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stupidlittlespirit · 1 day

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Claustrophobia

Rating: NSFW, mdni Type: Longform, smut Tags: Trapped in a closet, Dubious consent, premature ejaculation, dry humping, fingering, no pronouns but female body described, slight gaslighting, Reigen being a disgusting pervert, female body described and skirt/stockings but no pronouns. Word count: 9,140 (sorry it's so long) My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3!

Reader and Reigen get locked in a closet during a job gone wrong, and Reigen doesn't know how to behave. (inspired loosely by @vasiktomis's fic)

Reigen isn’t in the habit of taking solo jobs he can't handle alone. Not anymore, anyway,

He's learned that, quite understandably, no one can be reasonably expected to just drop what they’re doing to serve his whim when he finds himself facing a threat bigger than the boots that he places himself in sometimes. Nowadays, he sticks to what he knows and picks the work that's least likely to result in an untimely death. Without any psychic abilities of his own, Reigen tends to go for the less spiritually-inclined call outs.

When he'd taken this job, he had assumed it to be one of those times.

The client, Kawasaki, had bemoaned a supposed ghostly presence lingering in a rundown property of his, causing damage and defacing the place, and stopping him from renovating the house for new tenants. As loath as Reigen had been to help a landlord, the price of the job had been decent enough to convince him otherwise and so he had taken it on.

Kawasaki’s description during his consultation had sounded like nothing more than squatters or trespassing teenagers looking for somewhere quiet to make out. Serizawa had agreed; broken locks, leftover beer cans and abandoned trash aren’t common signs of spirits and so Reigen had thought little of attending without any psychic backup. If he can manage without Mob or Serizawa, he will. They’re both busy enough, it wouldn’t do to drag them away from their studies or their friends for no reason. Besides, Reigen is confident enough in his own ability to handle things, for better or worse.

Still, he isn’t dense enough to wander into an abandoned den filled with potentially unfriendly squatters and disgusting creepy-crawlies all on his lonesome. Reigen can be stupid, but he’s not dumb. Instead, he had requested (see: demanded) the help of the only other person in the office he knows rarely has anywhere else to be: You.

He’s well aware that you don’t have much going on outside of working hours and you’re usually moderately willing to stretch your legs a bit when the day has been slow. A person can only stand to look at paperwork for so many hours a day, he supposes.

When you’d asked why, exactly, he needed you of all people to join him, Reigen had been blunt: “I’d rather not get stabbed over a property dispute, if that’s alright with you. Plus, I need someone to keep an eye out for roaches.”

According to his expert assessment, the work would be simple: Get in, sweet talk the people inside into moving along, and collect the fee.

Except, as is often the case, nothing Reigen ever does is simple.

When the two of you arrive, the building is empty. There isn’t a single sign of life nor death inside the entire house and he isn't really that surprised. The place is absolutely rotten. Dirty wallpaper peels from place, the once rich-looking wooden fixtures are soft and stained a gross green colour, their usual glossy surfaces dull and sickly, and the interior is so degraded that he's not sure how the landlord intends to salvage the place, regardless of damage done by potential unwelcome visitors.

Sleeping on the street would be preferable to staying here.

“So much for squatters,” he hears you mutter, the beam of your flashlight swinging around the room. It skims from tattered floorboards to broken down shelving, circuiting the room as you turn on the spot in search of the client’s woes.

“Maybe they left,” Reigen says, peering into a side room. “Makes our job easier anyway.”

“I wouldn’t hang around here, I know that much,” you sigh.

“Why?” Reigen smirks. “Not scared, are you?” He can never pass up on an opportunity to provoke you. You’re always a breeze to wind up and Reigen would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching your hackles rise. He’s proficient in the art of being a dick, especially when it comes to you.

You roll your eyes at his attempt. “You wish. We should check upstairs at least, just to be sure.”

Reigen agrees, though in his ever chivalrous nature, he invites you to be the first one to brave the weak looking staircase. Each step you take up the rickety stairs is cautious, ensuring you won’t fall straight through the rotted wood and accidentally impale yourself on an exposed nail, and Reigen follows your footsteps perfectly.

It’s even darker up here. The windows are shuttered, boarded up tight beyond a few ripped out panels, and there doesn’t appear to be anyone hiding in the rooms; they’re equally as dilapidated as the ones downstairs. There are remnants of life in the house, though, besides the leftover trash: discarded boxes filled with long-abandoned books and menial belongings, old furniture and forgotten blankets, but they all appear to be as old as the home.

They’re covered in grime and clearly haven’t been touched much. The squatter theory looks weak without fresh signs of habitation, but there’s always the chance people are breaking in to snoop around.

Dust particles catch in the light beams of your torches as he takes you deeper inside, glittering and wispy, passing through the air like tiny little fairies uprooted from their hiding spots. Reigen swallows a sneeze and turns away from you, covering his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

Dimly, he supposes he should have gotten masks for you both; the last thing he wants is a health and safety insurance claim on his hands if you inhale something gross. “If you see any asbestos, keep your distance,” he warns. “I’m not paying your hospital bill.”

“Thanks,” you reply, tone so dry it’s practically parched. “What does it look like?”

“No idea,” says Reigen, shrugging. “But don’t breathe it in.”

“Asshole.” He can almost hear you roll your eyes and he bites down on a grin.

The air is much cooler upstairs, icy enough to permeate Reigen’s suit and he suppresses a shiver as you follow his lead down a long hallway.

Despite his confidence in the office that the presence of a spirit here would be unlikely, he can’t help but feel nervous. Downstairs had been gross, but upstairs feels decidedly…. Unwelcoming in comparison. Like something is waiting for you both, hidden in the darkness and waiting to strike.

He knows it’s probably his imagination. This isn’t his first rodeo and usually a spirit makes itself known the moment he pokes around a bit. You’re just paranoid, Reigen thinks to himself, get a grip.

Your voice breaks through the silent air: “Can you feel that?” You whisper, coming up close behind him.

Anxiety rolls off of you in waves and Reigen can sense how tense you are even at a distance. He really ought to be a decent boss and offer some reassurance to the least experienced member of his team. You’re not usually the one who’s dragged into spooky places like this with little to no preparation; your expertise extends to paperwork and filing cabinets, and with no Esper abilities to speak of you’re completely exposed to danger. Reigen is too, he supposes, but he’s used to charging into unfriendly dens of danger without much care for his wellbeing.

He should be considerate and give you some warm words of comfort, offer to protect you if all hell breaks loose, yet he knows you’re not the type to cling to him like a frightened fawn and he’d only insult you if he suggested anything of the sort. Instead, he decides he’ll break the tension in a way that only he knows how.

He pauses at your front and you almost walk into the back of him, too busy looking behind you to pay attention. Reigen puts a hand out to keep you steady. “What do you mean?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“I’m not sure,” you say, flicking your flashlight around in the darkness. “The air…. It feels heavy, don’t you think?”

Reigen hums and comes to stand behind you, swapping places and standing close enough that his chest bumps your back. “Actually, now that you mention it….”

Without a word, he reaches past you and motions for you to raise the flashlight a little, and you do as you’re asked, pointing it towards an empty room just off of the corridor. The beam is too weak to fully penetrate the darkness as you point it inside however, and the light barely makes a difference.

“What is it?” You whisper, craning your head around to see if you can spot whatever has caught his attention. The light is swallowed by the black expanse and it makes it seem as though the building is ten times as big as the distance you’ve just walked.

Reigen doesn’t answer your question.

The silence is deafening.

Reigen is so close to you that he can see the hairs rise on your arms in his own torchlight and he’s quite pleased when you lean away from where you’re pointing the light, pressing back against him unconsciously in order to distance yourself from whatever might lurk in the shadows. You might not be the sort of person that needs protecting, but he can’t deny that something stirs inside himself at the thought of you seeking him out for support anyway.

Nothing moves in the dark.

No one speaks a word.

It’s the most perfect set-up Reigen could imagine.

“Boo!”

His hands grab at your sides as he shouts right down your ear, as loud as he can manage. The scream you let loose is close to inhuman and in a pure panic, you lurch away from the source, scrambling aside until your shoulder collides hard against the wall. You swing your torch out violently in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from the unseen threat and Reigen dodges the heavy lump of metal, laughing his head off at his wonderfully successful prank.

The watery light lands on his doubled over form, collapsed against the opposing wall in a fit of ugly giggles, his body shaking with the force of it. He cackles at the terrified sight of you, hands still outstretched from where he’d seized your waist. “Your face!” Reigen gasps, struggling to breathe through his fits. “Man, you’re too easy!”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re very admirably restraining yourself from throwing the torch at his head. You look like you’ve had the fear of God put in you, face paling and eyes wide, clutching at the ruined walls like a cartoon cat on the ceiling. The big grin that splits Reigen’s smug face suggests he’s overjoyed that he’s gotten such a reaction from you; he always is.

Furious, you lash out with one foot to kick at his shin. “Fuck off!” you hiss, breathless with fright. “Fucking asshole!”

Still laughing, Reigen nimbly avoids your attempted assault again. He looks far too pleased with himself and as soon as you can breathe again, you flounce off down the hallway and make your way back towards the staircase, leaving him pitched against the doorframe whilst he tries to get his breath back.

The darkness clearly doesn’t seem as frightening to you now that it’s clear the biggest threat in here is your jerk of a boss and you stride back the way you came, ignoring Reigen’s half-hearted shouts for you to wait. He won’t let you get too far without him. Although the house is empty, it’s still run down and dodgy as fuck. The last thing he wants is for you to be so angry with him that you fall down the stairs or cut yourself escaping his mean spirited jokes.

“Wait a second!” Reigen shouts, still struggling to sound completely serious. He scrambles after you, following the sound of your heavy footsteps as you stomp back the way you’d come.

“It’s not funny,” you snap over your shoulder. “Get lost. You can go-!” Your sentences halts halfway through, cut off almost comically, and Reigen is mildly disappointed that you’re not throwing rabid insults his way.

“C’mon,” Reigen cajoles, pushing his luck as he rounds the corner to the landing. “Don’t be like that, I thought you could take a joke!” He’s still got a stupid grin on his face as he comes closer and he takes a breath to say something else when abruptly he realises you’re standing stock still in place.

You look even more terrified than you had moments earlier and briefly, Reigen worries he might have caused permanent trauma “What is it?” Reigen asks, suddenly sounding a lot less jovial. “I didn’t scare you that badly, did I?”

At the foot of the staircase, the floorboards squeak and a foreign voice speaks aloud into the damp air: “I thought it was funny.”

He freezes mid-step, one foot suspended in the air. The voice doesn’t belong to anyone he recognises and judging by the look on your face, it doesn’t belong to anyone you know either. A cold and unpleasant sensation slides down the back of his neck, like a fat droplet of ice water trickling along his skin. The heavy, dense atmosphere is back, even worse than it had been when you’d first come up here.

Cautiously, like he’s afraid the room might explode, Reigen edges toward where you’re standing. You don’t look at him at all, eyes fixed on whatever has spoken at the foot of the staircase, and it makes Reigen’s blood run cold again. Very slowly, he ekes his flashlight up from where it points at the floor to join yours and shines it’s weak beam towards the source of the sound. It illuminates the bottom most stair and as he raises it higher and higher, the form of an impossibly black figure reveals itself.

It’s vaguely human shaped, except the limbs are longer than they should be and they’re bent at uncomfortable angles, like it’s stuffed into the space it crouches in. The thing is big enough that it takes up the entire doorway at the foot of the stairs and it seems to almost absorb the light of the torch, watching the two of you closely with a featureless face. No, not quite totally featureless. Rather than have eyes or a nose, or any other defining characteristic, It has a big, horrible smile, made up of crooked teeth that peek out from behind non-existent lips.

Reigen hears your breathing hitch in fear and this time, his responsible boss attitude does take over. He curls a hand around your wrist and inches in front of you, sheltering your body with his. The spirit is big. Bigger than the usual ones he faces off against. With only a bag of salt in his pocket and a hopeful prayer in his heart, Reigen knows he’s limited in options on how to deal with this. There’s no Mob and no Serizawa to back him up. He’s on his own for this one and he really doesn’t want to give you the impression that he can’t handle things by himself.

Maybe he can use the only trusty weapon he has in his arsenal: His mouth. Reigen holds his free hand up in an innocent gesture. “Sorry,” he says, plastering on a fake smile. “Didn’t mean to disturb you. We were just, uh, exploring….”

The spirit makes a sound of disgust, like two rusty metal sheets rubbing together, and it begins to crawl up the stairs, inch by inch. “Exploring each other, more like. Why is it always my house you kids come to fuck in?”

Reigen chokes on his tongue, his face burning. “Hey, come on, it’s not like that!”

“Of course you are, you’re all the same.” The spirit’s mouth draws back into an impossibly wider grin. “Why can’t you just get handsy in the car like everyone else?”

“Fuck off,” you snap, though your voice is weak. “No one’s coming to this shit hole to have sex.”

The spirit’s grin turns downward into a furious scowl and Reigen barely predicts what’s about to happen in enough time to yank you away from harm. The grotesque creature launches itself upward, its long limbs allowing it the capacity to make short work of the remaining stairs, and it lunges straight for the both of you with a snarling shout of indignance at your insult of its home.

Reigen manages a shout of warning before he yanks you aside, grabbing your hand in a bruising grip, and he pulls you out of the thing’s path with all the strength he can muster. You have the good sense to let him manhandle you across the landing, abandoning your torch in favour of hanging onto him, and you stagger alongside towards the hallway again.

The creature crashes against the wall at the top of the stairs, the force of its strike knocking over the old furniture that’s been discarded there to grow mouldy and old. The wood crunches horribly on impact and Reigen is always impressed by the way spirits, for such non-corporeal beings, manage incredible ways of destroying their far more material environments with ease. Right now, however, he’d rather not go the same way as that chest of drawers. He doesn’t plan on dying in a place like this and there’s no way he’s about to let you meet a grisly end either. He’s far too fond of you for that.

The spirit has the stairs cornered, which leaves little else in the way of an escape route. Reigen has no choice but to take you deeper into the house and hope to lead the thing around in a circle to free up the stairway. Barrelling down the corridor, Reigen is running blind. He realises he must have dropped his flashlight in the chaos, too, because everything in the house is so incredibly dark that he feels like there’s a bag over his head. It’s almost impossible for him to see where he’s going, there’s no way he’ll be able to get his bearings well enough to loop the property like this.

That is, until a sliver of light from another room catches his eye. Reigen pivots on his heel at breakneck speed and heaves you sideways with him through the open doorway, ever the nimble little weasel. He slams the door shut behind you and scans the room for a hiding place, breathing hard and keeping a tight, sweaty hold of your hand.

“What do we do?!” You gasp, out of breath from both the running and the fear. “We can’t get out, what do we-!”

“In there!” Reigen points across the dim room. On the far side past a broken down bed and several piles of boxes and filthy duvets, there’s a slim little closet. It’s the only thing in here that seems to still be whole and mercifully preserved from the rot that’s infected the rest of the building. It’s the best bet either of you will have at staying hidden.

Reigen doesn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he lugs you towards it and wrenches open the doors, tumbling inside. Reigen’s back hits the wall as he flattens himself against the interior, his body folding awkwardly in order to fit into the cramped, tight space, and he hauls you in after him. You’re all elbows and knees as you land on him, scrabbling for purchase in a panic, and your body shoves at his while you try and find your balance in the darkness.

He pushes you against the opposing side, his hands clutching your waist to stop you from wobbling and falling right back out into the open, and his legs tangle up between both of yours. By some stroke of good fortune, you have the presence of mind to snatch the doors shut after yourself. They close with a mercifully quiet click! and then it’s just the two of you, panting hard and fast into the dimness as you listen for signs of your undead pursuer.

Several somethings clatter around in the hallway, followed by the sound of breaking glass and a frustrated growl, and Reigen strains to hear if the sounds are moving any closer to the bedroom you’re sheltering in.

After a few long moments, however, nothing comes.

Reigen breathes a silent sigh of relief and then feels you shift in place. You’re virtually painted onto his front, your chest squashed against his own and your face not even half an inch away from his. It dawns on him that this is quite the intimate position to be in with a person he’s supposed to be in charge of, and he feels the cool sweat of adrenaline turn into lukewarm awkwardness.

You tilt your head a fraction to give yourself a bit of room to speak and your lips brush up against his cheek. “What were you thinking?!” you scold him in barely a whisper.

“Huh?” Reigen murmurs back, trying to ignore the sensation.

“We’re sitting ducks in here,” you breathe. “If that fucking thing finds us, we’re dead!”

He hadn’t really considered that. The closet is tiny and dark, only a tiny filtering of pale light from a broken window board across the room reaches through the thin slats sitting just above your heads. It smells like dank old oak and probably a few different cultures of microorganisms. The only thing there’s room for in here is mould and dust. Neither he nor you will be able to escape if the spirit figures out where you’re hiding.

“Just shut up,” Reigen mutters, flexing his hands on your waist. “Stay quiet until it gets bored and then we can sneak out.” It’s a weak plan, but it’s all he has right now.

A few rooms over, something crashes against a wall and you flinch against him.

Reigen can feel the warmth of your body seeping into his own through your clothes, your breasts brushing the front of his shirt, your hips locked with his own. Your arms are forced almost around one another, both of you clinging to the other’s sides. Perhaps it’s the excitement of the chase, or maybe the thrill of escaping yet another near-death situation, but Reigen’s blood feels like it’s catching alight. He’s warming up all over, perspiration beading at his temples, and he isn’t quite sure how to stop it. Were he to purse his lips, he might even accidentally kiss you.

Reigen is technically in charge of you. It’s well known in the office that all of you work side-by-side, however on the paperwork side of things, he is legally your superior. He’s supposed to uphold a certain air of respectability around his colleagues yet when it comes to you, he finds that responsibility getting more difficult by the day. You argue back and forth with him, always ready to challenge his overpowering confidence when it starts to get out of hand, and he can tell you enjoy the verbal sparring as much as he does.

There’s something unsaid between you both, something heavy that’s only been building over time, but Reigen is too afraid to drop his façade of being The Boss Of You to investigate it further in case he’s read the entire situation wrong. If you were to refuse him, to laugh in his face, he'd never live it down. He couldn't handle such a dent in his ego and he'd rather die than admit it aloud.

He does his best to hide it when he chances little looks at you and so far he’s only been caught out on his less-than-professional observations once, by Ekubo. Horrible little fiend that the ghost is, he’d caught Reigen sneaking a peek at your ass as you’d cleaned a cupboard in the staffroom, chatting away to him and none the wiser of his perverseness; you’d been on your hands and knees, half disappeared into the space under the sink, and Reigen had seized the opportunity to drink in a spectacular view of you from behind.

Your skirt had risen ever so slightly too high, revealing the top of your stockings and the thin sliver of the clips that held the fabric in place, and Reigen had lurked silently in the doorway, watching closely and committing the sight to memory.

Until, of course, Ekubo had materialised out of thin air, as he is so often wont to do, grinning lasciviously, and scared the shit out of Reigen so badly that he’d almost tumbled backwards out of the room. Despite the rude interruption, he’s never forgotten the sight.

Reigen knows it's wrong, that it's fucked up that he'd view a staff member, a friend, like that, and yet he's never had the willpower to put a stop to it. Images of you in raunchy positions just like on that day have haunted his mind on late, lonely nights whilst his hand has wandered into the waistband of his underwear of its own accord.

He’s fully aware that he shouldn’t be jerking himself off every night thinking of you stuck under the sink, unable to get away from his curious hands, but he can’t ever feel guilty enough to think of anything else.

Right now, he wishes he'd at least tried. The memories of those imagined scenarios are stirred up by your closeness and he thinks, distantly, that if he'd tried to be a good person for once and made an effort to ignore them then he might not be struggling as much as he is currently. He’s never intended for you to find out about his fantasies and getting caught short like this is probably not going to go down well. He needs to stop thinking about all of this before it gets out of hand.

The sound of floorboards groaning out in the hallway outside makes you startle and you squirm between his legs, straining to look through the slats of the door. One of your thighs rubs up into his crotch, sleek material gliding against his suit, and he’s reminded that you’re wearing another skirt today; the smoothness of your legs means you’re more than likely in stockings again and the memory rears its head. Reigen grunts softly, gritting his teeth. “Stop it,” he grinds out quietly. “Quit moving.”

Much to his distress, you don't. Rather than obey his command, you use his body to push yourself further up to peek out of the slats and Reigen is forced to tighten his hold around your middle, dragging you back down. If you won't stop, he's going to have to make you. He digs his fingers into your side, bunching them up in the fabric of your shirt and pulling it downward to still you.

“Let go of me, you idiot,” you hiss, attempting to pry off his grip and straighten up. “I can't see!”

Reigen is sure you don’t intend to do it but the motion of your movement forces your hips to rock forward into his and he bites down on his lip so hard that he thinks he's drawn blood. He attempts to move away again, only to bump his knees against the wall under you. Reigen sucks in a sharp breath, ready to snap at you again to force you to back off, until the door to the room you're in bursts open like a group of police officers exercising a warrant. It slams against the wall loudly, the whole thing vibrating with the force. Nose to nose with him, you share a look of panic.

Something lets out a rattle of breath outside.

Reigen leans his head aside to press his mouth against your ear. “Don’t fucking move,” he says, barely audible, and he does his best not to notice the way you tilt your own head to let him fit in closer. His breath is hot against your skin and if he isn’t mistaken, you might even shiver a little.

The creature outside prowls into the bedroom, grunting and growling to itself as it searches between littered furniture for the two stowaways. Its nails scrape on the floorboards, the sound getting louder and louder until it pauses, right outside the closet. There’s a chittering noise that reverberates in Reigen’s chest and just beyond the wood, barely a hands-width away from your heads, the spirit sniffs up and down the seam of the closet. It sounds like there’s something wet caught in its throat, each draw of breath a phlegm filled rattle, and it scratches its claws on the door, seeking out any living forms within.

The spirit smells foul. Its scent is somewhere between death and rancid meat, and Reigen swallows against the saliva that rises and swims in his mouth, trying not to gag. The freezing air on its dead breath ruffles the hair at the tops of your heads and washes you both with the scent.

A swaying cobra, its form moves across the light that filters into the cupboard, turning it murky and dark but not quite removing it entirely, almost as though it’s trying to peer inside despite its lack of eyes. After a few minutes of unbearably intense silence, the spirit seems to give up on sniffing you out. It lashes out at the closet doors with its talons, tearing into the surface of the wood, before turning tail and lurching out of the room to continue its search elsewhere.

The aggressive swipe it takes at the closet makes the whole thing rattle loudly, bouncing the doors inward with force, and you jolt as though you’ve been hit. Instinctively, Reigen turns his head to check that you’re not hurt and at the same time, you turn yourself into him even more, afraid of the thing lurking outside. In the tight space, with barely even enough room to breathe, the motion forces your mouths to slot together. It can hardly be called a kiss; you’re doing little more than exchanging oxygen with one another, yet it’s so close to one that Reigen’s body betrays him almost instantly.

On your breath, he can smell the sugary strawberries you’d eaten on the way over here and again his mind conjures images, unbidden, of your lips wrapped around the fruit’s soft flesh as you’d eaten them in the passenger seat of the hire car, of the smile on your face when he handed them over; a bribe from a stopover at a gas station to stop your complaints about the long drive and an entirely selfish gesture on his part, purely for the reward of your attention (and perhaps, too, for the guilty pleasure of watching you lick your fingers clean when you’d finished).

The thought reignites the heat in his body and almost instantly, all of the blood in his brain sinks to his crotch. Reigen gets hard so quickly that he almost passes out. He isn’t sure where he finds the resolve, but somehow he manages to hold back the tiny little groan that threatens to spill from his throat, instead breathing in sharply through his nose at the sensation. Reigen’s eyes flutter shut momentarily, both in pleasure and in anticipatory fear of the look on your face.

He knows you must have noticed; his suit fabric is cheap and thin, barely a barrier to hide behind, and with your own legs exposed by your skirt there’s no way you could miss it. The weak light allows him to make out that you glance down and then back up to him.

Embarrassment burns on his face.

“It’s my cell phone,” Reigen lies without hesitation, defending his pride before you can even begin to question it. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He knows better than to throw out an insult to protect his own decency, however he’s starting to panic a little more than a seasoned sleuth should be and it has nothing to do with a ghostly presence.

You clear your throat softly and nod, looking away. The smirk on your face only makes his cheeks burn more; you’ll never let this go if he doesn’t act fast and distract you. “Look, we need to make a run for it while we still have the chance,” Reigen says quietly, trying to will away his arousal as best he can. “We open the doors and sneak back to the stairs. Don’t say a word and follow my lead, got it?” He’s being stricter than he usually is, partially to conceal his humiliation and partially because he needs to put his mind to something that doesn’t involve his dick.

“Sure thing, boss,” you whisper back, and Reigen can hear the amusement in your tone. He chooses to ignore it. When you get back to the office though, he’s going to make you clean that damn sink again in penance and he won’t feel the slightest bit of guilt for watching you do it. Maybe this time, he’ll even take a picture for his private collection….

Lower down in the closet, the light is completely swallowed again by darkness and Reigen has to blindly take one hand off of your waist to slide it along the door until his fingers bump against the knob. He takes hold of it and twists, attempting to push the door outward slowly. Except, the door doesn’t move. It doesn’t even budge. Confused, Reigen twists the metal further in case he hasn’t moved it around far enough and tries again. Still, nothing happens.

“What are you waiting for?” you say, frustrated.

“It won’t open,” Reigen grunts, rattling the doorknob as hard as he dares. He can’t afford to make too much noise and draw the spirit back towards you both, but he can’t risk losing the chance to run for it, either.

“Please tell me you’re fucking kidding,” you say in a strained whisper. “Reigen, stop messing aroun-”

“I’m not!” Reigen growls, jiggling it again. “I can’t get it- it won’t open!” He applies a little more pressure, wrenching it back and forth a few more times until, after one particularly frustrated yank, there’s a sickening crunch of dead wood and more light pools into the closet via a new, small hole.

He’s ripped the entire thing off.

“Oh,” says Reigen quietly.

You stare at him in utter disbelief.

“This place is falling apart,” Reigen says, immediately protective of his screw up. “It isn’t my fault-”

“You pulled the fucking handle off, Reigen!” Your voice rises momentarily before you wrestle it back under control at Reigen’s rather brusque shhh! “You pulled it off,” you repeat, far quieter this time but still distressed. “We’ll be trapped in here for hours, you idiot!”

You’re right. The only two people who know you’re both here are Mob and Serizawa. Mob is busy with friends and it’ll take Serizawa a little while to catch on that something is wrong. The job is about forty minutes from the office; allowing for travel and the time it takes to complete the work, Reigen can safely estimate that it’ll be a while before your absence is questioned. That means he’s going to be stuck in this stupid little closet, half hard and totally distracted, with you glued to him for a long time.

He tips his head back against the closet wall and sighs, closing his eyes as he tries to wrack his brain for potential options.

Reigen wonders if he should just try throwing himself at the door and facing off with a hungry spirit. It might be more preferable than his current situation, at least.

It’s uncharacteristic of you to be so mute when Reigen fucks up, and after a few minutes of miserable silence he opens his eyes again to check that you’re still there. You are, of course, but there’s a look on your face that Reigen rarely sees you wear. Despite the shitty light, he can just about make out that your eyes are becoming wide, gaze darting around the closet, and he can feel your chest beginning to rise and fall far quicker than normal, just like it had when he’d made you jump. Your breath is coming in fast, short pants and your hands grasp at the front of his shirt.

You’re starting to panic.

Abruptly, Reigen remembers you confiding in him a while ago whilst the two of you had watched some terrible horror movie together, lounging around in his apartment one evening, about how much you disliked the thought of being trapped.

The protagonist had been buried alive and you’d barely been able to finish the rest of the movie, too caught up in the anxiety of the scenario to remember how unlikely it would be for a similar fate to befall you. You’d clutched his arm so tightly that he’d found a small bruise the next morning in the shower and he can still recall how excited he had felt to have a souvenir of your presence….

Focus! Reigen warns himself, straightening up as best he can to force himself back into the moment. Now isn’t the time!

He squeezes your waist gently, a reassuring reminder that he’s right here with you. “Calm down, I’ve got it all under control,” Reigen lies through his teeth, slipping back into his false bluster the moment he knows he’s fucking things up. “We can wait until the spirit goes back to sleep and then-”

“Spirits don’t sleep!” You snap. “I’m not waiting-”

“They totally do!” Reigen replies, annoyed that you’re questioning his ever profound knowledge. “Look, I’m the professional here, you don’t even come out on jobs so why don’t you just-”

“You got us stuck in here in the first place, mister professional,” you say angrily. Both of your voices are stage whispers now, caught between concealing your presence and yelling at one another. “There has to be a safety release in here!” Your body twists viciously as you squirm around, hands flitting across the inside of the closet in an urgent attempt to free yourself from its confines.

Somehow, despite the tiny space, the ferocity of your search manages to turn you around until your back is flat against his chest instead, your body ramming his.

Reigen is torn between biting his own tongue off in frustration at the feeling of you writhing against him and yanking you closer to seek more contact. He drops the doorknob onto his foot, praying the sound will be muffled enough that it won’t draw attention and freeing up his other hand to grab a hold of you before anything more mortifying occurs. He needs to distract you, for his sake and yours.

“Hey, stop!” He attempts to prevent you from going any further, wrapping his arms around your waist and anchoring you down. “Easy, just stay still-”

“Get off of me!” you snap, tilting your head toward him and wriggling against his grip even harder. With every move, your ass bounces off of his lap and Reigen prays to whatever god is listening that he doesn’t make any more of a fool of himself than he already has today. The sensation is sinful, like he’s fucking you with your clothes on, and Reigen isn’t sure that he can hold out like this.

“Wait,” you pant, halting your search in the darkness to reach behind yourself for his slacks’ pocket. “Your cell phone, you said you brought it in, right?” You slide your hand down behind your back, right past his midriff, and grope around for the lifeline, palming at whatever you can reach. “Call Serizawa, he can exorcise that thing and let us out!”

Those gods must be laughing at him.

Abruptly, Reigen lurches his body aside, feebly trying to avoid your intrusive touch and acutely aware that his lie is about to be found out. “Stop,” he begs you softly, starting to panic himself. “Please. You gotta stop touching me or I’m gonna-” He drops his hands from your waist to grab yours where they rest, halfway into his pockets and you wrestle with him for a second to try and move him away. Reigen swears under his breath.

The proximity and your wriggling make a horrible, delicious concoction and his body reacts accordingly: Reigen is hard again. He can’t fight it anymore, not with your hands so close to his cock and your breath so hot against his cheek.

What happens next is a complete accident, an automatic move he makes before his brain catches up: Hands clamping down around your waist, Reigen purposefully rolls his hips into the soft curve of your ass, hard enough to gain the exact, exquisite friction that he’s been denying himself the entire time he’s been in here with you. Everything occurs so fast that he just about has time to clamp his hand over his mouth to stifle a pathetic little sob as he cums, hard, in his pants. He squeezes his eyes shut, stars blooming behind his eyelids, and pants desperately as he tries to catch his breath.

At his front, you’ve gone very still.

For a few minutes, no one speaks. Only Reigen’s ragged breathing and the sounds of birds somewhere way off beyond the confines of the house fill the silence, until you finally find your voice again: "Seriously?”

Reigen isn’t a stranger to making an idiot of himself, but this is definitely a new low for him. He knows how much trouble he’s going to be in when the two of you get out of here and he can practically smell the oncoming harassment lawsuit wafting through the stale air. Although, maybe that’s just the scent of his sweaty embarrassment….

Ever keen to save face though, Reigen does his best to play stupid. “What?” He asks, voice frayed at the edges.

“Did you just blow your fucking load-”

“Absolutely not-!”

“My ass is wet, Reigen,” you hiss. “I can feel it through my skirt!”

The thin material around the front of his slacks is soaked through, he knows you can. “No, it isn’t,” he scoffs, denying it without hesitation. “You’re imagining things.”

“Liar.” You tilt your hips back minutely, just enough to rub up on his spent erection, and Reigen breathes in sharply. “I didn’t realise you were so into ghouls and near death experiences,” you whisper, sounding amused in spite of your annoyance.

“It’s not a ghoul,” Reigen corrects automatically, mouth moving independently of his brain. He swallows thickly and shifts in place. “And even if something like that did happen,” he says, trying to sound dismissive. “It’s because you won’t stop moving, it’s only natural.”

“That’s… A pathetic excuse,” you admonish, head tipped back toward him. “Even for you.” Your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip, however in such close quarters, the motion effectively wets the corner of his, too. Hot spit brushes against his lip and Reigen’s mouth parts almost of its own accord, an automatic reaction to the stimulus. The angle is awkward but your mouths slide together, the slickness of the skin unbelievably arousing.

“S’not an excuse, it’s your fault.” Reigen protests weakly, lips catching against your own as you nudge your nose along his cheek. He knows he should really apologise for his indecency, that he should try to find a way out of this situation as quickly as possible, and yet…. That heavy, unspoken feeling that so often follows him around when he’s with you is filling up the interior of the closet like thick cotton wool. Your words are sharp and stinging, but you don’t seem to be as disgusted as you sound. It makes his head swim and his legs feel weak, and in some kind of unfortunate miracle, Reigen can feel his cock stir with interest again already.

“You’re really blaming it all on me? You’re the one who dragged me along to this and you’re the one who got us locked in this closet.” You laugh quietly under your breath at him, disbelieving and more than a little entertained. “God, you’re insufferable.” You press backward again and Reigen chokes back a whimper.

“I told you to stop-”

“Stop what, boss?” you ask, feigning innocence, and fuck does he hate how much you’re able to get under his skin. No one else toys with him like this, teases him. No one else dares to question his leadership or to wind him up until he explodes. No one else except you.

Reigen grits his teeth so hard he swears he feels them creak under the pressure. “If you don’t quit moving around like that, I’m not going to be held responsible for what I do next,” he grinds out. He knows you’re provoking him on purpose and he shouldn’t fall for it so easily, but he’s powerless like this and if there’s one thing Reigen hates; it’s feeling fucking powerless.

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it?” You ask, words heavy with ridicule. “Cum in your pants again?”

Reigen has had enough of your attitude.

“Fine,” he snaps. “You want to play dirty? Let’s see how you like it.” He’s been aching to touch you for so long; if this is the only chance he’s going to get, he’ll take it. Reigen isn’t one to watch opportunities pass him by. He wants to grope and grab and feel his way all over you, and he just doesn’t have the willpower in himself to resist it anymore, especially when you’re winding him up like this.

Reigen’s hands drop from where they hold your waist, inching to your hips and down to grope at your ass. It’s just like every wet dream he’s ever had about you; you’re stuck with nowhere to go, at his mercy as he touches and grabs whatever he can reach.

You breathe in sharply at his touch and your back arches, silently seeking his attention. “That’s so inappropriate,” you whisper, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. You don’t mean a word you’re saying. “I should report you.”

“Oh yeah? So do it,” he challenges, pawing at the curve of your backside greedily. “I’m sure they’d love to hear all about how you started it.” It feels like a dam has broken inside him, a flood that he’s held at bay for so long that it’s too overpowering to put a stop to now that it’s begun to overflow, and without your outright refusal, Reigen feels justified in his act. His hips rock forward again and he shudders, his own arousal not forgotten.

At his front, you snicker to yourself at his neediness to chase the feeling and he feels one of your arms snake upward to loop around his neck, your hand clutching at the back of his hair. The action prickles goosebumps along his skin.

“Fuck,” Reigen gasps as he moves, words tumbling out in soft pants. “You couldn’t just stay still, could you? Moving your ass like that, in your stupid fucking skirt and your stupid fucking stockings.” As his hips roll into you, his fingers travel to your skirt to find the tops of said lingerie and he runs his touch up the nearest strap of your garter belt.

You make a soft sound of surprise. “Stockings? How do you know I wear stock-”

Reigen pings the elastic, cutting off your words and making you gasp at the sensation, your fingers tugging at the strands of his hair. Reigen smirks, pleased to finally get the upper hand even if only for a moment. “I’ve seen them before, in the office- drives me fuckin’ crazy, ” he pants into your parted mouth. “Every time you bend over, your skirt is too short.”

“It is? I had no idea….” You pout, lower lip touching his. The words are faker than Reigen’s confidence and it makes him grin.

“I knew it,” he says, ego emboldened. “Tease.”

“Pervert,” you fire back with a smirk, legs opening a little wider as his curious hand trails up from the band of the lingerie toward your inner thigh.

“D’you wear them every day?”

“Only when I know we’ll be alone together,” you confess.

Something about your admission turns Reigen on even more. The thought that you’re only wearing them for him, for his attention, is mind blowing. He can imagine you slipping them on in the morning, thinking of him as you study yourself in the mirror before you leave for work. Reigen squeezes your ass again and uses the leverage to his advantage as he continues to work himself against you, head filled with the intimate images.

His fingers slip up your leg until they brush against the crotch of your underwear, the curve of your pussy hidden underneath. Much to his pleasant surprise, he notices that he’s not alone in his needy desire. He can feel that you’re similarly affected by the closeness, enough wetness seeping through the lacey fabric that he suspects you might have been aroused for just as long as he has. “Look at that,” Reigen teases softly, a smug grin spreading on his face. “Acting so high and mighty when you’re just as desperate for it.” He can’t deny the swell of narcissistic pride that rises in his chest; he’s making you wet. You. The object of his obsession, the person he’s only ever dreamt of having like this. It’s his touch that has you keening and sighing, even if you won’t admit it.

You scoff, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Am not-!” Your protests are smothered in favour of a hushed groan as Reigen’s thick finger nudges past your underwear and slides easily up into your cunt, your wetness offering no resistance at all.

“You were saying?” Reigen smirks, slowly inching his finger in and out, bit by bit. You’re so warm and tight around him, hips grinding down, back and forth in time with his motions. Every movement has your ass rubbing on him and Reigen lets out a shaky sigh as he presses up to meet you.

His dick strains against the fabric and silently, he wishes he had the room to free himself and fuck you silly. Now that he doesn’t have to pretend to be anything but the perverted mess that he is, Reigen ruts against your ass like a dog in heat. The enclosed space feels stifling with both of your bodies heating it up, sweat pooling at the back of his collar as he works himself up all over again. He knows he'll look a mess by the time you both manage to escape this place.

You’ve begun to make pretty little sounds against his mouth, hushed moans mixing with his desperate pants as he works his finger inside you and it’s so obscene that Reigen almost finishes on the spot. You’re both making too much noise and at this rate, you’re at risk of getting killed if the spirit returns to find you both doing exactly what it had accused you of breaking in for. Reigen knows he needs to quieten down and find a way to shut you up, too. In the fraction of free space between you, he nuzzles his mouth to yours. Although what you’re engaged in is amorous enough, the gesture is so intimate in comparison that it makes his heart flutter. “Can I kiss you?” Reigen asks, surprisingly timid considering how vigorously he’s fucking your ass.

Debauched as you are, you roll your eyes. “Finally,” you murmur. “He asks.” You sound almost relieved by his request, as though you’ve been hoping he might offer such a thing, and Reigen grins to himself.

When he kisses you, it’s sloppy; messy, unskilled and full of spit. He licks his way into your mouth enthusiastically and sighs at the touch, a trembling breath that whistles through his nose and dampens the skin of your cheek. You grunt at the force but you allow him to continue, coaxing his tongue with your own in an attempt to slow him down. Reigen doesn’t listen. He’s too confident in his own ability to take advice from you and far too excited to calm himself down anymore.

Between your legs, he presses a second finger into you, relishing in your gasp of pleasure. You’re so wet that his palm is quickly becoming slick with your arousal as he pumps his fingers and Reigen relinquishes your mouth with a lewd smack. “Fuck, you’re really into this aren’t you?” He says, bumping noses with you. “So wet and-!” Reigen’s words end in a choked off moan as you let go of his hair and drop your hand to reach behind you, cupping his cock mid-thrust.

You grasp him firmly through his damp slacks and let him grind into your grip. “You’ve got a big mouth, Reigen,” you pant, teasing. “Someone ought to teach you how to use it.”

Your hand is all he needs. Reigen is too greedy to stop himself when he knows his end is near and even if he wanted to, he’s helpless to stop it. He ought to at least try and hold on, to make up for his earlier premature finale and prove that he’s good at this kind of thing so you’ll think he’s somewhat of a decent fuck and maybe even ask for it again, but he just can’t.

A tension builds in his lower stomach, red hot and carnal, and then he’s cumming all over again, spilling into his already-filthy underwear. Reigen shudders violently, seizing you in another clumsy kiss. He almost bangs heads with you as he attempts to cover the pathetic little moans that bubble up out of him by smothering them into your mouth. Reigen’s knees feel weak again and he slumps against the closet wall behind him, breathing hard and totally spent.

You tip back the short distance with him and laugh . “So soon? I was just starting to enjoy myself….”

The back of Reigen’s neck heats up and he curls his fingers. “Sounded like you were enjoying yourself plenty,” he snipes, out of breath but still able to find a sharp-tongued reply.

You choke on a moan and wiggle your ass to encourage him. “I could stand to enjoy myself a little bit more,” you say, cheeky.

Reigen grins. He might be selfish when it comes to his own pleasure, but he won’t leave you high and dry (or wet, as the case may be). “Relax,” he whispers against your ear, cocky now that he can have you at his mercy instead. “We’ve got plenty of time, you said so yourself, right?...”

•••••

In the end, it takes Serizawa three hours to come to your rescue. He exorcises the spirit and frees you both in under five minutes, and when you finally return back to the office, Reigen still has you clean under the sink before he lets you go home for the day.

reader during this fic like

#reigen arataka x reader #MP100 #Reigen x reader #self insert #reader fic #Reigen Arataka/reader #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho reigen #reigen arataka #reigen is gross #reader insert #interaction banners by cafekitsune #smut #reigen arataka x you #reigen arataka x y/n #i hope this is okay bc i hate it #they don't get it reigen im kostrafobic!!!!

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ducktracy · 5 months

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yet another reprise of the same post i’ve made dozens and dozens of times before but GEEZ! i am so incredibly lucky to be doing what i’m doing! to think i spend hours and hours and days and weeks and months and years and hopefully DECADES pouring over animation history, lauding the masters and studying their work so intently and absorbing it and feeling and identifying with it, and the fact that i get to walk the same turf they did. that i get to be a part of this business that they established. that i get to carry the torch and that, some day, no matter how small or insignificant, my own work and contributions will be regarded as “animation history” because i work in animation and all history is history. i just can’t believe that i’m privileged enough to indulge in some of the same practices that The Greats did, that i get to study their work and, if i’m so lucky, channel and make homages to it where possible.

this isn’t to say “i’m just like Tex Avery because i work in animation TOO!!!!”, but, rather, an expression of my sheer GRATITUDE and amazement that i get to do what i do at all. i’ve met so many nice people. blossomed so much as an artist and cartoonist. get inspired each day by the talent i am constantly surrounded by. and to think that i get to be a part of it!!!!! that i get to carry the torch! i know this sounds so conceited and pompous and i really don’t mean it that way at all because i don’t WANT to be known as someone who people are only interested in because i work in cartoons. i just wanna be known for me! what “me” is i guess is for you to decide! but, regardless, i’m just feeling extra thankful tonight that i’m able to indulge in my passions and SPREAD my passions and have said passions fostered. that i’m lucky enough to tread the same ground as some of the greatest creatives that gave me this ground to tread on. there will never be enough words to properly articulate just how deeply and passionately my gratitude extends.

#not naming names because i feel weird bragging about them behind their back but one person who works on our show i look up to very very #highly. I MEAN I DO FOR A LOT OF PEOPLE. i am literally surrounded by some of the best in the business. but one person i particularly revere #said they were a ‘big fan of my work’ and when i was told that i legitimately went lightheaded for a few seconds #or again Ruth Clampett commenting that her dad would ‘love to see this cartoon live on’ on my art and making me bawl like an absolute baby #IT’S JUST SO CRAZY #i just. man #it’s really beyond words #and so many other kind words from bosses coworkers friends mutuals acquaintances total strangers #i don’t take any of your kindness or even just. awareness for granted #i know i’m not often vreat at responding but i do read every single tag every ask every DM! please know i never take it for granted #thank you for keeping me company and deciding i’m worth the company to keep #okay i think i have officially gone into word salad territory so it’s time to retreat #i’ve gotten much less candid for fear of maintaining some semblance of professionality but sometimes you just need to speak from the heart #(and i’ve gotten much less neurotic about that in recent months thankfully. Tumblr is my little safe haven)#so thank you for making it a safe haven at all

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twpsyn-who · 29 days

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Today on "Another JeanMarco Soulmate AU absolutely no one asked for" I present to you -

Soulmate AU in which you stop seeing colors when your soulmate dies, the only exception being your soulmate. Now cue to Jean who just found Marco's, his best friend's, body. And you know, there's the shock of finding out Marco's dead. The pain and confusion and guilt. But there's also the revelation, because despite everything he can still see Marco like nothing took place at all- yes, half of his face is missing and his body is straight up lifeless, but Jean can still make out the color of his eye ; see that light shade of brown perfectly, remember all the times he has found himself looking at them while listening to Marco talk. He can still make out the colors of his uniform, see the same shade of black his hair has always had, practically see. Despite being dead, Marco was the only piece of color left in his life.

And there's denial for a moment because there's no way Marco was his soulmate. But that goes away fast, getting replaced by guilt. By the fact that he hasn't been there to save him, that Marco has to die all alone without anyone being there for him.

And that was worse than the simple fact that he could no longer see colors ; because Marco was there when Jean needed him, but he failed to do the same. And not only he lost his best friend that day, but his other half too.

#Anyway this fucker doesn't tell anyone about the whole soulmate thing. Not of shame of anything but because he's mourning man and also is no #One's business. Anyway the first one to find out is Armin because he notices and ever since he makes sure to mention colors as often as he #can. Like 'These flowers are a nice shade of red' or 'Green suits you well Jean! You should wear this shirt' stuff like that #Jean does appreciates it once he gets over his ego and pain and lets other people get closer to him #Funny enough Jean is the only one in that situation loool. Well I don't know about Reiner and Historia is getting there soon enough but #everyone else??? Colors everywhere man #Is both funny and sad #'Since when..?' Jean expected that question yet he wasn't truly ready to answer it. Deep down he knew he was never going to be ready for it #'Trost' his voice stains sightly while naming the city. His own city. The place he grew up in all his life. The others say nothing else #after that confession. They were all aware many has died during Trost. It wasn't that far fetched for Jean's soulmate to be some civilian #lost during the evacuations or something. But then Connie's eyes widen ever so sightly the realization sitting in. He doesn't even register #when he says 'It was Marco right?' and regrets it immediately. Jean's painful face is all the answer they needed #Also Historia ready the letter and the world losing colors while she's doing that??? Her tearing up a little but not letting herself cry #until she gets alone???? Her going to Jean once that happens and them comforting each other?????#They starts seeing colors again once Eren dies. Poor Jean is trying his best to not have a breakdown because Connie needed him more in that #moment #Reading* wtf my tags make no sens sorry guys I'm lowkey tired #aot #jean kirstein #jeanmarco #aot jean #marco bodt #marco bott #aot marco #jean kirschstein #snk #JeanMarco Soulmate AU #soulmates au #I'm not sad you are

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thebirdandhersong · 8 days

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things keeping me together this week as I prepare for a brutal Milton exam and a philosophy final that's about to kick my backside:

that blessed sandwich and the fond memory of it

friends at the dorm and the shenanigans we get up to while studying and after studying

matcha lavender latte my beloved (I am running out of money to spend frivolously at coffee shops) (I have not been regularly spending money at coffee shops all semester so it feels justifiable to have Little Treats during exam season)

the promise of a SECOND SANDWICH !!!! on Friday (a personal gift to moi)

prospect of sleep

#my finals are kicking my backside and so's the lingering awareness that i am still not immune to the charms of a certain young man #and by charms i mean i learn new things about him and im like well i didnt need to know THAT #for instance did you know that he teaches sunday school at the church he's attending on campus?#i learned this recently and had to close my eyes and think hard thoughts #such as: well. many men DO. but the fact is that they actually don't.#i know this because i used to work in ministry #anyway the other boys i live with and know do not volunteer in ministry.#they're 'busy with school' or it simply has not crossed their mind to serve #the fact that he does and is intentional about it was like a slap to the face :)

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inkskinned · 10 months

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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME #there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing #and the writing is what i need to be doing #writeblr #this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to #edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol #i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means #i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong #i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse #i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO #i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness #and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it #im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us #i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer #and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work #even if it means being miserable #but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.

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spacelazarwolf · 4 months

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apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, “Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams — when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.

#ip

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angelltheninth · 3 months

Text

Alastor Chases Away a Demon Hitting on You

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, protectiveness, flirting, meet cute, scary gentleman Alastor, Reader is new to Hell

A/N: You have no idea how long I've waited for Hazbin Hotel. Well okay you do, as long as everyone I just wanted to be dramatic.

How many demons had hit on you up until now? You were aware you couldn't kill them but you could try. Especially this very persistent one. "Why not give me a chance baby? It'll be the best dick you've ever had."

"Not from where I'm looking." You mumbled under your breath.

"Huh? What'd you say to me?" He leaned closer, walking you up to the bar. Ugh, you really didn't want to deal with this, you were here to dance.

"Excuse me sir." The demon in front of you paled at the staticy voice. You both looked at the suit clad demon standing behind him. He had a huge grin on his face, his cane tapping on the floor along with the music. "Is there something you need from my dance partner?"

"Your- oh. Oh shit. I didn't-" The demon gulped when Alastor tilted his head. "I'll leave her alone."

As you watched him leave you turned back to the tall demon in front of you. "Are you alright missy?"

"Uh, yeah. You didn't need to do that. I would have punched him in the dick he's so proud off." Alastor chuckled. "But thank you. No one's been nice to me since I came down here."

"Nice? Oh you'll find no one nice down here. Except hm, perhaps my partner Charlie. Business partner to be clear. Oh, my how rude of me I forgot to introduce myself." He took your hand and pushed it up to his lips, "Alastor, the Radio Demon."

Radio? That explains the static effect on his voice.

"Alastor. Well thank you again Alastor."

"Don't mention it darling. Would you be interested in a dance perhaps. The crowd here is so dull, they could use some real dancing. Besides if you didn't that would make me look like a liar." His eyes widened, briefly flashing red.

"That's kinda hot." You watched Alastor tap his cane on the floor again. "Sorry. Intrusive thoughts. Uhm, yes. I would love a dance the Radio Demon." Maybe he didn't take compliments well? You'd have to keep them to yourself then.

"Wonderful! I promise you won't be disappointed with me darling." His voice dropped to a growly whisper as he pulled you to the dance floor. "I do hope you have the stamina to keep up with me." You gulped. He meant dancing. Right? Surely just dancing.

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel fluff #alastor fluff #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #fluff drabble

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wordsinhaled · 9 months

Text

i’m so totally normal about the fact that aziraphale’s last (known) deliberate foray into the queer community was when he learned the gavotte at the fictionalized hundred guineas club (!!!) in the 1800s and now in the 2020s he’s like “grindr? what’s that?”

many are talking about his repression which is very valid… and yet the thing to me that stands out about aziraphale is that he’s actually… incredibly stable in his identity and that identity IS incredibly queer. queer by the standards of heaven AND by human standards as well

metatron describes his “de facto partnership” with crowley as “irregular.” and in fact aziraphale in his entirety is irregular. he likes and makes it his business not only to understand but to be a connoisseur of all manner of things angels aren’t supposed to even remotely care about. food. music. books. theatre. sleight of hand. and more.

it’s the sort of behavior that would’ve gotten him othered, treated as a bit odd, in heaven even if he hadn’t chosen to consort all across the earth with a literal demon. and it IS treated that way - the fact is aziraphale even as an angel has got proclivities that set him apart from the rest of the host (even after offering him the highest position in heaven, metatron still acts deeply dismissive of him… like aziraphale’s bookshop is merely a quaint little hobby of his that can be easily transferred to another custodian, and not a literal extension of who aziraphale has become, full of his tartan and unique bibles and special vintages of wine and the books arranged in a very specific way)

so. aziraphale is a queer angel but of course he’s also queer to other humans. but in such a way that… he had his realization a LONG time ago, and put the matter very much to rest after that. aziraphale is perpetually something like several centuries behind schedule. he owns an ancient computer that probably continues to run windows 98 simply because aziraphale’s decided it should. he wears the same waistcoat and coat for generations because he simply likes them precisely the way they are and sees no reason to change them. but the idea that he doesn’t know how he comes across to others - of course he does. he knows he looks like your prim and proper grandfather and he prefers it that way

aziraphale looked around at humans in the 1880s and said: ah yes. this is where i fit. and promptly ensconced himself in that queer subculture. learned the gavotte. read his austen. loved crowley from afar. aziraphale is fiercely and vibrantly queer. just with the sort of assurance of someone who lives with his lover in a commonlaw marriage for decades and then shows up at city hall for the certificate once society decides it’s ‘allowed.’ like… he hasn’t had any need to know what grindr is because aziraphale’s ‘scene’ was a century and a half ago and it defined romance for him too.

but my favorite thing about aziraphale is how much of him is about appearances versus the truth. he can lie straight to angels’ faces and sleep at night. he knows he comes off soft but he once wielded a flaming sword. he dissembles helplessness but he’s far from it and he knows precisely how it makes others treat him. and at the core of aziraphale is rigidity, inflexibility of ideas… his sense of self is stable where crowley’s is malleable, and so on, and so on

and the fact that he’s continuously fixated on trying to misguidedly do the right thing, the fact that he seeks heavenly approval and wants to fit the world into his schema of good vs evil… in no way do i think that means he isn’t one hundred percent aware of how he feels about crowley or what it means about him by angelic or human standards. i’ve seen some folks saying that aziraphale doesn’t want to like kissing crowley and like… as much as i love me some brideshead revisited/atonement flavored angst; i put forth that it’s not internalized homophobia or queer panic but simply: “i’m trying to do the right thing for both of us and you won’t let me.” and “i wanted our first kiss to be different.” he was envisioning an entirely different flavor of romance than what he got but he emma woodhoused too close to the sun

like, y’all. aziraphale in all likelihood has a glorious collection of historical queer erotica. he just has a feathery diva coat hanging in his closet, and for what. “oh, good lord” he says at crowley’s revolutionary outfit in the bastille, while eyeing him up like an entire meal. he’s so good at affected propriety, at carefully constructed stuffiness, but between the two of them aziraphale’s got to be the one who has experience

aziraphale had been physically throwing himself at crowley the entire season. he orchestrated an entire regency ball so they could touch hand to hand. he spends the entire season (well, and season 1) looking at crowley like he’s particularly coveted. he looked at crowley before the fall like he was glorious and beautiful. aziraphale’s queer and he knows it and i think that isn’t his problem, it’s the fact that he wants to build a different sort of future for the two of them but crowley’s gone and thrown a wrench in it by reminding him of everything he can finally have. like. that’s the heartbreak. it’s how dare you make this ugly? i forgive you for our first kiss being all pain and salt. it’s my dearest, i wanted to make heaven as beautiful as you deserve. as sacred and safe for us as our bookshop. and i can do that for us, because once i held a flaming sword and i still remember how the hilt felt in my hands. and now the taste of you is in my mouth.

#coughs this is also why aziraphale’s a dom. but that’s a separate post #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 spoilers #this continues to be an aziraphale stan account #‘aziraphale is traumatized’ and ‘aziraphale celebrates the part of himself that loves crowley’ are two ideas that can coexist #feeling a bit like this take might get me flamed whoops but. i’m deep in my az feelings tonight so i guess i’ve decided to share anyway

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dabisqueen · 5 months

Text

Pornstar!Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x female reader

⇢ word count: roughly 7K

⇢ plot: as a broke student, you sign up for an assistant job at a movie set. It turns out the job is more than you bargained for.

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, swearing, size kink, pierced big-cock Touya, fingering, cunnilingus (f receiving), multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, overstimulation, exhibitionism (sex in front of other people (movie set)), creampie, sweet aftercare

⇢ personal note: thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for bring my beta again! As for what you're all about to read – I have no regrets. Virgin kink goes brrr

"College has always been so crucial, such an essential part of what measures a person’s worth and determines their future."

They say college life is quite challenging. That it can help you come to realize your potential, that you learn more about yourself while in it. That the challenges you experience in university help you grow into a mature person in society.

You have several challenges to face. There's the problem that you focus entirely too much on your studies. In some ways, it’s to secure your future and to compensate for your lack of private life. In other ways, it makes you, because of inexperience, too naive for your own good. Or, as your friends have called it: too innocent. You've never had anyone touch you, never been with anyone in that way. Thus, you never get the hint when someone hits on you or finds you attractive. You have excellent grades – but unlike many of your peers, you’re still a virgin.

Another challenge you are facing is that you aren't wealthy. One semester into your studies, you are closer to the end than you expected. Leaving your landlord's buro, you take a few steps before coming to a halt and close your eyes as if to gain some semblance of composure. You're broke and desperately need money to cover your rent and living expenses. The bank isn't going to give you another loan, and you find yourself on the verge of having to leave college without a family to support your education.

They say you have to fail first to be successful in the future. But you are beyond failing – you are simply screwed.

You are very aware of your financial predicament. And you loathe having to live day to day on just pennies. To put it short—you are sick of being a broke-ass, loser virgin.

You sigh.

Giving up is not a choice. So you do the next best thing: grab life by the horns and start looking for a job. Searching under your bed, clothing pockets, and between couch cushions, you scrounge up enough money to get a local newspaper. In its classified ads, only a few offers deem themselves feasible with your busy school schedule: a late-night shift at a local diner, pizza delivery, or a job doing telemarketing. None of those sound too appealing, but there might not be a choice. Then, your gaze stops at an offer that sounds too good. A movie company is looking for a production assistant on a film set; you don't need prior experience, work hours are during the weekends, and pay is double what the other jobs offer.

You don’t think before hastily grabbing your phone, punching in the number, and waiting while the dial tone rings.

After a distinct click over the other line, a man hisses, "Shimura?"

"Uhm, hi. I- I am calling about the assistant job offer. I was wondering—"

"You're hired. Tomorrow at 5 pm," the man at the other end interrupts in an annoyed tone.

He rattles off the address as you fumble around for a pen, hastily writing it down when you find it.

Before you can reply, he finishes with Don't be late and hangs up unceremoniously.

You exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath since he started speaking.

What the hell just happened?

***

The path to the location is littered with brown leaves, and you struggle to keep from slipping as you walk toward the building. The address given to you is an old warehouse on the edge of town. Its monotonous, featureless walls covered in graffiti make it feel abandoned. There are no visible signs that anything is happening inside at all.

As you walk across the parking lot, you start to see small indications of life: fancy cars—far too fancy for this area- and sensual music permeating through the corrugated steel walls.

You weren’t sure how to dress for a job you knew nothing about, so you opted for blue jeans, a white blouse, and pointy shoes with heels. Your hair is tied into a neat ponytail, and simple smokey eyes complete the look.

You aim for a large steel door that the cars are all parked close to. As you lift your head, you take in the old brick building you are standing in front of, lined with large casement metal windows.

There is a single doorbell, no name on it, and you hesitate before inhaling and pressing it with the tip of your finger.

You hear a clicking sound, and then the heavy door swings inwards.

Alright, here goes nothing.

***

The set is surprisingly professional—like a luxurious bedroom sliced in half. A row of chairs faces the set on a concrete floor behind multiple cameras and some sound equipment, with the crew standing around talking.

The producer, Tenko, as he introduces himself to you–with tufts of pale hair and seemingly chronic dry lips in dire need of some chapstick – explains that your job will consist of helping around the set, distributing beverages, and handing out the script. Simple work you could do. After introducing you to the crew, he hands you a stack of papers, instructing you to pass them out.

Then you see her—the actress. She is gorgeous, dressed in an ivory-colored silk robe. Her hair is the color of the sun. Her skin is flawless and tanned, and her body is perfect- although almost definitely sculpted by a professional surgeon.

"Where the fuck is he?" You hear Tenko grumble, pulling a phone from his pocket, thumb tapping against the screen.

A flurry of activity breaks your concentration. A door flies open, and a man strides through—the leading actor, you gather, from how everyone else suddenly perks up.

"Fucking finally," the pale-haired director groans, tucking his cell back into the pocket of his jacket.

The man's hair is coal-colored, falling in messy strands into his face. His eyes remind you of the bright ocean, almost glowing in the dim light of the set. His sharp lips pull into a wide grin, his canines peeking out. He is casually dressed, wearing a pair of dark, ripped jeans and a white t-shirt, allowing you to notice just how well-toned his arms are. He is handsome, with delicate yet masculine features and sharp angles set in his face. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his thin lips form a troublesome grin when his eyes meet yours.

Shit.

He holds your gaze before dragging his sinfully blue eyes over your figure and looking away again. Your heart skips a beat because even in the low light, you can see that the actor is incredibly hot. Totally your type. You can't help but stare at him, watching how he moves, the way his muscles ripple under the thin fabric of his shirt, the way his thighs bulge in his tight pants.

Speaking of bulge.

It's the biggest one you've ever seen, and the sight of it sends a pang straight to your core. Your cheeks heat up automatically.

Stop it!

You curse inwardly a few times for thinking lewd thoughts on a professional movie set.

But—you can't help it. He just looks too handsome. It stirs something inside of you you've never felt before. You sigh, knowing that this man has already made his way into your dreams, but in the end, they’ll stay just that— dreams.

Someone like him would never want to lay a hand on you.

As he approaches the stage, the man stops dead in his tracks, staring at the actress with a bored expression.

“Not her again.” You hear him groan.

The actress snaps her head around, a stunned expression on her face. “Pardon me?”

"The script calls for an innocent girl." The actor deadpans. "No one's gonna believe that with you in the female role."

The actress jumps to her feet. “How dare you talk about me like that!”

Tenko hisses, “Didn't you read the script? You would have known you film with her today, Touya—"

“I told you not to use my real name on set,” he says with a blase, somewhat impatient gaze.

“And I told you not to let out your frustration on the set, Dabi.” The director retorts.

“Frustration caused by your actions.” Dabi deadpans.

You hold your breath as your eyes dart from the director to Dabi and back to the actress. The rest of the crew acts like this is an everyday commotion on the set.

“This is not a request— I'm not doing the scene with her, " Dabi says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

The actress jumps from her chair, visibly outraged, as her cheeks flare red with anger. “You're such a dick!”

“Yeah, you're right. But I’m the best dick in the industry.” He turns around, a sardonic finality in his tone.

You stare at the scene before you, the forgotten papers clutched tightly to your chest. The blonde woman stares at the dark-haired man, infuriated.

“So, it's either me—or her.” Dabi addresses Tenko, who isn't even trying to de-escalate the situation. “That's my final say.”

“I can't believe you're doing this to me!" The woman wails exaggeratedly.

"Sweetheart, we need someone who conveys innocence. Not some chick as fake-looking as you," Dabi purrs with false care. “Go carry your plastic off the stage already.”

Tenko scratches his neck in annoyance. He watches as the actress slings an array of profanities at Dabi before storming off with quick strides toward the door, slamming it shut behind her.

The dark-haired man stands at ease, reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. “Thank god she's gone. What were you thinking, Tenko?”

“Dabi, she's the most requested—”

“I don't give a fuck.” he runs a free hand through his dark bangs. “She sucks.”

You listen to them bicker, getting more confused by the second.

“So—what do you expect me to do now?” Tenko's scratching increases as he starts pacing up and down the set. “Production costs will double if we cut and pick things up on a different day. Not to mention the cost of finding a new replacement.”

He jumps off his chair, pacing around the set. Then he grumbles, “We’ll take a ten-minute break. I need to come up with a solution or else—”

“We need someone Pretty, no makeup, normal clothes.” Dabi suggests, "That won't be too expensive. Someone who looks undefiled, innocent.” Dabi's gaze wanders across the room. “Like a student or something.”

Then he sees you, and a smirk tugs at his lips. His stunning sapphire eyes look you up and down. You swallow hard, your shaking hands almost crumpling the papers in their tight grip.

"Like her." Teal eyes narrow as they focus on you.

You blink back at him dumbly, the room around you completely silent.

"Me?" You answer, his words catching you off guard.

"Yep. You." Dabi's smirk returns, a playfulness in his eyes.

The director stares at you with the same baffled expression written on your face. "Her?"

"Yep. Her." His grin widens.

"B-But, I can't!" You counter. " I'm a simple student, not an actress—"

"That's exactly what we need." The twinkle in his eyes is still there, "And you have a pussy, don't you?"

"Yes, I—” You catch yourself, your cheeks flaring hot. “W- What does that even have to do with this movie?"

Suddenly, the room goes alive with murmurs and whispers.

Dabi quirks a brow. "You're telling me you don't know?"

"Don't know what?" You helplessly look around.

The dark-haired man turns to his director, "You didn't tell her?!"

Tenko mumbles something about how you would have found out eventually.

Dabi steps toward you and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Doll, this is an adult film set."

"A what?" You dumbly blink at him.

"An adult film set. You know, where people fuck." He leans forward, deep azures sparkling salaciously. "You know how fucking works, don't you?"

"Yes, I mean—in theory?" A heat washes over your face and flushes down your entire body.

"Yes or no. What is it?" Dabi asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

The heat in your face has reached the tip of your ears as you stammer. "It's none of your business."

He steps even closer. "C’mon, sweetheart, tell us."

He smirks, eyes narrowing as he leans closer. He looks at your lips, then back at your eyes. You can smell him with how close he is leaning in. His deep, masculine scent surrounds you, sending a jolt of heat straight through your core. Even though your mind wants to scream at him, to tell him off, you hear a timid voice whisper, "I’ve used my fingers? Maybe some toys?"

It is your voice.

"You're telling me you've never done it with another person?" This time, it is Dabi’s turn to sound baffled as he leans back, taking you in. "That you're a virgin."

"I-I…" You stammer, swallowing dryly.

Looking over his shoulders, he calls over to his director, "It'll break records if we film this. You're aware of that, right?"

"I am." Tenko snaps, scratching at his neck irritably, "You don't need to tell me."

"Ok, then it's a deal.” He nods towards you. “I want her—or I'm leaving."

"You little piece of—" Tenko growls. "That's extortion."

"You won't regret it," Dabi says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Shouldn’t I have a say on this too?" You ask, but both men ignore your words.

"Ok, it's a deal," Tenko murmurs. "How much do we pay her?"

Dabi turns his gaze back to you. "You need money, right? Or else you wouldn't be here.”

"That’s none of your business."

"C'mon, sweetheart, This is your chance."

“Yes, I mean… " a sound of annoyance bubbles up your throat. "I can't afford my rent anymore, and my landlord will kick me out if I don't pay up soon."

“I sense an opportunity here," Dabi smirks. "Tenko, how much will you pay her if she agrees to do this with me?"

"How much do you want?" Tenko asks you.

“I-I don't know. I've never thought about it." You shyly add.

"Pay her rent plus an allowance," Dabi suggests. "Tenko, you know she's worth it."

"That’s too m—" You swallow hard.

Tenko mumbles disgruntledly: "OK, I'll do it.”

“You what?" His words leave you stunned.

Dabi interrupts quickly. "What he's saying, sweetheart, is that he'll pay for your rent - if you let me fuck you.”

His lewd words and the deep blue pools of his stunning eyes send a flutter through your stomach.

“In front of all these people?!"

“That's what porn is all about, doll.” Dabi chuckles, studying your reaction.

You swallow hard.

"So? What's it gonna be?" He cocks his head, waiting.

You have always prioritized safety, so common sense tells you to stick to your usual way of life. However, look where common sense has led you: You're almost broke and may need to drop out of college.

This could be a bad decision. But, it's time to throw safety to the sea.

"OK, I'll do it," you proclaim, and a round of applause and cheers erupt on the set while Dabi nods appreciatively.

“Congratulations, you're hired. Now, get ready before I change my mind.” Tenko waves a hand. “We still have a movie to film here.”

Your heart starts to race, a crushing weight bearing down on your chest. But you know that you have no choice. It's either a free porn loan—or being a forced college dropout. Taking a deep breath, you ball your hands into fists, trying to ignore the signs of panic your body is giving you.

"Okay, everyone, resume positions. And hand her the script.” Tenko moves to his chair, sitting down in it. “Let's do the first take."

"Hold on," Dabi says. "Why not do it a bit differently this time? No script, no acting— just raw footage. The whole thing.”

“You mean a one-shot film?” Tenko looks surprised. “I suppose that would work. Especially with a new actress.”

“Are you okay with that, doll?” Dabi smiles at you, and there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there before.

“Do I have a choice?” you sigh.

“Not really.” He winks.

"Are you two lovebirds done flirting over there? " Tenko asks, " Because we're ready to film.”

“We weren't flir—” you protest, but Dabi bridges the distance between you.

"So, sweetheart?" He leans in, his face hovering close, sharing a breath with you. "How are you feeling about being fucked on camera?"

“Nervous.” you bite your lips, your face starting to burn.

"Doll, don't be; just focus on me," he soothes, stroking your cheek. “Forget about everyone else; I'll take care of you.”

He takes your hand and pulls you towards the bedroom set.

“Quiet!” Tenko raises a hand, and complete silence falls over the set as the crew prepares to film you both.

Tenko calls out a set of commands, which different crew members around the room answer.

“Sound?”

“Set.”

“Camera?”

“Set.”

“Roll sound.”

“Sound rolling.”

“Roll camera.”

“Camera Speed.”

“Marker.”

A man with a clapper board enters the scene and calls, "Scene one. Take—uhm— whatever."

Dabi nods, and that is the cue. The lights dim, and the cameras vanish into the darkness; only the red lights betray their existence.

You glance around, your stomach in knots, as you realize that this is no game, that this is it. The only thing visibly lit was the bed standing a few feet away. The crew's faces are barely visible as everyone watches you, the man behind the camera tilting it, filming you from bottom to top.

“Hey baby, you alright?” You hear Dabi's voice.

“N-No, not really.” You stammer, your hands trembling, your breathing picking up, as your eyes frantically dart around the dark set. “I don't know if I can do this.”

“Sweetheart, look at me.” You feel a finger hook under your chin when Dabi tilts your head to meet his gaze. It's intense, the turquoise of his irises gleaming almost unnaturally.

You feel your heart sink into your stomach as his thumb caresses your skin. When he closes the already minimal distance between you, your eyes flutter close in reflex. His lips are sensually warm and addicting against your cheek, and your heart starts thrashing wildly inside your chest in response. Something changes between you, an intimacy blooming as the voices of the people mute.

It's all you need to distract your mind, to make your body heat up. Not with anxiety—

—but in anticipation.

“Are you ready to give me your virginity?” His low voice rumbles close to your ear.

You nod, like in a haze, every caress of his lips causes your skin to tingle, to burn with passion. He shifts, and you feel him faintly brush your lips, and a zap of electricity courses through your veins. Then, your lips are united in his first tentative kiss. They are so soft, and the way he kisses you is so delicate, almost tender— deliberately slow.

You relax, giving in to how wonderful this feels. His tongue slowly traces the shape of your lips, and you feel your brain short-circuiting. Angling your head to the side, you part your lips, begging him to enter. Dabi reacts instantly, his tongue slipping your mouth, delving deeper, tasting you, consuming you.

You groan—how could a man taste so good?

It makes your knees buckle, and you start panting into his mouth, your instincts taking over, your body reacting to his touch. A desire, a passion, awakens like a wild animal roaring, and you feel a wave of arousal pool in your panties. You can't help it, and you slide your hand underneath his shirt, your other hand circling his neck. You can feel him smirking into the kiss, but the sound carries off into a groan when you rake your nails down the small of his back.

As he breaks away, a warmth lingers between you and him while he admires your wet, pink, swollen lips, "A little eager for your first time, huh?"

The kiss leaves you dizzy, and you can't seem to form an answer, too stricken by his closeness and intoxicating scent.

The moment passes, and then his lips smash against yours so fast you don't even have time to react. He presses his hips against yours, his clothed hardness grazing against your heat, letting you feel just how hard you’ve made him.

Holy shit.

He's not gentle anymore; he's rough and demanding now. He is taking you, enjoying the shaky gasps that leave your lips. Dabi’s hands trail down your side to find your ass cheeks. He lifts you by the thighs onto his waist skillfully, never breaking the kiss. Carrying you easily toward the bed he releases his hold and you topple onto it, panting heavily.

The lights around you heat the air, and you notice one camera panning across the set while the other tracks toward you on a dolly. Just as your heart starts picking up an anxious speed again, you see a movement to the side. Dabi yanks his shirt above his head, the muscles in his stomach flexing with every movement.

The second the fabric touches the floor, he's on you with his lips pressed to yours and his tongue in your mouth. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment of passion and all you can see is him. Your stomach somersaults and the world around you ceases to exist; it is just you and him— the people around you and the cameras wholly forgotten. The world, right now, only revolves around the two of you.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes into your mouth, hazy eyes glowing with arousal. "How do you taste so fucking good?”

You feel his hand sneak underneath your shirt to slowly pull it off over your head. Next, he skillfully removes the rest of your clothes off until you are lying below him, sex and breasts cupped by delicate cotton underwear.

“Look at that,” he muses. “So innocent.”

Sliding his hand behind your back, he unhooks the bra with an expert pinch of his fingers. Your breasts spill out as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside. Then his gaze lingers on your soft, round tits.

“Damn,” he cups them and squeezes them gently, “Where have you been hiding, girl? You're perfect.”

He slides his fingers over your nipples and a low moan tears from your throat. Dabi lets out a low rumble as his hands continue to work your breasts, rubbing and plucking at your stiffening nipples. There’s a deep throb low in your body, pulsing between your thighs, and you're startled at the way you’re reacting. You are so turned on—his touch only adds to your body’s cravings, and as his large palms glide over your breasts; it pulls the breath from your lungs as it simultaneously fuels your desire. His thumbs drag over your nipples again, rolling it between his fingers before leaning down to lick at your pebbled nub. He makes you feel breathless with excitement the more he focuses on toying with your breasts, rolling the tips back and forth between his thumb and forefinger.

It makes you crazy with need until you're aching, shivering throughout your entire body. You're gasping for breath the entire time Dabi has his lips wrapped around your erect nub, sucking it to send a tingling sensation straight through to your core. Then he's biting just hard enough to make you squeal before soothing the puckered nub with a flick of his tongue.

“You’ve got the most amazing tits,’ Dabi murmurs against your skin. “So soft and full. So natural.”

While he switches from pliant nipple to pliant nipple, you feel a stray hand hook its fingers under the seams of your panties. He releases your nipple with a pop and peppers kisses down to your tummy while he adeptly pulls the little piece of fabric down and off your legs. You're now utterly naked below him while Dabi continues revering your body with wet kisses and nibbles, moving downward until you feel his warm breath on your pubic mound. He spreads your trembling legs, his eyes glazing over your pussy, pupils expanding and then retracting into pin slits.

"Look at that pretty pussy." His breath is hot against your soaked folds. "And so fucking wet—you're dripping."

A shameful sound spills from your lips at his words, and you writhe in his hold. But his hands keep you in place.

"You're seriously telling me,” he slides his fingers up and down your glistening folds, “No one's been here before?"

You squirm below him as a camera zooms in on where Dabi’s eyes are affixed– between your thighs.

“Cause you have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He snickers. “And I've seen a lot.”

His warm, calloused fingers slide up and down your slippery folds, his hot breath fanning over your sex. Then he spreads apart your sweet lips; it makes you shudder in anticipation, and Dabi chuckles.

“I can see you twitching for me.” A finger sinks in, making you arch your back the deeper it goes.

The camera behind him zooms in on your blushing face, and you cover it with trembling hands.

"Nu-uh, no hiding. Look at me." He slaps your clit lightly—making you jolt. "Let us see your pretty face."

You whimper softly, because you've touched yourself before—

—but this just feels so much more intense.

“Dabi—” you choke out, flinching in pleasure when he slides a hand underneath your ass,

raising your hips to have more access to you.

“Relax, baby, I'll take care of you.” A growl tears from his throat, and then he drags his tongue over your gleaming folds, tasting you.

You cry out, your body shuddering. Over and over, Dabi licks you with deep, claiming strokes, using his tongue to explore every bit of you.

“Damn, you taste better than anything I've ever tasted.” He pushes his wet muscle into your core, frantic to have more of you.

“Oh my God. Dabi!” Your toes curl, and your thighs tighten around him. You're both – startled and aroused at his eagerness. Any worries you have are melting away as he drags his tongue over you again and again, making you squirm with need.

A moan escapes your lips– loud, uncontrolled– when his tongue flicks over your folds. When he grazes your little button, you jolt as if you've been stung.

He hums appreciatively and buries his face into your warmth, seeking out that sweet nub. Your body jerks as he moves his tongue over it, repeating the action when he does it again. You give a little wail, and your hands curl into the fabric the longer he teases. He eagerly works that spot, and you cry out with little choked gasps.

As his tongue circles your clitoris, your sensations spiral out of control. You can feel the tension increasing in your body with a growing urgency to be released.

“Dabi,” you pant with every flick of his tongue. But he doesn't respond, does not hear– or pretends not to. He buries his face in your folds, hands holding you down by your hips.

With every quiver that moves through your body, with every shiver of response, every tensing of your muscles, you draw closer to the edge.

You writhe against Dabi, with his face between your thighs, lapping at your juices. All the while, he continues to work your little clit with his tongue in slow, steady strokes.

Suddenly, the feeling that you’re about to cum overwhelms you. Your pussy clenches, dripping with your juices, and your clit is ready to burst.

Your hips jerk against him, and then a release explodes in your mind, your thoughts crashing all around you. You come with a slight scream that morphs into a moan, but Dabi does not stop his ministrations—

—no.

He continues to lick and suck as you come and come and come.

It's too much; you feel like exploding. You’re a moaning mess, fingers slipping between Dabi’s strands, pushing and pulling at his roots unsure if you can take it if he keeps going like that.

Your entire body is on fire. The orgasm continues to surge through you– more intense than anything you’ve experienced by yourself– with Dabi gently sucking and licking at your clit. You are delirious, feel like you are floating with no way to find your path back to earth.

“Dabi, please—” you choke out.

Dabi’s mouth detaches from your overstimulated nub and straightens up, licking your cum’s sweetness off his lips. Crawling on top of you, he gazes into your eyes. “Doll, tell me—what do you want me to do?”

You see his jeans straining from the bulk of his erection and swallow, your body responding with a flood of hormones.

“Please fuck me,” you whisper, thinking in ways you never have before.

You want to beg him to be gentle, but you can’t seem to form the words when you see him unbuckle his belt before unzipping his jeans, his eyes carefully watching your expression as he does. His cock springs to life, and you swallow thickly. It's enormous—and pierced.

You feel a momentary pang of doubt, questioning if that monster will even fit inside you. The previous excitement and adrenaline pumping through your veins gradually turn to panic. Your breathing picks up as you stare at his cock, wide-eyed.

“You look worried,” Dabi says, stroking it with one hand. His raised eyebrows and amused grin tell you he's used to this type of reaction.

“Are you sure…” you nod towards his cock.

“Trust me,” he says. “I’ll make sure you feel good. It’ll be the greatest thing you'll ever experience.”

Your entire body yearns for his touch, and there’s no way you're saying no now. He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves to hold himself in hand to align his cock with your entrance.

"Do you want me to fuck you?’ Dabi asks as he drags the head of the tip up and down your slit.

“‘S not gonna fit,” you whine with a worried expression.

“Don't be scared,” Dabi says, "I know what I'm doing. So, you'll be a good girl and take it all, right?”

“I'm not sure,” you whisper.

“I know you can...” His eyes stare at you with a desire so intense that you almost feel intimidated.

He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves one to hold himself and align his cock to your entrance. The pressure between your legs increases as Dabi nudges the pierced tip of his cock against you.

“Get ready,” he whispers.

A mix of a gasp and a cry leaves your lips as Dabi strains against you, feeling like he’s trying to shove a massive pole inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears gather in your lashes, and Dabi holds back, kissing you, waiting for you to relax.

“Easy,” he says softly, “I’ve got you.”

The softness of his tone relaxes you and the tension in your shoulders lessens. Then, somehow, something gives way, and he enters you. You gasp, your body opening up to accommodate the massive dick that is now sliding inside of you.

"Oh my god—” You throw your head back, hands clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to push him away.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, eyebrows furrowing before he hits resistance and then pushes forward.

There’s a sharp pain slicing through your core, and you don't know if it's from the stretch or a tear. Probably both. It hurts, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing tears down your cheek. Dabi continues to push his hips forward, only stopping once he’s entirely inside, heavy balls pressed against the crease of your ass. The cameras zoom in on the bulge in your womb, where his dick sits buried deep inside of you. But you don't notice them, your brain too consumed by him filling you up, his whole weight resting against you.

“You ok?” Breathing heavily, he drags his eyes back and forth over your face.

“Gimme a sec.” Your lips press into a thin line as the pain from the stretch slowly turns into a dull throb. After a moment, you nod...

"I'm gonna start moving now," Dabi says— and then does precisely that.

Just as you start to feel your body relaxing, he withdraws, only to plunge himself in again. The sudden shock of the movement is incredible. You feel every ridge, every single thick vein. It feels fantastic, and as he slowly slides back in, you can appreciate every inch of his cock. He starts an even rhythm, rocking inside you gently.

“Shit, just squeezed me so fucking tight,” he moans in response. "I’m warning you, don't make me lose my composure. You don’t want to see me act up.”

Your mind feels detached from your body; you don't hear him, don't even notice the camera zooming in, focusing on how your face scrunches and your lips quiver because of how good he makes you feel.

He grabs you by the waist and brings you closer to him. Raising both legs in the air, he pushes them forward until your body is folded in half.

“Oh—shit—” You choke out, the walls of your sex stretching to accommodate him.

“I’m gonna make you cum,” Dabi is panting hard as he starts driving his cock rapidly in and out of you. “You won't be able to walk for days.”

“I-I can’t—” your jaw slackens as you tighten around his dick again, the ability to form comprehensive answers having left you the moment he breached your walls.

He rams himself deeper while his fingers slip between your strands, guiding your face upward, your mouths colliding in a frantic kiss.

It starts as a slow burn that gradually builds into a white, blistering heat. A feeling begins coursing through you, making you lose control of your body. You tense and arch your back, your head digging back into the pillow, voice caught in your throat. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, all that tension releases, and you cry out loud, a turbulent wave of pleasure hitting you like a storm. All your nerve endings are seemingly set ablaze while Dabi fucks you through your orgasm.

His eyes are wide with wonder, hearing and feeling you come undone around him. The way your eyes are shut tightly in pleasure, your entire body trembling and shaking in ecstasy, is the best thing he's ever seen. It makes his chest swell with pride. Still, it feels like it's not enough, though, and he needs more. He wants to own you, possess you, make you his.

Dabi snaps.

With a suppressed growl, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. He's not letting you catch your breath before he propels his cock back inside you again. His hand slides from the dip in your spine to the spot between your shoulder blades, pressing down until your face is buried in the sheets. At this angle, he reaches even deeper than before, his piercings rubbing your G-spot just right. Your hands tightly fist the soft duvet with every drive of his hips, knocking the air from your lungs.

Dabi seems delirious, pistoning in and out of you now. Reaching forward, he gathers your hair around his fist, tugging it to keep you in place, forcing your head up from the sheets. You sob out his name, your chin and cheeks covered with your drool and tears.

But Dabi is drowning too deep in pleasure to notice.

"I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll never think of anyone but me in your fantasies," Dabi growls while your elbows shake under the pressure of his forceful thrusts.

Slowly, your mind is falling apart with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Dabi starts drilling his big cock into your even faster now. You tremble below him, thighs quivering when you feel another orgasm building up.

“You gonna cum for me again, princess?” Dabi groans, “I can feel your pussy clenching around me.”

You nod, too exhausted to form any words. Dabi tightens his hold on your hip, fingers digging into your plush skin, holding you still.

“I’m gonna cum with you,” he tells you. “I’m gonna fill up your tight hole, gonna breed you so good—fuck!”

"Please—" you whimper pathetically, finding yourself trapped in his lewd promises.

And then you lose it, feeling like the world is disappearing underneath your feet. Pleasure rips through you, leaving you with no strength. It’s an intense tingling pleasure that starts in your core and spreads through your whole body, from your fingertips down to your toes. It's all-consuming and euphoric, your body not knowing what to do with that much sensation at once.

You feel your body falling off a cliff into a pile of tingling ecstasy as you cum again with a broken whimper escaping your lips. The orgasm is even more potent than the last ones, like a massive burst of pleasure; all that tension explodes and shoots up the back of your legs and everywhere else. You moan and shudder, your pussy clamping around his cock.

“That’s it,” Dabi lets out a long, shuddering groan. “Just like that.”

You forget to breathe while Dabi keeps fucking your harder and harder, feral with desire, shoving his cock as deep inside you as he can.

“Oh fuck—” You gasp out, arching your back, fingers twisting against the sheets.

No sooner have the words slipped from your lips that you feel your whole body lock tight again—and then unravel. You forget to breathe as an unending cascade of euphoria detonates deep inside of you. You come undone, shaking uncontrollably as juices gush from your pussy, dripping down Dabis balls, drenching the sheets below.

Dabi groans, his eyes screwing shut, head dropping back. With one final possessive thrust of his hips, he cums, shooting his seed deep inside you. You feel his cock twitch as he moans heavily, eyebrows sewn together. His body is shuddering, his hips hitching while he rides out his orgasm.

You’re faintly aware of your surroundings, buried too deeply in your bliss. Unable to take any more pleasure, you slump backward. Dabi slides his softening cock from you with an obscene wet sound before dropping down onto the bed beside you, taking you with him.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, caressing your skin. “That felt so—”

‘And—cut!’ You hear a voice call, speaking its way into the mush that is your brain, slapping you back to reality.

You open your eyes and look around in shock, having completely forgotten where you are. The lights switch on, almost blindingly bright. People start hustling about the set, and cameras mere inches away from you now pull back into their waiting positions.

“That was perfect,” you hear Tenko say through the noise filling the set now.

Your breath catches in your throat, an unsettling feeling beginning to well inside you. Your heart starts pounding at an increasingly rapid pace while you feel panic stretch its icy fingers up your spine.

You feel a warm hand cradling your face, angling it to the side. It’s Dabi. He places his mouth over yours without further ado.

“You are perfect.” Dabi coos into the kiss, and it happens again— butterflies erupt in your gut, the world around you fading until there's only you and him.

Instinctively, you let go, feeling the tension slowly dissipate and your heart calming down. Dabi smiles as he breaks away from you, and you feel it— a lingering warmth, an unseen connection that spins fragile threads between you both.

A man approaches to help you get out of bed, but Dabi, whose face is still dewy with sweat, moves between you both. He takes the bathrobe from the guy and wraps it around your shivering body before getting dressed himself.

Helping you off the bed, he drapes an arm around your shoulder and leads you past the celebrating crew members from the set until you’re backstage.

Once in the changing room, he closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“That was something…” he muses. “You’re a natural. Would you ever consider doing this again with me?’

You're caught off-guard, his face radiating a tenderness that fills your heart with something joyful. A warmth spreads across your face, your hands gripping the soft belt of your robe as you nip at your lower lip. “I-I don't know.”

“You should,” Dabi kicks off the door frame and saunters over you with a sinful, obscene sway of his hips. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing in a silent agreement, pulling you into a tight embrace. “Think about it…”

He lets the words hang in the air for a second. When he pulls away, his arms wrap around your neck, lower half still pressed against you as if you’re not a stranger. He looks down at you like the two of you have been dating for years.

“So, I was wondering… what are you doing later on?” Dabi kisses the tip of your nose. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat and get some drinks?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” A new desire for him grows inside of you. You smile back at him, reaching up to gently play with his dark hair.

“Maybe?” His lips curl into a devious smirk.

“Is this even allowed?” Chest to chest, your heartbeat slowly catches up to his, as if your bodies react simultaneously to each other's warm touch.

“Maybe?” Dabi repeats, his thumb gently brushing along your lips.

When you look into his eyes, a tenderness softens the rough edges of his sharp features. It makes you wonder, he’s been so sweet and caring after everything that happened today– you actually believe he’s a genuinely sincere and nice guy. You feel your heart quiet when you’re with him, as if you have found peace.

“Well…” you consider, “I've just thrown all my morals into the wind. So, might as well go on a date with a pornstar, right?”

“You won't regret it.” Dabis laughs softly. “Even though you might not be able to move after I'm done with you—”

“Is that so…” You are torn between scolding him or laughing because he's so cute. “Ok, big boy, whatever you say.”

#dabi smut #dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi #dabi todoroki #bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi my hero academia #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #dabi fanfic #dabi x y/n #mha au #mha smut #bnha smut #dabi x reader smut #dabi x you smut

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kissitbttr · 10 months

Text

this is miguel o’hara being a dick

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem!reader

miguel knows he’s fucked.

he has been neglecting you, putting his work above your needs and ditched on dates he can’t count with his fingers. at first you were okay, given that you’re dating such a busy man like him, you understand the consequences.

but you’ve had enough. there were nights where you cooked dinner, only to be left untouched by him or where you softly cried yourself in the middle of the night because he was still out. the only time he comes home is when you’re already asleep, then he left to the HQ in the morning before you’ve gotten the chance to wake up.

you confronted him about this. paid a visit to his office before going to work. Jess and Lyla had warned you to not disturb him but you managed to make them back off with a single frightening look.

yes. they are scared of you. a lot of them are. they do not want to test you at all.

the moment you stepped into his office, he didn’t even bother to look. eyes were just too focused on his work that he assumed Jess was the one who walked in.

“oh, you’re fucking your co-worker now?” your tone laced with sarcasm and anger with arms crossed over your chest,

hearing the familiar voice, he had never whipped his head so fast. “y/n? what are you doing here?”

“well” you start, heels clicking against the floor as you step towards him. “since my boyfriend has been MIA for almost a week i figured i should stopped by.”

his head shook, turning his focus back to what he thought mattered most. “not right now, mi amor. I’m working.”

“i can see that, dumbass” you respond in a cold tone. frowning as to why he couldn’t take one second off from that god damn screen. “you and me are going to get breakfast together. now. before i go to work.”

“i told you I can’t. I’m busy” he replies, brushing you off with his hand. “next time.”

“i’m a busy woman too!” your voice shakes, wanting so bad to scream at him and throw that tiny desk at his head. “but I always want to make time for you, Miguel!”

no response. he muttered something under his breath but you couldn’t hear him.

un-fucking-believable

“you’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?” tone laced with venom as you spit the words. clenching your fists by your side as you struggle to hold back the tears. “i feel like this relationship is one sided, the only person that is truly making an effort is me. you don’t—“

Miguel couldn’t take it anymore. he threw a desk and it went flying, thankfully it didn’t hit you. though your eyes went wide in shock, a loud gasp left your lips as you covered your mouth with your hands.

“you’re right! I don’t! I don’t care about some silly little fucking breakfast when the universe depends on me!” he pointed at himself as his irises turned red when he looked at you. his breathing went heavy and he still wasn’t aware how scared you were at him at that point.

“do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to keep all this shit together?! how many people will die if i don’t do what i gotta do! I don’t always like it, y/n but i have to do it! and here you are trying to play house with me it’s fucking pathetic!” he scoffed, putting his hands on hips.

oh he did not realize how much his words hurt.

the room was filled with silence. you stared at him in disbelief but remained a stoic expression. you were taught better than to be weak before any men. Miguel was no exception. your mother would be disappointed if you let a man win.

“wow” you breathed, nodding. “that was a good speech actually, the longest one I’ve ever heard you talking” you tried to sound sarcastic but how you felt and how you sounded failed you.

Miguel was quick to notice this and his features quickly soften. he reached out quickly to hold you.

“cariño i—“

“I’m returning back to my apartment by five. do not fucking look for me” it was final. the way you said it, how your eyes remained empty as you spoke to him. Miguel knew better than to test you,

but he just did and now he’s paying the price,

his heart broke when he heard you said that. you were so tired of him and you just wanted him back. you want your man back but he couldn’t see how that mattered to you.

“baby, please—“

you held your hand as you turned around. “don’t you even think about sending Jess or Miles my way.”

with that you walked out of his office without uttering another word. leaving him speechless and heartbroken. he knew better than to follow you out, it would just make things worse. he was just going to let you cool off.

he didn’t know how long it was gonna take.

it has been almost a month that you two have been living separately. and he’s losing his mind. he can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can barely walk out of the house without seeing all the things that remind him of you. the team even sensed something is wrong because he has been more short tempered than before and it almost made the rest of spider society terrified of talking to him.

he’s gotten more violent, that’s for sure. every enemy he encountered, he would leave them bleed with their faces unrecognizable. it was his way of taking his stress out. not exactly healthy but it’ll do for now.

but he thinks that this has gotten too far. he misses you terribly, your scent, your laugh, your voice, your body, and mostly… your pussy

God, the amount of times he sniffed your panties while he jacked off as the image of you clouded his mind was simply not enough.

and now here he stands before your apartment door. dressed nicely in a white buttoned up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and a pair of black pants. his ring cladded fingers nervously grip around the boquete as the other hand shoved into his pocket.

Miguel had never been this nervous before. toeing his shoes and tapping his toes against the floor rapidly. it’s probably already been fifteen minutes that he’s standing like that staring at your door. thinking far too carefully what he wants to say.

he decides it’s now or never as he raises his fist and knock softly against the wooden door, hoping that you’re home.

“coming!” he hears your voice, his stomach somersaults hearing that after what it felt like a thousand year. “i am so hungry, why are you delivery guys always taking so—“

soon as you open the door, you freeze. definitely not the takeout delivery boy and instead it’s the one person you’ve been avoiding for God knows how long.

Miguel’s mouth hangs open slightly as he slowly taking in the sight of the gorgeous woman before him. you put on your favorite lime green night gown that stops just above your knees with a white silky robe, your hair fall down gracefully. natural curls framing your face. eyes glinting under the light, he almost falls to his knees and thank the Lord for your existence.

beauty doesn’t even begin to describe how you look tonight.

Miguel realizes how he probably looks like an idiot. clearing his throat to regain his composure as he smiles awkwardly at you. “Hi.”

you stare at him as your features then showcase a displeased expression. “what are you doing here?”

you’re leaning your body against the doorframe, arms crossed in annoyance. eyes flickering from his face to the flowers he’s holding and back up to his eyes. as much as you hate to see him, you can’t help that little feeling of butterflies in your stomach when you see the flowers he’s holding.

tulips. your favorite

he takes a one step closer to your frame, breathing out a sigh as he looks down at you. “I’m sorry, mi amor.”

that earns a scoff from you, looking away. “good start.”

“i was a horrible boyfriend.” he admits, gulping as he sees how sadness and exhaustion taking over your face just like that. “you don’t deserve that. what i said to you that day… none of it was true. you were not… pathetic, nor were the idea of having breakfast together… I appreciate every single thing we’ve done together, baby. believe me, por favor…”

a hard stare is the only thing he gets from you. the way your lips form into an angry pout and how your eyes seem to get tired and bored from his confession.

you’re a difficult person to please. he knows that.

“i know that being stress is no excuse of what I’ve done… I should’ve—fuck I should’ve done better. a month without you was like hell, mi corazon. ay, me sentí como si estuviera perdiendo la cabeza.” he sighs in frustration, head shaking as he recalls many sleepless nights. “i love you so so much. i do not want to go through that again … i know that it’s going to take forever to get your trust back and everything, but i swear on my mother’s grave that i—“

“stop talking”

he shuts his mouth after that. eyes looking up to you when he realizes you’re talking to him after a prolonged silence that’s taking over.

seeing how broken he looks almost feels like your heart got plucked. as mean as you are or as much as you wanted to look like you don’t care, you can’t when it comes to Miguel. you love this man far too much and despite his cold cold persona, that’s a huge sweetheart underneath.

“you hurt me, Miguel.” eyes casting down the floor as you try to keep your voice low. “you threw a desk to my direction…”

he shakes his head at that, resisting the urge to cradle your cheek. “lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean—“

“yes i know, i heard you.” you sigh, eyes closed momentarily. “you scared me”

Miguel feels his heart breaks when he hears how your voice breaks. he carefully lifts his hand to softly palm your cheek, thumb grazing against the skin. he exhales a soft sigh when you aren’t pushing him off.

“I didn’t mean to do that to you, my love. fuck, I’ve hurt you. i will never forgive myself for that. i was supposed to be the one who protect you and i was being a huge asshole.”

“a cute one though” you pout at him,

he chuckles at that, feeling the tension between you two are finally cutting down. “you’re too sweet, baby… after all i had done to you”

“nothing compared to how you treated me for the past two and a half years.” you smile sweetly at him, hand wrapping around his wrist. feeling at home once he holds you in his palm. “still a good man.”

he shakes his head in disagreement. “no, no that doesn’t excuse it… i was in the wrong.”

you hum in response, looking at the pretty flowers still in his hand. “are those for me?”

he nods with a smile, “you’re my only woman, no?”

you bite the inside of your cheek as you smile, taking it from his grasp as you sniff the pretty petals. “i love them. thank you.”

he once again goes quiet, taking another step closer. eyes looking down at your glossy lips and he can’t take it anymore. he doesn’t care if he’s stepping boundaries here. “i miss you, cariño. can i show you just how much?”

his offer sends shiver down your spine, making it impossible for you to stand still. Miguel always knows your sweet spot, how to make your knees feel wobbly without having him to touch you.

you do miss him touching you,

“i have a ballet class to teach tomorrow, papi. Saturday morning class, you remember ?” a pout formed on your lips, yet you still allow him to pull you close to him as he closes the door behind. “plus don’t you have work too? i bet Jess needs you.”

Migue nearly growls at you calling him ‘papi’. his jeans growing tight as you look up to him with doe eyes that you know he loves. though sometimes, you don’t understand the effect you have on him.

“that can wait… you’re more important to me than anything” he whispers, giving your open hand a kiss. large palm coming down to grip your waist, giving it a light squeeze. “do you want me too?”

you respond with a slow nod, biting back a smile as you interlock your hand with his pulling him inside. his smirk grows wider as he leans over to capture your mouth in his,

“let me fuck you real good then we can come home, eh mi vida?” he promises against your lips, slipping your soft silky robe off of you before picking you up in bridal style causing to shriek and giggle,

“i wanna hear you scream my name.”

part 2?

#miguel o’hara blurbs #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara angst

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the-hidden-pages · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 1 - 'Love' Bites | Overstimulation - Astarion x Fem!Reader

Love bites | Overstimulation | Impact play

Coming out the gates strong with 3500+ words for this man. It has not been edited, I have work in the morning, I'm going to bed.

Summary: With the promise of taking you to a quiet little piece of nowhere to forget all the madness of the adventure, Astarion pulls out all the stops to ensure you forget everything, except the pleasure he gives you.

Warnings: NSFW, Blood, Vampire Kink, Overstimulation, Crying, Light Choking, Dirty Talk

You and Astarion had always had an arrangement.

To say you bonded quickly with your party would be an understatement - having the tadpole within your mind and surviving the same crash tends to form that immediate trauma bond. But you and the vampire had formed a deeper understanding of each other much sooner than the others.

That night, so early on in your adventure, when you awoke to the man perched over you, fangs bared and your throat exposed for the taking, things simply couldn’t go back to the status quo.

It fogged your mind the entirety of the next day, the proximity, the adrenaline, the pure, undiluted hunger.

You’ve allowed him to feed from you every night since.

You played it off as trust, at first. Trust in him, a want to have him fully strengthened for battle. Nothing but business.

But it didn’t take long for him to understand your underlying motivation, the reason you allowed yourself to feel drained, exhausted, and weak for each battle moving forward, perpetually distracted by the memory of his lips and teeth at your neck. The memory welcomed the fantasies with open arms, fantasies of his hands wandering as he drank, kissing your lips with your own blood on his own, his fangs sinking into your thighs, before wandering higher…

Still, you were never going to force it.

So, you allowed him to continue to drink, both aware of the growing tension, both refusing to move further.

Until that changed.

When Astarion came to you, offering for you both to find a “little piece of nowhere”, somewhere to “forget all this madness”, you sure as hell weren’t about to decline.

A chance to get him out of your head was exactly what you needed to think clearly.

Night had long since fallen, as you sat pretending to read one of many absurd tomes Gale had collected throughout the journey. A life of adventuring doesn’t make for the most consistent sleep schedule, and as such awaiting for the entire party to call it a night was practically torment as you tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs.

But no amount of pretending to study the Oral Histories of Faerun could distract you from wondering what pleasures tonight would bring.

When finally, finally, Karlach decided to call it a night, you waited a few moments more before creeping off to where Astarion had told you to meet him.

Any other night it may have been eerie, creeping through the woods unarmed as the moon rose high in the sky. But all you could feel was the anticipation growing, humming in every nerve of your body like someone had struck you with a Witch Bolt.

Your heart nearly stopped as movement caught your eye.

There, emerging from the trees, already shirtless, was the vampire.

You had seen him in various states of undress before - curing wounds of various weapons and spells will do that. But there was something different about it in this circumstance, seeing him perfectly unscathed, strong and confident from the weeks of draining your life from your veins, silver hair and pale skin hauntingly beautiful in the moonlight.

“There you are,” he spoke lowly, striding slowly towards you. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

While the words themselves made you blush, you couldn’t help comment.

“The moment you set eyes on me you had a knife to my throat.”

“Ah,” he sighed, walking slowly around you, bringing his fingers to lightly trail up your arm. “But if you remember, I did notice then and there what a darling neck you had, I just knew it would be heavenly.”

He closed the distance between you, and you could promptly feel his strong form cold against your back, a prominent bulge pressing into you, and his breath on your neck making you lightheaded.

His hand trailed down your neck to trace the marks he had been leaving nightly. “And I was right.”

Despite how little he had done, you had grown so wound up from the endless fantasies from his nights of feeding that you were already weak in the knees.

His left hand lightly began to caress your thigh, as his right takes to untying the strings of your loose shirt, his mouth never stopping.

“You’ve been so helpful these last few weeks darling, allowing me for the first time to indulge in the blood of a human, giving me strength at your expense. You’ve been so good for me too, holding back all those little sounds you’ve been wanting to make, pretending like you don’t get wet just at the thought of me drinking from you, like you don’t get soaked from the moment my lips touch your neck. Hmm?”

Your breathing was already heavy, your thighs already squeezing together in some attempt for stimulation - it was already too much. All you could do was nod, a breathy “yes” escaping you as your shirt is undone, falling to the forest floor.

His hands begin to explore, lightly tracing up your arms, down your stomach, across your collarbone. “And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you my love? To keep us alive, to keep us all going. You’ve been so helpful to all of us, to me, I think it’s time I take some weight off of those pretty little shoulders.”

Suddenly, forcefully, he spins you around, steadying you by grabbing your hips. You look into the red eyes that gaze at you intently, with an emotion that is so close to something like love, devotion, but feeling just slightly too forced, slightly too uncanny.

That gaze is a problem for another day, you determine, as he sinks to his knees and gazes up at you, untying your trousers.

After all, the love may not be real, but the lust in his eyes sure as hell is.

He makes slow work of the fabric, speaking up at you the entire time.

“Dearest, I intend to do exactly as I promised. I want to repay you for the kindness you’ve given me, the trust you’ve placed in me. Allow me to please you, to make you forget about everything, if only for a night. Will you allow me this?”

You nodded, mutely, as you stepped out of your pants.

He gazed up at you again, eyes drinking you in, darkening as they travel up your body, stopping at between your legs, your chest, your neck.

When his eyes met yours again, he stood up quickly, cupping your cheek and pulling you into a deep kiss.

You had thought about this moment too often.

What he would taste like, how his fangs would feel against your tongue, how his lips would feel against yours. He pulled you into him desperately, and the sensation of your bare chest against his made your head spin, gasping into the kiss as he took full control, kissing you with such a passion that you might have thought there was more to it than a simple need for release, repayment.

He pulled away all too soon, thumb caressing your lower lip as he gazed at you in that absurdly sultry way of his.

“Before I take your breath away,” he breathed out, pausing to kiss your cheek. “I need to know what you want from me darling.” Another pause, a kiss to the jaw now. “Tell me how to please you.” A kiss behind the ear. “Tell me how to make you scream.”

You were barely keeping it together, eyes already fluttering closed.

A sharp bite to the neck, not enough to bleed, but enough to make you gasp, brought you out of it. His red eyes gazed at you intently, awaiting your response.

“I want you to take control,” you speak, feeling as though you’re giving a confession. “I don’t want to think. I want you to drain me of my blood, of my thoughts. Make me cum, make me scream, make me feel so good it hurts, until I’m begging you to stop, Astarion.”

“Oh, darling,” he nearly growled, his hand caressing your cheek. “I'll do just that.”

He spun you again, once again catching you off guard. Within moments, you feel him press up against you again, this time the hardness of his cock being released from his pants, discarded far into the forest you assumed.

“You mustn’t keep a sound from me, by the way,” he spoke lightly. “I’ll know if you do.”

You aren’t allowed much time to consider that as you feel his lips on your neck, pecking and lightly biting and sucking. His hands trail upwards to cup your breasts, slowly, softly, deeply massaging, as though he’s trying to feel every inch of your skin. His fingers lightly pinch and tug against your peaks, and he leaves soft bites on your neck, never enough to break the skin.

It had only been moments, but you’re whining, and you can feel your wetness dripping down your thigh.

“Astarion, please,” you breathe, hand coming up to lace in his hair in an attempt to force him deeper into your neck.

He just laughed. “Darling I’ve barely touched you and you’re begging. Allow me to take my time with you.”

His left hand stays at your breast as his right once again wanders downward, slowly reaching your inner thigh.

“I can smell it, you know,” he muttered lowly in your ear, and you almost squeak, flushed with embarrassment. “Every time you’re so wet you can barely think, stuck in your little fantasies as I drink from you. You do so well, hiding your wants from me, but I’ve always known, and I’ve always wanted to push it further, to let my hand wander between your pretty little legs and feel just how wet for me you are…”

As he takes a pause, his fingers reach your folds, lightly caressing up and down, circling your clit, and you both sigh.

“Astarion…”

“Hells, you want me so badly don’t you?”

“Please.”

“Oh, I’m not here to deny you, angel. I’ll give you everything you want…”

Without warning, two of his slender, delightfully long digits enter you, and you release a moan louder than you expected.

“Very good,” he praised, fingers thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace, as he resumed his work on your neck. He continued to suck and bite, no doubt leaving a myriad of bruises and marks that you would have to explain away tomorrow.

He growls again, biting a little harder, though still not hard enough to draw any blood, you notice. His fingers within you speed up, spreading in a way that has you choking out another moan.

“I can hear you thinking, darling. That’s not what we want now, is it?”

“No - fuck, there,” you moan deeper, head tilting back as his fingers reach a place in you that is forever out of your reach.

“Oh, good girl,” he purrs, focusing on that one spot. “Good girl, telling me what you want. Focus on your body, darling, not your thoughts. Feel me against you, feel me in you, feel how badly you need that release.”

“Astarion please.”

“Please what, darling?”

“Bite me harder.”

“Oh, not yet my sweet. We have all night for that, and I would quite like to sample the nectar between your thighs before tasting your heavenly blood. But I’ve left such a wonderful piece of work on your neck, now everyone at the camp will know now more than ever that you’re mine.”

“Fuck,” you gasp out, feeling the waves of heat overcome you and your thighs begin to collapse, your release hitting hard and fast at his use of possessive language.

“Very good, darling,” he praised, holding you up as your vision spun. His fingers didn’t cease as you came, immediately riling you back up, moans spilling out of you louder than before. You hadn’t noticed when he had added a third finger, but you felt the stretch as he pushed in, the emptiness when he pulled out.

You needed more, and he was clearly eager to give it to you.

“Lie down, my darling,” he whispered in your ear. “Allow me to worship you further.”

You did so without hesitation, resting back on a relatively flat portion of the forest floor, spreading your legs as Astarion knelt down, bringing your legs up on to his shoulders and staring down hungrily at you.

Despite the ferocity in his eyes, he took his time, kissing from your ankle to your thigh on your left leg, and then your right. The moment you felt your frustration grow to a peak, he bit down, once again leaving marks but never breaking the skin, marking the soft flesh of your thigh.

He teased you for a few moments before the impatience struck him as well, and leaned forward further, licking a long stripe up your folds.

“Oh darling, and I thought your blood was heavenly,” he breathed, and before you could respond, he went to work.

Immediately your hands were in his hair, pulling and pushing in some attempt to regain any sort of sanity in this moment. His tongue worked wonders, knowing exactly how to work inside you before retreating, teasing at your clit, before the vicious cycle repeated. His hands clenched your thighs as though they were a life line, and the moans that left him traveled into the depths of your core.

It didn’t take long, you were already falling over the edge again, now shouting as the pleasure grew blinding.

“I could stay here forever,” you could barely hear him lament, mind fogged. You blinked blearily as you focused on his face that was now above yours, glistening with your release as he grinned ferally, hand briefly coming up to clench at your throat. “But I have more planned for you.”

Despite your exhaustion, you feel the warmth in your core grow, another release of slick as his cock presses up against your folds.

“May I, pet?”

All you can do is moan pathetically, something between “yes” and “please” falling out of you as you weakly nod.

“Darling, you’re a vision,” once again, he strokes your cheek, uncharacteristically loving for the cold vampire. “Completely fucked out, and we haven’t even arrived at the main course.”

With that, you feel him enter you, no resistance give how worked up you are.

You take a moment, joined, as he breathes heavily into your neck and you let out quiet moans, words completely failing you.

“Divine,” he breathes, returning to kiss your neck, the sensitivity of it making you clench around him immediately. “Oh, so divine, darling I could have you for eternity, such a better use of our time than fighting all of these tiresome battles.”

He began to pump in and out of you slowly, your mind spinning from the weight of him on top of you, the sensation of being fucked so deeply, overwhelmed by the afterglow of all that had happened.

And still his words didn’t cease.

“I could keep you forever, a precious little pet, tied to the bed to fuck whenever I wanted. Or perhaps the other way around, I would wait an eternity just for another chance to taste you, to please you. Whatever fantasy you wish darling, we can fulfill it tonight, I swear to you - fuck.”

He picks up the pace as you clench around him yet again, your release not even having a build up, but instead crashing against you like a tsunami. You feel the wetness seep down your thighs, coating where the pair of you connect.

“Ast-ar…” you can barely breathe, and he laughs almost maniacally.

“Very good, darling, just like that. Give in to me. You don’t need a single thought in that head now, focus only on me and let go. You can cum again, you can, for me.”

“Can’t - I can’t…”

“Oh, you can and you will, if you want me to drink from you tonight,” he muttered darkly, and you feel tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

“Astarion.”

“You have to cum again, to get what you want. Just one more time, my darling. One more and you’ll please me so well. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

You muster up the last of the strength you have, words falling from you without control.

“Yes, fuck, yes please, Astarion, please I want to come, I want you to bite me, I need to be yours, I need you ~”

It was almost as though your last orgasm hadn’t ended, with how quickly this one had began. An endless torrent that had the tears breaking, pouring down your face and into the dirt. You nearly choked out a scream, clenching around him so tightly that you feel Astarion tense, cursing wildly as you feel a warmth flood you.

You take a moment, trying with all your might to remember how to breathe, mouth gaping, expecting Astarion to move from you any moment.

Instead you shriek as he thrusts again, hand once again curled around your neck, stopping any chance you had at catching your breath.

“We aren’t done,” he growled, your own slick and his cum leaking out of you as he continued to fuck you, harder now, less restrained that before, nothing but pathetic whimpers leaving you. “We are so far from done, my love. You’re mine, you’re mine.”

Finally, what you had been begging for all night came to pass, and his fangs sunk deep into that claimed spot of your neck. You felt the familiar warmth and euphoria as your blood drained into his hungry mouth, his moans reaching a crescendo and hips moving at an inhumane pace.

And he was right.

You were his, blood and body and mind, it was all his. He had consumed every inch of you.

It was incredible, it was numbing, all you could think about was Astarion. Every molecule of you was on fire, and screamed to be connected to him, to never leave this moment, to stay in an eternity of this torment, but after four orgasms and on the verge of a fifth, with the ecstasy of his fangs in your neck, you simply couldn’t continue.

“Too much,” you manage to croak out, tears streaming down your cheeks and your entire body screaming. Your hands grip the vampire's arms tightly when he doesn’t immediately stop, nails biting into his skin. “Too much, stop!”

Immediately the fangs retract and he’s gently pulling out of you, red eyes wide with a hint of a rare expression on his face.

Fear.

“Darling I’m so sorry, did I take too much? I felt you going limp but, hells you’re so delicious I must have been lost in it-”

You shook your head quickly, placing a hand on his chest as you tried to collect your thoughts, tears still streaming.

“No, no, no,” you breathe out, still gasping. “Not the blood, you’re alright. It was too much, I really can’t cum again, it's too much. Too much good, I promise.”

The fear melted away to a more familiar expression, a smug smirk.

“Oh darling,” he purred, hand trailing up and down your inner thigh in a soothing but teasing manner. “I don’t know about that, you can still manage full sentences. Clearly too much brain power left…and I could go all night.”

“Astarion.”

A rare, genuine chuckle left the man as he began softly stroking your arm and playing with your hair, easing you down from your intense high.

When your breathing leveled out, he began to stand up, and you nearly whined.

Sensing your distress, he waved lightly. “I’ll be but a moment.”

He sauntered away, and you laid back, taking the moment to look up at the stars, basking in the glow of the orgasms and the moon.

He really had done his job, you had to admit to yourself. You were struggling to form a coherent thought.

When he returned, he had clothed himself, and had a small cloth in his hand. Striding over to you he gently knelt down yet again, running it over the blood stains on your neck, the mess between your thighs.

You stared at him, and he caught your look of surprise.

“What?” he asked, an affronted tone. “I know how to treat my lovers, darling.”

“Hmm,” you chuckle, closing your eyes. “Just a softie, I knew it.”

“Hardly,” he huffed, chucking the cloth off to who knows where and pulling you up against his chest.

He began to play with your fingers, lightly tracing the veins in your hands and up your arms. The pair of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, no words passing between you, but a silent understanding growing.

“We ought to go back to the camp,” Astarion eventually broke the peace, smirking at your disappointed expression. His arms encircled you once again, and you tried not to dwell on how good it felt. “Despite your rather loud vocals, I believe the others didn’t hear us, and unless you’d like to explain to them why you aren’t walking properly tomorrow…”

You snort, pushing him off of you. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, my darling.”

One thing was certain, you noted as you returned to your bedroll, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon.

You’ll need extra healing from Shadowheart in the morning.

Thank you to @flightlessangelwings for their Kinktober list this year!

#fawktober2023 #kinktober2023 #x reader smut #x reader #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav

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eddiernunson · 2 months

Text

Waiting Room Problems | Eddie Munson x fem!Reader | 18+ |

Summary: a rough landing in a fight with your brother causes you to land in a crowded waiting room. Meanwhile a rough deal also sends Eddie the same fate. Somehow, somehow you try to keep your eyes on your phone and off his tiny little waist. It proves... difficult.

Warnings: strangers to lovers, fleeting glances, slightly cocky Eddie, sex in a public bathroom (trust me on this, just trust me), and general horniness at Eddie's general appearance, unprotected piv, against the wall fucking, deep throating, daddy kink

Authors note: I just spent 8 hours last night (when | wrote this) in the fucking waiting room. At two hours in a guy came in and he radiated Eddie's energy so my mind ran away with it. (Everything is ok).

Thanks for the hype on the preview! Hopefully this lives up to the hype

Thanks so much to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie ❤️

As the night swallows you whole, you sit in your mom’s passenger seat of her car as she drives you to the ER. While roughhousing with your older brother you landed on your hand wrong and bent it way back. It’s definitely not broken, but it for sure needs to be looked at.

As the lights of the night pass you by, you insist you’re fine and the sprain will heal after a few days. Your mom, however, was having none of it as you rolled your eyes in exasperation.

She’s as stubborn as you are, so you sit arms crossed as you know you have no choice. Ouch, ok, crossing your arms was a bad idea.

She wishes you well, her kind eyes wide as she leans over to ask you to keep her updated. You can’t help it, slamming the door after letting her know you will. You should’ve been enjoying some spiked eggnog and watching holiday movies, but now you’re spending Christmas Eve in the ER.

The large window to the waiting room lets you know there’s already a long line up just waiting for the triage and most seats are taken. Fuck, you’re in for a long night.

The kind and sunny nurse takes your vitals and information, gently assessing your symptoms and palpating your wrist carefully. She lets you know it’s definitely sprained and will need a gauze wrap.

Soon, you find yourself sitting in a brown, cracked, leather chair sitting close to a man who is coughing up a lung and groaning in pain after each bout. Not that there are many options to begin with.

Your phone in your hand and your charger in your bag, you sit comfortably and wait for your name to get called as you look at memes and watch videos with one headphone in.

Ninety minutes goes by while your best friend texts you to keep you busy and entertained, not even noticing you’ve been waiting for so long. Thank god for her.

For the first time in a while, you look up to assess the state of the waiting room. As far as you recall, about five people have been called to the back. Those seats have been replaced with new patients and their support, what seems to be a never-ending cycle.

Your eyes flick to someone who walks into the line that is long enough to extend into the hallway, stepping up a place in line and finally into the actual waiting room. Your eyes scan him, the boots, the ripped jeans, the leather jacket covering a graphic tee, all leading up to his shaggy brown hair and gorgeous face.

Your mouth partially opens, momentarily taken aback by how unbelievably hot he is. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong, at least, until you notice the tear in his shirt peeking at white gauze on his torso. From the stain, it’s clear he was injured.

His face doesn’t reflect such, patiently waiting as the two triage nurses take their time. By the third time he blinks, you realize you’ve been staring and shift your eyes back down to your phone.

As the line moves, his boots in the corner of your eye, you grow increasingly aware of how much you want to continue staring at him. Something about him is just so enticing, drawing you in. Especially his lack of response to a wound as such.

Time passes on and soon you find yourself bored of the videos and turn on your Spotify to the comfort playlist. Your eyes flicker to the triage station, wandering around the room aimlessly. Unfortunately, it lands on the stranger you’ve been lingering on and witnesses him lifting his shirt to show the nurse the reason for his visit.

The black shirt lifts to show a slim waist scattered in black and grey tattoos, lifting the white gauze to reveal a gnarly wound. You can’t tell but from its shape it looks to be a stab wound. However gory his uncovered wound looks; you can’t help but stare at his bare torso.

Then, it fucking happens. His eyes flicker to you, for a fraction of second, he keeps the eye contact. His mouth twitches, leaning into something you’d call a smirk. As a reflex you shift your eyes away from him, cheeks heating up in embarrassment from getting caught.

You spend the next few minutes convincing yourself that it was all in your head, and that for all he knew you were zoned out and happened to be zoned out on him. It feels like a reach, especially with his torso as revealed as it was.

Time itself blurs as you zone out on your phone, attempting to distract yourself from your thumping heart and the arousal that pools into your cotton underwear. A shift in movement catches your eye, blurred and black in your periphery.

Your eyes by reflex glance up, catching a glimpse of him slouching in his chair, a foot resting on the other as knee he uses wired headphones and stares at whatever’s on his phone. Somehow, his confidence at making himself at home is still attractive, drool gathering in your mouth.

You look down at your phone before he catches you again, this visit at the ER sending a thrill through you that you didn’t expect in the least.

More and more people get called to the back, and you're still stuck waiting. Everyone who you’ve told is surprised to say the least that it’s been hours and you’re still just in the waiting room. You don’t mind though, sneaking glances at the beautiful stranger has become your favourite pastime.

Four hours in, if someone asked your highlight it would be when he head-banged to whatever assumingly heavy metal band he listens to. By the time the nurse calls your name to the back, it takes a strong second place.

About twenty minutes pass before it’s your turn for a bed, and you are let your eyes wander around, now bored of your phone. As they do, they catch sight of the man you’ve kept an eye on yawning in a big stretch. What this yawn has you so captivated by is the sliver of skin his stretch reveals, and the curly brown treasure trail that peeks from just above the hem of his low sitting jeans.

Your mouth floods with saliva. With your mouth agape and eyes subtly widened, you can’t help but gawk at him. Something about the way you suddenly picture yourself pulling him into the bathroom to nuzzle into his hair takes you aback just a little bit.

Time slows down for you, stretching into hours, but it's only seconds. Finally, as his body relaxes from the stretch you turn your eyes back to his face, hoping he didn’t see your fleeting glance. Startlingly, his eyes are already on yours. This time you can’t find it in you to look away in embarrassment. As if reading your mind, he smirks right at you, and you swear his brown eyes darken a shade.

This time for sure, he caught you. He doesn’t seem to care one way or the other, arms crossing over his chest as he keeps his smug expression right on you.

It’s hard to resist the smile as you go back to your phone, promising to yourself that you will remember his face for as long as you can.

Eddie thanks Gareth for dropping him off at the hospital, gritting his teeth at the slight pain stretching his torso gives him.

As he wanders into the hospital, his eyes take in the crowded waiting room and he groans, wishing the wound wasn’t so fucking deep.

He got stabbed. He got fucking stabbed. Wayne is going to kill him when he finds out he got into a fight, especially one where knives were in the crossfire. He couldn’t even say how the situation got so heated so quickly, just another fight in a parking lot after a deal goes sour.

The guy pulled a fucking knife on him, pushed it into his torso and ran off with the goods before Eddie could even realize he had been harmed.

All for fucking weed. Wasn’t even cocaine!

It takes a stupid amount of time for him to finally get to the nurse. She tells him to sit down for his vitals, and he refuses, wanting to show the wound and get it out of the way.

He lifts his shirt at her request, showing the darkened gauze and hissing as she takes a closer look at the wound when it’s removed. Eddie realizes the irony of exposing his chest in the triage, looking up to face the windows that allow other patients to see through.

He does a quick scan of the room, no one having seemed to notice how he’s shirtless. No one, but you. He saw you when he walked in, you were on your phone with one earbud in as you tapped your feet to whatever beat you were listening to. He thought you were cute, his mouth twitching in a smile as he notices you’re cradling one arm across your chest.

It couldn’t have been confused with zoning out, your mouth in a small O shape you openly stare at him. The look you have on your face is enough to turn Eddie on a little, having the urge to caress your face as you look up at him with those same wide eyes. His mouth twitches as he thinks of it, the thought enough to distract him from the shooting pain in his chest.

Your eyes dart away as soon as it registers that he’s looking back at you. His smile widens even more as you sink in your seat, your eyes glazing over as you scroll through your phone. Made him want to embarrass you more, in much worse ways.

After the nurse takes his vitals, he’s instructed to sit down, thanking some deity that the seat across from you is freed. You’re keeping yourself distracted, much to his dismay, so kicks his shoe to grab your attention, placing it on his other knee.

It works as well as he hopes, your eyes flickering up to him. He can’t help but look as if he can’t be bothered. In the corner of his eye, you look back to your own phone, biting your lip.

Eddie spends the next little bit getting your attention however he can, wondering how much it takes for your eyes to wander back to him. By trial and error, not much. He turns on a heavy metal band, nodding his head enthusiastically to the loud drum beats.

As time goes on, he gets more bored and waits impatiently for his name to be called. He figured stitches would be a priority, no? It’s past his bedtime, he decides, as he yawns a big stretch, despite the pain he causes for himself.

As he does, he catches the way your eyes are glued to him, particularly the strip of skin his shirt lifts to show. In real time, Eddie witnesses your eyes glaze over and how your teeth nervously graze your bottom lip. Whatever was on your mind, he desperately wanted to know, mesmerized at the way your throat swallows.

Finally, you make eye contact with him, and Eddie needs to let you know how much he just saw, your lust for him clear as day. He can’t lie, the feeling is entirely mutual, the look on your face is something he wants to see over and over as he rails— he’s getting ahead of himself.

Instead, he opts for a smirk, admiring the way your pretty eyes hold his gaze this time. He relaxes back into his chair, daring you to say something as he smiles with a hint of satisfaction…and all the cockiness his body can handle.

You shyly look back at your phone, failing to hide the smile that invades your face. It takes Eddie a moment to gain the courage, but he finally decides he can’t let you go if he's nursing a hard on in the fucking waiting room from your gaze alone.

By the time he finds a pen and paper to give your number, he’s writing it down when the nurse calls your name.

Eddie sighs, watching your ass in those jeans as you walk away. Just his luck.

As the new year passes, the memory of the hot stranger in the waiting room fades, much to your dismay.

The very night you had a dream where he meets you in some sort of dark room, tugging down your jeans you were wearing and wrapping those hands around your neck as he fucked you from behind.

Your hyperventilating mixed with the way your cunt spasmed as you came woke you up, taking a minute to catch your breath. That morning you groaned in frustration, wanting nothing more but to track him down.

Days passed and soon you’re in the grocery store, arm still wrapped for another week as you walk around the store for some basics. Milk, eggs, bread, all on your mother’s tab, of course. You were two seconds away from pushing your small cart to the checkout counter when you remember you're out of mouthwash.

As you try to decide whether to grab the one you liked which was not on sale or the one that was, a set of footsteps pass and settle right next to you, the customer also assessing mouth hygiene products.

The person's foot tapped, and by reflex you switch your glance down to the sound, and immediately recognize the boots. Your head moves up so fast you swear you give yourself whiplash to his face, facing the shaggy locks you found yourself obsessed with that night in the ER.

“Oh shit” you say out loud, before you could even stop it.

His eyes flicker to yours and recognize you off the bat. His smile gives way to deep dimples. He’s exactly as hot as you remember, if not more.

Of course, you can’t find it in yourself to assume he recognizes you, even if his eyes spell it out for you. “Sorry, I-I just remember you from the ER last month. How’s that stab wound?”

He chuckles, something that makes your legs clench together. “Uh, it’s better.” He comments, lifting his shirt to demonstrate. Is it unnecessary for Eddie to show his stitches? Absolutely. Did he do it for the visual reaction he missed so much? Also, yes.

Unfortunately, his bare waist is gone as soon as it appears, barely giving you a second to take in the purple stitches. You bite your lip as you glance at his face, his smirk displayed almost driving a whimper out of you.

“How’s your arm?”

“What?” You ask, incredibly distracted by the everything about him.

He chuckles pointing to the wrapped arm you can’t use as you shopped but to push the cart. “Oh, one more week then I’m free.” You comment, indicating the gauze.

“That’s good.” He comments, switching his glance back to the toothbrushes he was glancing at earlier.

How are you already messing this up? Might as well cut your losses. “Alright, nice seeing you, again.”

“Whoa, whoa.” He says, grabbing at your uninjured arm before you make your hasty exit. Your eyes peer at him curiously, wondering what he could’ve possibly wanted. “Here,”

His hands move to the leather jacket and grab a folded piece of paper to hand out to you. “What’s that?”

“My number” he answers, stating the obvious. “Shoot me a text, call me, I don’t care. Just do it. Please.”

“You’re really giving your number on a piece of paper?” You ask, tilting your head and forgetting your nervousness for two seconds. “What is this, 1986?”

He laughs, deep and whole, and for some reason it causes a heart palpitation. “Yeah, I guess I am. I planned on giving it to you at the ER, but the nurse whisked you away before I could.”

“Huh?” You ask, your brain short circuiting.

He laughs again as you accept the number, your hands holding onto it tightly as if it might disappear. He picks a toothbrush, seemingly at random and examines it, shrugging as he tosses it into his basket. “Call me,” he says, winking, and walks away from where he came from.

As he walks away, his cologne invades your senses, breath stuttering as you breathe him in. Oh, you are definitely calling him.

As soon as you’re checked out, you find yourself having to use the bathroom, so you wander to the back of the store and down the hall where the single unisex bathroom is.

It’s locked, so you check your phone as you wait, leg shaking to distract yourself from the need. When the bathroom door opens, you look up to face the patron and your brain deflates.

“Holy shit.” You gasp, facing the kind stranger, whose name you learned is Eddie from the number he gave you. You stare at one another, taking each other in, your breath heavy and your heartbeat in your ears. Why were you here, again?

Instantaneously, his hands are grabbing at the fabric of your winter jacket, tugging you forward as he places his lips on yours. Your bags drop from your hands as you gasp in surprise, your brain taking a moment to catch up.

As soon as it does, you grab onto his jacket and kiss him back, meeting his enthusiasm feverishly. His tongue darts out to meet yours, you accept it wholeheartedly, taking in how weak his lips alone make you feel.

Eddie starts to pull you backwards and into the bathroom. As soon as the door is closed, you’re pushed up against the wall, whimpering as he moves his body against you. “Fuck.” He whispers against your lips, taking a moment to catch his breath.

You hum in response, lips reaching for him again. As you do, your hands sneak past his jacket and onto his t-shirt, clutching at the fabric as you finally feel up his torso.

“Nuh uh.” He tsks, pulling back from you. When you pout, he laughs and gives you a look of pity. “I just gotta know one thing, there, sweetheart.”

“Anything.” You promise, not knowing what you’re getting into. You just wanted his lips back on yours.

“Anything, huh?” He asks, slightly taunting you. “Okay.” He leans down, breathing down your neck as he places his lips by your ear. “What were you thinking about in that waiting room while you ogled me, sweetheart?”

Okay, not that. You sigh in embarrassment, learning he knew exactly what you were thinking while you gawked at his chest, gawked at him.

“Don’t act all embarrassed, now.” He chides, observing how your eyes widen just how he remembered. “Tell me. Tell me and we’ll do every raunchy little thing that pretty brain came up with.” He taps the tip of your nose gently with the pad of his finger. You wish he'd shove it past your lips.

Your eyes widen as the arousal floods the panties you wear. All you can do is breathe hard and attempt to find the words.

“Let me help you.” He says, shifting his weight against you slightly. “Was it my hands down those tight ass jeans you were wearing?” You gasp as his fingers barely graze your jeans’ waistband. “Or even better was my tongue on that wet cunt of yours?” You shake your head no, as much as you wanted both of those things. You didn’t even get that far. “Were you on your pretty knees?” Finally, you nod, confirming exactly what you were thinking about.

“Your cock was down my throat while I nuzzled your…” you trail off, lifting his shirt to see the patch of hair again, “oh my god.”

He chuckles, rewarding you with a wet and dirty kiss. All too soon, he pulls away. “Then what, baby?”

Your mind is dumb, trying to come up with it. “Then…then you bent me over and fucked me—” you whine as his knee bucks up between your legs and makes harsh contact with your cunt, “with your hand around my throat.”

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, teeth gritted as he gives you a look at screams with lust. “Believe me, if you asked, I would’ve.”

“Yeah?” You ask, licking your lips as your head leans back into the door. “What about your cut?”

“To hell with my cut! I had a pretty girl practically giving me the eyes, you think I care about some little scratch?”

You stare at him in disbelief, your body and breaths stilling for a minute. “Then do it.”

Eddie smirks at you, and you stare at his pretty pink lips as he leans in and kisses you, both impossibly dirty and sweet simultaneously. Eddie’s knee contacts your cunt again, this time forcing a moan out your lips. Blindly you move your hand down his chest, finally gripping the hard-on straining against the fabric of his jeans.

He gives you his first moan, a sound that opens the floodgates. “Wanna get on those knees for me, baby?”

You nod, giving one last kiss to the spot where his jaw meets his neck. Slowly, you kiss your way down his body where finally you find yourself face to face with the cock that’s pushing its way out of his pants. You fumble with the button for a second before you finally reveal him, and it’s so much better than you could’ve imagined.

So much bigger, too.

You smile up at him through your eyelashes, grateful for fates allowing you in the same place at the same time. He places his hand under your chin, licking his lips as he examines your expression of desire. “Suck my cock, baby.”

You eye his treasure trail, dipping your nose into it as you inhale his musk, uninjured hand wrapping around his thick girth. You mewl at the scent; the aroma is even better than you had imagined. One of his large hands slides itself gently along your cheek, his long thumb stroking at the apple of your sweet smile. You stare up at him, kissing the underside of the head of his cock with wet lips. Your tongue pokes out, flat as you lick it slowly, taking your sweet time, admiring the way he lets out whimpers.

“Oh…shit.”

This urges you to wrap your lips around the head, your cheeks hollowing out as you suck on it gently. You take your lips off him, spitting the excess saliva in your mouth onto his shaft, your hand slowly moves up and down, jerking his length to spread the slick along his cock. The shine is pretty, the spit accentuating the pink blush.

“Pretty cock,” you compliment him, laughing breathily as you go cross-eyed just staring at it. “Tastes better than I thought it would.”

“Did you think about tasting my cock, sweet girl?”

You wrap your lips around him again, bobbing your head up and down as you confirm what he asked with a simple hum. He’s big, the tip hitting the back of your mouth and that wasn’t even half of it. You choke on him, the guttural sounds echoing loudly against the tiled walls. A want of more of him in your mouth invades your mind, not tasting nearly enough of him.

You attempt to take in more of him, choking on it even more but struggling to, despite the desperate need. “Settle down, sweet girl,” he mutters, harshly brushing his fingers against your cheek as he peers down at you. “Relax your throat. Take all those tense muscles and relax ‘em.” You think about it, letting those reflexes remain tense to rest. You’re holding back more saliva, but you fail to realize it until your mouth is flooded with spit, overflowing past the barrier of your lips. “Oh, good girl.”

It's alien but mind numbingly arousing as you feel him move down your throat, moaning around him. His fingers comb through your hair, and roughly move against your scalp. “That’s it, breathe through your nose, sweets.”

The heel of his palms rest on your forehead, moving you up and down his cock. You find it stupidly easy to submit to him, the tip hitting roughly against the back of your throat. His groans are louder than the guck, guck, guck that are hitting wall to wall against the tiles. He’s brutal about it, increasing his speed from 0 to 100 quick as a thought.

Hot tears spill over your water line down your cheeks, trailing the makeup you wear down to your throat. Your hands weave themselves against the cotton of his t-shirt, fighting to keep letting him fuck your throat. “You’re so damn good at this, sweetheart, pretty little mouth working so well.”

He finally lets go, poking his cock against the inside of your cheek one last time, appreciating the swell as the glistening from your tears shine on your face. He uses his thumb to lift your chin up to him, his darkened eyes raking over your face. His pink lips parted, his dilated pupils, the heaving of his chest, there’s nothing you’d want more than to earn this gaze again. “C’mere.”

He lifts you by your chin up to kiss you, dirtily lacing his tongue against yours. “What a good girl you are, taking it so well.” A smile lights up your face from his praise. He tugs you back in for another one, a hum vibrating against his lips. A hand of his trails down your body, single handedly unbuttoning your jeans. “Good work like that deserves a reward, hmm?”

His large hand moves past the opened fly and works itself against your panties. A gasp escapes your mouth only at the touch of his fingers on your covered folds, mewling as he keeps his eyes trained on yours. He’s not even really moving them against you, but just his touch gives you some of the pressure you needed. “Christ, you’re wet,” he comments, dipping his head to work his tongue against your pulse. “Choking on my cock really got you off, huh?”

You nod, eagerly agreeing with him. “So big.”

He smirks, pressing pressure on your clothed folds, in small circles. “You like my big cock, huh? Is it as big as you thought it would be?”

“Bigger,” you gasp, hands grabbing on any clothes he wears anxiously.

His finger easily moves the fabric aside, finger attaching itself right to your clit. The pleasure is good, eyes fluttering closed as it grows startlingly fast. “Fuck,” you swear, your voice rough. “Eddie.”

“Hmm, close?” You nod, despite the embarrassment that floods your senses. “I haven’t even started to touch you yet, baby. I still wanted to feel that tight pussy wrapped around my fingers.”

His actions mimic his words, inserting two fingers hastily into you, moving them expertly as they fuck you. With how wet you are, his two digits slide in easily. They’re long, reaching a depth in you that you could only dream about. You gush around him, music to his ears as your whimpers grow more and more pathetic. His thumb touches your clit again, rubbing frantically.

You gasp, mewling as his teeth start to nibble skillfully along the length of your neck. “Oh my god.”

Eddie’s tongue licks a sinfully long stripe up your neck to your ear, his voice intense and husky. “Cum all over my fingers, sweetheart, make a fucking mess for me.” Your hand tangles into his hair, gripping at his root. You stutter through a sentence of whines and half-finished words, failing to convey how good his fucking fingers make you feel. “So pathetic, huh?”

The words that you wanted to say were, you make me feel so good. Instead, you say, “M-ak-m, so-so good.”

Your good arm wraps itself around his shoulders, pulling his body against yours. Against your better judgment, your other hand moves his chin so your lips kiss his desperately, wanting every wet touch of them on yours. Your whimper into his mouth, pussy fluttering around his fingers as you finally cum, drenching his fingers just as he had requested.

“There she is,” he mutters, his flat palm moving under your jacket and shirt and grazing gently along your bare torso.

It takes you a second to recover from it, still feeling the effects of it throughout your body as it lingers. You unzip your jacket, letting it fall on the bathroom floor. You can’t find it in yourself to care for the moment, but it will find itself in the wash later. As it’s a walk-in bathroom, there are poles next and adjacent to the toilet. Perfect.

“Fuck me?” You ask, eyes glazed over as they reach his.

He chuckles, hands landing on your hips. Your jeans are pushed down your legs, resting just below your knees. “I thought you'd never ask, sweets.”

You grin, pushing his jacket off his shoulders onto the floor. Before it even hits the floor, you grab onto the fabric of his shirt and step backward over your own jacket to pull him across the room to the said metal bar installed on the wall.

His fingers slink into his pocket that’s now down his leg, holding a condom between you and him. You pick it up from his fingers and fling it across the room. “I’m on birth control.”

Eddie’s hands grab under your legs when your back hits the wall, supporting you surprisingly well as your ass rests on his forearms.

He sighs, eyes half mooned as he stares down at you. “My arms are occupied, mind helping me out here?”

You giggle, spitting on your hand and grabbing between the two of you at the cock that keeps brushing against your inner thigh, moving it against your entrance. It slides in easily, the mushroom tip pushing in as two of you moan in sync. Your hand moves to the bar on the wall, starting to help him as you lean some of your weight onto it.

“How is your pussy even better than I thought it’d be?” Eddie asks, gasping in uneven breaths.

“So, so full,” you gasp back, his size far bigger than you’ve ever had. “So big.”

“You’re fucking tight, sweets.” He mutters, jaw dropping as he watches you watching him.

“Move.” You urge him, the stretch too much yet his still hips are driving you crazy. “Need you to move,” It comes out as a pathetic whine and you know it, but you’re long past caring at this point.

“Say no more,” Eddie mutters, starting to move slowly, his hips rolling perfectly against you.

He hits deep and he hits hard. “Just like that! Fuck!”

“Your pussy, fuck, baby, yours is just a new fucking standard!”

You curl into his neck, nipping and starting to mark the pale skin with purple, teeth digging in harder the faster and harder he fucks. You can’t answer his compliment, but the way you tighten around him is confirmation enough that you are in complete agreement with him. It’s like he knows exactly how you like it before you tell him, intuitively knowing you before even has the opportunity to find out.

He watches every reaction you give him carefully, how your legs tighten around his waist, your hands twisting themselves in his shirt, the mewls that leave your mouth mixed with words that you never finish, he takes every hint as gospel. He’s always intuitive to what a partner of his needs, but you’re a special case, every reaction you give him only makes him insatiable for more. The way your eyes roll back in your head is everything he’s ever wanted to see from you and more, never could he have imagined anything like this when you glanced at him in the E.R.

“Fuck, your pussy is so good, I’m gonna cum, sweets,” Eddie moans, fingers digging into your bare thigh, the pressure surely bruising the skin.

“Choke me.” You gasp, voice desperate for him.

“Hands are occupied, babe.” He answers, gruff and brows furrowed.

You tap the bar, using both hands now. “I got it.”

He whines, high-pitched and gorgeous. The kind of whine you listen to on men whimpering audios. Maybe you can make it happen more. Maybe one day he’ll let you worship him for a few hours…the idea is enticing. His large hand wraps itself around your throat, the metal of his rings causing harsh friction on your neck. He admires the way you revel in it, tongue poking out of your mouth like the slut you are for him. “You’re more of a slut than I thought you are, hmm?”

You nod, his strong arm flexed and mouth watering. The drool that slips down your tongue is pure proof of it, dampening your shirt in a little streak.

“What a good little pathetic slut,” he grins, rubbing your jawline with his thumb. His grip tightens, only enough to send stars in your vision.

You tap his arm, begging him for air. “A slut for you.” You gasp, whining for him. “Want your cum, please, please cum in me.”

“Can you beg for me one more time?” He asks, your question almost making him erupt on the spot.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, arms starting to lose their strength. “I wanna be dripping from you, so bad.”

“Yeah, want Daddy’s cum?” he asks, hands gripping into your hair.

Of course, this man has a daddy kink, you couldn’t expect anything less from him. “Yes, Daddy.” You whine, grinning at his hold on you. “Fill me up.”

“Baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up—Jesus Christ.” He interrupts himself, cutting himself off as he ruts into you a final, gasping, sweaty time. He twitches in you, feeling him fill you up as some of starts to trickle out of your pussy and down your thigh.

His hand lets go of your hair, wrapping around your torso as he pulls you into an embrace. This is the kind of sex that takes time to recover from, both out of breath, his dick still twitching. A smile takes over your features, invading every muscle in your face.

“So, think you’re gonna call me?” He asks, hand moving itself under your shirt to gently brush against your bare skin.

“I’ll definitely text you.” You answer, chuckling at the annoyed look he shoots you when he pulls back in your embrace. “Oh, come on.”

He chuckles, and for some odd reason the last thing you expect from him is another kiss, his lips working marvelously against yours. They’re much gentler, much sweeter than you expected, yet everything you’d crave from him.

“What was that?” You ask, watching his two gorgeous brown eyes.

“What, you think I’m gonna let you go after that?” He asks, half a smile on his face. “Wanna come to my place later?”

“Later?” You ask, one eyebrow quirked at him.

“I’m heading home right now, wanna join me?” He kisses the top of your eyebrow, your cheekbone, your jawline, your still covered shoulder. “I kind of need to spend a few hours with my nose buried in that pretty little cunt of yours.”

Your jaw drops, your mouth drying completely from his admission. “Y-yeah, th-that sounds nice.”

He laughs at your stutter; your pussy having tightened around him upon the mention of it.

Three knocks hit the door, loud and abrupt. “Hurry the fuck up!”

You look at one another with wide eyes, laughing at the disruption. He backs up, his cock leaving your entrance being a loss you whimper at. “Don’t worry, sweets. I will fuck you more than enough times to satisfy that need.”

“Dunno,” you start, legs shaky as you land on them, “I think I’m pretty insatiable at this point.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep going, won’t we?” Eddie asks, pulling his jeans and boxers up his legs.

“And if I’m never satisfied?” you ask, tilting your head as you pull up your own pants.

“Well then I guess we’ll just never stop.”

You grin at his answer, biting your lip excitedly.

The silence is comfortable as you pick your jackets back up and the bags on the ground. His fingers intertwined with yours, leading you down the hall past the angry customer and out the front door of the store.

He offers to eventually take you back to your car when you need to go back home, wanting more time with you even if it’s the mere ten minutes that it takes to get to his apartment.

Not one moment is wasted as he yanks you to his bedroom, pushing you onto his bed. As promised, your jeans are yanked down your legs quick as can be, burying his nose deep in your cunt.

Only after the eighth orgasm does Eddie yank off your clothes, followed by his, finally skin against skin as he rails you in every position, even the ones you didn’t know were possible.

You might have to thank your brother for spraining your wrist, it’s the best thing he’s ever done for you.

Thanks for reading! I read every comment and tag you leave and as always reblogging is the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

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