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queers-gambit · 3 months

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Lost and Found

prompt: ( requested ) you're just friends, but on your first night at Saltburn, you get lost in the vast halls and accidentally walk in on lover boy after a bath. he wants you to stay.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 3.6k+

note: this SHOULD'VE gotten slutty, but it DIDN'T because i'm back in the hospital and the LAST thing i need is a nurse walking in on me writing fucking smut - oh, my God, can you imagine? new fear unlocked!

warnings: RIP Queen Lizzie, cursing, sexual tension, emotions are hard, Lord's name in vain, depiction of mental illness (anxiety), author throws in a little personal detail cause writing is therapy.

"Honestly, who lives in a place like this? The bloody Queen, that's who. Her and all her fucking rooms! Jesus!" You grumbled, dipping down another winding hallway. "All right, this looks familiar, that's... Encouraging, right?" You frowned, glass of water in hand after venturing to the kitchen to fetch it - but now, you couldn't navigate your way back to your room. "Of course," you growled quietly, opening a door and finding a linen closet.

How silly, in a place like this! A fucking linen closet!

You huffed and shut the door, feeling incredibly awkward and terribly misplaced. You mind screamed that didn't belong here, you never should've set foot in a place like this! How fucking foolish you felt, like a silly little girl who was just excited her crush spoke to her, let alone invited you home with him for the summer holiday.

But it was Felix fucking Catton - certified enigma. He was all man with a boyish charm who smiled at you on move-in day at Oxford and sealed your fate. He was ridiculously nice, so very sweet, borderline annoying with his giving nature and kindness. He was loyal to a fault, intuitive, observant, admirably carefree, and so very happy to give his love to anyone who needed it. For a few weeks, you felt almost offended by his attention, wondering what kind of broken soul he thought you were; knowing he had an affinity for "damaged" or "broken" things.

At least, that's what his cousin, Oxford's registered and certified catty bitch, Farleigh Start, teased you about relentlessly when he noted the way Felix hung around you. Felix invited you out with friends, offered to study together, walked you to and from classes - even if his were in the literal opposite direction. You had no honest idea how the two were related, given Farleigh's constant attitude and Felix's overwhelming kindness, but that wasn't for you to understand. You just relished the attention Felix bestowed in-between your skepticism.

And here you are, your first night in his home, Saltburn, completely lost and totally turned-around! You didn't need water all that bad, did you? Granted, you had a several tablets to take that evening to maintain your health, but you could've used the fucking sink in the adjoining bathroom! You grew frustrated the more doors you opened, finding empty rooms or closets or another fucking library or studies or whatever! As if this home wasn't big enough, there were multiple levels and all you knew was that you and Felix were both located on the same floor with his parents above you and his sister and Farleigh beneath.

So, that helped.

But you still felt so fucking silly.

Seriously, who got LOST in someone else's home!? Fools, that's who!

Okay, okay, okay, you didn't need to be so hard on yourself, but you grew nervous and fearful for a reason you didn't understand. Your anxiety was planted in your stomach, festering, growing, taking over you to the point that you had tears in your eyes when you found yet ANOTHER fucking study!

"Oh, even the bloody fucking Queen doesn't have this many useless rooms, and she's a much bigger family, Jesus fucking Christ," you sneered to yourself - ready to give up and just sleep in one of the empty rooms. But you didn't want Duncan finding you in the morning, asking questions, forcing you to admit you were lost - you felt humiliated enough as it was! And that was without anyone witnessing this absolute mess you had made!

Well, not technically a mess - but you felt like a mess the more you crept around. And now, you felt fucking creepy - like some stalker, sneaking around the halls, trying to spy on this very nice family. You knew you weren't, but the feeling was still there - fucking anxiety would honestly be the death of you.

However, you came upon a familiar (enough) door that had a gentle light emitting from under it. With a sigh of relief, you suddenly remembered leaving a light on for yourself to return to; reaching for the doorknob, twisting it, and darting into the room while swiftly swinging the door close - but halting it to shut quietly as to not disturb anyone in the empty halls.

Yeah, anxiety was a bitch.

"Ohh-ho, evenin', love," a voice greeted, making you gasp, jump, and twist around. "Miss me that much? Heard the drain on the tub, didn't yah, had to come sneak a peek?"

Felix fucking Catton stood at the end of a messy bed in all his glory, running a towel through his wet curls. Nothing obscuring your sight, nothing hiding his manhood, nothing - literally nothing on his body except a shit-eating grin.

"Jesus, Fi! Fuck, I-I-I'm so - um," you gulped, trying not to ogle him, but failing (miserably) when beads of water rolled between the contours of his impossibly impressively sculpted muscles. "I just - you know, this place is so bloody big - um, I'm sorry - I just... Yeah..."

He smirked, nodding sarcastically, "Uh-huh. And you just happened to stumble into my room? Pretty good timing, too, wasn't it?"

You squeaked, "I didn't mean to! I swear - Felix, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to, um, yeah, you know - uh..."

"Like what you see, sweetheart? Why don't you come in closer, get a better look?"

You adverted your eyes out of respect and fumbled messily for the door handle. "Oh, sweet Jesus. Bloody house is just too bloody big, I got all turned around - just needed some water and I just - fuck, I'm sorry - "

"Hey, hey," Felix chuckled, wrapping his towel loosely around his hips so his V-line was still on raunchy display, "I'm only teasin', love. I know this place can get confusin' t'newcomers. I actually meant to grab you some water, know you gotta take your tablets."

You swallowed your embarrassment, sighing, "I'll just - yeah - no - I'll, um, just go - I'm so sorry, again."

"You know where you're goin' all of a sudden?"

You faced the door, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, shaking your head gently, "Well, no, but I'll figure it out - I left a, um, I left a light on, you know, to help - I don't know - uh, guide me?"

"You've not stuttered this much since we first met," he laughed, tugging a pair of boxers on for your sanity (and to your dismay). "I'm dressed, doll, you can look at me now. C'mon, bit weird talkin' to your back."

"We're not talking, Felix, I'm going to bed."

"Then why haven't you left yet?"

You blinked at the intricately carved door, realizing your hand was still on the knob, but it hadn't turned. "I didn't want to be so rude as to just walk out, mid-sentence!"

"Hey, hey, you're all right, darlin', I'm only teasin'," he grinned, hearing his bare feet pad over the ground before his warm hand wrapped around your elbow. "C'mon, love, hang with me a bit - 's not that late, is it?"

"Oh, so, Duncan can walk in? Make his assumptions?" You whispered, slowly facing him and leaning back on the door with a pout. His big, brown, doe-eyes stared directly into yours, making you feel under his spotlight - something akin to a privilege, since Felix Catton didn't bestow his attention on everyone. "I just needed water, I didn't mean t'get, you know, lost like this. Seriously, this place looks totally different at night."

"Surprised you even got this far, huh?"

"I looked in any room with an open door," you admitted with a small wince. "I felt so creepy, but I was all turned around - and you know, you shouldn't leave other lights on in rooms not being used. Terrible waste of energy."

"Awh, my sweet, environmentally-conscious girl," he cooed, hand raising to gently pinch your jaw. There was a serene moment, the pair of you just staring at one another, becoming acutely aware that he was still practically naked. "C'mon, don't leave yet, we can play cards if you like?"

"I've medicine t'take - "

"Right, right, right," he nodded, letting his hand drift to hold your neck in a gentle grasp. "Tell you what, you stay here, I'll grab your meds, and bring them back? You keep 'em in that li'l pink bag, yeah?"

"I don't know how to feel that you know which is my med bag," you narrowed your eyes playfully.

"Just shows I pay attention, don't it?"

"Maybe shows we spend too much time together?"

He kissed his teeth, grinning at you, "There's no such thing - in fact! I reckon we could double our time together and it still wouldn't feel like enough."

"Well, how's that help me later? I still don't know where my room is - oh, don't laugh!" You groaned, Felix snickering louder. "Fi, c'mon, it's not funny - this place is huge! Like, illegally huge!"

He cooed, "Oh, doll, 'M not laughing at you, promise. Just... You're not the first person t'get lost here, yeah?"

You scoffed with severe discomfort, "I really don't want t'hear 'bout all the other girls you've brought home - "

"Hey, now," he cut you off swiftly, "don't do that." He shrugged meekly, "There's been no others, just friends. Mine, Farleigh's, Venetia's... They've all gotten lost once or twice... Or that time we had to actually draw Reggie a map, poor lad got lost around every bend."

You rolled your eyes, "Truly expect me to believe that, do you?" Then you let your eyes widen a fraction, teasing, "Oh, wow, you really believe it! You really believe you haven't brought home other girls who you're interested in or who are into you?"

He crowded you into the door, shifting the room's energy to something sultry, making you hold your breath as his hand slid into your hair. "You know you're the only one, right?"

"You know that's absolute bullshite, right? Like, what a fucking line!"

He tisked, "C'mon, doll."

"Be honest, Felix."

His head cocked, "Want the truth?"

"That'd be a nice change of pace."

He scoffed lightly, "I don't give a single fuck if any of our previous guests cared for me - only you. Hear me?" He took the last step so he was stood with his feet slotted between yours. "I didn't bring them here for any other reason than friendly entertainment. You've seen the place, as big as it is, can get a bit lonely without anyone to hang with. But I asked you here... For different reasons..." He whispered, eyes jutting down to your lips as he kept a firm hold on you.

"And what reasons are those, Fi?"

He smirked, "Obviously... To kick your arse at cards."

You were flooded with pure disappointment. Raw, unfiltered disappointment that deflated your shoulders. "Yeah, right, like that would ever happen," you covered, nudging him a single step away from you. "Wanna be a gentleman and direct me to my room now?"

"Nope," he grinned, snatching your hand and yanking you away from the door. "You're gonna sit your pretty self right here," he nudged you to the edge of his bed, turning for his desk, then turning back to you to slap a deck of cards to your hand, "you're gonna shuffle these, and mentally prepare to get your arse handed to you at your own game."

You chuckled slightly, "Thought you hated 51 Rummy?"

"Only when sober," he smirked, leaning down to peck your forehead sweetly. "Sit tight, doll, I'll be a moment, yeah?"

You sighed and watched him exit the room, reaching to set your glass of water down and observe the room. In a moment of weakness, you pet over his sheets as if tempted to snuggle into them - and you were! You were cold from the lack of robe you meant to shrug on, and wondering the halls of Saltburn took much longer than you anticipated - now wanting to dive into the warmth you knew was left, the same warmth that Felix left on everything.

You jumped when the door opened again, Felix slipping inside with your little pink bag. His brows pinched, "All right, love?"

"Hmm? Yeah - "

"Your feet are nearly blue," he shook his head, handing you your bag before turning for his wardrobe. "Socks or sweats?"

"Huh?"

He turned, holding up a pair of sweatpants and socks, repeating, "Socks or sweats? Figured you're a bit cold in that." The left side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk, eyeing you in your sleep shorts and loose teeshirt that had the collar ripped out, showing a hint of cleavage.

"Oh, uh, socks, please."

He tossed you the socks, dropped the sweats, and joined you on the bed as you pulled the oversized garment onto your feet. "C'mere, get close, get comfortable," he chuckled, pushing his blankets down to sit in the sheets, waiting until you turned in the bed to yank the blankets up over both your legs. "Didn't shuffle? My naughty girl," he joked, reaching for the deck of cards and opening it. He offered a much softer smile, eyes darting to your medicine bag, and then focusing on the cards - as if to give you privacy to take your meds.

You did so quickly, insecure about the rattling bottles and the amount of tablets in your cupped hand, but never once had Felix made you feel bad about your needs. After swallowing them, you cleared your throat and turned to face Felix as he divided the cards for the game, nodding to his side table, "Paper's over there, doll, for the score."

"Sure you want me to keep score?" You asked softly, reaching for the pad of paper and spare pen. "Last time we played, you lost so very miserably, I was embarrassed for you. We can save your pride a li'l, not keep score."

"It's only polite to let the pretty lady win."

"Oh, tryin' to butter me up, are you?"

"Is it working?"

"I'll let you know."

Felix chuckled, leaning back to the headboard. Then, he asked softly, "You feelin' all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, all good."

"Sure?"

"Why?"

"Hands are shakin' a bit."

You eyed him for a moment, changing the subject by asking, "How're you not freezing? Seriously, 's like the floors are air conditioned."

"Nah, just not cold."

"Your nipples say otherwise."

"Lookin' at my nipples, are you?" He grinned. "Now you're a very naughty girl, knew you didn't stumble into my room on accident!"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself!" You pushed his shoulder, but he leaned closer. "Felix - "

"You could just stay here," he offered softly.

"You got me for a game - "

"No, I mean, uh..." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head and readjusting so he was supported on one elbow, facing you. "Nah, nevermind, all right, so, back to the game - "

"No, wait, say what you're thinking," you encouraged softly. "Know I hate you doin' that."

"Yeah, you get all anxious," he nodded. "I don't want t'be too forward, all right? But... You know, we sleep together at Oxford. I-In the dorms, you know?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Just thought, maybe you'd wanna stay here? With me? If you want, won't make yah, sweetheart, just thought... You know, in a house this big, you wouldn't get so lost stayin' here... Maybe?"

"Oh, aren't you my hero?"

"I know, I know, I'm just tryna look out for you, my li'l lost love. And, you know, prevent you from finding our secret dungeon," he gasped comically.

"That's not even a joke 'cause I'd believe it in a place like this. Is it a dungeon for torture or sex?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Maybe I'd like to see it. Hm," you considered, "maybe I should stay here, you know - so you can show me around and go get me water when I need it. Save my toes from freezing off, wonderin' 'round here."

He grinned, "Yeah?"

"If it's not too scandalous?"

"'S not like anyone would care... Except me, you know? I'd... I'd like you to stay here. Like havin' you close, sweetheart."

"Well, maybe you could put some clothes on? You're terribly fucking distracting! I'm here to win a card game, and I'll be damned if you win 'cause your abs are... You know, staring right at me, you cheater," you grinned, turning to face him fully with your legs crossed, the space in the sheets open for your cards.

"I think you like me naked," he grinned. "I mean, you stared long enough."

"I was just caught off guard!"

"Oh, I'm sure," his grin turned wicked. "You're still staring, doll."

"Well, it's not as if you're quick to cover yourself!"

"You're not too quick t'look away, either!"

"I was - "

"Caught off guard, yeah, you've said," he chuckled, staring at you with those moony brown eyes that made you feel as if you were the only girl he's ever seen. "Maybe I liked you lookin'."

"Is that so?"

He nodded slightly, "Yeah, not such a bad thing. You're kinda the only one I want lookin' at me like that, anyway."

"You absolute cheesehead!" Your laughter was quiet, trying not to tip Duncan off to your antics.

"You know, they're not just for lookin'," he perked his pierced brow at you. "Feel free to touch whenever you want, too."

"Hm, always knew you were a slut."

He gasped dramatically. "Is that anyway to talk to your host? Especially after giving you refuge from the big, scary, confusing halls?" Your eyes rolled and reached out to pushed his forehead, making him rock back into the pillows and headboard - but he was quick to snatch your wrist as he fell. You were yanked across the slim space, pulled so you were directly resting onto his chest; forearms bracing against his pectorals. He grinned, caressing the back of your head, teasing, "'Ello, love."

"You're a fucking fiend."

"And you're so fucking beautiful."

"I'm already stayin' here, Fi, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

He hummed, "You know... If you were mine, you'd get this treatment all the time. I can't stop - you're just so easy to compliment."

Feeling bold, perhaps from being so close and him being nearly naked, you whispered, "Then maybe you should stop shuffling your feet, grow a pair, and ask me already."

He paused, the moment turning soft as you relax against his body; stretched out the length of him, but still remaining propped on his chest to look down at his sweet face.

"Was a bit afraid to, actually, love."

"Why?"

"Haven't felt like this with anyone," he admitted, "'s just so fuckin' easy with you. Organic, authentic, safe... I was afraid to ruin that, destroy the rapport and friendship we've established. I care about you so much, I just wanted you in my life - no matter what variation that was. Being just my friend, being my girl, just want you with me. Didn't want to jeopardize anything."

"Hm," you considered, nodding slowly, "I get that. Think I felt something similar..."

"So, what do we do?"

"I think we be adults about this," you offered. "If you just want to be friends, we'll stay friends, Fi, but we don't blur lines like we have been. And if you want to give this - us - a try, I think we could. 'Cause you're you, and I'm me, and if things don't work out, we can just go back. Right? Adults do that sorta thing, don't they?"

"Not entirely sure, don't feel like an adult most days," he breathed, petting his fingertips down your cheek. "But I know I want this, with you. I swear, since you came into my life, I've felt - " He paused, shaking his head with a growing smile, "Free? Elated? Light as air?"

"Mhm, I know the feeling," you repeated.

"We doin' this?"

"That's up to you."

"I think it's up to us, actually - "

"I mean, you've gotta ask, Fi, not just assume."

"If you reject me in my own house, in my own bed, doll, I'm gonna be fucking crushed!"

"Oh, my God, just ask me! You fucking knobhead!" You laughed, leaning your head on his chest. His other arm moved behind his head to keep it propped up, looking at you with so much adoration, it knotted your stomach. The hand that had been in your hair drifted down to keep a secure hold on your waist; fingers scratching in soothing motions.

"Wanna be my girl?"

"Hmm, I think you could phrase it better."

He grinned brightly, "Would you be my girlfriend?"

"Oh, that's a little too formal. Maybe try - "

"Oh, c'mere, you," he growled, swiftly using both arms to seize under your arms and literally drag you up his body. "C'mon, baby," he whispered, lips ghosting yours, "be my baby."

"Fuck, no, that's way too cheesy!"

"I thought you liked me cheesy?" He gaped, your hand petting his cheek now; shoulders straining to keep you upright, over him.

"Correction, I love you cheesy," you whispered, lowering your head to press a quick kiss to his lips. He hummed in relief, but you pulled back to promise, "I'd love to be your girl, Fi. Only took you the whole bloody school year, didn't it?"

"Hey, good things to those who wait, right?"

"Don't quote Professor Mercy at me when we're in bed with barely anything on, Jesus fucking Christ," you grumbled, unable to restrain your grin when he pulled you in for another kiss - but this time, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

Maybe getting lost in Saltburn was more beneficial than you originally thought, and maybe Professor Mercy and ages of philosophy was right because this felt like the absolute best thing, and you'd wait a hundred lifetimes if it meant having Felix in your arms - like he was now, kissing you like it was his lifeline.

How extraordinarily warm, you felt, to be lost in this world, in this extraordinary home, and found, by Felix fucking Catton.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

#felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x fem! reader #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton imagine #felix catton fanfic #felix catton fanfiction #felix catton fluff #felix catton saltburn #saltburn felix catton #saltburn felix #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn imagine #fix it felix #felix catton request

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quietsounds · 2 years

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me writing fanfic where someone falls in love at first sight: oh gosh! i wish this would happen to me!

also, me when someone made eyecontact and smiled(i think) at me on the tram today: oh fuck where do i look??? what do i do with my face?? oh shit fucking fart fuck balls am i gonna get murdered?? omg i should’ve stayed home i have suddenly forgotteth how breathing works helfph me

#certified anxiety and ND moment #it still haunts me #i cannot remember/couldn’t process what face they made #just looked away #i should not be allowed outside alone for my own safety and well being/hj #just a small town boy #on his way to oooslooo #i dont like being an adult #i go and do silly things like travel to a festival #and stay somewhere alone #having to navigate transport systems in a giant fucking city #when i’ve barely ever taken buses or trains alone #hastag first time on a tram check #it will all be worth it seeing bmth and korn #also i now have access to delivery apps and uber #watch me go broke

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princessbrunette · 3 months

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Dealer!jj asking if you can lay over his lap and use you like a rolling table for his joints 🤭🤭🤭 he can’t help but slip his hand between your legs (certified pussy grabber) and he’d slap your thigh if you move at all, telling you to stay still so he doesn’t make a mess 🫠🫠

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴

you’re a giggly mess, high and blissful as you lay over jj’s toned thighs, letting him use you like a rolling table. it was a silly little idea that the two of you had joked about whilst he was smoking you out, and with a cat-like slickness, eyes low and pink— you arched your way over his lap, encouraging him to use you.

the sexual tension was barely simmering anymore, the same way it always was whenever your dealer smoked you out for free. there was just something about jj— something so charming and boyish and yet rugged and sexy that always ended you up in or over his lap, one way or another.

“might just… toss out my old tray. this is way better. by like, a mile.” he concentrates with a smirk, careful not to spill any of the leaf that had crumbled out of the second joint of the evening. “seriously, one of my best creations.” he lifts it so you can see from your position and you go to push yourself up. instead of letting you, he places a warm hand on your lower back, halting you from moving. “hey, woah— not done with you. yeah, you’re uh— you’re gonna have to stay juuust like that a little longer. you’re cool with that right? figured you… enjoy bein’ over my lap.” his dialogue slows as his eyes trail down you, now letting himself focus on the way your skirt was riding up your ass cheeks. “damn.”

“i don’t mind staying right here. you’re real comfy, jj.” you giggle, looking back at him from your compromising position. he sends you a charming little smirk as a hand creeps up the back of your thigh, soon to massage at the doughy flesh of your ass.

“well sweetcheeks feel free to stay just like that all night.” he jokes, the little southern twang in his voice always ten times stronger when he’s high. after groping you, his hand finds itself sliding between your legs, cupping your hot wet heat through your destroyed panties. “well what do we have here?” he teases and you let out a breathy little whimper.

“its the weed, i swear.” you attempt, but you catch yourself out with an airy giggle, pushing your cheek into the beaten up couch cushion.

“uh-huh, oh i’m sure.” he pushes a tongue into his cheek, fingers applying attention to your clit through the fabric and rubbing in circles making you buckle. “eeeasy there, wouldn’t want you to make a mess. not yet, anyway.” he plucks some of the fallen herb off your skirt from where he’d been using you as a table.

“take ‘em off, jayj.” you whisper, eyes closed now on cloud nine and he smiles happily, shaking his head in disbelief.

“man, i freakin’ love my job.” he grins — giddy, sliding the pink ruined fabric down your legs.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴

#anon #jj maybank prompt #dealer!jj

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sansundertale14x1 · 2 months

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why NauseAxe_404 loves your writing so much…

based on this silly tweet, I’m gonna use ‘Nick’ for this- for ease of writing (and for my poor poor hands.)

no pronouns but ‘you’- little post cuz I haven’t written in a while.- use of the in-game website: "Dumblr", no it's not a typo;-; Proshippers DNI

word count: 878

content warning: brief explanations of canon violence, creepy stalker-ish behavior (NOTHING SEXUAL ATTACHED), Nick being a weirdo honestly.

vvv that isn't my art, and this entire writing is a fanfic for a game " Monster x Mediator" made by HeadLocker! I really recommend playing the game or watching the gameplay, cuz it's really fantastic!

Story under cut :3

Nick’s in love with your writing…(if you already couldn’t tell), but it’s difficult for you to understand why.

Usually, when you'd open up your laptop, it was after a tough shift at your crap job and you just wanted to do something to fill in the time after dinner and before bed. It was always on the shorter side, 100 words each, and was normally just a quick and crappy self-insert fic to satisfy your creative urges from doing a boring-ass job all day. You never really thought your tiny one-shots would attract any attention, but the man you've been staying with proves otherwise.

"NauseAxe_404" is what he called himself, but you've just been calling him 'Nick' for now. He had been reading your old Dumblr blog for who knows how long, and he's taken a major interest in your little shitposts...So much, so that he had taken the time to print out every single one of your posts and personal information pinned to his room's walls. It's extremely creepy...but also sort of charming?

For the last few days or so, you've been held in Nick's hotel room, practically glued to a desk with a typewriter...slowly making your way through a 100-paged fic that he specifically requested of you. Though you technically could stand up and leave...you'd really prefer for your skull to stay in one piece...and not have a bullet put through your temple.

Nick has been staring at you almost the entire time...which only certified in your mind that he is not human. Every time you turn to see if he's still there...like an unmoving fortress, he always is. It's been a solid 8+ hours of you sitting there and writing...and your stomach starts to emit loud sounds of hunger. You pray he didn't hear that, and continue to type away at the dated machine. However, to your dismay, his deep voice chimes in.

"...What page are you on...?"

Nick asks, seemingly trying to speak quietly for you, but his naturally booming voice isn't giving you any favors.

"...uhm..."

You take a moment to review what you have done...it doesn't look like much but it feels like it took AGES to write out...

"About...10? It's not a-"

"That's wonderful, Superstar!"

He cuts you off just as you begin to speak.

Of course, he's going to be ecstatic. You can't fathom why he seems to be so hopelessly in love with whatever you slap on the paper. You're curious..so you begin to speak.

"...uhm...Nick...why do you..take interest in my writing?"

You softly speak, trying to be careful with your words...you can't afford to overstimulate this man.

For a chatty guy...Nick was oddly silent at the ask of this question…or at least for a few seconds.

“I was trying to find a way to ease the boredom and loneliness of this fucking hotel, so…huff…I joined Dumblr and started to search for writing…that was…huff….purposeful…and that could fix me..”

No way in hell your crackfics could change this man...He must've come out of the womb like that. (or...however the hell he was made..)

"...I came across your first post years ago..huff...and fell in love with the way you wrote your love interest....huff...I knew you were talking about me when I wrote all those comments~"

You never looked at comments due to embarrassment...and you honestly didn't think anyone would even care to comment in the first place.

"....you weren't responding to me...huff...so I might've found everything about you in the meantime...huff...just so I could notice you in a crowd...I always will~"

Okay, now it's getting creepy. You hope that by just turning back around and continuing to write maybe he'd shut up...You guess it's sorta your fault for striking up a conversation with the creep.

"All the other writers don't know shit about writing...huff...1k word counts...huff...long and complicated stories that don't make any fucking sense..."

There goes the rambles. You stop typing for a moment to process what the hell he just said. He either is really balls-deep into this fantasy of you being a perfect human...or he's just trying to fluff you up so you'll continue writing for him. He's really delusional, that's it. It's seriously hard to believe your crap was life-changing for Nick.

“Simplicity is the most important part…huff…not describing some stupid walk sequence for 3 sentences…huff…it’s a waste of space..”

"....maybe you just like simpler writing...?"

You softly reply, yet again praying that you didn't accidentally strike a chord with this guy. He stares you down, and even if you aren't looking back at him, you can still feel the burning of his eyes on the back of your head.

"That's possible."

Oh, it's highly probable. He gets so emotional over the tiniest bit of anything, so...He just doesn't need too many words to evoke a reaction...It checks out because you also like to write a straight-to-the-point sorta piece.

"but don't let your mind wander for...huff...too long...my superstar...you've got at least 90+ pages to go~"

Shit, he was right...time to get back to work.

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nekassvariigs · 1 year

Text

I saw someone having a post mentioning if a character from one piece would be certain about age gaps so here i am in a silly goffy mood.

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

Idea: Waking up/Walking around not realising youre wearing a shirt saying "Dilf patrol" and going out on the ship/certain places causing some interesting conversations.

Raighley, Shanks, Mihawk, Law, Kid, Doflamingo

Special addition: Bepo for cuteness

I know kid and law arent dilfs but theyre fun to write

Kid

Way too busy to notice it at first until someone points it out.

Hes flabbergasted.

"Into experianced men huh?" he comments brows furrowed in question.

It took you a while to register.

"I know i dont qualify as one but give me a few years."

You couldnt be more embarrassed, not to say anytime he asks you to stand on lookout he'll yell "DILF PARTROL" full blast embarrassing you each time.

If hes into you he'll paint over one of his shirts the words "certified dilf" while working on his gagets. If you catch him in the act give him a sly smirk and run for your goddamn life.

However if you both happen to wear it at the same time again its now your turn to shout over the entire ship "DILF SPOTTED" the moment you see him. You'll distract him so horredusly he wont be able to unhear it for the next week.

At some point you both take a picture, altough the main focus is you zooming in on his tits where the label he drew on was.

"Let me see the photo."

You show it to him proudly and prepare for self defense.

"You little shit." hed scoff ,however his ego was lifted that hed certified dilf material.

Doflamingo

This pink flamingo has been walking around you all morning trying to be subtle.

It was getting on your nerves.

"Can you ATLEAST pretend that your subtle, Youre like 10 meters tall dude you wear a PINK FEATHER COAT."

"So?" He picks his teeth with a toothpick.

"Why are you following me?"

"Your shirt."

"What about it?" you get more annoyed by the second.

"Not your dresscode madamoiselle?" you give him a fake smile with your eyes.

"Ha..Hahaha..HAHAHAHA, i must send this to the navy." He takes a photo.

"Fuck do you mean send it to the navy?!"

"Look, i can already hear "it's the dilf parol woman" with your face plastered all over it."

Oh he really was pushing it huh.

With a loud FWAP the shirt lands flat on his face right on the centered plastered with the writing.

"I think they'd like this one better."

You show him the picutre. There he is this wooden shelf for a man in his pink ridicilous coat with his face covered in a shirt thats says "Dilf patrol" boldly.

"My ass im gonna let you have your way with it."

Onsues a battle between two idiots.

Nearing your defeat you splur out "Y'know if you had a kid you'd qualify for it."

"Huh- Yeah right."

"Im dead serious."

"..."

"Time to take one for the team." He said confidently.

Raighley

Usually you stay over at Shakky's rip-off bar having known the owners well half owner Raighley. You never managed to catch his wife on time however, she was always out so one good day you treated yourself to a hands on barman experiance pouring yourself a drink, mind you its late so its okay.

Whilst mixing your drink you hear the front door open Raigley in sight he catches a seat.

"One whiskey on the rocks ma'am." he gets cozy until seeing you prepare your drink. You shake the mixture the tshirt you wore frurrowing all sorts of ways.

"?" He sees something written on it.. not fully tho, so he'll take a another peek in a bit.

Your drink made, you start his grabbing some ice and whiskey for the foxy man.

"Here ya go~" you happily chirped at him offering his drink.

It wasnt until you were mid drink he said "Say would i qualify as a dilf?"

ah the burning sensation of choking on alcohol.

"What?" you ask him barely able to breathe.

"You know, I mean not to shoot myself in the foot i do happen to look good for my age." he takes a swig of his drink calmly.

"F-First off, where is this coming from? Second off what!?" You stutter, Raighley barely dared being so cocky, and now all of a sudden this!? Did he hit his head?

He doubles the K.O pointing to your shirt at which you stare down, immidiatley embarrased for showing your interest in older men un such a dumb way.

Cheeks blazing you admit defeat, giving him a thumb up weakly.

"You're overqualifed.."

"That so?" He smirks hand on his beard in question.

Now confidently you humm altough your legs were giving out.

Who woulda thought you had one of the hottest man, not to mention the most humble one around teasing you like this when youre compleatley unprepared.

[continuation awaits (￣^￣)ゞ]

Law

Poor guy was hoping to eat his meal in peace when you come in theough blazing the words dilf patrol on your shirt.

He literrally chokes.

"You alright capitan?" you ask him.

He swallows dryly, "Yeah..." he stares at you, then at the writing, then at you,the writing and at you for the last time.

"Y/n-ya, You know our crew mostly has guys around the age of 20, right?"

"Riight.. , point being?" you curiously ask.

"Point is WHO ARE YOU PATROLING FOR?!" Not gonna lie he was determined to know.

"!!?" Shocks sets in as you realize what youre wearing.

"Haha oh this thing, well you know give it a few years everyone will be aprooved, even you Law." you chuckle lips pointing in a whistle like manner.

He mentally stopped until he lowered his cow-print hat lower over his face, continuing eating without furter comments.

Hoo... Oh my.

"C-Capitans blushing!" Bepo alerts everyone in the dining hall. Startling you and Law himself.

"Was not, shut up!"

"I'm sorry!" he bows apologizing.

"Well in anycase we have time dont we?" You chuckle pouring yourself some tea.

Few meters behind you you hear more bickering about "Dont joke about this!" et cetera.

Mihawk

The silent man was trying to enjoy a morning newspaper till perona started babling to him about you.

"Whats the issue?" the blandly replies.

"Have you seen what shes wearing its not cute at all!" she pouts pointing to you , a pastry in your mouth the shirt revealing the writing.

Lightning stuck in his head.

"We all have preferances.."

He didnt want to even think about it.

"Thats right, we all have preferances" you pouted back disagreeing with her.

"Of all things you choose old hot guys seriously!? Pick something cuter next time!"

Bwaaa~ You drop your pastry.

"Who says i like old hot guys?"

"Your shirt says.." He nonchalantly interrupted.

"Ah so it does, WHAT?!" You strech out your shirt noticing the writing 'Dilf patrol'

"As long as she can handle it, i see no issue." He adds in.

Your jaw dropping, how can he be so relaxed about this.

"Stop embarrasing her old man-"

The bell dings in everyones head striking a nerve.

Everyone locks eyes.

Silence follows.

It was the tensest breakfast youve ever had with the two of them.

After breakfast you chose to clean the dishes upon hearing a knock.

"Not my buisness, but good choise." And he leaves just like that.

No dishes were washed for the next 30 minutes out of sheer incapability to understand his approval.

Shanks

All bark all bite he doesnt hold back.

He digs the shirt, calls it trendy,odd but trendy, hes seen worse.

"Y/n, i qualify."

"For what?"

"You can count me as a dilf, no?"

Your brain shortcircuts.

"Well.." You eye him up and down making him wait impatiently.

"I mean sorta? Youre not really the hot DAD material are you? "

"I can be though." he shoots you a grin.

"Caaan you?" you hiss back at him.

"Wanna seee for yourselllf?"

[Continuation awaits (￣^￣)ゞ]

Bepo!

You had just woken up having no actual shirt to wear from your regulars you scramped one from the dryer. You didnt even bother to check which one it was you had agreed to train with bepo.

"Goodmornin'. " Hes as polite as ever.

"Mornin' bepo, lets start some warm ups?"

You both proceed to train along eachother however the longer it lasted the more people gathered around you two.

"Whats this about?" You question wiping the sweat off your forehead with your shirt.

"Mm Maybe because youre wearing that today?" ,his fluffy paw points to your shirt.

Every guy in a 10 meter radius was giving you thumbs up making you red as a raindeers nose.

"Y/n, whats a dilf anyways? Some new monester out there?" He innocently asks

"Haha y-no?, Do you wanna know?"

He nodds.

"Well its a preferance for older attractive looking men that have kids or had kids who grew up."

"So.. Do you like ..." he was deep in thought..

He didnt know what to ask.

"Ah mabye Vice capitan Ben?"

Pffttjfjfhdha

"Dont think hes got kids, but hes attractive so i approve." You wipe ur nose at the thought.

Next day Bepo shows around with a shirt labeled

"Shaved ice patrol."

What an innocent creature..

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tzyuki · 1 year

Note

enhypen reaction to idol!reader being their groups main dancer ? either like enha’s crush or s/o i don’t mind :) maybe for a scenario like their partner wins the random play dance during HYBEs game caterer thing ?

- 🎐 anon :)

— (05.20.23) ENHA-QUESTS

IN WHICH ✶ enha admires their s/o’s dance skills!

genre 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ enha x reader. fluff fluff fluff!!!

warnings 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ swearing, if any more please tell me!

ej note 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ hi🎐 anon !!! srry i got to this one so late, i hope you like it! guys stream dark moon 🤗 JAYS IS SO LONG LMAO 😭

⏤ ☆ yang jungwon / 양정원

jungwon enjoyed practicing with you, especially since you two were under the same company you guys got to see each other almost everyday at the company building. when you guys heard you’d be doing an end of year collab performance you guys were happier than ever, you’d be on stage performing together and be in the same room all day everyday practicing!

͏͏⏤ ☆ lee heeseung / 이희승

heeseung was in awe watching you dance at the random play dance while you guys were filming the HYBE’s game caterer. He didn’t know you knew so much dances and was smiling at your competitiveness.

͏͏⏤ ☆ park jongseong / 박종성

before you debuted, when you were still a trainee, jay was someone you looked up to dance wise. you loved his dance style sm and idolized him for it. when you had gotten casted for hybe you had actually debated on taking the offer or not, you had been in a good place at your current company, almost getting put into the debut lineup. you didn’t want to take the offer just to meet your favorite dancer, so you thought long and hard about your decision and ended up staying at your company. you and jay would see each other and briefly talk to each other when your promotions overlapped and such. when you guys had done the ‘future perfect’ tiktok challenge fans pointed out how you guys had similar dance styles, you talked about it on live and about how you looked up to him a lot as a trainee and you’ve stayed in his mind ever since.

͏͏⏤ ☆ sim jaeyun / 심재윤

jake likes making fun silly goofy ass tiktoks with you, the videos are either in his drafts bc they are too risky to post (yall literally staring into each others souls dating rumors would spark) or posted onto his secret tiktok account where his friends were allowed to see. as much as he admires your dance skills he would rather make the silly dance ones than do his or your groups dance challenges.

͏͏⏤ ☆ park sunghoon / 박성훈

you specialize in ballet and used to do it for years long before debuting in the idol industry and sunghoon likes testing your skills with doing random ass pirouette battles. you’ll be hanging out and then “okay battle right now.” and then you guys get tired but pretend you aren’t.

͏͏⏤ ☆ kim sunoo / 김선우

sunoo likes watching your fancams and has no shame in admitting it. he admires your stage presence and skills in dancing. he’s your certified fanboy.

͏͏⏤ ☆ nishimura riki / 西村力

you and ni-ki bonded over dancing ever since you guys first met at the company. you guys helped better each other whenever one of you were struggling mentally or physically. everyone knows he teases you a lot and your relationship with each other is like cat and mouse but he truly likes caring and spending time with you mostly by practicing together.

enha-masterlist — permanent taglist (open) ; @jangwonie @cwsana @luvyrin @amara-mars @ineedaherosavemeenow @mintydayeon @love-4-keum @kpopx-xlover @abdiitcryy @beepjeongie @ox1-lovesick @ja4hyvn @shinsou-rii @winkura @ddeonudepressions @tnyhees @wannabeyn @kpoprhia @svnghoonsonly

#enhypen fluff #enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #jungwon scenarios #jungwon x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jay scenarios #jake x reader #jake scenarios #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #sunoo scenarios #ni ki scenarios #ni ki x reader

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support-ponies · 23 days

Text

MOD PAGE (mobile friendly)

🐶🐕MOD KIBA!!! ☕🍩

Heyo!!! I am KIBA! You might know me more as Typhwosion! I am she/her but I don’t really care what pronouns ppl use for me. I made this blog to try and make peoples days a bit easier with cute and happy ponies~ I love doggies and coffee and plushies! My favorite ponies are Applejack and Maud and Trixie and I love RariJack💖 I hope I can make your life a bit brighter with my silly drawings~ My husband is Mod Dynamo! Here’s my carrd to all my other socials and here’s all the art i’ve made on this blog. ૮⍝• ᴥ •⍝ა 💖💛💙

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🐱🐈MOD DYNAMO!!!🧡🍊

I’m Dynamo and I’m here to support the sweetest girl in the world with some Arty McArt™ and stuff. I like cats, video games, and cheese (not necessarily in that order.) My favorite pony is also Maud. If you like my art, get ready to not see much of it here if ya dare. (And here is all the art he’s made on this blog) ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

And here are all the collab art we’ve done together, Dynamo usually does the sketches for these and I ink and color them.

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MOD MORI

Howdy everypony! I’m one of the new mods, you can call me Mori!

I use He/Him and I’m transmasc + bisexual andddd my favorite ponies of the mane 6 are Fluttershy and Pinkie, though my heart truly lies with Luna. You know how it goes. My sona is named Astral Beryl and I’m hoping to become a geologist and/or voice actor, but for now I draw ponies because… Well I really love to! I hope they can help brighten your day!

Also as a note my art style is going to be… Wildly inconsistent and I apologize beforehand if certain pieces aren’t as nice as others. Such is the way of art and wanting to try new things like drawing more consistently.

o/ Stay hydrated party ponies! Hope to see you around!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD PIXEL

Hello everypony! I’m Pixel, also known as @fruitypieq :3

I use he/they/lun/luna and my ponysona, Night Peak, uses she/he/they. My favorite ponies are Princess Celestia and Princess Cadance, and of course Sunset Shimmer too!

I am not sure what else to put here but I’m very excited to be here, its nice to meet all of you! I’m excited to start drawing your requests and I hope I can help make your day even a little better!

If you enjoy my art you can find more of it on my main blog, or on my art blog, @fruitypieq-art! Have a wonderful day everypony!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD WILLOW

Hiya! I’m Mod Willow! I use any pronouns and so does my ponysona, Cece! I’m intersex, intergender, transmascfem and lesbian. I am currently trying to get into school to become a therapist but art is one of my biggest passions! I love helping and inspiring people so I hope my art can do that for you all <3

I love all the ponies but my very favorite is Princess Luna, and my favorite out of the Mane Six is probably Fluttershy. I’ve been in the fandom for about 12 years and I’m very happy to be contributing to it in any way I can!

Have a lovely day and stay mindful!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD APPLEJACK

Hi everypony, I’m mod applejack! I’m a 22 year old mlp superfan who has a special passion for G1 although all gens have a place in my heart. I love to cook, read, and draw for others. My other special interest besides mlp is beekeeping; I’m actually a certified beekeeper myself! I’m so happy to become a part of this amazing blog and support those who need it<3

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD FAELING

Hi all! I’m a new mod here! I go by Fae or Faeling, and my pronouns are she/her. I’m a 30 years young autistic artist who has a love for helping bring positivity to others! ✨

I currently haven’t made my ponysona so it’s still in delvelopment but when it’s done I’ll be sure to edit and add it in this post!

My favourite generation is Gen4 and my favourite MLP is Fluttershy! I love how gentle she is and her love for animals, it matches my personality so well!💕

I am happy to be here, I have a love for drawing positive art, as I do the same on my own social media’s art accounts but not just MLP characters, all sorts of different cartoon and anime characters with positive quotes!

I’ve always wanted to help others in some way and doing things like this has always made my heart feel like I’m doing something good in the world, you all deserve encouraging and positive words to get through your days! 💕

If you end up liking my art, you can always find me at @faelingmagic on tumblr or all my other socials at http://linktr.ee/faelingmagic

I look forward to drawing for you all!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

#mod page #look at all the cute ponysonas

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m1ssunderstanding · 3 months

Text

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 22

@javelinbk I’ve got another one for your “Paul McCartney doesn’t touch other men” compilation.

They’re really just going to keep goofing off with each other until the bitter end, aren’t they?

Who is this?? She’s gorgeous and I’m obsessed with her eye makeup.

I wonder if there’s a *reason* John broke randomly into “Run for your Life”. I’d actually feel better about that song if it was secretly about Paul, though I'd never considered it.

That face!

I’d actually love to know what Ringo and Billy were talking about that prompted that hug, though! I’m sure it must’ve been just so cute!

John saying “Okay Jim” to Paul. Reminds me of that quarrymen story where John called Paul that. Such an awkward nick-name, considering John hated Jim. Like I know Paul’s first name is James and all, but it’s just weird. I wonder if he called him that often and why and how Paul felt about it.

It’s physically impossible for two people to actually love each other that much and break up. I just. It’s not real. I can’t process it.

The fact that Paul wore a suit again, though, and plays standing. An example of Paul doing what makes him feel good whether it’s cool or not. He feels professional and put together in a suit and standing for the “performance” of these softer songs, so that’s what he’s going to do. I guess Ringo’s in a suit too, and tie. I just didn’t catch it at first because his tie and shirt are such a fun purple.

John focused on Paul for the entire song of “Two of Us” and Paul very purposely avoiding eye-contact. It’s like a much less painful, but still awful, reverse version of the strawberry fields moment.

The silly fake German. Paul’s “Ein Schwein, fille naught rhine.” Reminds me of John’s “Un. Du. Ein schwein hickle pickle” in front of “I Don’t Wanna Face It” which also used a very similar riff to “coming up”. IDK they’re just always talking. Always logging away every little eyelash flutter. Every meaningless thing means something with John and Paul. I know. I realize I’m fully certifiable.

“Are we supposed to giggle in the solo?” “Yeah.”

Paul’s just purposely ruined what’s probably like the five-hundredth take of Let it Be with his drunk uncle voice, and this is George. No matter how much he might want to stay annoyed at them, he never can.

I wonder when exactly John goes from “I think that was rather grand. I’d take one home with me.” on Let it Be to, “Yeah, he was just trying to write another bridge over troubled water. Could’ve been Wings.” When exactly did the meaning (dead mom says not to fight for your relationships) sink in that made him hate the song?

I love that we end on Paul saying, “we’ll do one more.” I love that there’s never a tied-up, clean-cut ending for the Beatles. There’s always a “Her Majesty” tacked on after “The End” to leave room to continue on.

#get back #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #Thanks again everyone for all the support on these :)#40 days from now Paul and Linda get married #48 days until John and Yoko have their turn #232 days until John tells Paul he wants a divorce #434 days until Paul announces that they're over

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the-ace-with-spades · 1 year

Text

I have the urge to write a seven-season-long medical drama, so here is a concept for Top Gun Hospital AU with ER hate-to-love hangster AU that no one asked for.

as a warning: this is a bit incohesive and silly

All the aviators are doctors and all the WSOs are nurses. With the exception of Bradley (but there’s an explanation for it).

Mav — cardiothoracic surgeon; Ice — former neurosurgeon and Chief of Surgery, current Head of Patient and Medical Services (so, entirely admin). I imagine they have the same kind of relationship as House and Cuddy in this, including Ice keeping an entire legal team for Mav’s unconventional practice methods. They've met during med school and had been rivals up until they both finished general surgery residency. Slider is an OR nurse turned anesthesia nurse. Goose was an ER nurse and met Mav during his rotation as a med student and died after an incident in the ER during Mav’s residency (that was the moment he switched from emergency medicine to surgery).

Phoenix — emergency, but she managed the impossible (like Mav) and switched from obgyn residency after the first year (only chose obgyn in the first place because of her mom, a renowned obgyn in Oregon), she's still really passionate about the obgyn field but didn't enjoy the work enough to do it for the rest of her life; Javy — general surgery; Payback — emergency with sub-spec in pediatrics; Friz — respiratory medicine; Omaha — oncology; Yale — ortho surgery.

Bob — a former OBGYN nurse, left because of a toxic work environment, working in the ER six months now, Phoenix's favorite nurse now, duh; Fanboy — started in peds oncology, had to switch because it was too hard on him mentally and is now peds emergency; Halo — started as a palliative care nurse, switched to oncology after a few years; Harvard — OR nurse, switched from general team to ortho

Hangman is the new trauma surgeon starting in their ER. Born and raised on a ranch, was expected to take over the ranch but never wanted to. Thankfully, he had too perfect grades to not send him to college — his parents wanted him to be a vet, which obviously didn’t happen, so he could stay close to the family business. He moved to California for his MD. He has terrible bedside manners with patients and patients’ family, but is surprisingly decent with kids, has lost respect for nurses sometime during his first residency year, and had a terrible case of Ego hit him during his trauma surg fellowship.

Now, about Rooster:

Bradley got into a pre-med program, Mav (who had set up Bradley’s college fund) said he’s not going to pay for it since he doesn’t want Bradley to be a doctor (long hours, lack of work-life balance, burnout, high stress, etc. It was more complicated because Mav still has the Goose trauma). So they had the fallout, Bradley moved out and deferred college to find a way to pay for it and, wanting to gather hospital experience, started working as a CNA in Peds ICU at a children’s hospital which accidentally was having a new CNA intake at the time. He liked it, actually loved it, and started hesitating whether he should continue with pre-med and be like Mav or go for nursing, like his dad. Year after, he got an offer from the hospital that said hey, we’ll fund some of your BSN as long as you work for us while you study and then work for us for another four years after getting your license. So he became a nurse, got certified as peds nurse after working two years in PICU and after another three, switched to the Pediatric Rapid Response Team, where he stayed for another two years before getting a spot as a senior nurse in adult/peds ER in a different hospital.

His relation to Mav and Ice only came to light a few months after the hiring process, as Bradley didn’t even know they worked there when he applied and it’s still a hash-hash topic in the ER. He’s been in the ER for almost three years now and has become an unofficial second-in-command as one of the few with substantial experience.

I imagine he’s definitely one the best nurses you could have as a patient — he’s honest but in an empathetic way, he’s worked in the most demanding environments with the most complex patients (ICU and RRT), he’s skilled and experienced in most procedures. Because he is one of the few male nurses, he’s the one dealing with inappropriate patients, aggressive patients, patients that need restraint, frequent flyers, etc. and he genuinely doesn’t mind — he is the perfect mix of calm and firm that makes him very reliable in most difficult situations. He is absolutely most reassuring and guiding with new stuff, be it new nurses or med students that don’t know what’s happening, and he doesn’t judge. It does help, too, that he was partially raised by two very cocksure surgeons and therefore knows how to deal with doctors that turned a bit too arrogant.

Before I go to the hangster part of this shit, I want y’all to know it all started because I found this Rooster-coded scrubs:

I imagine that he buys most of his scrubs since the work-issued scrubs don’t fit well on men (most unisex ones are very much just female fit stamped with unisex label) and peds nurses can have lots of cute ones so the kids feel less nervous around them

Also, this is a warning that yes, Bradley is trans in this scenario, too, because I said so. It's relevant to a few scenes, I think?? and there's tw for transphobic OC

Now, a bunch of scenarios I can see for this AU:

On the first day at his new workplace, Jake makes a reputation for himself. He confuses Nat, in her hospital-issued scrubs and with her doctor tag clearly on display, for a nurse and literally talks over her in front of a patient. Same thing happens with Billy because he’s Filipino and there is a large number of Filipino nurses everywhere and he’s stereotyping. Then he makes another patient’s parents agitated. This is when he meets Bradley — he takes over to talk to the parents and calm them down before it can escalate, basically shushing Jake out of the room. Jake doesn’t clock he’s a nurse at first — he’s a big, very fit, very well-built, very handsome dude with a questionable mustache who looks comical in a pastel pink scrub top with a teddy bear pattern and a matching headband on his forehead, but also the sheer shock of how different to all the nurses he looks gives Jake a pause — so he doesn’t say anything even if it pisses him off a nurse just forced him out of the room.

It starts innocently with Bradley though — Bradley comes up and asks, “Jake, can you put the narcotics order into the system for Lily?” and Jake scoffs and corrects, “Doctor,” tapping his full tag with Dr. Jacob Seresin.

Bradley, as the nurse’s tag says, raises an eyebrow and says, “Doctor Jake, can you put the narcotics order for Lily?” Natasha, standing behind him, snorts. Jake doesn’t even have the time to tell him off because he’s already gone when his brain processes.

Natasha drops off a patient on him — a taxi driver who had a stroke while driving and had been in a car accident, that had been thrombolysed but might need emergency surgery because of a suspected GI bleed. He’s stable, so they're going to check if he can be admitted to neurosurg and wait for his turn there or if Jake will need to take over before that.

Bradley hands him a tablet the minute he walks into the room.

“What’s that?”

“Results,” he supplies before going back to setting up an oxygen cylinder at the bottom of the bed.

“I didn’t order that,” he notes. The blood and urine panels are what he would order with suspected operable GI bleed but he’s barely looked at the patient’s case before he walked in there.

“I did,” Bradley tells him as he switches the oxygen from the wall socket to the tank supply. “Faster this way.”

“No,” Jake says, blood boiling. “You do exactly what I tell you to do and only that.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, high on her forehead. Bradley doesn’t hesitate — waves on Bob from behind the glass wall and they both grab each side of the bed.

“I supposed you want to put the CT order yourself then,” Bradley says as Bob takes the small back monitor and attaches it to the frame. He steps on the bed brake and rolls out the bed, straight into Jake and Nat, fast enough that he moves out of the way on instinct. “Better do it fast because it’s free now and I’m going.” *

“Did you see that? Who the heck does he think he is?” Jake asks Nat.

“Better put that CT scan order,” is all Natasha replies as she walks away.

It’s Reuben’s patient, an eleven years old boy with blunt trauma, and Jake makes a verbal order to Bradshaw, who is the boy’s nurse. “I understand but I think that—” and Jake goes, “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

The whole room gets quiet and everyone looks to him — Reuben, Mickey, and the technician are wide-eyed.

Bradley just says, “Alright,” in a perfectly leveled voice and leaves the room.

Mickey is not making eye contact as he quips under his nose, on his way out of the room, “You do realize he basically runs this ER, right? You’re making your life a lot harder.”

Jake orders IV fluids for one of his patients which is also in Rooster’s section that day and he bleeps the order info to Rooster. Fifteen minutes later he sees that it hasn’t been filled and is like, hah, I knew there is a reason I hate that guy. Finds him when he passes Jake in the corridor and is like, “I want you to start the IV for room 7. Now,” and Rooster just tells him, “No, do it yourself or find someone else.”

They have a little back and forth as Jake follows him down the corridor which ends with another, “No.”

There’s still no charge nurse in the ER (she’s on medical leave that will most likely end with her leaving employment, from what Jake gathers) so he makes a datix and the ER nurse manager (Warlock) following up is apprehensive because obviously, he knows Bradley, and hears about what actually happened — Bradley was getting an igel for a toddler from the peds side and deemed it more important than starting a bag of saline to bust someone's blood pressure.

Jake feels like an idiot.

Jake and Reuben are charting next to each other and Reuben gets bleeped his patient’s lab results. Jake, who is also waiting for lab results, complains about how he sent a pod to the lab before Reuben. Reuben just gives him a look and says, “Yeah, that’s because I asked Bradley to put my request in.”

And Jake is like, “What does he have to do with anything?”

Reuben looks at him like he’s dumb and says, “He has more sway with the lab,” and walks away with his tablet.

Javy is doing a consult for Nat and stops to chat to Jake (they know each other from residency days) and Bradley comes by and says, “Maggie’s becoming hypotensive again,” and Javy observes as Jake looks at the nurse that came, gives him a very long, very detailed look and licks his lips.

He manages to think Oh before Jake asks, “Maggie?”

The nurse looks seconds from rolling his eyes. “Mrs. Lawrence? Room 5?”

“That's Margaret.”

“She prefers Maggie.”

And it goes on, with Jake standing there rigid, puffing up his chest and cocking his hip out. “Did you start the fluids?”

“Finshed already.”

“Start another bag.”

The nurse looks unimpressed and instead of confirming says, slowly, like he’s talking to a child, “Her fluid balance is positive. She’s usually on pressors.” Jake’s face gets red and he goes, “Then put an order for her.”

It’s kind of funny to observe and to be fair, the nurse does give Jake a minute to go over what he said, leaning his elbow on the counter, eyebrows raised, before he points out, in that damn slow, unimpressed tone, “I can't put orders for things like pressors."

He hands Jake the closest tablet and starts walking away.

Jake calls after him. "What, you're not even going to draft it for me?"

He doesn't even turn around and Javy is silently shaking from the laughter he's holding in, "I thought I wasn't allowed to do that, doctor."

Mav comes down to the ER to talk to Rooster on a slower day — about how they’re about to sponsor a new CRNA for the cardiothoracic surg unit and maybe he could put a good word for their development team for Bradley and yada yada.

It happens like that: Mav comes down, Bradley is charting next to the monitors station, Jake is going over a scan on the opposite side when The Dr. Mitchell himself comes down and stops next to Bradley. He gives Bradley and his pink Paw Patrol scrubs a look and clears his throat a couple of times before Bradley raises his gaze toward him, turning away a second later and ignoring him again.

Jake is freaking out — this is The Dr. Mitchell and one of the reasons Jake wanted to work in this exact hospital, along with the rumored to-be-announced cardiothoracic surg fellowship under Dr. Mitchell he had his eyes on. He’s been thinking about how to make contact with Dr. Mitchell since he started in the ER and here he is, telling unresponsive Bradshaw, “I heard you’re looking to go back for your Master’s in the near future.” Bradshaw doesn’t say anything and Dr. Mitchell adds, “We have a CRNA development spot for—” and Bradley tells him, not turning away from the screen, “I’m not an OR nurse,” and then taps his card on the computer’s reader to log out and walks away.

Dr. Mitchell is a fucking legend, a VIP of this hospital, so Jake just stands there, contemplating how the heck Bradshaw could do that and hears him mumbling under his breath, “Really slick, Mav,” and jumps on the opportunity to say, “I’ll be talking to his supervisor about this, his attitude is unacceptable, Dr. Mitchell.”

And Dr. Mitchell turns to him, raises an eyebrow and asks, “Excuse me?”

“The nurse you were talking to. He might be senior in here but his attitude’s been horrible and I’ll personally step in. This won’t happen again.”

Dr. Mitchell gives him a look before slowly saying, “I suggest you mind your own business, Dr. Seresin,” and walks away.

Nat is silently laughing a few feet away and Jake asks her what’s so funny. His heart dead-ass stops when she says, “You do know Dr. Mitchell is Bradley’s dad, right? They might not be on the best of terms but that’s still his son.” And Jake has the urge to bang his head on the keyboard in front of him.

TW for transphobia.

There’s a new nurse practitioner to be (graduated, about to get her cert) that's rumored to be a candidate for the charge nurse position. Izzy. She’s quite young for that, younger than Bradley for sure, must have barely worked in the clinical area before going for her Master’s. Jake doesn’t know if it’s on purpose but the nurse manager and Bradley keep on putting her in his section.

She’s—well, she’s a bit too in his face. She agrees with everything Jake says and doesn’t roll his eyes at him, which is boring, and she’s, for an NP, not that knowledgeable. She doesn’t argue with him, which is a change, and Jake starts to hate it after about five hours. Her voice is saccharine sweet, she keeps on standing a bit too close to him at all times, and she’s decent with patients, but she keeps on asking him about the smallest of things.

Jake’s section is less busy, usually, since he deals primarily with trauma in the ER, but she never bounces off to help others when she is free, like Bradley did. She’s clinging to his section, a little bit, and he doesn’t get why. It’s not like he is any nicer to her than to Bradley or any other nurse.

She is busy taking bloods and Bradley finds him when he has a second alone, finally, and enlightens him about why.

“If you don’t believe me, you can just ask any other nurse. Everyone noticed.”

“If you really think that then why do you keep putting her in my sections?”

“I don’t. She’s senior as an NP, she’s taken over allocation from me now.”

Jake’s mind only focuses on one detail. “You were allocating yourself to my sections?”

“Only because no one wants to work with you and because I’m actually certified in trauma.” That makes sense. It’s not like Bradley would work with him voluntarily. “Look, all I’m saying, you watch out — you fool around with her and then reject her and she’s going to HR. I know the type.”

“The type?”

“You know, the girl that thought she’ll become a nurse, snag a rich doctor and never work again? Well, it’s not always women, there are guys who do that too, but in this case, she’s very much the type.”

“And you think she’s trying to—snag me?”

“She’s certainly not going after the residents that are getting paid twelve bucks an hour or Reuben who is married,” he points out. Which, again, fair, even if he didn’t know Reuben is married prior to this strange conversation.

Jake stares at him, processing, until he blurts out, “I’m gay.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Bradley says after a second, eyes barely noticeably a bit wider, before he walks away.

“Was he bothering you, doctor?”

She calls him doctor, always, and it honestly makes him grit his teeth. Now even more. He’s got a bad feeling about it.

It gets confirmed later when Jake is taking care of a six-year-old girl who had fallen down the stairs. She’s dehydrated and Izzy’s just tried to put a cannula on her three times before Jake told her to grab the bedside ultrasound and not make the girl cry even more.

Bradley passes by the room and Jake’s learned that he can’t leave a distressed child alone, so he comes in and gets the parents and the girl relaxed. He’s about to go in and tell him to leave it alone until Izzy brings the ultrasound when Nat grabs him by the arm and tells him, “He was in a Rapid Response Team, I’m pretty sure he can put a cannula in blind. Just let him do it.”

And he does let him. Watches, expecting the girl to burst into tears at any moment but she never does. Bradley’s literally been in the room for less than ten minutes and it’s all back to calmness.

Izzy comes back with the ultrasound. It should not have taken her so long to grab it. “What is he doing there? That's my patient.”

"He said he can put the IV line without the ultrasound.” Well, Nat said so. Jake can’t believe he’s saying but, “He’s a peds nurse, he’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure the girl's parents wouldn’t want him anywhere near her.”

This sets alarm bells in Jake’s head. “What do you mean?”

"People like him shouldn't be around kids," she says, to his horror. She leans in, way closer than needed, and conspiringly whispers, "Dr. Seresin, haven't you known that he is, you know, a she in disguise?"

He’s dumbstruck. "I'm sorry?"

"He's actually a woman, just pretending to be a man because he's mentally—You're the doctor, I'm sure you know better than I how the brains of people like them work. He shouldn't be around that girl, is what I'm saying. I certainly wouldn't like him around my child, if I had one."

Jake didn’t know this about Bradley but he understands what she means, even with how awful she is about it. This, however, should not be a piece of information thrown around in public if Bradley didn't wish to disclose it, and certainly not in such a manner. "And how do you know that, exactly?"

"Nurses share a locker room, it's not hard to notice how she, you know, mutilated herself."

Jake doesn’t say anything out loud but mentally he is preparing datix report in his head. He catches the ER’s nurse manager before he goes home, too, because that’s some shit he doesn’t stand for. He might be an asshole but he’s not a bigot.

Next time he comes to work, Bradley is back in his section and Izzy is no longer employed.

“Thanks,” Bradley says, when they’re at the station, next to each other, in a relatively slow moment. “If I went on my own, we’d have a weeks-long investigation that would probably end with her or me moving to a different unit.”

“She said this shit to your face?”

“Kept calling me she in front of patients,” Bradley admits after a moment. “I think most of them thought they misheard but—I knew.”

“Well, good riddance then.”

Bradley snorts, but he’s looking down at the tablet in his hands, smiling, and wow, the apples of his cheeks are so round and his eyes so bright and Jake can't breathe for a second.

---

(there might be a second part coming because I meant seven-season-long medical drama literally-- including Jake realizing he's an idiot, Mavdad drama, Jake having his hands inside Bradley (in the literal, surgical sense) and jealousy that could rival the McDreamy/Dr. Grey drama)

#this is unrealistic b/c its a med soap drama-like #not the actual chaos of er-like #as in med nonsense to be precise #also I don't know how american ers work #ive talked to a trauma surgeon twice in my life so sorry #i’ve mostly written it while trying to stay awake in the break room at 2am or to not fall asleep on the bus home #still having cluster headaches btw we're just too short-staffed to not go to work even if I have to sit out for an hour in the break room #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #hangster #icemav mention #tgm #tgm au #trans bradley rooster bradshaw #<< im going to fill that tag even if it takes me years #op #charlie writes #hangster hospital au

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johngaiussimp · 2 years

Text

Locked Tomb UQuiz Masterpost!

Hellllooooo. I make a lot of uquizzes on Twitter for fun. i post/make them at various levels of seriousness, so they are mostly the farthest thing from professional and pretty horny and silly.* But if you want to take a bunch of locked tomb personality quizzes made by a silly nerd, here’s a list from over the years!

Every quiz is probably NSFW lol. More recent ones have Nona spoilers (at the bottom of list)

There are also other quizzes that are by other amazing people, take their quizzes too (too stoned to figure out how to find all those) (if you want to reblog with your own quizzes pls do so)

here you gooooooo.

Which Ianthe vibe are you?

Which Griddlehark quote/moment are you?

Which goth Harrow nickname are you?

Which name does Harrowhark Nonagesimus call you?

How fucked up are you? (based on a very specific TLT measurement)

Which hilarious Mercymorn insult are you?

What does your TLT House say about you as a lover?

What sexy Cytherea moment are you?

What TLT meme are you?

Which article of Harrowhark’s clothing are you?

What type of cavalier are you?

How quickly would you die in Canaan House?

What does Ianthe call you?

Which TLT woman are you going on a hot date with?

Which Third House au plot point are you?

Which Ninth House feature/element are you?

Which fake TLT academic journal title are you?

What makkachinning Griddlehark AU are you?

Answer would you rather questions and get assigned a TLT wife!

How well do you know Ianthe Tridentarius?

Analyze this Gideon and Ianthe banter scene and I’ll guess your astrological sign incorrectly.

Choose your own adventure TLT au (which original Lyctor are you?)

Which piece of TLT underwear are you?

Answer FMK - get assigned a strange TLT au of my own creation.

Which cursed TWT fan TLT moment are you (would you rather)

Which certified TLT stoner are you?

Answer some Qs and get assigned a TLT hottie and a Taylor Swift song

Which BOE prisoner are you from “As yet Unsent”

Which brat Ianthe moment /emoji are u???

How long could you stay married with Ianthe?

Which false homestuck reference in TLT are you?

Match a reaction image to TLT characters and get assigned a TLT ex-gf

Which TLT cat are you?

Which form of Alecto are you going to date?

What interpretation of Mercymorn’s drawing of a RB are you?

What is your TLT toxic trait (character edition)?

What is your TLT love language?

What is your job during the Great Jizz Heist?

What’s your toxic tlt trait (fandom edition)?

Top, bottom or switch, TLT edition

Which arcane x tlt ship are you?

Which line from the Nona book summary are you?

who is your TLT secret santa and what do they get you?

R u hole or slick or knot? decorate a christmas tree.

What Tor nona cover promotion tweet are you?

What Nona cover detail are you?

Which horny TLT moment are you?

Who is your TLT one night stand?

Who in Bridgerton are you? (TLT x bridgerton )

which Locked Tomb villain are you?

What kind of ass would Ianthe flesh magic onto you?

Whose strap are you []ing tonight?

Who is your 2022 TLT pride crew?

Are you top bottom or switch (nona edition)?

Which name does Pyrrha call you?

*Please note that these quizzes are made by a freak who is friends with freaks and doesn’t fuck with trying to police other ppls shipping choices lmao.

#the locked tomb #TLT #gideon the ninth #nona the ninth #harrow the ninth #yeah i know these are all unhinged. u dont have to take them dw

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shootybangbang · 6 months

Text

The Upsides of Property Damage [Part 4/5]

Authored by @verai-marcel and @shootybangbang

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Mature

[Content Advisory]: light D/S undertones

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

[Author's Note]: Thank you guys so, so much for your patience, and so sorry for the delay! Most of chapter 5 has been completed and should be out soon. If you want to be notified when that comes out, go ahead and leave a comment down below and I'll make a taglist or something.

--------

The maintenance request form states: [Please give a brief description of the problem.]

for the past few days i've been so fixated on fucking the maintenance man that i've been having difficulty accomplishing basic tasks because every time i try to concentrate on anything even remotely meaningful all i can think about is him saying "maybe you just enjoy my company" and if this keeps up i'm fairly certain that i'm going to actually get fired from my job so clearly i need to either get laid or get evicted

This statement makes you look certifiably insane. It’s not even a request– it’s a confession . Sending this would be tantamount to seating yourself beside the grated window of a church booth and asking its captive priest whether he’d prefer you spit or swallow.

More importantly, it also exceeds the text box’s 250 character limit. You rapidly tap the delete key until the entire obscene paragraph disappears. Then you try again.

broken cabinet.

Hmm. Lacks an element of genuine contrition.

broken cabinet. sorry. :’(

[Your service request has been logged. Please allow up to one standard business day for a response.]

You glance at the time displayed on the microwave’s grease-spattered screen. 4:36PM. Morgan’s probably already packed up for the day– and taking normal operating hours into account, the earliest he could possibly show up tomorrow would be 9AM… which gives you at least sixteen hours to emotionally prepare yourself to confront him.

Morosely, you drag yourself out of your kitchen chair to pour yourself a glass of sparkling water. So this is what I’ve sunk to . Using service requests as a means of personal summons for the hot repairman. Pathetic. Shameful. And 100% necessary for the preservation of your sanity.

How many times have you pictured it now? Morgan, cornering you against the wall and wrapping his hand around your jaw… Or maybe , he’d rumble, caressing your lower lip with his thumb. You just enjoy my company . Then he’d fuck you silly, of course, in a series of lurid positions that grow increasingly obscene with each imagining.

And how many times have you pictured its inverse? Morgan, backing away in response to your hypothetical advance, his face contorted with faint disgust as he asks, “You know I was just joking, right?” Following which you’d get written up for sexual harassment by the leasing office and put on… housing probation, or something.

Being humiliated, you can handle. Albeit not very well— but you’re usually able to stay at least semi-functional. The same goes for flirtation. It’s this hopeless vacillation between the two possibilities that drives you out of your mind. Schrodinger’s boner: simultaneously fucked and unfucked. And like that quantum superposition, you’ve been plunged into a private hell of uncertainty until your reality can settle definitively on one or the other.

This has been predictably bad for your job performance. Earlier today, you’d accidentally deleted two entire spreadsheets of data whilst lost in competing visions of fornication and abject rejection, and then constructed a pivot table so incomprehensible that one of your colleagues had personally reached out to ask whether you’d recently experienced head trauma.

God. At this point, you really have no choice but to put the question to him directly. Plain and simple. Just a quick “are you hitting on me” and it’ll all be–

Your thoughts are interrupted by an urgent knock at the door.

Huh. Looks like Defying Your Blue Collar Dom is getting delivered a day early? It’s unusual for Amazon to leave packages at your doorstep instead of in the lobby, but it does happen, so…

…Oh.

It’s Morgan. What the fuck.

“But you were supposed to come tomorrow ,” you blurt, eyes wide with panic.

“That so?” Morgan asks, one eyebrow raised. He glances sidelong to the empty hallway, and shifts his weight uneasily from one leg to the other. With a shrug, he squares up his shoulders and turns back towards the stairwell. “Later, then.”

Shit. This is all going wrong. “No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I– I, uh…I’m… ”

He allows your stammer to run its course into awkward silence. Then the corner of his mouth angles upwards in a sly smile and he asks, “Or d’you need a minute to put away anything else your ‘friend’ mighta left out? I can wait.”

Somewhere in the realm of missed quips, there probably exists a clever response to this. Somewhere that is decidedly not here. “No,” you reply in a small, pained voice. “She, uh– she hasn’t been around, so… y’know…”

The sentence unspools like loose yarn. Jesus Christ, this is stupid.

“You alright?” Morgan asks, frowning down at you from where he stands. “You ain’t normally this incoherent.”

His comment implies that you’ve been operating thus far on an existing, baseline level of incoherence. Biting back the urge to query exactly what that looks like, you reply with a clipped, terse, “I’m fine.”

As you lead him towards your kitchen, you nearly trip over the half-packed suitcase parked beside the door. At this, Morgan again voices his concern. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this on edge before. Something botherin’ you?”

Yes , you think to yourself. My libido.

“Or is it some one that’s botherin’ you?”

He says the words with such a darkly implicative undertone that you actually turn around to stare at him, disarmed by the sudden shift. The warmth in his eyes has gone out like a blown candle. “Is it one of the other maintenance men?” he asks, and the whisper of lethality in his countenance surfaces so quickly that it speaks to a kind of practiced efficiency.

A mingled thrill of fear and intrigue runs up your spine, and you swallow hard.

“If one of ‘em’s harassin’ you— if anyone’s harassin’ you…” he says these words with slow deliberation, while curling his free hand into a fist, thumb tucked over his folded fingers in that characteristic manner of boxers and street brawlers alike, and god if he were anyone else you’d likely be shrinking against the wall in terror right now. “Then you come tell me. And I’ll handle it.”

You have a sneaking suspicion that his method of conflict resolution involves grievous bodily injury. “Nobody’s bothering me,” you reply. Then, because he still looks vaguely homicidal, you follow up quickly with, “Just had an off day.”

This placates him somewhat. The tension diminishes like a rope going slack, and you realize with a hot pang of humiliation that your underwear is slick with arousal.

It’s not until he’s crouched in front of your broken cabinet, which stands ajar with its wooden door peaked at a 45 degree angle, that you finally work up the nerve to confront him. “So. Morgan.” You lean against the edge of your kitchen countertop like the faux marble might offer you emotional support. “There’s, uh. Something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

He’s sorting through his tool kit and doesn’t lift his head. Picks through an array of silver chiseled pieces so deftly that you can’t help but wonder what else those hands might be clever at. “Yeah?’ he asks, selecting a screwdriver head. He slips it into the drill chuck, twisting it tight.

“Are you, um…”

Fuck. You can’t say it. Your mouth literally refuses to shape itself to the words. Instead, you hear yourself ask, “Are you thirsty? You want some seltzer?”

Morgan blinks, then turns to you looking predictably baffled. “That’s… what you’ve been wantin’ to ask me? Whether or not I’m thirsty?”

“Yes,” you reply weakly.

For once, it’s him who’s been caught off guard. “I– uh. Sure, I guess.”

He takes his drill and begins to remove the damaged hinge. Taking the door leaf and flipping it this way and that, he examines the damage.

The crack of aluminum when you pull back the can’s metal tab and the responding fizz of compressed air sounds a little like a rebuke. Scathingly, it hisses: what the hell are you doing?

I have no idea , you admit, pouring the can of sparkling water into a clean glass. You pass it over to Morgan after he presses the trigger on the drill twice and sets it on the countertop. He gulps down an absent mouthful, then immediately stands up to spit it in your sink.

Oh. He hates it.

Your voice is thin as a reed. “I guess you’re not a fan of sparkling grapefruit, huh?”

“It’s…” With the duty-bound reluctance of a dog given a loathed order, he takes another, tentative sip, and forces himself to swallow. “It’s fine.”

It is clearly not fine. “Do you, uh. Do you want a beer?”

“What, you encouragin’ me to drink on the job?”

You open the fridge. Good god, you might as well partake too. It’s not like you’re in any state to get any work done, stuck as you are in this miserable limbo . “In any case, I’m gonna have one. And I’m still on the clock.”

“Alright.” He sounds like he’s smiling. “So long as you’re complicit, why not?”

You end up downing half a bottle of 8% oatmeal stout in about three sips, then stand around blankly waiting for the roil of anxiety to abate. You’d attempt the precarious endeavor of small talk were it not for the fact that the only thing you can think of right now is “grapefruit”. Not the concept of grapefruit. Just the word “grapefruit”. This must be how computers feel when they spit out the same, continuous error message.

Mercifully, he intervenes. “You goin’ on vacation somewhere? Saw that suitcase by your door.”

“Catsitting,” you say.

“’…s’cuse me?”

“Catsitting. Like… babysitting. But for a cat,” you explain. “My friend’s going to Vegas the day after tomorrow, and her cat has anxiety.”

“Cats can get anxiety?”

“This cat takes cat Xanax . His name is Sebastian, and he’s the most neurotic animal I’ve ever met.”

Morgan asks, “Yourself included?”

You make a noise that bears no resemblance to any word in the English language.

He chuckles. “Well, go on, tell me how neurotic he is.”

Thank fucking christ, the alcohol is finally beginning to course its way through your blood. Your tongue loosens enough to tell him how poor Sebastian had spent nearly an entire day curled up under your friend’s bed the first time you’d tried to take care of him, how you’d ended up driving to the grocery on a Sunday morning to scour the shelves for the most pungent can of sardines they had in stock, and how only then , with the room saturated in fish fumes, had the cat finally dragged itself out of the boxspring to nose curiously at your offering.

Morgan laughs. A good sign, you think. “That’s nothin’,” he says, and describes to you his boss’ cat: a purebred white Persian appropriately dubbed “The Count”, so thoroughly spoiled that she won’t eat the same meal twice in a row.

You snort at the image of a prissy little fluff ball turning her nose at a gourmet cat meal.

“Though it’s funny, I never took you for a cat person,” he says.

“No?”

“Figured you’d prefer snails.”

“Look, snails… snails are…” This is a sentence you started with absolutely no knowledge of how it should end. “I like snails,” you say lamely.

“Oh yeah? Think I remember somethin’ else that you like.” He puts his hand around his jaw and pretends to look thoughtful. “What was that book called again? Somethin’ about… bein’ punished by blue collar doms?”

“I’m sure that my friend who left her book on blue collar doms here very much enjoys them, if that’s what you’re referencing.”

He merely chuckles indulgently as he continues to fix the cabinet. You watch his muscles flex under his shirt as he drills new holes into the wood and sets the new hinge in place. As he works the power tool with a soft grunt, you find yourself idly wondering if he’d make the same sound as he drills you —

“Y’know,” he comments, stepping back as he tests the alignment of the door. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is the most work I’ve ever had to do for a single apartment, barring natural disasters.”

“Wow. Comparing a girl to a natural disaster. Are you this charming with all the tenants, Mr Morgan?”

“You gonna be jealous if I say ‘yes’?”

The alcohol makes you honest. “Extremely.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He grabs the edge of the kitchen counter and hauls himself back to his feet. “If this is the amount of property damage you cause normally, then I’d hate to see you angry.”

He takes another step forward. You take a step back reflexively, but find yourself pressed against the wall. He leans his forearm against the drywall and he’s close enough now that you can smell sweat and machine oil. Your heart beats hard in your chest.

For once you’re lost for words. No quip comes to mind, for your brain is emitting sparks. “I, uh– I’m not–”

“You’re not what, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” you say weakly.

He raises his hand to your jaw, tips your chin up with two fingers. “The answer’s ‘no’, by the way,” he says quietly. “It’s just you.”

Morgan looks like he’s going to kiss you. The expression on his face is softer than you’ve ever seen it, all his gruffness melted away. You tentatively tug at the fabric of his jumpsuit and stand on your toes to–

But he puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you back down. “Goddamn,” he says, frowning. “You’re really red.”

Huh. What.

“Listen, I ain’t one for takin’ advantage of drunks, even if they got themselves into this mess.” He picks you up as if you weigh nothing at all and sets you down on the couch. “Now, I’m goin’ to get you some water, and yer goin’ to sit here and sober up while I finish this cabinet. Alright?”

“I’m not even that drunk,” you protest loudly.

“Yer about the color of a fire hydrant right now.”

When you press the back of your hand to your cheeks and forehead, your skin feels feverish. Begrudgingly, you sink down into your couch cushions and cross your arms.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, patting your head affectionately.

***

You slouch on your friend’s comfy couch with Sebastian sitting regally in your lap as if you were his loyal subject.

“Hey Sebastian, I think I did something really stupid.”

Sebastian stretches and yawns.

“I hit on the maintenance man.”

He meows. It sounds almost disapproving. Even the cat is judging you.

“It gets worse.” You loll your chin downwards until it touches your chest. “I was sloppy drunk.”

Sebastian tilts his head at you and blinks.

“Okay, one bottle drunk.”

He sniffs haughtily.

“Right? Pathetic, I know.” You move to pick up Sebastian, but he begins to arch his back and you stop, leaning back against the cushions again. He relaxes and maintains his regal position.

“Well, maybe YouTube will keep my mind off him for the next two days…”

***

You return from your friend’s place, having used her cat and your friend’s YouTube Premium as your therapy sessions. You feel better about things now, and life should return to normal. Right?

The washer’s inner mechanism gives a promising rattle as it swallows your last six quarters. There’s a low rumble of moving parts, the click of something slotting into place— and then silence. The drum of the machine sits sedately in place. Your dirty clothes sit inside in a quiet, unsoaked heap.

“Son of a bitch,” you mutter under your breath.

You try out a couple different methods: Turn the knobs to various settings without success. Jiggle the handle to try and unlock the washer door. Yell at the machine, call it a worthless piece of shit.

But where discourse fails, violence often prevails. It’s a lesson that has offered a decent measure of success in your dealings with vending machines, keurigs, and lawnmowers. So it’s not merely anger that guides you to kick the washer. No, this is… this is a strategic use of force.

The first kick yields no results. The second kick produces an interesting sputter. Perhaps , you reason, a more precise method is needed here . You raise your fist.

Before you can punch the machine, someone grabs you by the wrist.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Morgan asks, exasperated.

“Laundry,” you answer matter-of-factly.

“What part of laundry involves fightin’ inanimate objects?”

“The part where I get this piece of shit to finally work.” You attempt to give the washer a last parting shot out of pure anti-machine sentiment with your other hand.

Before you can continue to perform percussive maintenance, he grabs your other wrist too.

You tug on both your arms, but he is ridiculously solid; it’s like trying to break free of handcuffs.

Of course my mind goes there.

Looking up at him, he’s realizing at the same time as you of how suggestive this looks. His eyes widen a bit, and you take that as a look of surprise and embarrassment. Yet neither of you moves for a full minute.

“Well,” you say finally. “Are you gonna let me go? Or are you gonna make me submit?”

His eyes narrow for a moment before a smirk slowly grows on his face. “Sounds like that’s what you want.”

He pulls you away from the machine and instead pushes you up against the closest wall. You can feel the heat of his body through the thin linen of your sundress. He traps your wrists against the cold surface and presses his whole body against yours.

“Mr Morgan—”

“It’s Arthur,” he interrupts. “Call me Arthur.”

You whisper his name, beckoning. His expression darkens ever so slightly as his desire for you manifests in a slight twitch of his lips, a crinkling of his brow.

Then he kisses you hard, his tongue lashing against yours before lightly nipping your bottom lip. When he pulls back, his lips are wet and his pupils are blown out with desire.

Letting go of your wrists, he reaches for the hem of your sundress and hikes it up, his calloused hands stroking upwards from your thighs to your hips. He shifts his knee between your legs and nudges them apart before grinding against you. You can feel how hard he is, how big he is, and you moan softly. Burying his head between your neck and shoulder, he begins to suck on the delicate skin there—

The door creaks open. Mrs. Smith, the septuagenarian from down the hall, walks into the doorway with a hamper of laundry in her arms, then pauses when she sees the two of you.

For a second, everyone stands tense and still as participants in a shootout.

“Well,” Mrs. Smith says mildly. She doesn’t look surprised or scandalized. If anything, she looks mildly entertained. “I can see you two are busy. I’ll come back in an hour or so—”

“No! It’s fine,” you say before laughing nervously. You yank your skirt back down. Arthur immediately releases you and begins intensely inspecting the washing machine. “I was actually just leaving. This, uh, this machine’s broken.”

Morgan’s face is red as he makes a noise of confirmation and nods.

“That certainly seemed a novel means of repair,” Mrs. Smith says. The smile on her face is benign, but knowing.

“Anyway!” You pick up your empty laundry basket. “I really must get back. I have a…that is, I… I think I left my oven on.”

You barrel out the door, nearly knocking Mrs. Smith over in your escape. You run down three flights of stairs and into your apartment, slamming the door shut. Marching to your couch, you put a pillow over your face and scream .

***

Watching her leave, Arthur stands in shock at first, then glances over at Mrs. Smith and turns himself towards one of the washing machines, examining it with great focus.

A soft chuckle reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at the old lady, steadily pulling out one piece of laundry at a time from another machine. Under the pretense of examining all the machines, he notes that she also slowly and methodically loads the dryer.

“You should just go after her,” she says quietly, throwing a pair of large pink underpants into the dryer. “She’s a nice one, that girl.”

Arthur can only mutter, “I got work to do.”

“Come now, we both know that’s a lie.”

He sighs. It’s bad enough that John is on his case, but now 705 is giving him grief.

“Do you like her?”

He’s silent. He does not want to be having this conversation.

“Because a girl as pretty as her…”

“I know, I know,” Arthur grumbles. “I’m goin’.”

As he walks past her, Mrs. Smith grins knowingly.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #fic #modern au #verai-marcel #upsides of property damage

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fornshinoyaz · 9 months

Text

HOW TO: LOSE FEELINGS FOR AN IDIOT

03. HOW TO: BREATHE WHEN HE'S AROUND

series masterlist | previous | next chapter

wc: 4.5k

how to lose feelings for a CERTIFIED, government approved idiot. it should be easy right? wrong. you are absolutely, positively, done for. you have no idea why you’re writing the guide book when you can’t even get past the first step! first step, the only important step really: don’t have your best friend be kei tsukishima. then maybe, just maybe, you’d have a chance.

Something changed between you and Kei Tsukishima. You knew life wasn't static. Change was apart of life. The same way grief, pain, and happiness were too. You were constantly growing and becoming a better version of yourself. Growth was normal for you, but not really for him.

He was a rock. Forever steady, there when you needed him. You were lucky enough to see his past beliefs shake and twist, but Tsukishima himself never changed. Even during your first fight. It was so stupid. You both were stubborn middle school students (the same today, but don't tell). That fight should've broken your friendship.

But it didn't.

Your bond was unbreakable.

Things changed when you left high school. He joined university level volleyball. He had less time for things, you included. Things became absolutely fucked when he got a girlfriend who he (spoilers) also didn't have time for.

Change was normal, but not like this.

You didn't hate it. It wasn’t something you needed to fix; it wasn’t a problem. But you weren’t sure what to do about it. Ignore it? Let it happen? But you couldn't help but sit in your bed and wonder why you weren't rushing to do go after the man who had stolen your heart years ago. Was this not what you longed for years ago?

It was. It is.

But maybe you didn't want to change either.

You don't know what possess you. A demon, a ghost, a space-demon-ghost. You have work tomorrow, and you plan on taking pictures for your photography page. By any metric, you should be asleep right now. It's past midnight. How often was he up past midnight? You tap your fingers together, an anxious habit.

Fuck it.

You call him.

This is silly. This is your best friend of how many years now? Why are you nervous, and sweaty, and oh my god - why is that you can't breathe? Do they make How-To Guides on breathing? Of course they don't. Why would they? You begged your brain to just shut the fuck up.

You fully expect the ring to go on and on, until inevitability you hear his voicemail; "Go away, I don't want to talk to you." and then click. He picks up after the second ring. You blink at your phone and re-check the screen. Maybe you were hallucinating -

"Hello?" His voice is scratchy and deep.

You shiver. "Tsukki?"

"Hm?"

Silence.

"Did you call me to just sit in silence?"

Silence.

"I'm hanging up-"

You jolt upwards in your bed. "Wait, dickhead. I just - didn't know you would pick up."

Now it's his turn to be silent. But you know Tsukki, embarrassment didn't exist to him. He's thinking. You imagine what he looks like. Laying in his bed, or maybe sitting at his desk reading a book. If he's laying down, his glasses are off, maybe his hair is a little messy. You've seen it once or twice, the fluff he wakes up to.

It made you dream of waking up next to him.

"Cool. I picked up. What do you want?"

You swallow. You have no excuse, no reason. You just want to hear him talk.

"Read me a bedtime story?"

"How fucking old are you? Seriously, Y/N. How old."

"You didn't say no."

He sighs on the other line, then shuffles. "I hate you."

He tells you a story. Then another, and then one after that. Your bright screen says two hours the next you look at it. He hates long phone calls.

Yet, he stays.

The bed time stories end, and you might be delirious. It's past two a.m., maybe almost three. What comes out your mouth is no longer your own words, but whatever demons are awake right now.

"Do you believe in the universe?" You ask, voice quiet. A small yawn follows you.

He scoffs, “No, I don’t believe in the fucking universe. Are you high?”

You sigh, and manage to turn in your bed to look up at your ceiling. The low sounds of the city laid outside your windows, but the tall buildings never made seeing the stars easy. So, instead, you put the stars where you could always see them. The stars are there, and in the corner of your eye - the moonlight.

“I think I do. I think that…some things are just, made for you, y’know?”

“No.”

You shake your head, “you don’t believe in anything.”

“No,” he denied swiftly, “I believe in what’s real. Like you and me.”

Your breath stops. You hope he can’t hear that.

“Yeah, me and you."

It sounds too good to be true.

Something else real? You love breaking your own heart.

You fake a yawn this time, "Wow, it's getting late. I think I gotta cut this short. My fish probably needs a walk or something. It’s suffocating in its tiny bowl, I swear.”

A chuckle crackles through the line, a sound you’d come to recognize well. “You’re such a loser."

“You're a bigger one. Bye Tsukki.” you say, and you move back over to your side. Your eyes trace over his contact photo.

“Bye, Y/N.”

The phone clicks. You call him the next day, and he answers.

"Is this gonna be a habit?"

You're in your living room (sort of? also your bedroom, studio apartment things), flickering through the pictures you had taken today. Only thing left was to edit them and post them to your site.

"You don't wanna hear about my day?" you ask.

"Not particularly."

"Bye then-"

He cuts you off.

"Okay, okay. Tell me."

You smile. You grab onto your phone and bring it closer.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Things were definitely changing. It was more than a phone call or two. At first, it was subtle. A gaze held longer than it needed to be, a touch that he should’ve pulled away from.

The next Saturday night found you in Tsukki’s living room, surrounded by your friends in a life-or-death situation. Monopoly. Everyone in the room knew you were the very best at board games. Especially one involving stealing money from idiots.

The room fills with annoyed laughter and groans. Whoever put you and Tsukki together were begging to lose. You smirk. Oh, the taste of victory. You could taste it. You two were unstoppable (why wouldn’t you be?). Kageyama, the sore loser, mutters something about leaving after you bankrupted him. Hinata tells him to shut up, and per usual they end up yelling at each other. It's up to you to call for order.

It didn't last long. You make the winning move. All their property was yours, and so was the game. The room explodes, game pieces and money go flying. Tsukki's coffee table is almost overturned. Monopoly was serious, even for someone like Tsukki. You both jump up. A hard-fought victory deserved a hug.

You go to wrap your arms around him, but he did it first. He hugs you so tight, that you swear you can't breathe (a fatal symptom when being around Kei Tsukishima), and spins. You laugh so hard it reaches your eyes. Then, he releases, and you think it's over.

But then, he holds onto your face, and kisses your forehead—gently, purposeful, like a tall giant. A shock wave goes through you, but he doesn’t even whisper a lick of an apology.

He locks eyes with you. “You’re amazing.”

Oh. Your breath quickens.

"Thanks, I know.” You do what you do best. Deflect. But your mind can't stop hearing him. His words echo through every corner of your brain.

He was driving you mad, and you weren’t the only one noticing it.

The clock struck twelve. You should be finishing your paper. Twelve out of sixteen was your current total. It would be the right thing to sit down, lock in, and focus.

But who decides what's right and wrong?

Not you.

Your paper could have been completed, had it not been for Hinata. But he would not stop calling until you answered. If your professor asks, it's all on him.

It started like this; your sitting at your desk, playing around with your ballpoint pen, when (admittedly) you should be looking over your notes. Turns out, Kageyama and Hinata too, had a paper they should be working on, but decided the night was young and they needed to be out!

You at first, say no, like the considerate future-orientated person you pretend you are. That is, until Tsukishima (who happens to be sitting right next to you on your bed) says two magic words. Let’s go.

Now, you walk through the streets of Tokyo with your favorite people. Your eyes are set on the nearest convenience store. It’s a local beauty, dingy with front lights barely work and weird men who try to sell you things they shouldn't. The greatest place on Earth.

The front sign flickers on and off for a moment, before buzzing in a way that could definitely start a whole store-fire. You and Tsukishima are in matching plaid pajama pants, and you even have a Karasuno volleyball hoodie on. You were not on the team. Hinata smirks when he notices, and whispers (badly) to Kageyama about it.

“She was cold.” is Tsukishima’s excuse. Yeah, right. You owned millions of hoodies—couldn’t you have worn your own?

“Mine are better. Hers are ugly.” he continues.

You scoff. He didn't have to go that far. The cold excuse is enough!

“My hoodies are not ugly. You quite literally have no fashion sense.”

“You’re in denial.” he says.

“You’re lecturing me about denial? Mr. ‘It’s just a club’?” it's a burn that makes Hinata double over in laughter.

“Enough arguing,” Kageyama pushes you forward, a step ahead of the two of them with Hinata who giggles. He quickly shifts you away from the side of the cars.

You grumble, and step over your own two feet before picking up your feet. Tsukishima mumbles something about you having two left feet, and it takes everything in you not to spin around and give him a piece of your mind. He smirks, loving the way your shoulders fall and rise in anger.

He loves the way he gets to you.

“So, Kaggy,” he makes a noise of disgust at the nickname you made up on the spot, “you still texting that one girl?” Hinata’s ears perk up, and Tsukishima looks at him, trying to feign indifference. But you knew him, he wnats to hear the tea just as much you guys did.

“Ha! Kageyama? With a woman!” Hinata barks out, a howl coming out of his lips next makes it even more obnoxious. Kageyama’s face scrunches up, and his laughter is just so infectious that Tsukki can’t help but chuckle. You let out a giggle or two.

“Hinata, last time I checked, your name was NOT Kageyama," you say through a giggle.

“What! I’m not wrong!” Hinata pouted, “I’m not entirely convinced this ‘woman’ exists. I’ve never seen Kageyama talk to a woman before. And I see a lot of Kags, more than I'd like."

Your eyebrow raises. Despite his last comment, he wasn’t that far off. Kageyama was a lost cause when it came to women. He always had been. But, things always change. You saw it in real life, and was sitll shocked. Someone came up to him. She offered him her number, and he freaked out over how to message her.

'Do I just say hey? Is hey weird? Do I say hi instead? Y/N STOP LAUGHING AND HELP ME!'

It was cute, until it had been four whole days and he hadn’t even BEGUN to type a letter. At that point, you stole his phone and did the magic for him. As they texted, it got lighter and easier. Occasionally, at friend hangouts you would see him open his phone and smile, or break away for a moment to send a response back. It was cute, you liked it for him.

“We’re just friends, alright? Nothing more.” Kageyama answers finally, breaking his silence. He kicks a stray rock on the ground, anything to distract from the blood flushing to his cheeks.

“So she does exist!” Hinata’s eyes sparkle like lights on Christmas Day.

“Obviously, idiot.”

You four approach the convenience store and step through the sliding doors. Bells jingled above your head. A tired cashier lifts his eyes momentarily, but seeing you all, becomes uninterested and goes back to looking at his phone. The hum of the fridges calls out to you, ice cream. You need to stop, at this point it was an addiction.

It is as if Tsukki can read your thoughts, and looks down at you with a shake of his head.

“Don’t do it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you hiss back.

“Fine, don’t blame me when your shitting all night.”

“I’ll shit in your mouth.”

“Guys, we’re in public,” Kageyama has to remind, but neither of you care much, and the cashier just frowns as he scrolls through his social media.

You mingle around the shelves, going from packaged ramen, to udon, to spicy and sweet chip bags, to candy filled bags. Hinata and Kageyama whisper around about something, but your eyes search for your favorite candy.

Why the hell isn’t it here?

You frown, and circle the aisle once and then twice. You do it a third time, just to make sure you haven't lost your mind. You almost give up, but then you see one package left—but of course, it's at the very top of the shelf, all the way on the back of the shelf. Great. You can't ask for help. You just can't.

But at the same exact moment, Tsukki rounds the corner and sees you in your struggle. Tsukki is made of legs, but he will not get it—not without you begging him for it, and you will not.

You hold your nose up at him and then cross your arms. “Yup, nothing I want here.”

You were a terrible liar.

“Ask me. Nicely. Then I’ll do it.” he says, that stupid smirk.

“I’m fine. I’ll starve.”

"Beg."

"No."

He sighs, "Your annoying,” he leans forward, grabs the package, and slaps it into your hand. You lurch forward and grab it before it can fall to the ground.

“If you grew more in fifth grade, you would be able to get it.” Tsukki comments before walking away.

You follow after him with a grumble, “Shut up.”

The four of you reconvene at the center of store. The fluorescent lights flicker above your heads, a cool chill flushes from the vents and you dig deeper inside Tsukki’s hoodie.

Tsukishima has a couple of things in his hands—coffee with a strong bitter smell, his favorite chips (salty like him), banana milk, and a small pack of worm shaped sour gummies. Kageyama and Hinata’s piles looked mostly the same—except that Hinata decides sugar was a great idea at this time of night, and no one can really argue. They all had a paper to finish. Except for Tsukki that is. He finished his two weeks ago.

You hated him.

“Name one girl you’ve spoken to that’s not your mother,” Tsukki says to Kageyama.

You, at the same time, approach the counter. The cashier mumbles a quiet ‘finally’ and begins scanning your items. You bend down at the counter, engrossed by a magazine’s cover. A journalist, one of the best who was an alumni of Karasuno University. You pick it up, and add it to your heap of snacks.

“Your mom.” Kageyama says back to him with a shrug. You and Hinata don’t even try to hide your laughter. The cashier glances to you four in annoyance.

“My mom hates you.” Tsukki mumbles.

You reach into your hoodie pocket, and salvage the coins you had thrown inside. Your fingers flip over the different kinds, before reaching the correct amount. The ritual happens quickly—the cashier takes your change, it’s exact like you hoped, and you tell him to keep the receipt.

“Not as much as she hates you.” Kageyama nips back.

You open your package of candy and plop a couple in your mouth. The cashier seems to lose more and more of his faith in humanity as the insults go on and on. He just wants to go home. He lets out a sigh of relief when the doors hiss close and you four are back in the midnight cool.

“Seriously, Kageyama. What does she look like? Is she pretty?” Hinata asks, as soon as they're back outside. He never lets go, and it makes you laugh. Once Hinata was curious, there was no way of shutting him down. Eventually you would have to tell him the truth, and the whole one at that.

“He’s not gonna tell you.” Tsukki says. This time, he’s walking beside you, and steals a small candy from your bag.

“Why not?!” Hinata whines.

“You talk too much, I tell you and then suddenly the whole team will know.” Kageyama answers.

You hum, been there done that. “True. Like Tsukki’s ex.”

The words come out quicker than you can realize. Shit. That was a mistake. The four of you go dead quiet, and your eyes quickly flash to the boy next to you. You expect him to shut down, maybe do that sad Tsukki thing with his eyes.

But nope. He just reaches into your bag again, another candy. He’s completely unmoving. It has been almost a whole year, but you know breakups were a touchy subject. You and Tsukki talk about it rarely, but it was in the background of everything. You saw her influence in many things he did.

How he rejects the advances of girls at your school, how his face shifts when he sees Daichi and his girlfriend after practice. It’s a sting from a wasp that just never died. But maybe, just maybe, the pain had become tolerable? You are not often wrong.

“Hinata’s a loud mouth. Always will be.” A classic Tsukki response. You grin. Tolerable. That was better than nothing.

You interject, rejoining the conversation with a playful grin. “Come on, Kageyama, give them a little hint..”

Kageyama crosses his arms defensively. “Weren’t you suppose to be on my side, Y/N?”

Tsukishima shakes his head. “Y/N’s on the side that pays her.”

“Right,” you nod.

Kageyama eyes you both dangerously. You know something slick is going to come out of his mouth. He can't help himself. “Tsukki, you pay her?”

You rub the back of your neck. Ah. Tsukki rolls his eyes.

“Please shut up."

The walk back to your apartment is quiet, a calm against Kageyama and Hinata constant push-and-pull. They leave first, they live on the opposite side of you, closer to campus. You make sure to steal one of Hinata's pretzels before he goes.

It's always you and him. Walking together, past midnight.

Your heart is pulling you towards him; your shoulders brush once, and then twice, and he says nothing. On the third time, he bumps your shoulder back. You smile. You shut your mouth, because it’s late, and you’re tired, and this isn’t the time to be saying anything you'll regret.

The paper is done. 1/2 of your project. The other half? A presentation. You hate this shit. You push through. You didn't even stutter once. You can see how proud Tsukki is. But now, it's time for closing remarks.

Your eyes dart around the room. From the clock, to your laptop, to your best friend. Tsukki wore a slight smirk on his face. You knew what that meant. But he wouldn't, the presentation is almost over, you are almost in the clear.

As your group mate say their closing remarks, you hear the dreaded phrase. You stiffen when his hand slowly rises. He sucks. You almost want to bark to your groupmate, don’t, but you imagine your teachers angry deducting points from your final grade.

“Yes, Tsukishima?” You have to force out. Suck it up. You can hear a couple of stifles of laughter in the classroom. They knew he was about to waste your time. Your fingers impatiently tap on your skin, something he notices with only a quick glance.

“Uh, yes. I think I’m still a little confused. Can you give a more in-depth example of how you would use aerodynamics in this situation, Ms. Y/N? Sorry, it’s just what you were talking way too fast, I didn't catch it all.”

He was such an ass.

You bare your teeth, and force a nod. “Of course. So, aerodynamics…”

The presentation goes on for a record seven minutes after. You want to ignore him so bad, and at first you do this successfully. You could breathe now, easily.

As class dismisses, you walk straight past his desk, and he follows you down the steps of the building, and onto the main campus. He's like a bed bug that never leaves, even if you set the whole damn building on fire.

But this is Tsukki, he's done way worse, but he knows you were hungry and needed to be in the dining hall as soon as the clock struck 10. Yet, he still chose to be the normal dickhead he is.

“You know you can’t stay mad at me forever,” he says as you round the corner to your dining hall. You turn around to meet his eye and frown, to make it known that you CAN, but then...his stupid smile. You almost crack. A strong almost.

“You wanna bet on that?” you settle for, and quickly turn around before you can change your mind.

Tsukishima sighs. He jumps into your peripheral vision and drops his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. His smell, woody and fresh, meshes well with the scent of old rain and coffee from the university students around you.

You look up at him. His jaw, his slight smile. This is too comfortable, being like this with him. You would’ve thought just from looking at you two, that you were a couple. The thought makes you want to die. In another universe maybe, or two.

For now, you didn't think about what universe you guys could've gotten together in. Instead, you enjoy the moment.

Your campus is as quiet as it gets. The large buildings, and their large glass panes should suck you both in, but you're in your own world. Several people whisper as you pass, ‘isn’t that Kei?’ they ask. It’s like they are tearing apart every part of you; the way you dress, the way you walk, the way you look. You forget sometimes that he’s ‘popular’ on campus. All of the volleyball guys were. All the eyes on you make you lean closer to him, and Tsukishima’s grip tightens.

He didn't pay any of the eyes on him any mind, he just focuses on you.

“Y/N,” he says in that annoyingly childish way that’s reserved for you. He knew how to tick you off—and if it were legal, you would’ve killed him right there, “Look, I’m sorry, but how could I resist?” he smiles and that ticks you off more, even if he's beautiful.

“I hate you, more than I hate aerodynamics.”

“Stop saying you hate me. You don’t.”

You really do hate him and you would never stop saying it; it's because of how nonchalant he is as you walk through your dining hall. How he ignores every women’s eye; every question that’s flung in his direction. You feel this way because through every bicker, every walk home, every moment he fills your life with so much happiness you know it would never amount to anything. Nothing you could see. Nothing that was real.

You and him? That wasn't real. Not in the way it was for Tsukishima. To him, you are the little girl he met at the sandbox. He would never be yours.

At the end of the night, all you can do is dream. You dream of a world where Tsukki knows, and he loves you as something more than his stupid childhood best friend.

You think about being more than his secret-holder and his unmoving rock. You want to finally know what it means to kiss the soft lips of Tsukki, to have his fingers dance around your waist and squeeze you so tight you couldn’t breathe, to wake up next to him and hug more than your own shoulders.

Fuck Kei Tsukishima.

Your lungs ache.

Monday morning is spent without him, and so is Tuesday. Then the day after that, and the day after that one. It isn’t something new, this routine. This is how you two were. But not recently. Being around him..was nice. But did you really think it was going to last forever?

The calls go from everyday, to him hearing the sound of your voicemail.

You take a sip of your latte, and try to focus on Yamaguchi’s words that are becoming harder and harder to listen to. For whatever reason, the universe, or whatever was out there likes torturing you. You can't get the guy once, and now you can't get him twice. It was like someone took the fork inside of Yamaguchi’s muffin and stabbed you right in the heart. He’s so blonde, and so stupid, and is sitting on a bench next to a water fountain with someone who looks nothing like you.

That was his type. It burns, much more than the hot coffee flowing down your throat. You down a scary amount of coffee that makes Yamaguchi stop in his tracks.

“You two make me sick. You have to tell him.” he says, and you finally look away from the scene.

“No, I don’t, actually. Can we focus on studying, please?”

You’re a hypocrite. He scoffs. You know it. Like you weren’t just staring down both of them for a solid ten minutes.

“He’s not dating her. You know? Says he doesn’t believe in love anymore.”

It hurts. You pretend it didn't.

“So, why would you tell me to tell him?”

Yamaguchi looks at you. He’s serious. Possibly the most serious you’ve ever seen him.

“You’re different. You can pretend you aren’t, but I know it and you know it. Ever since the sandbox.”

The butterflies in your chest flutter painfully.

“Focus, yeah?”

Yamaguchi sighs. “Yeah. One day, you’ll get sick of this shitty game.”

Then, that one day happens. It’s friday night. A long time ago, you guys made a tradition to spend friday nights together.

But not today, you made up some sort of excuse. Project tomorrow!

He didn’t question you the first three times, but the fourth he didn’t allow. You’re freshly out of a shower. You wipe the steam off the mirror in your bathroom, and double check your phone. A text? No, scratch that. Multiple text messages. At least twenty. Most of them are threats. Your eyes staple on the most important ones.

tsuk tsuk (lol): stop fucking ignoring me

tsuk tsuk (lol): i asked yamaguchi he said u had no project due

tsuk tsuk (lol): be straight up w/me if i did something to offend ur sensitive ass

tsuk tsuk (lol): y/n?

tsuk tsuk (lol): ur always on ur phone so ik ur reading this

tsuk tsuk (lol): did u get u a bf? is that y ur ignoring me?

tsuk tsuk (lol): nvm i don’t care. he can die too.

tsuk tsuk (lol): i’m coming over. unlock the door idiot

What the actual fuck. You’re in shock, and in his hoodie, when he appears at your front door. He’s not amused.

a/n: a bit of a cliffhanger hehehehehehhe i'm sorry i couldn't help myself :))) i enjoyed writing this even if it took the longest omg. lmk your thoughts on the chapter !!!! also yes the pic change was purposeful, colorful ver now hehe

taglist !!! @kei-tsuki21 @marga-j @xxizuchanxx @horr0rvacu1 @lavenderhotcoco @sami-stable @awkwardaardvarkforever @rorygilmoreclown @rachlubsuu @sixxze @lonelyladyghost @kurenix @nemisimp @doofusthebozo @scarred-keys @yenqa @zenilili @dani-shitting-around @carolineesnell @annonymoose

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daisynik7 · 1 year

Text

After Last Night

Part 2 of Dirty Thirty

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: Kishibe’s POV, 2nd person POV, switching POVs, public bathroom sex, slight spit play, masturbation in the car, cum-eating, vaginal sex (cowgirl, doggy), cunnilingus, pet names (baby, princess, beautiful, one use of the word ‘slut’), mention of scat fetish (as a joke, I swear)

Summary: After one night, the world’s best Devil Hunter can’t get a certain princess out of his mind.

Notes: This man has me in an iron grip. Almost tempted to write a part 3 because I cannot get over him. Chapter title inspired by “After Last Night” by Silk Sonic because these lyrics match perfectly. Please read Part 1 if you haven’t already! Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated. I hope you like this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

Part 1 - Dirty Thirty | ao3 | Part 3 - Primetime

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Kishibe has been in the devil hunting business for more than half his life, no sign of stopping anytime soon. He shamelessly admits that he has a few loose screws rolling in his brain. It’s necessary to be a little crazy in this profession. Considering he’s made it alive this long, he’s certifiably insane.

This is further solidified by the fact that he is currently at the same shitty bar from last night, sitting at the exact booth while sipping on a whiskey, glancing at the front door every few minutes. Examining each patron who enters, consistently disappointed that none of them is who he’s looking for. He tells himself that he’s desperate for a drink, not for her, but who is he trying to fool? She left his apartment not even 24 hours ago and he’s already missing her, eager to reunite, despite his warnings of not getting attached. He must be out of his goddamn mind to be doing this.

The thing is: he can’t get her out of his head. The instant she walks out of his apartment, he regrets not asking for her number. Desperate for any fragment of her, he keeps the dress shirt she wore in a separate pile from his other clothes, making sure to get a couple good whiffs before setting it down. Her scent is familiar to him, reminds him of passion, warmth, and desire.

The idea of never seeing her again doesn’t sit well with him, which is why he’s here after work, hoping to run into her as if it were by chance they reunite. In reality, he’s doing everything he can to manifest it, including revisiting an establishment he typically would never set foot in. It’s a running joke he’s playing on himself. Being bat-shit crazy makes him do silly things as a form of entertainment. It’s hilarious how he’s here at this bar tonight. And then the next night. And then the following nights after. It’s fucking comical, until it isn’t.

A week and a half into this, he realizes he’s in too deep. He lies in bed, spent from masturbating to the few memories he has of her, dress shirt with her faded scent pressed against his nose. He’s been to that goddamn bar every night, no luck. He’s losing hope, almost tempted to work his magic on the college girls shaking their asses on the dancefloor. For someone like Kishibe, it’s relatively easy to find a woman to fuck. A random someone to satisfy his surprisingly high libido. No strings attached, as it should be.

But he doesn’t want a stranger. He wants her.

He’s totally lost his mind, he’s sure of it.

A few days later, two weeks since he last saw her, the universe finally works in his favor.

He’s particularly exhausted tonight, having spent most of the day driving through the city, training the new recruits, and fighting off some devils. He’s convinced that tonight will be another disappointment. However, there’s an imaginary angel on his shoulder urging him to stay. That there’s a chance that tonight will be different.

To his delight, it is.

She stands at the bar, waiting for her vodka cranberry. Kishibe, who spots her from his booth, smiles to himself. He walks to her, guided by this gravitational pull they have on each other, everyone else fading in the background.

“Hey there, princess.”

At the sound of his voice, she turns to him, eyes twinkling bright. “Kishibe,” she greets, flashing a luminous smile. There’s an unusual swell in his chest, a flutter in his abdomen. What power does this woman have on the world’s best Devil Hunter? He’s almost convinced she’s a devil herself.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he offers, moving closer to her so she can hear him over the loud chatter and music.

She shrugs, still grinning. “I don’t really let strangers buy me drinks.”

He raises a brow at her. “Is that what I am to you? A stranger?”

“I’m not sure what to call you. I’m trying not to get attached. Those are the rules, right?” There’s no malice in her tone. In fact, it feels flirtatious.

He shifts closer to her, his coat brushing the hem of her skirt, head bowed beside her ear. “It’s okay to break some rules every once in a while, don’t you agree?”

She tips her chin up, gaze meeting his. “Only if we have a really good reason to. Otherwise, I’m a good girl who follows everything she’s told.” She wraps her lips around the straw, sucking the cocktail into her mouth, throat bobbing with each swallow.

Fuck. He stiffens beneath his pants, erection growing more evident just being in her presence. There’s no point in lying to her about his intentions. He’s too grown and too horny to play these games. “I’ve been here every night the past two weeks, hoping to run into you again. What does that say about me?”

Smirking, she answers, “It means that you broke your own rules. You’re in big trouble.”

His cock twitches, imagining the lewd discipline she’s capable of dealing him. Swallowing hard, he murmurs, “I’ve been bad. Very, very bad.”

Reaching for his tie, she pulls him gently towards her. “I guess it’s my responsibility now to give you your punishment.”

He grins, remembering the familiar words he said to her during their first conversation together. “You’re a clever one. I might just keep you.”

“Who says I’m yours to keep?” she teases, tugging at his tie harder this time. His body drifts forward, their faces centimeters apart. He’d take her right here if it weren’t for the whole public indecency law.

“You’re my pretty plaything, remember?” he says, lips grazing her ear. His hand slides to her waist, thumb slipping under the elastic band of her skirt. He wonders if she wore this especially for him. If she came here thinking about him the same way he did for her.

She shakes her head, breath warm on his cheek, tingling his scar. “Nope. You’re my plaything tonight, Kishibe.”

Suddenly, she’s leading him to the bathroom, pinkies hooked together, maneuvering past the crowd. Even with this slightest bit of contact, excitement courses through his veins, electrifying every inch of his body.

They cram into the farthest and biggest stall in the woman’s bathroom, her back against the door as he kisses her. He grips her firmly, grinding his bulge against her, desperate for any type of friction. He breaks away to focus on her neck, sucking at the sensitive spot right below her chin. She lets out a small whimper, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

“Use me as your fuck toy, princess. My cock is all yours. All yours,” he whispers, as she continues to work his pants off. Once the belt is loose, she unbuttons and unzips, causing his slacks to pool around his ankles, exposing the boner poking through his briefs.

“This cock is all mine, huh? You wanted to see me tonight,” she huffs, slipping beneath his underwear, stroking him gently. There’s precum leaking from the tip, aroused since the moment he saw her.

“I wanted to see you every night since I met you,” he confesses, rocking his hips slightly into her fist.

“You’re addicted to this pussy, aren’t you?” She uses her free hand to shove his boxers down his legs. He lifts his feet to kick his clothes to the side, now completely naked below the waist. He feels like a fucking pervert, a man half nude in a stall of a public restroom. But he doesn’t care. All he can think about is fucking her. Hearing his name echo off the tile walls as he pounds her wet cunt with his hard cock. Flooding that gorgeous pussy full of his hot load.

“I’m fucking obsessed with you. Haven’t been able to make it one night without thinking about you and this perfect pussy.”

“What are you waiting for then? Take my skirt off,” she demands, rubbing her thumb on the slit of his dick, covering the head with his precum. “Fuck me. Make me come on this fat cock.”

A guttural moan escapes him as he follows her command, stripping her bare from the waist down. She guides him to her arousal, grinding against him. He rubs small circles onto her clit until she whines, her own slick leaking from her entrance. She strokes his cock faster, using the other hand to caress his balls. He curses under his breath, knees buckling from the glorious sensation. “Fuck. You’ll make me come if you keep doing that.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” A string of saliva drips out of her mouth and lands on his cock, spreading it with her fingers. She repeats this, lubricating his dick with her spit.

“Fuck,” he reiterates, watching her in awe, about ready to burst.

Facing the stall door, her palms pressed to the surface, she sticks her ass towards him. “Fuck me, Kishibe. Fuck me hard. Rail me.”

He almost nuts from the pure filth coming out her slutty mouth. Gripping her chin with his fingertips, he turns her to him to give her a sloppy kiss, gliding his cock into the groove of her ass. “Come all over my cock, princess. Want it dripping off when we’re done.” He spreads her cheeks, sliding the tip in slowly, sucking in a breath when she squeezes him tight.

Once his entire length is inside her, he begins to thrust, listening to the wet squelches of skin-to-skin contact. It’s not a normal desire anymore; he fucking needs this. It too fucking good to live without it.

“Kishibe, oh my god,” she moans, throwing her ass back to him. His nails dig into the flesh of her hips, holding her securely in place to fuck her deeper and deeper until she’s whining with pleasure. The reverb of the music blaring from the dancefloor drowns the erotic harmony of their love making. It doesn’t matter if people can hear them fucking from outside, or if anyone walks in on them. Right now, it’s just the two of them, molded together seamlessly in a moment of passion.

“Use this cock, baby. Fuck yourself with this cock until you cream all over it,” he growls, reaching around to massage her slippery clit. He salivates, craving for a taste later in the night when he takes her home with him. There’s no fucking way he’s letting her go again.

“Ah, Kishibe. Baby. I’m…” she trails off, lost on her way to her climax.

“Do it. Come for me. Come for me, baby.”

Her pussy clenches him, gushing all over his cock. Seconds later, he orgasms inside her, eyes shut tight and body trembling from exhilaration. His chest quivers from the erratic thumping of his heart.

“Ah, feels so fucking good when you fill me up,” she says, standing straight, face towards him to meet his lips.

“You’re a bad influence on me,” he mutters, tongue swirling around hers, his fingers still caressing her clit gently. He can’t get enough of her. Every opportunity he gets, he needs to feel her.

She chuckles softly. “You started this.”

He pulls out, cum dripping down her inner thighs. He wipes the mess from her legs using toilet paper. When he reaches her pussy, she stops him. “Don’t. I want it inside me the rest of the night.”

Fucking hell. She’s going to be the death of him.

“I’m taking you home right now and I’m going to fuck more of my cum inside you,” he whispers, scattering kisses along her neck, thumb massaging her swollen bud. He seriously can’t get enough.

She giggles, planting a smooch on his cheek. “Let’s go, then.”

~~~

As if sex in a public restroom wasn’t enough of a wild card, you find yourself in another predicament inside Kishibe’s car, as he drives carefully through the streets of the city.

Initially, you thought that fucking at the bar was a good way to get it out of your system. Enough to make it the rest of the ride to his house, where the two of you would ravage each other in the privacy of his apartment.

Being in the car with him, hot and heavy, surrounded by sexual tension, is bound to lead to salacious activity. You can’t help it; when you’re with him, all your inhibitions are let loose. He makes you wild with lust, shamelessly slutty for any part of him. From his languid gaze to his tender touch, every aspect of him sets you ablaze.

The ride starts off tame, the usual witty banter exchanged between the two of you. He steers with one hand on the wheel. The other rests on the gear shift, grasping it with his fingers. Even the way he drives is sexy.

“Have you missed me?” he asks, glancing at you quickly before setting his attention back to the road.

“I have. Maybe a little too much.” You let out a small laugh, thumbs twiddling on your lap, embarrassed to admit it.

“Tell me. Tell me how much you missed me.”

It’s an invitation to confess the dirty thoughts you’ve been having of him these past two weeks. For him to know that you feel the same for him as he does for you. After all, he exposed himself earlier, admitting his obsession for you. You owe it to him to be honest, too.

“I’ve thought about you every day since. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind no matter what I did.”

“And what did you do?”

“I kept myself distracted. Went out with friends, worked long hours.” You pause, uncertain if you should share this extra detail, but you decide to anyways. “Touched myself.”

You avoid looking at him, staring at your lap. From the corner of your eye, you see him smirk. “Show me.”

“What?”

“Show me how you touch yourself.” He keeps his eyes in front of him, wrist flexing, grip tightening on the wheel. His pinky finger stretches out from the shift to graze the exposed skin right below the hem of your skirt.

You swallow hard, nervous to be put on the spot like this. It’s not as if this is any more risqué than what you’ve done before. The two of you just fucked in public, but for some reason, this request catches you off guard.

He senses your hesitation, prompting him to say, “I’m sorry. Forget what I said. We’re almost home, let’s just – ”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt him. Still avoiding him, you lift your hips and reach between your legs, sliding your panties off. A minute later, your thighs are spread wide, skirt hiked above your waist, toying with your clit, sticky with his creampie from earlier. You don’t hold back your moans, windows fogging up from your hot breath, whimpering his name.

“Fuck,” he swears. “Fuck.” Both hands are clenched on the wheel now, knuckles pale from his tight grip, resisting every urge to pull over and fuck you once more. “Get it real fucking wet for me,” he groans. “Going to bury my face in it as soon as we’re home, dive in and fucking drown in it. ”

You reach your shiny fingers out to him, eyes hazy with lust. “Taste it, Kishibe.”

He grins, grabbing you by the wrist and sticking it in his mouth, sucking hard to swallow your cum clean off. You yank your hand out with loud pop, sliding your fingers in your arousal again.

“More,” he demands, eyes darting towards your sopping cunt hungrily. “Give me more.”

You feed him your sticky mess, him delighting in your essence like a person savoring a treat. It’s depraved. Wicked. Straight up nasty. But the two of you indulge in it shamelessly, pushing boundaries further and further to see how far you can go. Unknown territory, exploring each other’s deepest desires without judgement.

It's a match made in heaven. Or in this case, probably hell.

He pulls into his designated spot outside the familiar apartment complex, car in park, seatbelt removed hastily, finally able to face you. His lips collide onto yours in a sloppy kiss, full of tongue, spit, and staggered breaths. You hear the click of your seatbelt being disengaged, then feel him between your thighs, massaging your swollen bud with his thumb.

“Kishibe, please,” you beg, tears forming in your eyes from the stimulation. You’ve never felt this aroused before, this needy. “Please, baby. I want you.”

“You have me, beautiful. I’m not going anywhere.”

Moments later, you’re both naked on the bed, you at the edge, your legs splayed, him holding your knees, keeping you exposed. Kneeling on the carpet, he takes his time running his tongue all over your pussy, not wasting a single drop of your glossy cum.

“You want my cock?” he muffles through his slobber. He slips his middle and ring finger into your entrance, curling into your sweet spot. “Or you want to come on my fingers first like a slut?”

Moaning, you nod your head, incapable of verbalizing an answer. He chuckles against your skin, thrusting faster into your cunt, squeezing your bud between his lips. Keen on making you squirm and writhe in pleasure. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve orgasmed tonight, mind blissfully fuzzy, body pleasantly spent. Still, your sex drive is at full speed, not slowing down for a second to be intimate with him. Despite all that’s been said and done tonight, his warning from two weeks ago replays in your mind. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t get attached to me. My life is expendable.

Is he going to let you walk away again tomorrow morning?

Once you orgasm, he scoots up the bed, you beckoning him to lay next to you. You cuddle, swapping chaste kisses, enjoying each other’s warmth. Soon after, he rolls you on top of him, delivering a playful squeeze on your ass cheek. “Can you fuck me now, princess? Let me be your plaything this time.”

His willingness to submit to you is surprising and fucking sexy. You give him a wet smooch, tracing his scar with your smile. “Think you deserve it?”

“I’ve been tormented enough tonight, so yes.”

“Then beg for it.”

His chest vibrates from a disapproving hum. “You’re mean when you’re on top.”

“You know you like it,” you respond, a devilish smirk on your face. “Beg for it, Kishibe.”

He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat in anticipation. “Please,” he murmurs, barely audible.

“Is that all you got? You’ve got to do better than that.” You tease him, rubbing your sleek folds along his shaft.

Through gritted teeth, he draws a breath, sensitive from the contact. “Please, baby. I’m so fucking hard for you. My cock is aching. I want to fucking nut inside your pussy. Please.”

Giggling, you suck on his bottom lip, positioning his tip at your entrance, sinking slowly. He grunts when he’s all the way in, head thrown back on the pillow in relief. “You’re a goddamn dream, you know that?”

There he goes again, his precious words releasing butterflies in your stomach, the fluttering fueling your desires. Nuzzling your nose to his, you whisper, “You shouldn’t say things like that so casually.” You rock your hips onto his lap, the tip of his dick stimulating your G-spot deliciously with each leisure thrust.

One hand slides up your body, cupping your face. “Why not? You don’t like it?”

“I do. That’s the problem.” You lean into his hold, rubbing your cheeks on his calloused palm. Despite the roughness of his skin, his touch is tender, the brush of his thumb delicate along the outline of your lips. He studies you with intense focus, as if he’s using this moment to memorize the image of you. Like it’ll be snatched in a flash. It makes you anxious. Will he echo the same warning as last time? Is this a ruse to get you into bed once more before truly ending it for good? There’s still that lingering doubt in your head.

He readjusts his position, planting his feet on the bed, legs bent at the knee. His arms wrap you in a secure embrace, voice low in your ear. “I’m a man of my word, remember? I mean everything I say.” He keeps you steady, halting your movements to take over himself, fucking you slow and deep. It’s careful. Intimate.

“I won’t hurt you,” he continues, cradling you snug against his chest. “You’re safe with me.”

With his commitment uttered in your ear, his strong body enveloping you in reassurance and stability, your doubts fade. In this moment, no matter how fleeting it may be, you trust Kishibe. You’re safe with him. You don’t want this to end.

~~~

There’s no urgency tonight. The two of them move together gracefully, pausing every so often to share a passionate kiss, lace their fingers, or gaze into each other’s eyes. Kishibe chants her name melodically, guiding her hips in rhythm with his measured ruts. He never loses sight of her, watching every reaction, from the smooth moans rolling off her tongue to the subtle tears glistening in her eyes, immersed in the pleasure. He makes love to her cautiously, no longer hasty for a quick release, instead yearning to remain like this until the universe dictates their parting, which he wishes is never.

After the mistake of getting attached in his past, he vowed to be alone for the remainder of his life. He had no issues with this fate. Drifting from bar to bar, woman to woman, devil to devil, he was absolutely fine with it. In fact, he enjoyed it. There were no commitments, no pressure, and most importantly, no heartbreak. As cuckoo and fucked up in the head this business has made him, he unfortunately still has a heart. And a vulnerable one at that.

That’s the true bane of a Devil Hunter: Love. It’s a distraction, it ruins lives. It takes a crazy Devil Hunter and turns them into a crazy, vengeful Devil Hunter, which is almost always worst. He’s learned to avoid it at all costs. Any inkling of personal joy he felt, he suppressed by drinking booze and reminding himself of his colleagues’ dead bodies he privately mourned month after month, year after year. Love is not worth the collateral damage it’s burdened with. It’s too much to bear on top of everything else.

This is the first time in years that Kishibe strays from the beliefs that he indoctrinated in himself so ardently. All because of this woman who popped into his life out of nowhere, a princess set on winning his heart. He almost thinks it’s a prank, or an elaborate plot to kill him. But no. Being in this industry for so long has sharpened his radar. She isn’t an enemy or a fiend; she’s human, down to the core. And whatever it is that’s brewing between them is authentic, sincere. It’s real.

He’s become so unfamiliar with the sensation that with this tiny spark, he feels the scorching burn of it kindling the cold barrier he’s surrounded by. The heat is tantalizing enough to let his guard down, too alluring to ignore. It’s a deviation from the mundane routine he’s followed through the years, but maybe he owes it to himself to explore it, for curiosity’s sake.

The orgasm that has been building since his release earlier is imminent as he picks up the pace. She’s climaxes twice in this position, her slick smeared on his pelvis, moans reduced to quiet whines, body pliant in his arms. “Are you okay? I can stop if you want me to.”

She lets out a weak laugh. “I’m more than okay. And you better not stop.” With the strength she can muster, she takes control again, thrusting her ass back onto his cock. “You said you’d fuck more of your cum inside me. You’re a man of your word, remember?”

He is constantly in awe of her. Dazzled, captivated, completely smitten. “Fuck, you’re amazing. Keep fucking me, baby. Just like that, don’t stop. Make a fucking mess.”

She kisses him, licking and nipping at his lips while she continues to milk his cock for all he’s worth, eager to fulfill that promise. Seconds later, he orgasms, the high so intense, he loses himself for a moment. A bright light blinds him, convincing him for a split second that he has ascended into heaven. Death by sex, not a bad way to go. He much prefers this than being killed by a devil. Back to reality, he’s relieved to be in her arms, still in his own personal paradise.

There’s a flow of cum sticky between them as they lay with each other, steadying their breaths. When she attempts to get up to grab the wipes in the bedside drawer, he stops her, binding her close into a hug. “Not yet. Let’s stay like this for a bit.” He presses his lips to her temple, eyes shut, body sinking into the mattress while hers sinks into his.

Giggling, she responds, “I didn’t expect you to be the lovey-dovey type. I like it.”

“Oh, so now you like me?” he teases, twirling a loose strand of her hair around his finger. “Didn’t you tell me last time that you didn’t?”

“That was then. This is now,” she replies, chin resting on her knuckles, palms laid flat on his chest. Peering at him with innocent eyes that put a flutter below his abdomen. “You’re a hypocrite too, y’know.”

Smirking, he plays along. “Am I?”

“Yeah, you told me we can’t do this again, yet here we are.”

“You’re right, I did say that.”

“So, you’re full of shit.”

Chuckling, he responds, “I am. I’m a man of his word who’s also full of shit. Ironic, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she turns to avoid his gaze, staring at the vanity on one side of the bedroom. After a minute of silence, she finally speaks. “How do I know that what you’re saying is true, then?” This time, she’s not pretending. She’s setting up her defenses, protecting herself. Guarding her heart.

He strokes the nape of her neck delicately, surprised by the goosebumps prickling her bare skin. “You don’t have to believe me right away; I don’t expect you to. But I meant everything I said tonight. I have no intentions of hurting you.”

“You’re not going to make me do the walk of shame again in the morning?”

“No. And I’m sorry I made you do that in the first place.”

Again, she doesn’t respond immediately, still looking at the vanity. Suddenly, she stretches her arm out, pointing at a distinct corner of the frame. Her voice is softer, less cautious. “You kept that?”

He looks to what she’s referring to: the infamous Dirty 30! sash and sparkly tiara hanging on the corner of the vanity, adding a splash of décor to his otherwise bleak bedroom. Clearing his throat nervously, he answers, “Yeah, I did.”

Excited she lifts her head to face him, beaming. “Kishibe.”

“What…?” It’s his turn to avoid her, moving his head to the other side, blushing.

“Kishibe.” She cups his cheeks, hot with embarrassment, forcing his gaze towards her. “Baby.” She scoots up so that her lips are centimeters from his, smirking as she nuzzles his face. “The last time I was here, there was nothing in your room besides work stuff. But you kept my little sash and crown.” With a smooch, she continues to smile at him. “It’s really sweet. You’re really sweet, Kishibe.”

“It’s not often that I’m called that.”

“Well, you are.” With another quick peck on the lips, she warns, “You better not break my heart.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He slides his hand over hers, still curved around his cheek, nestling into her touch, absolutely certain in this commitment to her.

“I mean it.”

“I know you do, princess,” he says, hugging her tight. “I do, too.”

“If you do, I’m going to tell everyone you have a micro-penis. And a scat fetish.”

He chuckles, his lips grazing her forehead. “That’s fair. Although, I give you permission to do something even worse if that ever happens.”

“I hope it never has to come to that.”

“Me too.”

He won’t pretend that he’s not scared shitless. There’s that lingering fear that what he’s doing is a big mistake, that it will ruin everything he’s built for himself. As an extremely calculated, methodical Devil Hunter, he has to have this mentality to stay alive. But Kishibe, the man outside of the Devil Hunter, has always been spontaneous. Itching for adrenaline every chance he can get, the one that gets his heart pounding, his blood pumping, his cock twitching. He finds that in her.

Every day, he’s surrounded by death and suffering. Being with her reminds him of a world outside of that, full of life and pleasure. It’s refreshing how effortlessly they exchange quips, their conversations flowing smoothly. He likes that she hasn’t made any jokes about their age gap or about how much older he is than her. It makes him feel like they’re on the same wavelength, which he appreciates more than he can explain. There’s an aura about her that draws him in, inescapable and spellbinding, impossible to ignore.

All this time, he thought he’d only live long enough to die in the face of a devil. Now, it’s as if sunlight shines through the clouds, casting a new, hopeful outlook. Maybe he won’t be killed. Maybe he can live a normal life after all. And maybe she’s the one who can help him achieve it.

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End Notes: What do we think? Part 3? 😜

#kishibe #kishibe csm #chainsaw man #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #kishibe x y/n #chainsaw man smut #csm smut #csm kishibe #kishibe brainrot #chainsaw man kishibe #dirty thirty #after last night #daisynik

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