You, just casually sitting like you have no urgency to get back to the world.

“He’ll be pissed at you,” Buggy warns. “And probably threaten to throw you into the sea.”

You shrug, your eyes already closed, giving him no indication whatsoever that you’re particularly concerned with the veryscary swordsman. He grins with all his teeth on show.

Unfortunately, the green-haired asshole turns up not even five minutes later. All but ripping the clown by the roots of his hair and taking him away like a sack of flour. Buggy spews curses and threats, but they all fall on deaf ears.

It’s only when he’s positioned on deck that he’s finally free of his torment, if only for an hour or two. He begrudgingly instructs the long-nosed slingshot where to sail, adding a few creative insults along the way. Hey, it’s not Buggy’s fault they’re too easy to rile up.

“Is that long nose compensating for something?”

To which he earned a slap to the back of his head. From whom, he doesn’t know, but he’ll take his victories in whatever light weight they come in.

After a while, he shifts his head to eject another insult to the slingshot when he sees that you’re standing a few feet away, your arms crossed while leaning against the railing; eyes closed but face focused and attentive.

He cuts his verbal daggers down a notch.

It gets late, the sky darkens, and one after another, the crew members resign to their chambers save for the slingshot, who still insists on going for a while longer. Him, and you, surprisingly enough. 

You stay, for all of it; neither complaining nor muttering a sound. 

You're stoically positioned on the sidelines, hardly moving at all. He would've died if he'd been standing in the same position for more than one hour, but you endured a total of six without a shiver or a strain. Like a soldier in the rain. A monk in a temple of thorns. 

A beast in an empty forest, lonesome in its hunger, yet content with what content remains buried in its stomach for the time being.

Long-nosed slingshot finally calls it a night and withdraws from the steering wheel with his hands outreached for the head. Before his dirty fingers can hope to graze the magnificent head that is Buggy's, you stretch your arm out like a shield between them.

"I'll take him."

Slingshot snorts. "Really? You want to?"

"Do you want to?"

With his hands raised in mock surrender, Slingshot relents. "... Fine, be my guest."

With a nod, you take the head and retire back to your chamber on the ship. Buggy yawns in your arms, tired, but satisfied with the warmth embracing him. Your steps feel like waves with each one you take, nudging him further and further toward the edge of sleep. Only unadulterated stubbornness keeps him awake.

It darkens for a moment. When he rouses back, he feels softness underneath him. A pillow of sorts, not comforting enough to offer him sleep, but enough to keep him relaxed.

He nudges around, like a fish in a small bowl, only to find that he's not on the table, nor in a barrel, nor a bag. The surface beneath him is made of fabric, and swings with his movements. 

He's in a hammock.

More precisely, your hammock.

“Sleep.” He hears your command. 

He finally locates you, seated by the window of your cabin with your palm under your chin, staring out into the darkened ocean.

He turns, voice diluted with drowsiness. “You too…”

“Soon.”

“Now," he almost whines.

The look you give him is not any different from the kind you usually provide, but it lacks the usual undertone of annoyance. He can tell you're tired, even if you're refusing to show it. The shadows under your eyes stand out more prominently, even in the dimmed candlelight. 

With an inaudible sigh, you stand and while he expects you to move towards the hammock, he's disappointed to see you aiming towards the door instead.

"H-Hey, where are you going?"

"The kitchens," you respond. "You can sleep here for the night; I'll take the couch."

"That's not necessary!" He wiggles so that he can look at you from over the edge of the hammock, careful as not to fall from the height. A thought dawns over him, one that makes his cheeks feel warm. "We- We can share! I don't take a lot of space!"

"You still take up too much of it."

"Are you calling me fat?!"

He's almost insulted when you don't answer to contradict his assumption, yet despite the innate urge to defend his honor and spew shit at you, he decides to let it slide.

"C'mon! I promise I'll behave," he tries again. "You'll hardly notice me. Those couches suck balls anyway, so why not?"

He watches you give it some thought for probably a good two minutes. He expects you'll decline his proposition, finding that your own pride weighs more than the need for decent sleep. 

Then, you lower your shoulders in defeat and make your way over to the hammock. "Scoot over."

He obliges rather excitedly, and when he wiggles back a bit too much to make space, he can feel gravity threaten to drop him on the other side of the hammock. Before it gets to that point, you grab him by the side of his face and hold him until you can lift yourself and lay down. 

Only then do you lay him down, on the right side of your abdomen. He's mindful of the wounds that have yet to heal there, so he tries not to invade too much. Still, he can't deny, he's quite comfortable. Very comfortable. 

He's the most comfortable he's been in a long time - twenty years.

He surpasses the urge to push closer to you, share your warmth, and elects to look up at the ceiling instead.

"Hope you don't snore," he jokes, only to have a yawn follow promptly behind.

"I don't snore," you answer, deadpan. "Now go to sleep."

He's not convinced, but he doesn't comment on it. This peace hangs by a thread, and he'll be damned if it's cut short now of all times. He shuts his eyes, and in his dreams, he's presented with the sun on the blue skies above.

He feels warm all over.

----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23

(If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

(Additionally, some sketches of how I imagine Cross-Hairs to look like while I’m writing.)

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

because this has been on my mind wrapping up the epilogue, here is a little story about how writing fanfiction for very silly sometimes awesome sometimes genuinely terrible SYFY show the magicians changed my life for real.

i started writing help, i’m alive in may 2020. as i have stated many times on this blog, the overarching goal from which this story sprung was my passionate desire to give quentin coldwater each and every last thing he deserved: i wanted to follow him all the way through a downward spiral, and then i wanted to figure out what it would take for him to climb out of the darkness and make it to somewhere he actually wanted to be. the first part of that, the part that became damage control, was some of the easiest writing i’ve ever done, even accounting for the hours spent google mapping the most depressing road trip of all time. the second part was harder, and not just because it wound up being more than four times as long (lmao). it was thornier; there were more threads to weave through; and, frankly, quentin was so fucked up that it took a lot of effort even to outline what it was he needed in order to change. i had written one story already in which the pivot happened entirely internally, an act of self-forgiveness that proved transformational, and i knew that this time i needed to give him more: actual wants, actual actions, an actual life, with actual ties not just to the people already in his circle but to the world beyond. once i had that outline, the first four chapters flowed pretty easily, anchored by the goal of hitting the story’s first big win, which is when quentin finds a way to fix something for the first time since his magic broke; chapter five was where i got stuck.

by that point, it was fall. i had quit my teaching job mid-pandemic with some modest savings, no back-up plan, and a growing realization that after five years in the classroom, teaching was no longer something i could see myself returning to; working obsessively on this story was, among other things, a great way to quiet the constant humming freak-out of what the fuck i was going to do with my life. in october doing some jump squats after sitting in bed all day i threw my back out so badly i couldn’t walk to the bathroom unassisted and paid a hundred dollars to talk to a telehealth doctor for fifteen minutes for some muscle relaxants. the pain sucked, but so did not knowing whether i was going to be better by election day — i’d signed up to be a poll worker, and i really could have used the money.

i’d started dipping my toe in some local volunteer stuff when i quit, but it was during this time that i signed up for the first time for a particular project i was really excited about joining. i did the zoom training with my camera off because my back still hurt too much to sit up; the follow-up involved scanning and emailing some personal documents and signed agreements. i didn’t do it the next day because, whatever, my back fucking hurt; i didn’t do it the day after that because…? and then, well — then i started feeling like i had missed my chance, and it was too late now.

now, here’s the thing: i say feeling like because by this point i had learned enough about the world that i knew — like, knew — that, objectively, taking a few days to send an email (during a pandemic, while i was having previously established health issues) is not considered by most people to be an unforgivable crime. i knew that i should still send the email. and i also had learned enough about myself that i could actually recognize the thing happening in my brain as an example of the kind of overly self-protective mechanisms in which i have many years of practice; i knew by then that i was an absolute expert at finding reasons to not do things that felt like they were based in truth but were really just cleverly disguised manifestations of fear, because if you do things then bad things might happen, but if you don’t do things then nothing bad happens, except that you ruin your own life. i knew all of this!! i could diagnose and analyze exactly how i was once again perpetuating the same anxiety-driven patterns that had governed so much of my life. i was conscious of the workings of my own unconscious. but i still couldn’t bring myself to send the fucking email. instead i was spending 16 hours a day alternately lying in bed and gingerly pacing in my apartment to regain mobility, feeling like shit about the fact that i wasn’t sending the email and also trying fruitlessly to unpack whatever was going on in chapter five.

the election came five days into this mess, and i did feel well enough to go work the polls. this was a great way to experience election 2020, by the way; i had to leave my apartment at like 3:30 in the morning and by the time the returns started coming in i was too delirious to have any emotions about them whatsoever. it was also, not to be a shill for electoral politics, genuinely kind of inspiring: all these people lining up to Do Democracy, the deployment of translators to assist across languages, the columbia undergrad from the neighborhood we were in i was paired with at the info desk who told me he wanted to go into politics and said very seriously, upon hearing i had a friend in the grad school there, “you should tell them to join the union.” plus, you know, the high of doing something, surrounded by other human beings, at a time when that sort of thing had been in short order for the work-from-home crowd for months, and i personally had recently been confined to my bed for several days.

leaving the site that night, entering my twentieth consecutive hour awake, i felt this weird mix of spiritually rejuvenated and psychologically worse. i had just lived through this physical proof of how doing things is both not that scary and kind of awesome, i had spent a day living in alignment with the kind of person i wanted to be, i felt a fresh rush of love for my city and its people — and i still couldn’t imagine sending the fucking email! it was like i was looking at the thing i wanted most through a pane of glass, and the glass was actually really easy to break, so the only thing stopping me was that i was too much of a baby to do it.

and the thought that i had then, i fucking swear, was: i would be such a fucking hypocrite if i wrote quentin coldwater into a happy ending i’m too cowardly to give myself.

which is, first of all: SOOOOOOOO corny, like omg. unbelievably cringe. embarrassing as hell. but it was also my truth at that moment in time. i had no faith in my own ability to change, but i had spent five months and counting thinking about almost nothing else except the story i was writing in which quentin also has no faith in his ability to change but is brave enough to do it anyway, and i really felt like — i could not live with myself putting these ideas out into the world and refusing to integrate them into my own life. i could not write this promise that something better was possible for quentin if i wasn’t even going to try to make it possible for me. i could, apparently, live forever with my constant self-sabotage, but i couldn’t live with myself making this story a lie (this story being, again, fanfiction for a TV show that was, at its best, so great, and also, at its worst, so, SO stupid).

and like… that worked. i emailed the documents the next day; i attended my first monthly zoom meeting that weekend, during which the election was officially called, which felt like a good omen. i summoned the idea that had presented itself to me that night — don’t be a hypocrite! do what you would want quentin to do! — again a while later when my email got lost in the shuffle and i had to send a check-in following up, and again every other time something came up where my fear had to war it out with my desire. (or, well, most other times — it's a work in progress, and yes, i do still find myself calling upon this logic to this day.)

my life now looks more like the happy ending i wrote quentin into than it did almost four years ago, when i started this story, or even three years ago, when i finished it. it looks more like that future than i ever imagined my life could look when i was writing it, and not just because, as i have mentioned before, a few weeks after my election night revelation, i did do as quentin did and befriend a community-minded extrovert who invited me to join a book club. even the fact that the final part of the epilogue has taken me so much longer than expected is a funny case of life imitating art, because while i have had work and illness and travel and general life stress, i have also had many days in the past few months where i was not very productive because i was simply too busy doing something fun — the kind of never-quite-solved balancing act quentin was set to deal with in the epilogue back when i first started kicking it around, well over two years ago at this point, but which was not really applicable to my own life until basically now. and it sounds even to my own ears so, so, so insane to say this, but it’s true: i can trace every aspect of that shift to the fact that i wrote this story, and that writing it fundamentally changed something inside me for the better. (shout-out to the people in the comments who noted that the story was, in a meta sense, my own version of quentin’s coffee maker; i knew you were right, but i don’t think i knew how right until this recent bout of reflection.)

i don't really know that there's a take-away here, because "quit your job and write four hundred thousand words about a weird TV show with a niche audience" is not exactly universally applicable advice. but if i were to try to find one, i think it would be something like: i felt really crazy and kind of embarrassed the entire time i was writing this story, not because i was writing fanfiction, or because it was incredibly horny and wildly self-indulgent, but because it mattered to me so, so deeply. it was one thing to have a fun goofy hobby, even a fun goofy hobby i took semi-seriously and poured a lot of time and effort into, but it was another to actually, like, care, and to care a lot, which i did. but if i hadn't accepted that this story mattered to me, i don't think it could have been as personally transformational as it wound up becoming. the heart wants what it wants, and you're only going to find out what that is if you're willing to listen to whatever rhythm it beats.

i solved chapter five on the way home from the poll site, by the way. i knew there needed to be some problem with quentin’s first semi-successful attempt to mend the coffee maker, but i couldn’t figure out how it tied in thematically with where he was in his life. on the bus it hit me: quentin and the coffee maker were both trying to remain unbreakable. an appealing idea if you’ve been broken, but one more conducive to stagnancy than to growth; you can stay there for a while, but eventually you need to let yourself want more.

[uramilf]

Dangerous Game - Matty Healy x reader smut

A/N: Guys this is FILTHY. Like the most unhinged deranged smut I’ve written so far, fair warning. It’s set around Christmas 2022 as it mentions the guests at the UK atvb tour, just for context xx

Warnings: SMUT. Cheating (yes cheating is wrong but it’s just a story, if you don’t like it don’t read it please!) Some BDSM, cockwarming, light anal AH SOZ, spanking, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected sex, spitting, biting etc, degredation, dom!Matty

Stepping out of the lift, I straightened my skirt and checked my hair in the reflection of the shiny metal doors as they closed. I was playing a dangerous game with the short skirt and tight blouse, but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride on catching a glimpse of myself.  A few months into working at Dirty Hit as Matty’s assistant, and I still tried my hardest to look nice when I knew I would be with him. I knew it was wrong. Every morning I left my own boyfriend in our shared bed after he told me how beautiful I looked. He looked prefect on paper apart from the fact that he wasn’t Matty, and that I often wondered during sex if Matty would do a better job. Sometimes I wanted to tell him exactly who I was trying to look beautiful for, so that I would be free to do whatever I wanted with my gorgeous co-worker. But even then, I wouldn’t be able to make a move on him. He had a girlfriend too, Ella. And she was perfect, a literal model. He wouldn’t even look twice at me.

I walked into the Matty and George’s small shared office. I loved George, but I was glad he was taking the day off for once. Matty looked up from his laptop when I entered. “Morning, love. You look pretty.” “Thanks,” I laughed, sitting down opposite him, trying not to let my face turn red or allow him to see how thrilled I was. “Busy day today?” “Not hugely. Still a few things to sort out for tour, but y’know, I’m getting there,” “That’s good,” I nodded, opening my own laptop. It was never awkward with him, but there was a certain tension in the air every time we were alone. It was as if he could tell that I was actively trying to act appropriately around him, and maybe like he was doing the exact same thing.

We worked quietly for 20 minutes, and as I was checking the guestlists for each show I noticed that his girlfriend’s name was missing. “Hey, Ella’s not on the guestlist for the first London show. Should I put her on?” Matty looked up abruptly, jaw clenching slightly at the mention of her name. Had something happened between them? He relaxed his face and his eyes softened when he saw my worry. “Um, no thanks love. She’ll be out of the city for a few days. Visiting family.” I saved the document and shut the laptop, standing up from my desk. “I’m gonna go get a coffee, you coming?” “Sure, babe. Two minutes.” BABE? What the fuck was he trying to do to me? I didn’t know how long I could stay around Matty without accidentally telling him exactly how I felt about him. A feeling of guilt overcame me and I shook all thoughts of Matty from my head. 

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On the way back from our coffee run, Matty and I stood quietly together waiting for the lift. When we had been walking back from the Starbucks down the street, our hands had brushed each other multiple times and it was all I could do to not kiss him right then and there. The lift doors opened, and we stepped in. I opened my mouth to speak but Matty didn’t give me the chance. He grabbed my waist and pushed me against the wall, staring straight down into my eyes. “Fuck this,” he almost spat at me. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend there’s nothing going on with us anymore.” I felt as though my throat was closing over. “Matty,” I said in a voice which was barely a whisper. His eyes softened. “Matty, I have a boyfriend. You have a girlfriend.” His jaw tensed again. “She left me. She left because she could see how badly I wanted you. And as for your boyfriend, are you seriously saying you’d rather have him than me?” I raised an eyebrow. “What? You know I’m right. He’s too boring for you. And he doesn’t look at you the way I do. Shit, can he even make you cum?”

The lift doors opened and he sprung away from me, leaving me with wide eyes and red cheeks. Jamie got in the lift as we got out, and I prayed he hadn’t seen anything.  “Morning, you two. Y/n, have you had a chance to look over those guest lists?” “Yep, all done,” I managed to say, voice breaking under the pressure of nearly being caught with Matty’s hands on my waist and lips a fraction of an inch from mine. The second we made it back to the office I turned and locked the door. “You’re right,” I blurted out. He looked at me with raised eyebrows.  “Yeah?” he smirked, approaching me like an animal stalking its prey. I felt small, but safe, around him; like I knew he could absolutely ruin my life, but chose not to. Like he could turn around now and tell me he was joking, and that he didn’t really want me. But he didn’t. Instead he shoved me back against the wall, the cold surface touching my bare thighs and making me shiver. “Right about what, exactly?” “He can’t make me cum,” I whispered, not looking him in the eye.  “Right.” Matty lifted my chin and forced me to look into his eyes, “And why is that, I wonder?”

“Because he’s not you.”

Matty kissed me then; hard, rough, needy. His hips rolled into mine as his tongue slipped into my open mouth, brushing against my own. I moaned into his mouth and he grabbed at my waist eagerly. One of my hands tangled in his hair, the other feeling desperately up and down his bicep, which seemed to have grown a lot recently. Shit, all that working out was doing wonders for him. Matty’s hips bumped into me again and he groaned. I could feel him getting hard in his black trousers and a wave of heat rushed through me. Just as the kiss was deepening, his phone rang. He pulled away, fumbling in his pocket and rolling his eyes. “Hello?” he snapped. “Oh, hi mate. Sure. Yep. I’ll be there in a second.” “Everything okay?” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Adam’s outside. Says he’s got some paperwork or something I need to look over before tour. I’m gonna run down and grab it, okay babe?”

When he left, I checked my phone and sighed. My boyfriend had texted: Miss you baby. When u coming home? I texted back: Miss you too, not sure yet, pretty busy here x I still felt a little guilty, but slightly less so after feeling Matty so close to me like that. After a few minutes of me trying to calm myself after our encounter, Matty walked back through the door. I draped my arm around his neck and kissed him again, but he pulled away after a few seconds. “Hey gorgeous, can we finish this later, yeah? I have so much fucking work to get through here.” “Oh. Yeah, sure.” “Sorry, babe. You know I want you, like, right now. But Adam’s shitting himself about getting this all done. In the meantime can you get Taylor, Lewis and Charli’s teams on the phone and go over the details for the UK shows, please?” “Of course,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. Back to being an assistant. Maybe he didn’t want me that badly after all. 

I was wrong. 20 minutes into my phone calls with various celebrities’ teams and managers, Matty sighed and looked up at me. “Fuck, babe. I can’t work when you’re sat there looking like that. C’mere.” I stood up and walked to his desk, sitting down on the edge. “What’s wrong?” I smiled teasingly. Matty laughed and gestured to the obvious bulge in his trousers.  “But you have so much work to do!” I feigned shock and Matty rolled his eyes. “I know that was a dig at me, but you’re actually right. It’s ok, I think we can do both.” I raised an eyebrow as he unbuckled his belt and tugged his trousers and boxers down. That shut me up. He was huge, dripping precum, a thick vein running up the side of his cock from base to tip.  “Sit,” he commanded. I wasted no time in doing what I was told, straddling his lap and grinding down on him, my clothed core rubbing against his cock. He let out a deep groan from the back of his throat. “Darling, if you want me all to yourself tonight, you need to let me get my work done. Sit.” This time I lifted my hips and positioned myself right over his cock, pulling my thong to the side and sinking down onto him. We groaned out in sync as a wave of pleasure washed over us both. I mentally begged him to move, to do something. But I knew he wouldn’t. I sat there whining into his ear and clenching around him for a further ten minutes. I tried to sneak my hand down to touch my clit but he grabbed my wrist and threw it back over his shoulder. “Behave,” he smirked, not looking up from his computer. 

Finally, Matty finished what he was doing and looked up at me, still perched on his lap, trying not to grind my hips downwards. “The rest of this can wait until tomorrow. It’s time you got some attention, yeah baby?” He moved his laptop, notebooks and papers to the side and lifted me by the waist onto the desk, pushing my shoulders so I ended up flat on my back with my legs spread, him now standing between them. I whined at the empty feeling and Matty shushed me gently before pushing into me again. He threw his head back as he thrusted into me. I wasn’t used to the stretch required for me to fit around his cock, and it felt perfect. The sound of our combined moans and his skin hitting mine filled the room, but neither of us cared to stay quiet. Matty pulled out of me again and I could have screamed in frustration, but he didn’t give me time to complain.

“Hands and knees,” he commanded, and I obeyed. He groaned when I pushed my ass towards him and placed a firm smack there, making me giggle with giddy anticipation. Instead of fucking me again, Matty sat down in his chair so his face was level with my cunt and leaned forward to lick a stripe straight up my core.  “Shit! Oh, Matty, please!” His tongue teased at my entrance, flicking back and forth, his rough, calloused hand sneaking around to find my clit and rub light circles over it.  “Does he ever do this to you, baby?” “Yes,” I gasped. “But it doesn’t feel as good as this.” Matty’s tongue ventured further away from my cunt and I gasped. “Matty, wait. No one’s ever done that to me before.” “Ssh, baby. You’ll like it.” With that he flicked his wet tongue over my asshole, making me scream out.  “Oh fuck!” He did it again, and again, building up speed into a proper rhythm. The thought of letting a guy ever do this to me had never even crossed my mind, but holy fuck, it felt good. As he continued to kitten lick over my hole, he thrusted two fingers into my wet cunt and I could feel myself tipping over the edge at last.  “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” I cried out, nails digging into the cold wood of the desk, clenching around Matty’s fingers. My vision was overcome with a bright white heat as I came on Matty’s hand, screaming his name. He pulled his fingers out of me and I saw him flick his tongue over them, closing his eyes in bliss. “Fuck, you taste good.” He placed his thumb on my lip and whispered “open,” before spitting into my mouth. “Don’t you think you taste good, love?” I swallowed and nodded quietly, eyes never leaving his.

Matty gave me some time to recover, but I noticed he was still hard. He was the first guy to give me an orgasm in six months, as my boyfriend was seriously lacking in experience and confidence. I wasn’t gonna let the favour not be returned. I pulled my skirt back down to cover my thighs and dropped to my knees in front of Matty. He was in the midst of pulling his boxers back up over his hard-on, but I stopped him. “Fuck, babe. You’re so desperate for me you should be ashamed of yourself,” Matty smirked down at me. I just rolled my eyes and licked his tip, relishing the sound he made. I tested the waters, taking his tip fully into my mouth and sucking. I could taste his salty precum and moaned around his cock, making him echo the sound. Slowly taking more of him into my mouth, I looked up at him through my eyelashes to see his head tipped back, eyes shut in ecstasy. His hands found their way to my hair and grabbed a fistful each, forcing me down further. He hit the back of my throat and I gagged a little. A groan of “Good fucking girl” made its way to my ears. He guided my head up and down, fucking roughly into my mouth.  “Fuck, I’m so close,” he stuttered, his cock twitching in my mouth. He spilled his cum onto my tongue with a loud moan of my name and I pulled away, swallowing while staring straight into his eyes. “C’mere,” he breathed heavily, pulling me up to stand close to him. He grabbed me by the hips and kissed me hard.

“You’re actually incredible, you know that, right?” Matty asked softly, brushing my hair behind my ear. I didn’t look at him, just smiling. “Have you never been told that before?” “Not really, no.” “Well you deserve someone who’s gonna tell you that every day of your fucking life, darling.” “Someone like you?” I grinned. “Exactly,” he smiled back.

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I hadn’t gone back to Matty’s house. It seemed too obvious. Instead I headed home and changed into a tight dress and put some makeup on, some stupid excuse about meeting up with work friends for a drink spilling out of my mouth. It wasn’t entirely a lie. 

Matty had opened his front door and pulled me inside before I even had a chance to knock, lips meeting mine immediately. He was still in his work clothes. Not for long, I decided. He dragged me upstairs into his bedroom, shoving me down on the bed and yanking off his shirt and tie. I almost let out a moan at the sight of his toned stomach and muscular, tattooed arms. He slipped my feet out out my shoes and kissed all the way from my ankle to my thigh, pulling my dress, stepping back in feigned shock when he saw my lack of underwear.  “Someone’s being a bit cheeky tonight,” he whispered. “It gets worse, no bra either,” I joked. “Fuck!” Matty exclaimed, reaching down to pull my dress straight over my head. He stood there with his mouth open for a moment or two at the sight of my tits moving with my deep breaths. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, grabbing my thighs and spreading my legs. He knelt on the bed between them and dropped down to take one of my nipples into his mouth, one hand trailing down my stomach towards my clit. He continued to suck on the skin of my breast and circle my clit with his thumb as I moaned out his name. “Fuck darling, you make the prettiest noises.” Matty moved up to my neck to place a messy kiss there, and I cried out when he sunk his teeth into my skin. He stood up to undo his belt, but kept his trousers on. I raised an eyebrow. “Pretty girl, I think it’s time you got a little punishment for all the times you’ve given me a fucking boner in work this week.” My eyes widened in shock. “Four times this week, babe. It’s only Wednesday.” He reached for his tie from the floor and told me to get in the same all-fours position I had been in earlier. This time, he grabbed my wrists and tied them together behind my back, forcing my head down into the mattress.  “Okay, pretty girl. You’ve got me all worked up four times this week, and I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose. So I want you to count your punishments, okay?” I nodded, letting out an excited whimper. I heard the belt buckle clink and clenched my cunt around nothing. A sharp sting landed on my ass and I yelped. “Count.” “One,” I breathed. Another. “Two.” Another. “Three.” “One more, babe, You’re doing well.” He brought the thick leather down on my soft skin once more, the sensation burning pleasurably.  “Four.” “Good girl.”

Matty grabbed my tied wrists and pulled me up so my face was no longer in the sheets. “Are you gonna take my cock again like a good little slut?” I just whined in response. “Words,” he grunted. “Or do I need to remind you what your punishment is?” “Yes, Matty. I’ll be good for you,” I whimpered. He let go of my wrists, my upper half dropping back onto the mattress. Without warning, he pushed into me hard and established a fast, steady rhythm. I cried out as he found my g-spot effortlessly.  “Fuck Matty!” This only encouraged him, and he thrusted deeper, harder, all the while groaning my name. He alternated between grabbing handfuls of my ass and placing firm slaps there. Each time he hit me I clenched hard around him, ripping a moan from his throat. 

After around ten minutes of hard, rough, rhythmic thrusting, Matty grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled out of me, cumming all over my back. “Fuck, love. How are we ever gonna share an office again without me getting a boner?” I laughed at him while he untied my wrists, wincing when his hand brushed the sore skin of my ass.  “Oh, darling, I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know I can go overboard sometimes.” “Are you seriously apologising for the best sex of my life right now?” Matty grinned at this. “Are you joking?” “Absolutely not. You’ve met my partner, you know he’s not doing any of that.” I glanced at the clock. “Oh shit! He’s gonna be wondering where I am.” “Text him and say Charli drank too much and you’re staying with her to look after her. I’m not letting you go home by yourself at this time of night. Plus, I need to take care of my pretty girl.”

After I had made my excuses to my boyfriend, Matty cleaned me up in the bathroom and carried me back to his bed, tucking me in under the sheets and curling up beside me, his head on my chest. I had a hand in his hair and one of his was exploring the skin of my stomach underneath my borrowed t-shirt.

“Get some sleep, love,” Matty yawned. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.”