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cuubism · 9 months

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based on THIS shitpost. nsft below the cut. inexplicably 7k.

Dream had promised Hob, since reuniting, since agreeing to see each other more often, that he would let Hob introduce him properly to human experiences. "It'll do you good," Hob had said. Dream thinks Death would agree with this also. He is now wondering, however, if this had been folly.

"I think I've given you the general rundown now," Hob says, leaning back in his chair, swirling his bottle of beer—mostly empty—idly in one hand. "The highlights. We'll be here for ages if you want to hear all of it."

Dream is surprised to realize he is curious to hear the stories of all of Hob's lovers. But he does not feel it is quite appropriate to press, no matter how open Hob has been in speaking of it. Dream is most interested, after all, in people Hob has loved, not just those he's had carnal relations with—stories of love are of much more interest to him than stories simply of desire, and Hob has already relayed these stories to him, each a glimmering jewel on the long chain of his life.

Each sticks in Dream's mind now, glittering in his peripheral vision. He cannot tell precisely what they want of him—the corners of his being are blurred, his thoughts wavering, at points clear and ringing and at others indistinct. A consequence of allowing alcohol to affect him, at Hob's bidding. It is... pleasant. Loose. Warm. Though Dream thinks, anywhere outside of Hob's flat, it would feel disconcerting instead.

It's this folly in allowing Hob to ply him with wine, perhaps, that has him saying, "Do you wish to hear of my own?"

Hob's expression sharpens. He is, perhaps, less drunk than Dream is, despite being on his fourth beer, while Dream has only had— ah. That bottle of wine is three-quarters empty. Hmm. "You mean, you want to talk about it?"

"I believe it is customary for friendship to involve a mutual sharing of stories?"

"Sure, if you want to." Hob's gaze on him is intent, curious, but still fond, always fond. "Usually you're like this." He draws his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion. "So of course I'm curious."

"Am I so reticent?" Hob is right, though. Dream can acknowledge it. He would not usually care to speak of these things. He could blame the wine, today. But.

Hob laughs. "Took me six hundred thirty-three years to get a name. You are the king of reticence." He dips his head as if bowing to this "king." "I would be honored to hear your stories, my friend."

Dream tucks his nose into his glass. He should perhaps not drink any more, but the smell is still pleasant, rich and sharp. "They are not so happy."

"Still. If you want to tell."

Dream is not like Hob. He does not have casual dalliances. Each collision was as bright as a falling star. He doesn't know if he has the strength, now, to relay all that terrible history.

Instead, he shares with Hob the early days of burning. Each of those bright, glowing moments. And glosses over the fall.

He thinks Hob sees it, though. He considers him from under his brows as Dream speaks, understanding in his eyes. Doesn't ask him about it, perhaps sensing that Dream does not have the wherewithal for telling and asking in the same evening. "Thank you," he finally says.

"Why?"

"For sharing."

Dream looks back down at his glass. It's empty again. Perhaps that is for the best. It is not often that he... shares. Particularly about this. But Hob is generous in not prying. In wanting to listen, for the simple sake of, as far as Dream can tell, understanding Dream.

When he looks up again, Hob is tapping the mouth of his beer bottle against his lips in thought. "Can I ask you something? It'll probably be utter silliness to you, though. Being this... beyond human entity that you are."

Dream's shoulders tense where they'd gone relaxed with drink and Hob's company. "Go ahead."

"Were all of your lovers women?"

And Dream relaxes again. Ah. This is just... factual. Not... digging in to his many relational failures. "I suppose. Yes."

"Is that by design, or...?"

Dream frowns. "I do not... understand."

"Well, since we've established that I'm an indiscriminate slut—" always so crude, but something about the click of Hob's tongue makes Dream shift uncomfortably in his seat on the couch— “I was wondering whether you were the same way." Then he winces. "Not the slut part. The indiscriminate part."

"Do you mean to ask if I care about the gender or sex of my lovers?"

"Yep. Knew I should have just been straightforward with you."

Dream thinks about it. He has never made a pattern of his relationships, the way humans do. He simply... does what his foolhardy heart commands. Usually with poor results. "I suppose I do not. Care, that is. But. My lovers have been women, yes."

Hob tilts his head. There's a new gleam in his eyes, now. He goes to finish his beer, but it’s empty. Dream watches the drag of his lips over the mouth of the bottle.

"Does that surprise you, Hob Gadling?" he asks. "That my amorous pursuits have been so much narrower than yours?"

"Mmm. Little bit? It's just, even if I hadn’t—how can I put it politely—fucked my way across half of London already by the time we met, I can't imagine making it six hundred years without ever at least experimenting?" He grins. "I could be straight as a nail and curiosity alone would've got me in some bloke's bed at least once. Hmm. Maybe three times just to be sure."

"It is good that you cannot die, for I believe curiosity would have sounded your death knell twenty times over by now."

Hob raises his bottle in Dream's direction. "True, that." Then he leans forward on his knees, eyes bright with, of course, curiosity. "But weren't you ever curious?"

"I contain the collective memory," Dream reminds him. "All fantasies. And dreams. If I need to understand an experience, I can simply consult that breadth of knowledge. I do not need to 'wind up in some bloke's bed.'"

Hob's leaning so far forward now he might come toppling off his chair. "But do you wanna?"

Dream frowns. "I do not..."

"Do you want to experience it yourself, though?" Hob repeats. "Cuz I could watch porn—" Dream wrinkles his nose at this crude analogy for his relationship to his dreams, but the offense is swiftly banished as Hob continues— “but that's not the same as—” his hand lands on Dream's wrist, fingertips pressed to where he would have a pulse— "that."

Dream freezes. Under Hob's fingers, his heart jumps once, quick as a mouse.

"I've no doubt you understand it, Dream," continues Hob, and perhaps he had drunk less than Dream had thought, for he seems very lucid now, "but that's not the same as being there."

Dream fixates on where they are touching. His skin feels very hot, at that point. "And what. Is being there like?"

Hob's fingers slip a little higher, just under the sleeve of his coat. He is still wearing his coat, yes, why is that? He feels very warm. "Could find out?"

"Are you suggesting I should find some man to bed me?"

"Some man," Hob repeats, jaw working. His gaze is hovering somewhere around Dream's collar. "Some man who knows what he's doing, yeah."

"And..." an echo of a breath is frozen in Dream's lungs. Some instinct saying, be still. A pulse at his elbow, in his thigh, at his throat. Hob still has his wrist pinned. "Do you know what you are doing, Hob Gadling?"

"Never in my life," says Hob, and leans in and kisses him.

He has to get out of his chair to do it. Has to lean down over Dream, taking Dream's cheek in his hand. Has to tip Dream's head back, and sweep his tongue into his mouth from above, or perhaps Dream only tells himself that he has to rather than acknowledge that it is Dream himself baring his throat, opening his mouth to Hob's.

If he wished to know what it was like to be kissed by a man, now he knows: strong and lingering and hungry. Or perhaps that is just Hob Gadling. Hob's stubble brushes his cheeks. He can smell Hob's cologne, rich and sweet like whiskey. He wraps a hand around the back of Hob's neck so he can't pull away far.

Hob's eyes are heavy-lidded when he looks at him. Dream touches his own lips, and Hob follows the movement. "I'm not certain I understand," Dream says. "This is not enough data to make a determination."

"Definitely not," says Hob, and kisses him again, pushing him into the back of the couch. The strength of his hands sends fire racing all the way up Dream's spine, curling around his neck, burning in the tips of his ears. He bites experimentally at Hob's lower lip, and Hob groans low in his throat.

"We're not—" Hob pulls away, lips shiny and wet, "we're not doing this here. Come on."

He stands upright again, and Dream will deny to the end of the universe the dissatisfied sound he makes when Hob's warmth leaves him. Hob smiles, soft and fond now, and takes his hand. "Come on, love."

Love.

Some man, Dream thinks, as he lets Hob pull him up. Join some man in bed. As he follows Hob down the hall to his bedroom. For curiosity's sake. As Hob kneels to help pull off his boots. Just to understand. As Hob divests him of his coat.

Experimental.

"You're so buttoned up." Hob smoothes his hands over Dream's shoulders, his bare arms under his t-shirt. "Let me know if it's too much, okay?"

"Yes." Too much, yes, it is too much, to see Hob look at him like that, with care and with hunger, for Hob to touch him gently, it makes his skin prickle, his cheeks heat, his throat terribly dry. It is too much; he will not tell Hob to stop.

I want to understand, Dream thinks. I want—

Hob smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Come on, then."

Hob is already barefoot, being less guarded than Dream, and he leads Dream up onto the bed. Dream follows, chasing his hands, and Hob does not deprive him. He leans against the headboard and lets Dream settle in his lap, immediately framing his face again between his palms. For the sake of learning, Dream pushes all the dreams of this aside, so that it is just him and Hob. New. Theirs.

He looks into Hob's eyes, very close now, and he feels light, floaty, good. Perhaps the wine was a bad idea. Perhaps it was right.

"What d'you want, darling?" Hob asks. Brushes his lips to the corner of Dream's mouth. "Tell me. This is for you, after all."

Yes. For Dream. A scientific exercise, he must remember. It will help him... understand. It will help him create more vivid dreams. That is all.

He can feel Hob's growing erection pressing against him. His own jeans growing tight. "I would like. The full experience."

Hob laughs, but it's a friendly laugh, not at his expense. Dream can recognize that, now. "There's no full experience. Sex counts as sex if you say it does. But if you're trying to say penetration, we can do that."

Dream shivers at the word penetration, sitting so matter-of-factly on Hob Gadling's tongue. "Yes. I believe that is what I meant."

"Alright." Hob may be matter-of-fact, but he does not sound unaffected. His voice has gone rough, his eyes dark, a flush along his cheeks. His hands fall from Dream's face to brace his hips, thumbs sweeping under the hem of Dream's shirt to touch his skin.

But he doesn't push Dream down into the mattress. Instead he pulls Dream closer by the hips, saying, "C'mere then," and Dream goes back to his mouth. Sinks into Hob's kiss, and the searing heat of his hands on Dream's hipbones. It's different. It's already different. But he can't yet determine if it's different because Hob is a man, or because he is Hob.

Hob, who has been a friend to him even when he couldn't recognize it. Who wants him to enjoy things. Wants to share with him.

Hob pushes Dream's shirt up over his head. Dream has not been bare in front of someone since his escape, but he doesn't think he minds, when it's Hob. When it means he gets Hob's broad, strong hands on his back, pulling him close, and Hob's lips on his shoulder, the crook of his neck, kissing and leaving marks.

"You know, once upon a time I thought you were above all this," Hob murmurs. He touches Dream's belly, his chest, his neck, holding lightly. "You were so... untouchable. Couldn't imagine you lowering yourself to engage in such—” he bites at Dream's earlobe— “such base activities."

"'Untouchable,' Hob Gadling?" Dream says. Hob's hands are cradling his throat now. Hob catches his point and flexes his fingers; Dream swallows under the grip.

"Always wanted to know," Hob murmurs, "if anyone'd touched you at all."

Not in a very long time, it is true. Dream burns with it, now, everywhere Hob touches him is alight. "What would you have done with an answer?"

"Dared," says Hob. "I expect."

"Always daring," Dream says. Indulges himself and slips his own hands under Hob's shirt, feels out his stomach, his hair, his back, all the strong lines of him. Hob's shoulders are pleasing, and his hips where Dream squeezes with his thighs, and these are not things Dream has thought of much, before. He wants to see more. To feel more. "Daring to be the first man to have me."

"Don't say things like that if you want me to keep my sanity." The words are rough like Dream has reached in and touched him instead of just spoken, and Hob's chest rises and falls heavily under Dream's hands.

"Maybe I don't."

This makes Hob chuckle, and Dream feels the rumble of it through his body. He wishes there was not the barrier of their clothes to dampen it; more than seeing Hob, he wants to feel Hob, his skin is prickling with it, his mouth is tacky and dry with it.

"How do you want me?" he asks, and whatever change Hob hears in his voice has him stiffening up, going serious. Dream doesn't know how he feels about it—he enjoys Hob's ease and laughter, but the intensity is... he feels it like a touch.

"How do you want to be had?" Hob counters, and before Dream can contemplate the myriad possible answers, adds, “Do you want to be? Is that what you meant? Only I would have thought— but then again—”

Dream does not interrogate the rambling path of Hob's assumptions. He says, "I would like to know. What I have not. Personally. Experienced, yes."

Daydreams poke at Dream's awareness as the image flashes through Hob's mind. Dream doesn't touch them, but the awareness of their existence alone has him shifting where he straddles Hob's lap. Hob's cheeks darken, and he says, "Strangest way anyone's ever asked me to fuck them. Yeah, alright. Budge up, love?"

Love. Again. Dream climbs off Hob's lap, kneeling beside him as Hob strips off his own shirt, flinging it somewhere--Dream doesn't see, for he is looking only at Hob. The solidness of him, where Dream often feels made of wind; the warmth of his belly, where Dream touches him, while Dream himself often feels cold. So made of earth, Hob Gadling.

Hob lays a hand on Dream's chest as if to push him down to the bed. No strength behind the touch, but the impression of it. "Need you to tell me if it starts going wrong. I'm serious, Dream."

Despite himself, Dream bristles. “You think me incapable of conveying my displeasure?”

Hob huffs. “I think you’re just prideful enough not to. Just be direct with me. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Perhaps... Hob is not entirely wrong. “…I shall," Dream vows at length. Hob nods, and smiles at him again, that warm smile. Dream can’t help but feel pleased to have made him smile so. Hob pushes, and Dream goes, lies back against the pillows, and Hob kneels between his legs. Hands sliding again to his hips, to the waistband of his jeans. Dream watches with fixation, caught on Hob's fingertips.

Hob has apparently decided he does trust Dream to interrupt if he doesn't like something, for he doesn't ask again before unbuttoning Dream's jeans. But Dream can tell Hob is still paying close attention to his reactions, and it's heady to be attended to so.

He lifts his hips for Hob to pull off his jeans, and then gets to bask in a look he can only interpret as adoring. Hob looks upon him that way, and strokes up and down his thighs, over his hips and belly. Dream's skin jumps at the touch.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Hob says, sounding wounded by it. "Everyone who sees you must go home wishing you were going with them, I refuse to believe otherwise."

Dream smiles, despite himself. "This may be a particular bias of yours, Hob."

"Yeah, maybe. I'm right, though." He leans down, hovers over Dream, kisses him. Dream pulls him down so their bodies are pressed together. Hob's skin is so warm, his hair softer than expected, the fabric of his jeans a rough counterpoint where it scratches Dream's inner thighs, rubs against his cock lying hard in the crook of his hip. A wealth of sensation. A pleased, wanting sound escapes him, before he can stop it—but Hob catches it, looking delighted to do so, kisses it right out of Dream's mouth. "You've left broken hearts in your wake. Still can't believe this is your first time doing this."

"Revel in that victory if you must."

"No victory," says Hob. "Only privilege."

And he kisses Dream again even as he works a hand between them, takes Dream in his grip. Dream gasps at the touch, breaking the kiss. Hob's hand is warm and rough and very sure, and Dream can't help the way his whole body tenses with that simple touch.

He feels Hob's smile against his cheek. His voice drips with satisfaction. "Are you sensitive?"

Dream does not get a chance to answer. Hob strokes him again, hums as Dream bucks up involuntarily into his grasp.

"Oh, I'm going to make you feel so good," Hob muses, his voice a warm rumble in Dream's ear. "I know I can. You deserve it."

"Hob—"

Hob kisses his own name out of Dream's mouth, a deep, biting kiss, and this confidence, rather than being offensive to Dream's station, is riveting. Dream feels spelled.

"Just let me take care of it," Hob says, and moves away, and Dream groans at the loss of his body heat.

"You will take what you want now?" Dream complains, knowing full well even as he says it that it is nonsense. But having Hob's touch and then losing it is making him insensate; truly, he had not thought he could fall so far. "Is that what this is, Hob Gadling?"

Hob chuckles. "Oh, no." He kisses Dream's sternum, and down along his abdominal muscles. Mouths at Dream's belly, where Dream shifts under him, ticklish and affected, skin jumping, and then Hob noses at the base of his cock, and Dream realizes what he's gotten himself into only right before it comes to light.

"No, Dream," Hob says, lips now brushing the head of his cock, and like that he looks up and meets Dream's eyes. "I serve at your pleasure."

He takes Dream in his mouth, strangling Dream's response before it can even reach his throat. Not that Dream knows what he would have said. It's whited out instantly in the rush of pleasure that is Hob's mouth, and tongue, the generosity of his body, the vision of him between Dream's legs.

He's voiceless as Hob bobs his head, takes Dream deep, laves his tongue over his slit, applies what Dream must concede is his considerably greater experience to breaking Dream's ability to speak entirely. He grasps mindlessly at Hob's hair, it slides soft between his fingers, head tipped back against the pillows and thighs jerking restlessly, and still he knows this is but a precursor to what Hob truly intends for him. What he's... asked for. Folly. What had he been thinking?

Hob lifts his head to look at him, a line of spit dragging from Dream's cock to his lower lip. "Dream, you with me?"

Dream nods. His hand is still in Hob's hair. He pets at Hob's forehead, his temple, and Hob smiles. Like Dream is the one being indulged.

"Good?" he says, and Dream nods again. Hob takes his hand from his hair, kisses his knuckles, and Dream does not think this is how casual experiments are meant to go. He does not know what he is learning, except that Hob's kiss is soft and reverent, and the look on his face even more so.

"Is this," Dream asks quietly, hyperaware of how he's laid out on his back, Hob between his legs, "how you want me?"

Hob releases his hand. Drags a fingertip maddeningly up and down the crook of Dream's thigh as he considers. "Probably be a bit easier for you on your belly, but I don't want to make you feel vulnerable."

Dream is not certain there is a version of this that would not feel vulnerable. That it does not already. "I defer to your better judgment."

"Stay there, then." He moves away, and Dream takes the moment to gather himself. He's not certain he succeeds. He's spinning pleasantly, buzzing with the echo of Hob's touch. He wonders what might happen if he gives up on trying to right himself.

Hob comes back with lubricant, situations himself between Dream's legs again. Runs his hands up and down Dream's thighs and Dream spreads them wider on instinct. Hob swallows hard, Dream watches the harsh bob of his throat. He's still wearing his jeans, and Dream wishes he would take them off, he wants to pet at Hob's thighs in turn, he wants to see.

"You're a holy vision," Hob says, still studying him with that look, raw and strangled. Find some man to bed you, Dream thinks, feverishly. Some man.

He plucks at the fabric of Hob's jeans. "Hob—“

Hob chuckles. "Sorry, sorry. Bit unfair of me, isn't it? Got too distracted looking at you." He unzips his jeans then, pulls them off, and then is sitting there only in his underwear—something which Dream does not bother to manifest for himself because his clothing is made already of dream stuff, but perhaps he will start because Hob bare before him, his cock heavy and hard in his boxer briefs but still obscured by the fabric is—

"Dream?" Hob asks, as Dream pushes himself up on his elbows and reaches for him, mesmerized, cups his hand around Hob through the fabric, feels the warmth and heft of him, "did I break y— ah fuck."

Hob pushes into his hand, bends down over him again to kiss him as if summoned to it, and it is thrilling, sparkles along every vein, to get such a reaction. To have Hob caving to him. "Fuck, Dream."

Dream indulges himself further, slips his hand under Hob's waistband, takes him in his grasp, and Hob jerks against him. Dream's mouth waters at the weight of him, he has to swallow thickly to clear his throat, his own cock is heavy and straining, and he parts his thighs further for Hob. Vulnerable. Yes. This is vulnerable, and especially so in the waking world, and he wants, he wants Hob in him. A new feeling.

"Hob. I want—"

"I know, darling. Fuck, you're beautiful. Your hands—" He shakes himself. "Right. Right."

Hob sits up again. Strips off his underwear properly. His hair is hanging loose and messy now, eyes ever so slightly glazed with pleasure, chest rising and falling, his prick hard and ruddy at the tip. He is arresting.

He pushes Dream's legs up so his knees are bent, finds the bottle of lube where it's fallen into the sheets, pours some out into his hand. Leans in to kiss Dream’s belly, pleasant and tickling, and in the same motion drags a finger over Dream’s entrance.

Dream catches his wrist, inhuman pulse peaking in his throat, like a burst of dream stuff. “You do not need to put in such effort. This body does not have these human limitations.”

Hob tsks and taps his hand away. “You said you wanted the full experience. And the full Hob Gadling experience includes proper prep and aftercare, even if you're made of whims and fantasies. Free of charge, by the way."

"Oh, indeed?" This comes out significantly less teasing, and significantly more affected, than Dream had intended. "And what will the rest cost me?”

Hob winks at him. "Only your pleasure, darling."

This time, he leans over Dream, takes Dream’s wrist and pins it to the bed by his head. Dream lets out a choked gasp. The sudden pressure of Hob’s grip makes something stand out sharply within him, and then collapse again in relief. Hob makes a considering noise, and holds him there as he presses a finger lightly to Dream’s entrance with his other hand.

Dream shudders as Hob pushes his finger in, one knuckle, two, as he works in and out of Dream’s body, stretching him— it is an odd sensation, one he half-feels he should shy away from, but Hob’s grip on his arm is grounding, and Hob kneeling between his spread legs is tickling something in him that wants very badly.

Then Hob crooks his finger and pleasure rushes through him like a windstorm. Dream arches off the bed, grabbing at the sheets, and Hob laughs. “Thought you might like that.”

“Hob.” Dream thinks he means this to come out admonishing but it’s far more strained. Hob doesn’t give him time to recover, he drags his finger over Dream’s prostate again and Dream bites down hard on his lower lip. Hob slips his finger out, returns with two, and now it’s a stretch. Dream grinds down on him, resists the urge to whine as Hob works him over on his fingers, rubbing over his prostate on every other stroke.

“You are unbelievably gorgeous,” Hob murmurs, watching where his fingers slip in and out of Dream’s body, and then back up at Dream’s face with awe and fixation.

“Even,” Dream struggles over the words as sensation washes through him, Hob’s fingers in him, filling him, so much and yet he wants more, “spread out, like so?”

“Especially then. The way you move on my fingers,” he twists his hand to emphasize the point, and Dream shudders, "the fact that you let me. D’you know how long I’ve looked at you and wondered?” Saying this, he kisses Dream, sliding his hand up Dream’s wrist to clasp their fingers together. “Passing Stranger, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only. Fuck, I wanted to see you like that.”

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, Dream thinks, but doesn’t quote the poem back to him— Hob reels him away again by the touch of his hands. He pushes a third finger into Dream, and now it is tight, it is so much, but Dream pushes himself back onto Hob’s hand. Hob’s fingers move gloriously within him, touching every part of him, and he starts speaking again in his low, honey voice, that’s it, darling, good, feels so good, yeah? and Dream needs Hob inside him. Hob has pulled him by the throat from inexperienced to grasping, and he is grasping.

Hob keeps fingering him, spiking his pleasure higher, his cock hanging heavy and teasing Dream with each move he makes. Dream himself is painfully hard, and it sharpens the feeling of Hob in him from maddening to agonizing. Hob kisses him, licks into Dream’s mouth, and Dream opens to his tongue. He opens to him. Like a yawning, cavernous thing.

Wanting Hob in him has shifted to needing Hob in him has shifted to lacking Hob in him, that Hob is a fundamental part of him and without him Dream is bereft. “Hob,” he whines, mortified by the sound of it but unable to drag himself back to that place of control he had surely—surely?—started the evening with. “Please—”

Hob’s head jerks up and he looks at Dream in shock. And. Oh.

Shame rushes through Dream’s body. Who has he become, begging a human to fuck him? Is he not the Lord of all Dreaming, is he not above this? Once, Dream was a skillful and assertive lover, he could bring the full power of the Dreaming to bear for his lovers’ pleasure, he could craft every moment exactly as needed— and now—

But Hob doesn’t draw away in disgust. Or gloat over the position he’s maneuvered Dream into. He smiles down at him, a soft look that goes just a bit pained at the edges as Dream tenses. Then he presses his lips to Dream’s cheek. Even that simple touch makes Dream shiver.

“It’s alright, darling,” Hob murmurs, so gentle but the heat of it still winds through Dream’s insides. “Don’t you know I’ll give you what you need? You don’t have to beg for it.” He slips his fingers out and back in, only two now, working them as deep as they’ll go. “But you sound so pretty when you do.”

“Please,” Dream says, the words again dragged from him unbidden, unspooled by the feeling of Hob inside him, there but not enough. Hob kisses him, swallows his plea like sweet wine, works him on his fingers, grinds his cock in tantalizing lines over Dream’s thigh. And gradually something unlocks in Dream’s ribcage, each piece turning itself open in realization. Hob likes when he asks, begs even. But he isn’t going to make him.

Asking, then, feels less like a wound rent in him, showing all his torn pieces, and more like a spell that will draw Hob to him. Speak, and he will come.

“Please,” Dream says again, and this time the words don’t tear. He speaks into Hob’s mouth, and the wet warmth of Hob’s lips and tongue soothe him where asking might start to chafe. “Hob, I need—”

“Do you need my cock, love?” Hob asks, rough low and rough and burning. “Feels empty, doesn’t it?” He slips his fingers free, and Dream whines. “I know. I know. You’re just starving for it, aren’t you?”

Starving, yes, Dream would like to take Hob in his mouth, but right now he’s feverish for something else. Hob is so close, every touch of his skin already has Dream singing, but he still wants more. He tangles his hand in Hob’s hair, wraps one leg around the back of Hob’s thighs to pull him closer, and Hob laughs, breathless.

“Fuck, Dream, you’re so—” Hob sounds spun around, now, and it’s gratifying to knock him askew in the way he’s done to Dream.

“Hob Gadling,” Dream says, putting the weight of sleeping desire into his voice, “I need you. I’m waiting.”

“Fucking hell,” Hob groans. “I’ve created something terrifying.” He doesn’t sound displeased about it. In fact, he kisses Dream again, lets Dream pull him close by the hair, smiling into his mouth. “Gonna make it so good for you, I promise.”

“I can plague your sleep with eternal nightmares if not,” Dream says, with no intention of doing so.

“See, I’m so confident in my ability to fuck you” —Dream's skin prickles at the word— “that I’m not even worried about it.”

He makes Dream lift up so he can push a pillow under his hips, takes Dream’s leg and maneuvers it over his shoulder, bending his body back. Dream shivers at the vulnerability of the position, the way he’s pinned. Hob kisses the bend of his knee with a little smile, and then Dream watches down the length of their bodies as Hob takes himself in hand. He’s so hard, glistening with pre at the tip, and Dream swallows jerkily.

“Alright, love?” Hob asks, meeting his eyes. He has always had the brightest, loveliest eyes. Dream holds his gaze and nods. He is not certain that he is, in fact, all right, he feels strange and spun about and immersed in the waking dream of Hob’s bed and Hob’s touch, but he does not want Hob to stop, he wants Hob to fuck him.

Hob presses into him, slowly, pausing when just the head of his cock is sheathed. And Dream— Dream was not prepared, Hob’s fingers did not prepare him for the all around pressure of Hob’s cock, the way it would fill him. It dances on the edge of pain, but he wants more. Already, more.

“More,” he finds himself saying, and Hob chuckles, bracing a hand around the back of Dream’s neck as he complies. This time, he pushes all the way in, not stopping until he bottoms out, groaning at the feeling. Dream clutches at his shoulders, no doubt leaving indents in his skin, body clenching convulsively as he gets used to the feeling of Hob in him.

Hob is inside him. Hob is inside him.

“Dream, you alright? You’re… breathing,” Hob says, petting through his hair. He sounds awed.

Breathing. He is breathing. And he hadn't commanded it so. Hadn't even meant it. Normally Dream forgets to affect such human mannerisms, even when it might be advisable to do so. But now he is breathing. Each one is choppy, three steps up three steps down, somewhere between a breath and a sob.

“I am fine,” he says, and Hob shushes him, kissing his cheek.

“I know you are. It’s alright to get a bit overwhelmed, yeah?” Hob is still in him, Dream can still feel every centimeter of him everywhere, but he doesn’t move. Simply lets Dream settle.

Dream tries to stop the wretched breathing, it makes him feel human and mortal and out of control, but he can’t, this temporary body affixed to this plane by Hob’s weight, his touch. Hob kisses his cheek again, nuzzles at his ear, and gradually Dream finds himself subsiding, relaxing in increments. It occurs to him, through the distant knowledge of the Dreaming, that this softness would not be characteristic of a temporary, experimental experience with a stranger, should Dream have simply wanted to know what it was like. It occurs to him through his own knowledge that this vulnerability he feels, this ability to ease him, is characteristic only of Hob.

He does not yet know what to do with that, but he turns to find Hob’s lips. Hob meets him easily, smiling into the kiss. “With me?” he asks, and Dream nods.

“Yes.”

Then Hob starts to move, slow measured thrusts at first. Dream breathes through each, and perhaps breathing is not so bad, after all, for it settles him, and settling lets him take Hob in, and he wants to take Hob in. It is so good, the slide of him sends sparks all along Dream’s limbs, builds inexorable and tantalizing heat through his body, none of his many dreams conveyed to him just how good it would be, when brought from dreams to reality. From memory to the body. More, even, than this is the sense of Hob’s body over him, the heat of him, and the strength, the breadth of his shoulders, the drag of Hob’s belly over Dream’s prick, the way he moves, expertly pushing Dream higher and oh-so-much faster with each thrust, tapping against that edge of pain-and-too-much without ever letting him fall over it.

Dream is starting to think that, in addition to his general experience, Hob has become quite an expert in knowing what Dream, specifically, might like.

“Good, darling?” Hob asks against his jaw, and Dream means to respond but all that comes out is a whine. He feels Hob’s smile against his skin. “More, then?”

Dream evidently doesn’t have to respond. Hob braces himself more firmly over him, and then he’s moving much faster, and then Dream really loses his senses. Hob bears down on him, levering Dream’s leg back further and deepening the angle, and each thrust hits before Dream has recovered from the last, and Hob’s mouth is on his throat, right over his pulse, which is also hammering—

Hob hits his prostate, and Dream keens as lightning arcs through him. Hob is talking to him now as he does it again and again, saying through panting breaths something like, you’re so good, does that feel good? is’at good for you? fuck you’re gorgeous, but Dream can’t parse much detail. He feels he should be participating more actively, but the wherewithal to do so has slipped away from him, all he can do is take what Hob is giving to him.

Probably that is what Hob wants. Perhaps he has fantasized over their long acquaintance about having Dream bent in just this position. Many might wish to have the Dream Lord at their mercy. Hob’s mercy, however, is a burst of pure heat straight to the soul.

“Hob,” he’s saying when he comes back to himself enough to notice, “Hob, Hob—”

“You’re beautiful like that,” Hob says, voice rough. “Dreamed of it— ha. You make the most beautiful noises.”

They are, in fact, wholly undignified noises, but Dream can’t seem to bring himself to stop; Hob punches each sound of pleasure out of him. He floats. Holds onto Hob’s shoulders. Presses his face to Hob’s and feels the scratch of his stubble. The rough calluses of his hands. The rhythm of Hob’s body is sublime. The kiss that he presses to the corner of Dream’s eye is more so. He is… crying there. Tears spilling over and down his cheeks. Dream has crafted the heights of euphoria within the Dreaming. But. Has any of it ever been as good as this?

He has Hob close to him, around him, in him, and still he wants more. Never again will Dream be able to disdain the office of Desire, not without looking away in shame at the lie.

His release washes over him in a wave that he doesn’t even notice until it peaks, so great is the rest of his pleasure. He gasps as he comes, not even needing Hob’s hand on him, tips his head back on the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open. Chest heaving. Hob slows, cups Dream’s cheek—until Dream urges him on with an ankle hooked around the back of his thigh, do not stop do not stop do not—

“Alright.” Hob nips at his lower lip in admonishment but he does start fucking him again, clearly chasing his own release now rather than pushing for Dream’s. That edge of pleasure-pain now tips closer to pain but Dream relishes in it. Each stuttered motion of Hob in him is blessed.

“I want,” he manages, throat dry, voice scraped rough from his cries, “to feel you come. In me.”

“Oh fuck,” Hob swears. “Dream.” And that apparently is enough. Hob’s hips stutter quick and he comes, hot spurts in Dream’s body, he can feel it. When Hob's tension eases, when his breath catches up to him, he moves to pull out—but Dream drags him back in. He wants— wants to keep Hob inside him, belly spine lungs throat, bring Hob in and in and hold him there, wants that warmth with him always. He could live like that, with Hob close to him.

Hob helps him lower his leg from his shoulder, stretch out sore muscles, and then lets Dream pull him in close, hold him there, in him, even as he’s going soft. He turns them on their sides, tucks his face in against Dream’s shoulder. Breathes the same air.

“So,” Hob says, after several, very long moments where they’ve been lying quietly together, tacky with sweat, Dream’s limbs all wrapped around Hob and Hob running his hands up and down his back, “how was that?”

“Mm?” Dream is still floating. It’s very pleasant.

He can feel Hob grinning against his shoulder. “You wanted to know what it was like to sleep with a man.”

What it was like. Dream is not certain he knows. He knows that Hob’s arms around him are strong, the touch of his skin pleasant even with the combined heat of their bodies. That he smells of sex and sweat and Dream wants to mire himself in it. He knows that, as Hob does finally, carefully pull out, he can feel Hob’s come dripping sticky over his thighs and rather than being discomforting, it only reminds him how he was wanted. His own come is smeared over Hob’s belly in disorganized lines, and Hob’s hair is ravaged by his fingers. There are still tears drying on Dream’s face. He knows that Hob has had him, now, and is still holding him. That the force of his lovemaking annihilated Dream’s dignity. That Hob wants to kiss him during sex. That at his prolonged silence, Hob looks up, finds his gaze, questioning.

“I am not certain that’s what I studied,” Dream admits. “Or. Learned.”

“Oh? What’d you learn, then?” Hob touches his cheek, as if even parted for a second, he wants to be close to Dream again. “Least tell me if you enjoyed it.”

“I did.” Dream must look ruined, and still Hob must confirm he enjoyed it? “What I learned is not what it is like to be with 'a man'. But rather.” He brushes his thumb over Hob’s lower lip, and Hob’s mouth opens at the movement. “What it is like. To be loved. By a very good friend.”

Hob’s expression crinkles into the softest smile at loved. “Oh, a very good friend, hm?”

“Very good,” Dream says. Presses his hand flat to Hob’s heart. “Uniquely so. Uniquely good to me among friends.” Not that Dream has… friends, plural. Better, then, that Hob is so singular. Singular enough to have nestled somewhere within him, between one meeting, one drink, one kiss and the next, and Dream would no longer be without him. His heart is surrounded by a hazy warmth much softer than the sharp pang of desire, and Hob's bed, Hob's touch, is soothing to him, a blanket he has finally pulled over his shoulders after trying to brave the lingering cold. Like so much this evening, it feels strange, and like so much this evening, it feels too good to shy away.

Hob leans in to kiss him, a soft drag of lips over his. “Good. Can I convince my friend to go in for a shower? Tea, maybe? Can I convince him to stay the night and keep exploring that friendship?”

Hob has taken care of him this evening, has not yet lead him astray, and so Dream lets him pull him out of bed and to his feet. In the shower, under the rushing hot water, Hob kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, rough, inelegant, consumed by feeling, hands curled around Dream’s hips. Dream will not make dreams out of this night, after all, he thinks. Selfishly, he wants to keep it to himself.

Peerless among friends, Hob Gadling, he thinks, as Hob makes him tea. As Hob tugs him back over the threshold, into the bedroom, into the mess they’ve made of the sheets. Peerless among friends.

Among lovers, too, perhaps.

#tfw ur having casual sex with ur homie to learn what its like to get dicked down then oh no youre having a gay awakening oh NO youre having #a romantic awakening about your homie too. we've all been there #my writing #dreamling #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #you best believe 'i serve at your pleasure' plays over and over and over and over in dream's mind for weeks after #btw the poem hob quotes is 'to a stranger'#nsft

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highttowers · 10 months

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telephone. [sorry, i cannot hear you, i’m kinda busy.]

pairing(s); matthew lillard!william afton x reader

fandom; five nights at freddy’s [movie]

w/c; 604

trigger/content warnings; SMUT MDNI, blowjobs, slightly bottom!william, desk sex, voyeurism??, afab!reader, gn!reader as possible (reader is described having hair long enough to get in their face), employee!reader, nicknaming, name-calling, age gap (reader is mid 20s, william is early 50s), swearing, lmk if i missed anything

stella speaks! i was not expecting all the love i got on that shitpost and for it to grow into this! also sorry if this makes no sense i usually have to get silly to write proper smut.

tags; my fellow william afton thirst babie, @truecobblepot

William’s hand is tangled in your hair. His face is picture perfect, albeit shiny, but his ragged breath and airy chants of you name falling from his lips tell another story.

Your knees are burning. Your pants are around your ankles, your panties shoved into William’s pocket, cun leaking on the ground from where he had just fucked you on two of his fingers. The tile under your knees is cold, and hard, a sharp contrast to the rest of your body.

Your mouth is wrapped around his cock, head brushing the back of your throat. You gag, and William pulls it out, tapping your lips with it. “Kiss it. lick it.” He commands gently, and your hand wraps around the base of cock, obliging. William’s hand comes up to cover a whimper from escaping from his lips, the travels down his neck, loosening his tie. When the phone rings, you jump, but William calmly leans forward to answer it.

The hand in your hair keeps your mouth over the tip of his cock, and you swirl your tongue around it. “Hi, this is Mike. I was just calling to see if that job that you offered was still available?”

William tenses, and you lick a strip up the underside of his dick, a hand coming up to brush your hair back as you take him deeper.

“Yes, the security guard,” William answers, his voice unwavering. You dip your head, hollering your cheeks and taking him so far his top hits the back of your throat. In your mouth, the rest of his cock twitches, and William suck in a sharp breath.

“I will take anything.”

William’s hand grips the armrest of his chair as you slide him out of your mouth, releasing him with a pop! and, William exhales a little shakier than the fist time.

“All you have to do is keep your eyes on the monitors!” William says, his voice slightly wavering. You’ve gotten louder, and William’s whole body is tensing.

“Right…uh…so. What— what day is a good start date?” Michael asks. He can hear the noises through the phone, and he’s frozen in his chair. He’s only slightly aware that his jeans are gradually tightening around his crotch as he tries to focus on what William is saying.

“How about Thursday?” William says, then exhales loudly when you gently take your nails over his happy trail.

“O-okay. Thursday.” Micheal is silent for a few more moments before: “Do- do you hear that, Mr. Raglan? What’s that sound?”

William’s grip tightens in your hair, stopping you from freezing. His cock twitches in your mouth and you realize he’s getting off to this.

“Oh, it nothing Micheal. Just the rain we’re having here in Utah. You know how it is…” William’s hand moves down to the back of your throat, and his his balls tighten. He’s telling you to keep your mouth there, right there as best he can without speaking.

Across town, Micheal glances put the window near him. It may be growing dark fast outside, but the sky is clear. He can’t even catch the smell of rain on the wind. He swallows thickly, wondering if he should continue this conversation.

“Mr. Raglan…it was sunny today.” William is hardly paying attention to him at this point, hips stuttering as he shoves himself as far down your throat as he can go.

He grins when you gag, finally getting his release. As he spills down your throat, he smiles at the tears gathering in your eyes, shushing you quietly.

“Ah, silly me,” he hums into the phone, petting your hair. “My mistake.”

#william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #michael afton #five nights at freddy’s #fnaf #five nights at freddy’s x reader #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy’s movie #fnaf movie #matthew lillard #🖋️ — my writing #🐻 — five nights at freddy’s

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dmercer91 · 6 months

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could you do nsfw hcs for trevor zegras

nsfw headcanons, tz11

he’s soooo 🥴 like who needs to look like that???

trevor is just a brat.

essentially choosing the vibes of the night every night cause he’s got daydreams of him fucking you a trust they’ll be made real

fucking your throat always

loving on you in a way that makes it known he’s prepping you to be used however he pleases for a better part of the night

chuckling at your requests to slow down or your incoherent babbles

chuckling at literally any of your attempts to assert any kind of power

unless of course he’s politely requesting to do unspeakable (new) things to you- in which case he’s suddenly leaving sweet kisses all over your jaw and tummy

if he’s giving you head and you start to close your legs he just pries them open and mumbles incoherently to make you even worse off

blatant jealousy issues that directly translate to marking you up

blatant jealousy issues that directly translate to having you mark him up. cause he wants everyone to see that he takes good care of you, he’s real proud of his scratch marks

big fan of making you watch him in a mirror while you’re perched up in his lap.

he sends some risky texts/pictures (videos too) while he’s on roadies and if he’s ever graced with some in return he sends voice memos telling you how pretty you are and just overall praising your entire existence

he buys you toys just so he gets to watch you squirm from them

10/10 passtime for him is holding a wand to your clit and watching you writhe. he’s got hooded eyes and parted lips- truly he’s so enamoured with your pleasure

“oh, baby. does that feel good?” while he’s literally about to cream his boxers listening to you whimper his name

you let him train your throat and he thinks it’s the hottest thing on the face of the planet when it pays off

the first time he slid all the way in with no resistance he immediately had to back out and give himself a second

“fuck. you’re molded to fit me, aren’t you? you were carved straight from heaven just for me to have. mine”

he’s just obsessed with you

he’ll never get enough

that shitpost that was like ‘i can’t fix him. i can fuck him though, that’ll calm him down’ that’s trevor

he likes to make you try and ride him after you’ve already come far too many times and when you’re doing an overall questionable job he cooes and teases that you’re too fucked out to be good for him

then he starts meeting the rolls of your hips and you jolt and stop completely so you can grip onto him

he puts on a strong facade to mask how good you make him feel and it’s rare that he slips unless you’re sucking him off

he likes missionary with your legs hooked over his shoulders cause he likes to look down at you when you scream for him.

he usually props a pillow under your back and you always try to rid of it or squirm away to avoid overstimulation and he gets a good chuckle from it

the very first time you guys went all night and every time since he’ll give you ‘intermission’ which to him was just incessant teasing while he desensitized

blowing on your clit to watch you jump from the cool air

nipping at the skin of your thighs

coaxing you into his arms so he can tie your wrists to the headboard and get you ready for more

rewarding you with kisses before telling you he’s getting you a surprise and coming back with an eye cover

him genuinely asking if you trust him and his heart and cock twitching when you say yes and mean it

promising him you’ll tell him when enough’s enough and you need a break or to stop

him promising you he’ll learn you like you’re his major for the rest of his life so he can make you feel like absolute heaven and him doing good at keeping that promise

soft moments or lighthearted jokes when you’re overwhelmed before he asks if you want to clean up or keep going

him always giving the sweetest aftercare even if he was soft that night cause he knows that regardless he draws it out

no seriously quickies are like his personal hell he would rather just be late

cleaning you up with a cool cloth or running you a bath and giving you a scalp massage

drying you off and putting you in loose clothes so you don’t feel constricted

putting a little of his cologne on the neck of his shirt you’re wearing to comfort you

cuddling you up on the couch and putting on a movie while he changes the sheets, puts everything away, sets up some water and ibuprofen for the morning in case, and orders your comfort foods

swaddling you up in his arms while you eat and after you eat and peppering you with so so many kisses

you playing with his hair while you doze off and him carrying you to your bed once the movies over

#e’s headcanons !#trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras smut #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #ohhhhhh my god i hate how bad i need him

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louroth · 10 months

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Well, well, well. Would you look at what the cat dragged in. (it's me, Lou!)

The time is here, and oh man, do I have a lot to say! Ever since this post was posted on my personal tumblr, on the fifth of may, I have been working like a machine on all things OUROBOROS. I had originally planned for this to just be a progress report/ announcement on what I will be working on now that I am free of the shackles of work, but, somehow, I managed to finish all bullet points, and more. So, let's get into it!

First off, the title. Ouroboros becomes all capitalized OUROBOROS. Idk. It's neat. Next!

Art. Whew. I didn't think I could draw like this anymore- drawing has been more of a struggle than writing has been, forever, always- it was something I really strived to become good at, for a time. And I gave up. Only to pick it up again when I started ouro, and ever since I released that pressure, something just clicked and I have been churning out art like never before. I don't know if this is a fluke, a stroke of luck or if all that hard work I once did slaving away with menial art practice… but I'm grateful nonetheless. (A note on official RO art: I lost my ipad pencil somewhere on the lawn, lmao. I haven't been able to get a new one yet, so there is a slight delay here.) I am hoping that I get to make some commissions too, in the near future. Visit the forum to see some works in progress (amongst them, Yor's RO portrait!)

Onto the hellscape that is coding! I have been growing more proficient with CSS and html with the help of the ones that run so that we can walk; I have studied and researched and tested and tinkered until my eyes crossed, finding my way into this medium with the incredible guidance of the giants of whose shoulders I stand on. I will talk about this in detail on a later date. So I think it's finally time to reveal that yes, I am working on a twine version of ouro. I will develop it in tandem with choicescript; the porting over from one to the other isn't the herculean task I thought it would be.

Why am I doing this? Because I need to have a save system. I am continuing to write the whole alpha draft in choicescript in hopes that CoG will announce the ability to have a native save/checkpoint system, but if that doesn’t happen, I can’t publish this story without one. Unfortunately, I am not willing to code in a savesystem in choicescript myself, because this will be a large game, with far too many variables for that to be sustainable. Trust me, no one is more disappointed by that fact than me. If it comes to the point that twine publishing will be what I do, I will set my sights on writing a smaller game for hosted games.

Now the meatier announcements!

New Socials!

Tumblr: You are looking at it! This is the new, exclusively OUROBOROS blog where I will share all announcements and sneak-peeks, and future updates. I worked together with the dev of the theme and made it oh, so pretty and functional. Please check out their portfolio here, if you are ever in the market for sprucing up your (desktop version) of tumblr. They were a pleasure to work with. Amongst other things, it has a gorgeous header (again, only if you visit on web and not mobile) where I am showcasing fanart and official art. Go check it out! This month, I am showcasing a truly breathtaking art from KAIRELART, and you can find the full art here, or follow the links in the “FEATURED ARTIST” tab in the top bar.

I hope you enjoy this new haven for OUROBOROS! I will be answering questions once a week (saturday) and ramping up as I adapt to this new schedule, more on that further below.

My old tumblr, honeypeabrain, will revert back to being my personal blog. Feel free to keep following me there, but know that it will be inundated with shitposts, crass humor and the occasional poetry dump and personal post. You’ve been warned!

Discord!

By the good graces, this was ROUGH to set up. Working with discord bots is akin to wrangling code, and it was well and truly, a war. But with the help of many, it is finally all done and ready for anyone to join and talk to me and others about OUROBOROS and anything else between heaven and earth.

I will also greatly appreciate if any future bugs and feedback are submitted through here, so I can keep easier track of it. Come join us! (18+ ONLY.)

Patreon & Ko-Fi

Yep! Ko-fi is just a place to toss me a coin if you wish to help me towards the goal of new PC parts to make testing easier, or to just show appreciation for those that have it to spare. Patreon however, already has a multitude of posts and will be a hub for exclusive NSFW sidestories that you get to vote on, loredives and extensive sneak peeks, Q&A’s, polls and weekly dev logs.

Right now, there are only two tiers, but I expect it to grow as my story does. I have many plans, but I am going at a steady pace.

Amongst tiered content, there is a (free) NSFW story with female MC and Idren to read there right now, if you want to check it out! I am mgoing to post it on tumblr and the adult thread here over the weekend.

NOTE: I stupidly didn't realize that patreon had a review process after I pressed launch, which I did just a few minutes ago. Sigh. I am going to post the short on tumblr and the adult forum thread as soon as I get to it.

It is not mandatory by any means, so if you do choose to support me, you have my eternal gratitude as these places will be the sole source of income for me.

Onto writing:

The best news out of this whole bunch is that I have worked so hard on editing and writing, that in the past month I have all but finished a two chapter update! I have a chunk of about 5-6 thousand words left to write, and I am going to buckle down over the weekend to see it through. I wanted to have it done so badly for today, but I lost three days of writing time last week due to still being weighed down with work. I hope it isn’t too disappointing to have to wait until monday for the demo update! I am going to post a link to an as-I-write updated demo on Patreon and Discord, if you want to see the ugly face of raw wip drafts. Otherwise I will post the demo update here on Monday with a comprehensive post!

And now! the biggest news is… from now on, I am writing full time!

This is what I have been tossing and turning about every night ever since Easter. It started as a silly idea while talking to some friends and family about how I was looking for a change in career. And then, little by little, that idea whittled down to a plan, carefully carved by my partner and his whispers of a happy future, a finished dream project, and something to be proud of until the day I wither and die.

Somewhere between then and now, I grasped a tiny sliver of bravery and held on for dear life.

I quit my job as a teacher, and instead of accepting a cushy office job, I started behaving as if OUROBOROS and writing was my work (for all the moments I could afford). I have researched and tried different methods from week to week, and although I was still tired from work, I felt like I was onto something that could build into a sustainable future.

I have no doubts that this journey will be bumpy and long, but sometimes all it takes is to take that first step, and do it with determination. It might all crash and burn and fail in a spectacular way, or with a whimper, but then I will know that I have tried. I will know that I gave myself the chance to be who I want to be, work on what means so much to me.

And that’s it. I think the hardest part of formulating this post (I’ve written about 50 versions of it!) is getting to the point; the kernel of what makes it so special to me. So, in my heart of hearts, what I'm trying to tell you is that I'm gonna give it my all- and while I know the road to having a sustainable career in writing is rough and ever winding, I do know for sure that I am ready for a challenge, to pour my heart and soul into it until the day I rush out of the office screaming IT IS DONE. IT IS DOOOOONE!!!

If you decide to join me, I will treasure your company like a lantern in the dark. Hand in lovable hand, let’s fucking go.

#OUROBOROS #ouroboros-if #interactive fiction #hosted games #CYOA #twine #dev log #progress update #honeypeabrain #smacking tags on this post like they're skittles im aiming into a beasts mouth #I DIDN'T REALIZE PATREON WAS GOING TO REVIEW MY PAGE (literally cried about it because I planned everything so meticulously) SOB #anyway :') but a small stepping stone on the long journey ahead #I am going to take the dog for a long walk and then upload the demo/spicy short as I say hello to anyone joining the disc #I hope to see you there :>

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temp-v · 2 months

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The Boys episode 2x3, minutes 54-56 are my butchie roman empire.

Why, you might ask? I have no time to take screencaps.

1. Butcher puts away the piece of paper that can lead him to Becca.

This isn't him giving up on her, no. But it's an acknowledgement that Butcher both is powerless to reach her right now, and that he has other responsibilities in his life—responsibilities he's been neglecting for her sake.

2. He moves over to the couch, sitting right next to Hughie. It's a big couch. Why you sitting so close, homie? ✨gay✨ He does sit down, and then lean just a little bit closer into Hughie's space.

3. number 2 was mostly a shitpost. The look they share immediately afterwards is not. This is 15 seconds of looking between the two of them, with prolonged eye contact in the middle.

Butcher is looking at Hughie like he matters, like he's someone worth comforting and saving. Like he's also a priority in Butcher's life—one worthy of competing with Becca (as implied by him symbolically putting her away).

Meanwhile, Hughie is looking up at Butcher, and for the first time all season, seeing legitimate care and camaraderie staring back at him.

Let's not mince words: The Boys is a very straight-leaning show.

The queer representation skews Sapphic (thus palatable to the more conservative fans), and the Achillean representation is almost entirely villains. Frenchie is a bisexual man, and that's valid—but the narrative only places importance on his romantic relationships with women. There was even the perfect opportunity for a MMF polycule, which they subverted with labeling the other man Frenchie's best friend.

So, when it comes to queer Achillian ships on The Boys, there's going to be a lack of narrative intent (at least there has been thus far). But hey, that simply allows us to analyze these more sparse scenes and enjoy what we can get out of them.

Do I want more Achillean rep? Yeah. But I'm not expecting apples from a lemon tree, here. If it happens, I'll be pleasantly surprised.

#the boys #butchie #billy butcher #hughie campbell #butcher x hughie #hughie x butcher #the boys meta

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polteergeistt · 4 months

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Dropping the evil spirit persona real quick just to say that I am so damn proud of Sleep Token for how far they've come and grateful I am for the community built around them on Tumblr. I met some of the sweetest most talented people in the world and I will never say it enough but I love us as a fanbase even if some people are not as kind and respectful as us on other platforms, I will forever trust that in here we are safe all together. Through the reactions to the hate the band got, the support for the eepies and the offerings to them, I can see that there is good in this world and somewhere there are people with golden hearts and kind words. This is all I could dream of and I couldn't ask for a better online family. I am proud to belong here and I am so proud of all of us, artists, fanartists, writers, shitposters, and even those who just reblog stuff with or without tags. I truly feel blessed to have you and to have them in my life, in my ears, in my eyes and in my heart. I wish you all merry forehead kisses and I look forward to what 2024 has in store for us.

Worship <3

#sleep token #sleep token band

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vaultlinkvt · 3 months

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This is the first proper thing I've drawn in ages (and first are I think I've posted in over 5 years?) I just needed to draw the opening to Act 5 and my reaction to it.

Nothing has gripped me in such a way and forced me to finish an art piece like this in so fucking long. I see far too much of myself in him. I just want them to be ok after this is all over. STARS, this is just Asriel all over again isn't it. But WORSE!/pos

…I guess that could make this vent adjacent? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I also made a shitpost edit that I posted separately here.

There are so many things covered by each other and I just need to share and talk about them. Bonus details and rambles under the cut.

Siffrin's expression was like the first thing I drew and if it didn't turn out as good as it did I probably wouldn't have spent almost 10 days slowly adding to this and I just need to show it because his hands/arms end up covering most of their face.

Nothing much else to say about him, I'm just super happy with how everything about him turned out (I did have to go back and redraw some of his hair towards the end because the line thickness wasn't consistent with everything I drew after.

Next is ME yippeeeee. I have no idea why I spent so long adding details even tho I knew alot of it would get covered by Sif 'cause of how I was posing this.

I even designed a little button based on the Change Ornament + Star (the Change Belief and Lost Belief in The Universe really spoke to me in so many ways)

The gloves are an Archery Glove on the right hand and a Drawing/Writing Glove on the left.

The cloak is based on the style of cloak my mom made for my family for SCA events when I was young. It's just a simple hooded cloak but it has a slit in each side so you can stick your hands threw without needing to open up the cloak. I imagine it being stylized like, the opening doesn't exist until you stick your hands threw and then it can just freely glide around the face of the cloak to wherever it's needed, stopping at the elbow only letting threw the forearm, below the slit beginning to hang off the elbow with gravity while the part above begins to move with the upper arm.

I didn't even try to draw the outfit under the cloak because dealing with the folds of a thick wool cloak was enough for me (you can see how I gave up at the knees because I KNEW Sif was gonna cover them up). What I imagine the outfit being is this big baggy tunic and pants that are tied down at the forearms/calves to keep from getting in the way, it's also supposed to have a big baggy turtleneck thing that can be pulled up as a(nother) hood (iirc, this sorta thing was used so someone could wear a chainmail hood without it grabbing your hair(there ware also like stand alone cloth hoods that did the same thing too but eh, my memory is bad I might just be misremembering this)) but I couldn't figure out the folds and ended up just doing a simple button up thing (which then got covered by Sif's big head anyway.)

I spent soooo long trying to draw my eyes, trying to figure out the shape, and ended up just doing a bunch of small tests to the side before finding one that actually looked right. Drag it over the face and see that it fit EXACTLY, didn't even need to redraw it or anything.... unless you're talking about the other eye in which case I just duplicated it, flipped, and did some perspective warping until it looked ok because I could NOT draw that again especially at a different perspective (can I just say I have no idea how I drew that creepy eye but I love it, it was the first eye I drew and I just threw 4 lines down what the fuck how. Also the Mira-ish one looks cute too but didn't fit the expression.) I also needed to figure out what the hell was wrong with the expression I had before so you get 2 faces from me figuring that out (turns out I had the eyebrows facing the wrong way.)

I ALMOST FUCKING FORGOT MY FRECKLES TOO AAAAAAAAA (they're actually missing from the version I posted in the official ISaT server.) It was super weird trying to add them at the obscenely low resolution I was drawing at and they're probably gonna get compressed to hell and back but I think they're cute.

final thing.

Why is my hair so similar to Sif's but longer? Like, you can see I was sketching over my drawing of him to make sure I'd keep the proportions right when I started working on myself but in the process I realized that I was basically drawing over his hair but longer for mine (drawing I was using as ref here made by @leemak)

Add that to the uncomfortably long list of things I have in common with Siffrin I guess.

#In Stars and Time #ISaT #ISaT Spoilers #ISaT Act 5 Spoilers #Siffrin #ISaT Siffrin #vLink Art #oh hay this is the first time I can finally use the tag I thought up for art of myself yay #technically the fan art tag would be 'fArt' instead but eh

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sootybunny · 9 months

Text

Welcome to my shitpost model au that turned into an awfully angsty au with too much lore to be a joke anymore!! Read more about the au, and yn, under the cut <3

A former performance animatronic under the watchful eye of fazbear entertainment, Sun finds himself rebooting alone in clothes too luxurious to belong to him.

Bankrupt. Fazbear had gone bankrupt. An ‘unfortunate event,’ the company had said. Money laundering, the court had corrected. To salvage any compensation necessary, animatronics were sold onto the highest bidders. And Sun happens to wake up with most of the hazy memories of his life before, but nothing apart from his adored tattoos to show for it. Nobody else seems to acknowledge his previous life, including his two most precious friends, who don’t seem to remember at all.

The modelling agency isn't much better than their previous situation. More freedom in a few sparse areas, yet even less autonomy in the rest. Metal bodies change and get reworked and reworked again to fit into trends or create new ones. They find themselves unsure of staying and unable to leave, and bitter towards their lack of being heard.

So when a sassy, yet kind-hearted assistant steps up when they reach stardom, they can’t help but both gravitate towards them, but also wish to see just how far they can push before being left to the wolves once more.

But you don’t leave. In fact, you keep up with sun’s quickfire requests, begrudgingly fix the tears moon’s claws leave in his clothes, and carry the same sarcastic bite in your tone as Eclipse.

And if you signed your life away to them in the form of a contract due to nauseating guilt, then they’re none-the-wiser.

You just hope, once you see past your expectations of them to find three individuals who didn't get what they deserve, that they never see the side of you that's barely dissimilar to what you once thought of them.

Oh naive, cynical human, you're in deep shit.

Moon | Eclipse

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prettyboykatsuki · 10 months

Text

notes from op ; if you want to see more thoughts and one-off shitposts about gojo specifically, you can check my #a.gojo tag but it's currently pretty barren so the link won't show much

—✮ LONG FIC [4k+]

✮ [ HOW TO BE A DOG ] | [NSFW, 18+] | (PART ONE) (PART TWO) | WC ; 36.1k

SYNOPSIS ; With Six Eyes to see, it becomes clear. You are being watched.

TRIGGER WARNINGS ; DARK CONTENT, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, YANDERE, MANIPULATION, STALKING, OBSESSIVE AND DELUSIONAL BEHAVIOR, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON AND SEXUAL ASSAULT, VIOLENCE, WARNINGS CONTINUED ON POST

TAGS ; AFAB + Fem!Reader, Yandere!Gojo Satoru, Mino Character Death, Religious Imagery, Neighbors to "Lovers", Fingers, Hickies, Bruises, Edging

All sexual content in part two.

✮ [ POWER TRIP ] | [NSFW, 18+] | WC ; 8.7k

SYNOPSIS ; Gojo satoru has been your mentor for 4 whole years and not once has he uttered a word of praise for you. It bugs you. you know it shouldn’t

TAGS ; AFAB + Fem!Reader, Dom!Gojo Satoru, Imbalanced Power Dynamics, Sub!Reader, Undernegotiated Kink, Petplay, Collaring, Praise, Humiliation

—✮ SHORT FIC [1k+]

✮ [ SCUMBAG (FOREVER YOURS) ] | [NSFW, 18+] | WC ; 1.8k

SYNOPSIS ; You never know how Gojo feels about you until he approaches you. You don’t feel like denying him, either.

TRIGGER WARNINGS ; DARK CONTENT, STEPCEST

TAGS ; AFAB + Fem!Reader, Exhibitionism, Fingering, Strained Relationships, Age Gap

✮ [ ALL OF ME, JUST FOR YOU ] | [NSFW, 18+ ] | WC ; 1.7k

SYNOPSIS ; Gojo doesn’t like when you stray too far from home.

TAGS ; AFAB + GN!Reader, Crybaby!Reader, Soft Sadist!Gojo, Jealousy, Mocking / Teasing, Edging, Penetration

✮ [ BULLY!GOJO ] | [NSFW, 18+ ] | (PART ONE) (PART TWO)

SYNOPSIS ; Gojo has a tight grip, but you always slip like sand from inbetween his fingers.

TRIGGER WARNING ; MANIPULATION, BULLY, DARK CONTENT

TAGS ; AFAB + Fem!Reader, Fingering, Penetration, Public Sex / Exhbitionism

✮ [ HANDS ] | [NSFW, 18+] | WC ; 1.1k

SYNOPSIS ; Gojo Satoru has the nicest hands you've ever seen.

TAGS ; AFAB!Reader + GN!Reader, Lowercase, Fingering

—✮DRABBLES [400-999]

└✮ CW: HARD INCEST, Dad Gojo fucking you in front of your boyfriends + AFAB + Fem!Reader 18+

└✮ Bunny hybrid reader x Wolf!hybrid Gojo

└✮ Divorced Gojo returning to your empty shared home + GN!Reader

└✮ Missionary and dirty talk + AFAB + Fem!Reader 18+

└✮ Manhandling + Solo!masturbation + GN!Reader

└✮ Helping a reader who's scared of the dark + GN!Reader

└✮ Reflecting on the idea of reason + GN!Reader

—✮ BLURBS [-400]

#gojo masterlist #management

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a-slut-for-smut · 9 months

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Reckless

Mei Mei and Nanami watched as the cab took off, Nanami having handed a substantial wad of cash from Gojo’s wallet to the driver to ensure Gojo made it to the front of his building at least.

Nanami shook his head. “What was Gojo-san thinking when he accepted Iori-san’s drinking challenge? He’s well aware of his weakness to alcohol.”

“Mmmm…yes,” Mei Mei replied, “but I think you’re forgetting his true weakness.”

“And what's that?”

Mei Mei looks at him pointedly with an amused expression. “Do you think he would have accepted that challenge, fully aware that he’d lose, from anyone else?”

For @goutaweek2023 Day 7 - Free Day!

Well this is actually more of a NanaMei (nanami x mei mei) fic, born from a gojohime shitpost i made a while back where Utahime challenges Gojo to a drinking contest, results are as expected (spoiler alert: he loses terribly 😆).

*************************

The Tokyo And Kyoto High faculty mixer at the karaoke bar was wrapping up, mainly due to an inebriated Gojo passed out on the floor after competing in a drinking contest against his beloved senpai. Utahime, riding the high of victory, gleefully ran off arm in arm with Shoko to continue the night's festivities; leaving Mei Mei and Nanami to effectively pour Gojo’s drunk and limp body into a taxi home.

Mei Mei and Nanami watched as the cab took off, Nanami having handed a substantial wad of cash from Gojo’s wallet to the driver to ensure Gojo made it to the front of his building at least.

Nanami shook his head. “What was Gojo-san thinking when he accepted Iori-san’s drinking challenge? He’s well aware of his weakness to alcohol.”

“Mmmm…yes,” Mei Mei replied, “but I think you’re forgetting his true weakness.”

“And what's that?”

Mei Mei looks at him pointedly with an amused expression. “Do you think he would have accepted that challenge, fully aware that he’d lose, from anyone else?”

Nanami considers her question with a knowing small smile. “Ah, of course. Gojo-san tends to lose all his sight when it comes to Iori-san. Hard to think he could be more reckless than he already is, but whenever she is around it seems his recklessness could surpass Limitless.”

Mei nods. “Indeed. But I wonder, Nanami-chan, is there anything that would make you just as reckless?” She questions teasingly.

Wide-eyed and thrown off balance by her bold inquiry, he clears his throat in an attempt to collect himself.

“I endeavor to avoid being reckless at all costs. Nothing good could come out of that.” He replies stoically as possible.

Mei flashes her coy smile once again; eyes gleaming. “You sure about that Nanami-chan?”

Nanami coughs, unable to meet her eyes, instead fidgeting with his glasses. “It’s difficult to be sure about anything, Mei-san.”

Mei sighs. She hated non-answers. Oh well.

“Well, I don’t live too far from here, I suppose we’ll call it a night. Unless…you’d like to be my protector and walk me home?” She suggests playfully.

Nanami chuckles lightly at that. “You’re the last woman in the world who’d need a protector. But I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Mei Mei lives six blocks away so the walk and the conversation is ‘short and sweet’- far from what she considered to be any sort of gratification. No, what she desired was quite the opposite- but the question was, would Nanami rise to the challenge?

As they approached her building she gestures towards the entrance. “This is me”.

Nanami looks up to survey the exterior. It is a modern mid-rise apartment complex, mainly of glass construction dotted with triangular terraces covered in greenery and hanging vines. “Nice building”. He remarks simply.

Mei Mei walked straight to the front lobby doors, opening and holding it for him. “If you think the outside is nice, you should see inside”.

His eyebrows raise before he can school them, hesitating for a moment but declining would be impolite and insulting her hospitality is the last thing he’d want.

“Take it all in Nanami-chan, consider it a reward for being such a gentleman for walking me home.” She strolls to the elevator bank, the doors automatically opening for her. She stands to the side, arm bracing the door in invitation, which he accepts as she follows him in.

The elevator is one of those sectional high-speed ones that seem to jump 20 floors per second, although Nanami could have sworn time had stopped; the temperature becoming uncomfortably warm, his hand itching to loosen his necktie around his collar.

“This is a nice elevator” He offers lamely; cringing internally.

Mei Mei suppresses a giggle. “It gets even nicer, trust me.”

Once again Mei’s outstretched arm holds the open when they arrive at her floor. Nanami exits and trails slightly behind her as she leads them to her door, his eyes watching not unlike her crows, as she reaches into her purse for her keys. Nanami feels the sweat beading down the back of his neck; he’s completely at a loss at what to say or do, not even when facing off the deadliest cursed spirits had he ever been paralyzed as such, but with her…

As she pressed the key into the knob, she spoke. “I know what you must be thinking Nanami-chan…”

He swallowed audibly, clearing his throat frantically. He desperately prayed that telepathy wasn’t one of her secret cursed techniques as he struggled to maintain his cool countenance.

“....nice door, right?” She finishes cheekily.

Nanami slow blinks before laughing lightly in relief. “Indeed. And for the record Mei-san, walking you home is no trouble at all. I did it for no reward. In fact, it was my pleasure.”

Mei sighs dramatically. “Believe me, at my age, it’s a rare treat to meet a man with such good manners- and a handsome one at that." She teases, winking at him. "I feel so special."

"Well, you are a special woman, Mei-san."

Mei Mei's ears perked at that. "Oh? How so?"

When Nanami shifted uncomfortably and didn't answer right away, Mei decided she finally had enough of this song and dance. It was time for the ride home- literally.

"Do you really think I wouldn't notice the way you've looked at me all these years?"

Nanami is taken aback but recovers quickly, growing accustomed to her brazenness.

"And just how exactly have I looked at you all these years?" He prompts evenly.

Mei Mei entered the ring, intent on ending this once and for all; gloves off.

"Like you want to rip my clothes off, bend me over and make me scream your name over and over." She replies coolly but coyly, in trademark Mei Mei fashion.

Anyone else would not have noticed the subtle changes in his demeanor, but as far as Mei Mei was concerned she never seen such a dramatic transformation; it was as if he had mutated into an entirely different person. The way he arched his eyebrows, clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils- she had apparently triggered a feral side in him and it was unbearably hot to watch unfold.

He scoffs lightly. "I guess it shouldn't surprise me. Not much gets past you and your crows, does it Mei-san?"

He slowly reaches up to remove his glasses, tucking them into his suit breast pocket. His eyes then unabashedly trailed up her body in indulgent appraisal.

"Now tell me...", his eyes finally meeting hers, sliding both hands in his pockets and relaxing his weight on his heels, "...just how am I looking at you... right now ?"

Mei Mei didn't need her crows to see the scorching raw hunger behind his eyes. Gods, the way he was looking at her ignited an urgent heat in her core, making her unconsciously bite her bottom lip.

"Like you want to devour me. Like you want to run your tongue over every inch of my naked body. Like you want to make me cum all over your cock, over and over, all night long."

Nanami didn't respond, but Mei Mei didn't miss the telltale signs of how his brow furrowed and neck muscles twitched.

"Well...am I close, Nanami-chan?"

Nanami moved so impressively quick that even in a distracted state her first-rate reflexes were unprepared as he flipped her to face the door, caging her with his body. She gasped as he pressed himself to her, she could feel his searing heat through their clothes, the unmistakable outline of his erection grinding into her bottom.

"No." He breathed hotly into her ear. "But you will be, as soon as you unlock the fucking door."

****************

Ao3 link here! But now that i think on it, ill probably expand that gojohime drinking contest into its own fic (or extended scene in my ongoing fic 😁)

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lesinquietes · 3 months

Text

Summary: You talk shit to the wrong person on a discussion forum. Idly, you troll one user who’s really into the Paranormal Liberation Front’s new leader, Tomura Shigaraki. You’ve heard he’s being heralded as the Villain of Villains, though you’re not sure that’s a valid title. You decide it’s time to make your opinion known. “Idk if I’d give him that title… lol he’s giving insecure incel.”

Mean!Yandere!Shigaraki x Bimbo!Reader

⚠️ mdni. degradation. incel. misogyny. noncon. oral. panic attacks. shigaraki is a mean dom. slut-shaming. yandere.

Next l

You snicker as you press enter. Admittedly, you don’t know enough about the white-haired criminal to make that judgement call. You’re basing your statement solely on appearance. What can you say? Making ignorant comments is the essence of shitposting. You get to act a fool online because no one will ever discover who you are.

Until the user you mouthed off to replies.

Crumbleking: the fuck do you know?

Crumbleking: and you think a guy like him wouldn’t get women? he has a fucking army you stupid bitch he can have anyone he wants. that’s not insecure.

You roll your eyes, noticing he didn’t address the incel comment.

(Your username): I literally do not give a fuck lol do you want him @ crumbleking? Seeing as you know so much about his personal life and all

Crumbleking: you should be thankful he hasn’t killed you yet

(Your username): I’m not hearing a no

Crumbleking: get fucked

(Your username): Apparently shig is doing enough of that for both of us lmao

Crumbleking: you’re asking for it

You block the user. How many times has some moron threatened you online? Too many. But you take solace in the fact that, just like you, everyone’s simply a keyboard warrior. At the end of the day, it’s not like any of this shit is serious.

Right? :)

Well, a few days after this incident, you login to your social media account and notice a message in your mailbox. You lift a brow. It’s probably a meme from your best friend. You’re surprised to find a notification next to Requests. Someone you aren’t friends with has messaged you.

Hastily, you tap the Requests tab. You don’t know why your heart is pounding, or why you have a horrid feeling about this. Perhaps you’re under too much stress lately, or perhaps your intuition is trying to tell you something — that you’re in danger.

The request is from someone named Shigaraki. You know it can’t be the real villain. You clue in that it’s likely that freak who was defending him on the forum. He must have determined who you are somehow and resorted to messaging you on your private social.

Shigaraki: hello you dumb slut

Shigaraki: remember me?

Yeah, it’s definitely him. You wonder what his goal is, what he wants from you; normal behaviour doesn’t include stalking. You debate on whether or not to reply. You could play dumb or own up to your role. Of course, it’s far easier to do the former.

You: no?

It’s simple and to-the-point. You see him typing back right away. You hold your breath when he stops. Then, the screenshots from the forum come, reminding you of the conversation.

Shigaraki: i know you’re (username).

You resort to the IP tracker on your laptop, figuring you’ll spook him and he’ll leave you alone. You power it up and click eagerly. When you’re halfway through locating him, it’s as though he’s read your mind.

Shigaraki: if you think I’m not using a vpn then you’re stupider than I thought

The panic really sets in now. You’re hyperventilating. The message shoots you into a panic attack — the kind when your throat constricts and your lungs heave stale air. You scratch at your chest and gasp. You feel like you’re dying. You can’t breathe. With quivering fingers, you type a nasty message to him.

You: what the fuck is wrong with you. why the hell do you care what i think this much???? please leave me alone. blocking you.

That’ll end this terror once and for all. Or will it?

Shigaraki: Don’t you fucking dare you whore

His response is nearly instantaneous.

Shigaraki: if you block me I’ll find you irl

Shigaraki: i just showed you how easy it was to find your social media profile

Shigaraki: i’ll fucking find you

Shigaraki: and we’ll see if you feel the same about me when we’re face to face

You can’t stand it. You press the block button and exit the app. You turn off your phone — as if that’ll help — and throw it onto your bed. You shut down your laptop place it gently atop your desk. That’s enough for tonight. You have to remind yourself that the person threatening you is just a persistent troll, that the Tomura Shigaraki would never waste his precious time bantering with a random person on the Internet. You get to bed using that precise logic.

Except you’re wrong.

A few weeks pass, and you make the foolish mistake of thinking you’re safe. You start to throw caution into the wind, glancing over your shoulder less and walking home from work at night. You don’t notice the pale man trailing you. He watches you at work, as you hustle under pressure, and at home, before you close the curtains. He’s seen you naked twice. He assumes you meant to show off your body to an audience, that you like a bit of exhibitionism. Well, he’ll keep that in mind when he extensively plots out your payback.

Finally, one evening, he strikes. You come home from work and close the door. Securing the locks, you don’t see him until it’s too late.

He wraps a hand around your neck, keeping his pinky lifted to prove a point. He could kill you if he wanted. He could turn you to dust and be done with this stupid shit. In truth, he doesn’t know why he let his anger overtake him to the point where he had to find you. The problem is, he can’t stop his pursuit. If you escaped him right now, he would find you again.

And again.

And again, until he’s able to teach you a fucking lesson.

“Thought you could get away from me, huh?” He rasps next to your ear. “I found your social media account. Didn’t think I’d find your address?” He cackles venomously. “Stupid whore.”

You know immediately who you’re being held captive by. It’s the guy you were talking shit to online. It also happens to be Tomura Shigaraki, in the flesh. You realize, at once, that your luck is positively atrocious. Like, honestly, how the fuck did this happen to you? You can’t make sense if the madness.

He drags his knuckles along your cheek, stroking it. You feel his index finger trace the outline of your lips. Instantly, your heart sinks. On cue, he hums.

“I bet these can suck dick better than they talk shit,” he remarks darkly. “Wanna find out?”

You don’t, but he does.

“Take off your jacket, or I’ll crumble it off with the first two layers of your pretty skin.”

He takes away his hand to allow you space. The way you understand it, if five of his fingers make contact with your body, you’ll begin to fall apart. You’ve seen footage of what he’s done to heroes who have defied him. It causes you to wonder why he’s chosen to torture you, of all people.

The answer lies in his discovery of your social media account. Before he saw what you look like, he was content to merely leave you a little scare. Then, he started diving into your life, going through each and every one of your photos. It turns out you’re quite the socialite. You with your friends. You with your family members. You with animals. Food. Music. Video games. With all these posts, he was granted a perfect snapshot of what it is you do. And now, he wants to watch everything you ever loved decay.

“Why the hell are you doing this?” You hiss, daring to make eye contact tact with your stalker. “Don’t you have better things to do, you fucking freak?”

You spit the last two words with as much vitriol as you can muster. He doesn’t miss the effort you pour into your distaste. He rewards you with a callous cackle.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” He cooes, scarred lips contorting into a smile. “We’re on a first name basis, aren’t we?”

You lick your lips. You can’t recollect if you referred to him by name. Everything is a rapid blur.

“Shig.” He prompts you. “You’re the first and only person that’ll call me that.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You didn’t consider it overstepping at the time because you didn’t think you were interacting with Shigaraki. You can see how it might have been construed as intimate in his eyes, given your casual use of the pseudonym. The least you can do is apologize. It won't save your ass, but perhaps it will urge him to go lighter on you.

"I-I'm sorry," you squeak. "T-to be fair, I—“

“To be fair, I should wrap my hand around your throat and watch you beg me for air as your whole body turns to dust.” He interrupts you venomously. “Take off your fucking jacket.”

You unzip the garment and throw it onto your sofa. Next comes your hat and scarf. You finish his request when you’re in only your sweater, pants, socks, and undergarments. He smirks at the result of your swift labour, drinking in your silhouette. He’s seen enough photos of you outdoors to know what lies beneath the rest. Thirst traps, you’d probably call them. Little did you know they’d be used against you one day.

He removes his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. With a languid thumb, he swipes it to life. He logs into his fake social media account and finds yours. It’s bookmarked as a favourite tab, of course, especially considering how many times he’s used your pics to jerk off. If you only knew how many nights his cock twitched, begging to be sheathed in your soft pussy, you’d probably be petrified.

He grins.

“What were you thinking, posting shit like this?”

He twists the screen around for you to see. It’s a photo of you and your bestie in bikinis. Your hair is wet from spending time in the ocean. You and your friend were vacationing at a beach, and you wanted to look your best. Beside her, your lips are coiled around a lollipop, cheeks hollowed out from sucking on it. A thirst trap? Absolutely. But not for him.

He stares at the image one more time before putting the phone away. His crimson orbs lock with yours. A smirk settles across his lips.

“Get on your knees.”

Your eyelids clamp shut. Wordlessly, you lower yourself to the ground. It feels utterly humiliating. You have no choice but to let him use you. There has to be a way out of this situation, but how? If you’re serious about surviving, you have to cook up an escape route.

Shigaraki nears your submissive form. He wishes he brought something to tie you up. You’d look gorgeous bound for him. Helpless and barely willing is how he likes his lovers.

He wasn’t lying when he told you he gets women. Since establishing the Paranormal Liberation Front, people have been throwing themselves at him. They’re attracted to his power. He doesn’t have an interest in any of them, though; there are better things to do, and more enticing partners to find. You fit the bill quite nicely.

He hovers over you, leering at you with his crotch mere centimetres from your face. His jeans smell like laundry detergent — you didn’t expect that. You guess he’s not as crusty as he seems, with his scraggly hair and raspy voice.

Suddenly, he grasps the back of your head with four fingers and pushes your face against his clothed erection. He grinds it along your cheek, twitching in his underwear, yearning to feel the warmth of your slutty mouth. Soon you’ll serve him, but not yet.

“Look what you do to me,” he groans, lulling his head back. “I’ve been waiting for you to fix this problem. Won’t kill you until I’ve had my fill.”

You shiver. You’ve got to get to fuck out of here. If you can distract him, you can jump out of the window and get help. It’s risky, but you don’t have much of a choice.

He releases you and moves to unzip his pants. Your breath hitches. You don’t want this to extend any longer than it has to — not if you can help it. Who knows when he’ll get bored and murder you? He’s unhinged. The time to act is now.

“Wait,” you mumble. “Sh-shirt.”

Shockingly, he lets up for a moment. You take the opportunity to gesture to the garment you’re wearing. It’s your work uniform. Nothing special. He doesn’t have to know that, though.

“Lemme take this off,” you insist. “P-please. I-I don’t wanna ruin in.”

If you remove your shirt, that’ll leave you in merely a bra and pants. Fortunately for you, Shigaraki isn’t a stupid man when it comes to his own satisfaction. He decides to offer you reprieve. Robotically, he steps back to give you space. He’s seen them from afar; he knows they’ll be impressive up close.

“Hurry up.”

He doesn’t anticipate you being a skillful little idiot.

You roll backwards and stumble to your feet. Bolting towards the window, you’re grateful that he didn’t make you strip completely. The hesitation of humiliation and shame might have prevented you from leaping out from the second floor. It’s with luck that you don’t break anything upon hitting the ground.

Shigaraki lunges for your hair a millisecond too late. He catches himself on the window frame. At the same time, you get to your feet and sprint. By the time he reaches the street, panting and growling with fury, you’ve disappeared; there’s not a trace of you left behind.

He suspects you’re off to alert a local hero or police officer. That’s fine. He doesn’t expect them to believe you, and even if they do, how will they protect you? He can feel his power accumulating; moreover, after the impending procedure that’s set to occur in the coming months, he’ll be unstoppable. He doesn’t mind killing those who get in his way.

Thus, with a heavy huff, he lets you go. You obviously want to play, and he’s a master gamer. He knows you want this just as much as he does. After all, didn’t you grasp that he was serious about finding you as many times as you manage to flee from him — that he’ll keep his pursuit steady until you no longer have the strength to run? You must want to be hunted, like pretty prey reserved only for the best.

You have no idea who you’re fucking with.

#minors dni #tw misogyny #tw noncon #shigaraki tomura #yandere shigaraki #yandere tomura shigaraki #yandere shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki smut #afab reader #fem reader #bimbo reader #shigaraki x bimbo reader

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