#poor man's poison inspired

[mythyk-art]

Too close for comfort.

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Two ocs that don’t have names, but they have lore. They’re both suffering :)

Original sketch and reference image (made myself using easypose) below the cut.

The original:

The reference:

#mythyk art #blood #body horror #monster #eye monster #oc #ocs #merrick #avery #human #dbd inspired #easypose #sketch #reference used #poor man's poison inspired #drawing #art #horror #the eyes and face are like that for Reasons :) #original characters #angst #human oc #monster oc #cw blood #greyscale #there's a lot of stuff going into this idea #please reblog if you like this! #it'll motivate me to share more about these characters :> #original character #scared human

[rose-coloured-angel]

THE GOD OF DEADCREEK

CHAPTER 1 

          This story starts with a cowboy. Lots of Westerns start that way. A gruff, grizzled cowboy rides into a small town on a tired horse. We don't know why the cowboy is gruff and grizzled, just that he is. He stops in front of a saloon and ties up his horse, then goes inside. The saloon is lively. No-one pays the stranger any mind. Not until he sits to get a drink. That's when the men at the bar notice the dried blood on the stranger's clothes, and hands, and face. There's more blood on his boots; the other patrons see the trail of prints leading to the bar, and they stop their merry-making.

          The music from the mechanical piano goes silent. The patrons whisper among themselves. A few know the stranger's face, but no-one knows his name, or why he's covered someone else's blood. The bartender, hearing him order a whisky, neat, obliges to his request once the stranger presents him with payment.

          Someone leaves to get the sheriff. 

          By the time the sheriff arrives, the cowboy's glass is empty. He doesn't order another drink. The sheriff approaches the stranger, putting a hand on the shoulder without a bloodstain.

          The cowboy turns around before the sheriff can say anything. When the sheriff sees the stranger's face, he pulls his hand away.

          "James Hunter," the sheriff says, surprised, but only a little. "What are you doing outside of Deadcreek?" The sheriff pauses. He looks the cowboy, James, up and down. "And whose blood is on your hands?"

          James looks at his body, and his eyes widen as if he's noticing the blood for the first time. The weight of what he's done crashes down on him like a righteous flood. He isn't shocked. He's angry. The sheriff sees something in his eyes, something remorseless. 

          "Well, Hunter? You gon' say anything?"

          James shakes his head, turning back to the bar. "What can I say?" He stares at the empty glass, sitting on the bar in an empty saloon. He turns back to the only other person there. "You gonna arrest me?"

          The sheriff shakes his head. The poor bastard. "What did you do, James?"

          James doesn't answer. 

          "Look, I know you. You're a good man, and that says a lot, you bein' from Deadcreek an' all. Come down to the jailhouse with me. You tell me what happened and why you're in my town, covered in blood, and we'll see if we can't sort the whole thing out."

          James follows the sheriff, Ron Carter, to the jailhouse. The cells are all open and empty. Crime doesn't happen in Sunstone; at least, it usually doesn't. But cowboys covered in blood don't usually ride into Sunstone, either. 

          Ron asks James to tell him what happened. James says that Ron won't believe him. Ron insists that he's a logical man, a God-fearing man, one who will listen to whatever James has to say with an open mind.

          James is silent. Ron sighs. "Listen, James. I don't think you're a killer. But I can't deny what you look like…" His eyes go to the revolver on James' left hip. "...and if you don't tell me what happened, I might have to assume the worst. Now, I won't take you to a courthouse until I have proof something happened. But if you're a killer, and I have to assume you are, I can't let you roam Sunstone free as you wish. You understand?"

          Still, James is silent. Sheriff Carter continues. "You can sleep here, in a cell, under my watch while Deputy Jones goes to Deadcreek to-"

          James stirs to life, and he bangs his hands on the sheriff's table. "You can't send him to Deadcreek. Hang me at sunrise if you want to, but don't send a soul to Deadcreek."

          Sheriff Carter, taken aback, leaning away in his seat, finds his composure in a cigarette and raises an eyebrow. "Why can't I send my deputy to Deadcreek? Somethin' happened I should know about?" 

          James takes his hands from the table and curls them into fists. He's silent for a moment. When he speaks again, he doesn't meet Sheriff Carter's eyes. 

          "You said you were a God-fearing man, Sheriff?"

          "...Yes."

          "There's no God in Deadcreek. But I saw the Devil. He wore a preacher's clothes, and he preached a false gospel."

          "Quit speakin' in riddles, boy. What did you do to Father Turner?"

          James' fists tightened. "I-"

          A shout and gunfire interrupts the conversation. James turns to see outside.

          A man, disheveled, comes barreling down the road after a woman. He holds up a shotgun. The woman turns to take cover. The shotgun blast takes out a barrel of rainwater. The man keeps shouting. The sheriff shoots up and makes his way outside. 

          "Goddamn Jonathan Harper-" he turns to James. "Stay in here."

          No sooner does the sheriff step outside the jailhouse does the shotgun point in his direction. The man holding the gun, Jonathan Harper, shouts a warning. 

          "Don't come any closer, Ron, or I'll blow yer head off! This's between me and my wife!"

          James watches from the jailhouse window. He takes out his revolver. Jonathan makes his way towards the woman. She has nowhere to run except for open air, and that is suicide by itself. 

          James aims as Jonathan raises his shotgun. He has one shot…

          The shot rings out. Jonathan falls to the ground and drops the shotgun. He yells and howls in pain. The woman runs, but is caught by Sheriff Carter. 

          James comes out to hear what the sheriff is saying to the woman. Jonathan stands and grasps his bleeding fingers. One of them is missing, blown clean off by James' bullet.

          "What did you do to make him angry this time?" James hears Ron say. "How many times do we need to discuss things with Father Richard?"

          Jonathan points to James, demanding to know who he is and what he's doing. James can tell Harper is drunk, but he says nothing to the bleeding man. He doesn't get the opportunity. Sheriff Carter starts shouting at him. 

          "I thought I told you to stay in the jailhouse."

          James eyes the woman, who keeps trying to pull away from the sheriff. But her arm is caught in a tight grip, and it's twisted in a painful-looking way.

          "I just wanted to make sure you were alright, Sheriff," James lies. 

          "And you wouldn't have anything to do with Jonathan suddenly missing a finger?"

          Jonathan stares daggers into James' skull. James' face doesn't change. "Wouldn't know a thing about it. You're sure he had all ten before?"

          Sheriff Carter glares, moving his eyes between Jonathan and James. He angrily kicks the shotgun away and throws the woman back to her husband. James keeps his expression neutral. 

          "Get out of my town before you cause any more trouble," the sheriff says. "And you," he adds, turning to the woman. "Stop giving your husband a hard time, or Father Richard and I will visit you and your husband for supper again."

          James doesn't know why the idea of supper makes the woman look so afraid, or why her gaze suddenly meets the ground, or why she stops fighting and mutters out a quiet "Yes, Sheriff", but he doesn't like it. 

          Jonathan, clutching his wife, pokes a finger up at James' chest. If he wasn't full of cheap liquor, he would notice the blood on James' clothes and stop speaking. But he's drunk, and angry, and missing a finger on the other hand, which is staining his wife's apron. 

          "A man can do whatever he wants with his wife," he spits and slurs. "An' yer not gonna stop 'im."

          Jonathan takes his wife away. No-one else in town, even the ones who have come out of hiding, do anything to help the poor woman. She keeps taking glances back at James. Jonathan, tired of her stalling, slaps her across the face. She stops looking behind her, and they disappear over a hill.

          James sees the sheriff staring at him from under his hat, arms folded as he leans against a wall of the jailhouse. With no other choice, James unties his horse and rides it in the opposite direction of Jonathan Harper. 

          Once the sheriff is out of sight, James turns his horse around. He can see them walking in the distance, towards a house further up the prairie. 

          By the time James reaches the house, it's sunset. He can hear arguing inside, and glass breaking. He dismounts his horse and gives her a reassuring pat, then quietly makes his way up the dirt path to the porch.

          He doesn't take out his revolver until he hears a woman scream. Then, he kicks open the door and finds the man he's looking for in the kitchen.

          Jonathan is holding a knife. His wife is on the floor, bruised and bleeding. She's not badly injured, but James doesn't wait for a better reason to shoot the man. With one bullet, Jonathan drops dead.

          A heavy silence fills the air. Once the shock passes, Jonathan's wife, shaking, stands and runs past James, up the stairs and to the bedroom.

          James turns to leave. His work is done. But Jonathan's wife stops him at the door. She begs him not to go, not yet. She can't get rid of the body herself, and when the sheriff discovers what's happened…

          James stays for a few more hours. He checks outside every few minutes until midnight. No-one in town seems to have heard the gunshot. No-one sees James and the woman carry Jonathan's body outside. No-one watches them bury him in a shallow grave in the garden and cover it with stones. 

          James intends on leaving after the work is done, but when the woman offers him dinner as a thank-you for his help, he can't refuse. He hasn't eaten since sunrise, since he rode out of Deadcreek.

          James' horse is moved to the barn behind the house. She is tied in a stable across from another horse, a black horse named Ash. The woman explains that it was her husband's horse, but he never took care of the poor thing. 

          The woman introduces herself as Jesse over dinner. It takes her a moment to think of the name. James doesn't ask why she makes one up to tell him. He tells her his real name, and the name of his horse.

          "Maple is a strange name for a horse," the woman smiles. It's a sad, strained smile. James can't blame her. She's been through a lot. The cut on her lip is still fresh, and from the looks of it, it'll be a scar.

          "Well, I figured I would call her somethin' easy.  She was born under a maple tree. I jus' called her after the first thing I saw."

          Jesse smiles again. This time, it isn't forced. "Do you and Maple usually go around savin' people from their husbands?"

          James finishes eating. He gets seconds. "No. But I could tell this wasn't the first time something like this has happened." James stares at the place Jonathan's body used to be. "You and the sheriff know each other well?"

          Jesse's face goes slack. She looks away. James doesn't like how her arms hug her body, or how her long hair falls to hide her face. "Too well," she says quietly. "He is…was…Jonathan's friend. Him and Father Richard. All three of them, like brothers. They all had similar ideas about things. The law, God…" she pauses. "...women."

          James doesn't press any further. He can tell it upsets her. 

          "Whose blood is that?" Jesse asks.

          James forgot the blood on his clothes. He doesn't answer. He changes the subject. "I thank you for your kindness," he says, standing and putting on his hat, "But I really should be going, now…"

          Jesse rushes around the table and grabs James' hand. "Please, don't leave me here alone. I'm scared."

          "He's dead and buried. Can't hurt you no more."

          "It's not Jonathan I am afraid of."

          James stares into her eyes. "What have they done to you?"

          Jesse tells James the truth about Father Richard and Sheriff Carter. James is filled with righteous anger. But he can't just ride into town and shoot the men dead. 

          "Do you think they'll come looking for him?" he asks Jesse.

          "After a day or two, yes, of course they will. They're best friends."

          James makes the decision to stay, just for a day or two, until the two men reach the door. He'd be long gone before anyone knew what had happened.

          Jesse and James continue talking for those two days. James washes up and wears Jonathan's clothes. He has nothing but his blood-soaked attire with him after leaving Deadcreek. Jesse goes to buy food, but when people ask her about her husband, she lies and says he is sleeping off the alcohol. The other women give her a knowing look. They are all using their blouses to hide bruises. Jesse returns to James with fresh bread, vegetables, and meat. She keeps a jar of candy sticks for herself.

          "You know, it's funny. I shouldn't be so happy about this candy, but Jonathan never let me have any…"

          James huffs, biting into a chunk of bread. "Nothin' funny about that."

          Jesse tells James about her life, her dreams, herself.

          "I wish I was a man," she says. "I find myself thinkin' about it all the time. I don't hate being a woman, but…the way they treat you…"

          James nods along. 

          "And I…I think I would feel better, being a man. Not just being treated nicer. I mean…do you ever feel like you're not where you're supposed to be, who you're supposed to be? Like your skin doesn't fit quite right…"

          James pauses. The light of the fire reminds him of Deadcreek. He feels like he knows what she's talking about. "Everyone tells you what you are. But it ain't you."

          Jesse seems to cheer up at that. Or maybe it's a trick of the firelight. 

          "Jesse isn't my real name," she admits.

          James nods. He grunts an affirmation that roughly translates to "Yeah, I figured, but I wasn't gonna say anything since you were traumatized and a blood-covered stranger shot your husband."

          Jesse keeps talking. "But I like the name 'Jesse' better than my old name. I think it suits me better."

          James stares at the fire. Jesse gets up, grabs a pair of scissors, and sits down next to him. "Would you cut my hair?"

          James laughs for the first time in a long time. "You won't like it. 'Don't know a damn thing about cutting hair."

          Jesse smiles. That much was obvious. James' own auburn hair was in an unkempt, long ponytail that went down a little past and between his shoulders. 

          Still, Jesse persists. "It doesn't have to look good," she says, "Just has to be short."

          James takes the scissors and does his best work. Jesse's brown hair is thick, and long. It takes over an hour to cut it. When James is done, Jesse gets a mirror to see how it looks. It's thinner now, so it feathers around her ears and tickles her neck. She runs her fingers through, feeling how it ends much sooner than she is used to. It looks horrible, but it feels amazing.

          James chuckles. "I told you you wouldn't like it-"

          Jesse interrupts him. "It's perfect. It's just what I wanted."

          James smiles, but Jesse frowns again. 

          "I…I wanted to ask you something. I know it will sound strange, but…please, please don't say anything cruel. Please don't abandon me."

          James raises an eyebrow. "What is it?"

          "Can…can you call me a man? Can you treat me like a man?"

          James pauses. "Sure. Why not."

          Jesse grins, then frowns, then grins again. "Really? Without a fight?"

          James nods. "Sure."

          "But…surely you have questions? Surely you don't understand?"

          James takes out a cigarette and lights it on the fire. He hates smoking, but he does it anyway. "It's not for me to understand. I don't understand, but it's not hurtin' anybody. You say you're a man? Fine by me."

          Jesse stares at the fire. It's dying now, only smoldering embers. "I wish more men were like you."

          James shrugs. "Guess you'll have to be one of 'em." Jesse grins, but James frowns. He flicks his cigarette into the fireplace. "Maybe bein' more like me ain't a good thing."

          Jesse's grin fades. "You did something, didn't you? Besides just killing my husband…"

          James nods, but says nothing. Jesse looks out the window, at the stars. "Do you believe in God?"

          James sighs and leans back, hands folded under his head. "...Nope."

          "I suppose that's why you're able to go 'round killing random strangers without a second thought."

          James sits up. "Now, hold on-"

          "Do you feel bad about killing? Or, is it just something you do?"

          "I don't believe in God because of my own reasons. But just because I don't believe in God don't mean I don't believe in a Devil. Don't mean I don't care about taking a man's life. I killed your husband because he would have killed you, otherwise. And man or woman, I don't like anyone who hurts innocent people. I don't feel bad about hurtin' your husband because he deserved it. But I'll be damned if I ever hurt someone innocent."

          "...do you think you'll go to Hell when you die? Because you took a man's life?"

          James stares at the ceiling. He remembers the smell of blood, and smoke, and sweat. "Sometimes I think we're already there."

          Jesse ponders this for a moment, then lays down beside James. "I believe in God," Jesse says, "But not the one Father Richard preaches about."

          James says nothing, just leans back down. 

          "He's always screaming about an angry God. A wrathful God. One minute he'll say God is the Lord of second chances, that He's kind and forgiving. The next minute he's hollerin' about people God hates, and God's wrath, and God's punishments. Disrespectful wives, murderers, Native Americans…all the same in his eyes. He says they'll be sent to Hell. But then I see everyone in the congregation cheer, or shout with him…I wonder if they would follow him if they knew what he did behind closed doors."

          James looks over at Jesse. He has his arms around his shoulders, barely under his short hair. "...If they knew what he did with Jonathan and Ron…and me…"

          James closes his eyes. "Don't like preachers much. Too many men pretending to be mouthpieces for God. And none of them are saints." James shifts so he's on one arm, facing Jesse. "I'll tell you a secret, since you told me one of yours."

          Jesse turns to him. The only light comes from the moon in the window. Jesse knows that in the morning, the sheriff will come for them both. 

          "What's that?" Jesse asks. 

          "Preachers don't like me much, either."

          Jesse laughs. He laughs until tears stream down his cheeks. He doesn't know why he's crying. "I can't imagine why!"

          James nods, ignoring the tears. "Well, I'll tell you why. It's on account of me liking women…"

          Jesse snorts. "Oh, is that a new sin?"

          James smiles. "You didn't let me finish. I like women just as much as I like men."

          Jesse laughs harder. Everything from the past two days comes crashing down on him. Every emotion hits him at once. The fear, the anger, the sadness, the happiness. Here he is, laying in the moonlight with a murderer, a kind and merciful murderer. What was he going to do after this? After this wonderful moment? Would he be framed and hanged for killing his husband, or hanged for having short hair as a "woman" in Sunstone? 

          James watches Jesse go through every stage of grief at once before he says good night and takes a seat at the kitchen table. He plans on waiting there until morning, when the sheriff and preacher knock on the door. But Jesse, wiping the tears from his eyes, stands and puts a hand on James' arm. 

          "You can come upstairs and sleep in a bed, if you'd like. I might be a little bigger than most, but I don't take up the whole thing."

          James opens his mouth to protest, but Jesse interrupts him. "I'm not propositioning you, if that's what you're afraid of. I just thought a bed would be more comfortable than a table tonight. And, truth be told…it would be nice to have someone next to me. Someone I can trust. I think I'd feel safer." 

          James, reluctant, but agreeing in his mind that a bed would be nice, makes his way up the stairs with Jesse. He takes off his boots, but nothing else, and lies down. The bones in his back, aching from sleeping on a table and wooden chair the night before, settle into the mattress. When Jesse gets in bed, he silently admits to himself that he also feels safer with someone next to him at night. 

          They fall asleep almost instantly, without another word.

          

          James wakes with a start when he hears the loud banging on the front door. His arm reaches over to the other side of the bed. Jesse is nowhere to be found. 

          James shoots up and quickly puts on his boots. He makes his way downstairs. Jesse stands at the door, clutching a knife in his hands. 

          "I won't ask you again, whore," Father Richard shouts. "Where is John? I know you did something to him. If he's dead, you'll be following after, and the Good Lord will deliver hellfire upon you!"

          James leans down to whisper in Jesse's ear. "Do they have weapons?"

          Jesse manages to get out the question so Ron and Richard can hear. Ron replies by burying an ax in the door. 

          Jesse screams. James points his revolver.

          The door lasts only a few moments longer. Jesse runs to the kitchen. James waits.

          Father Richard is first to enter, long ax in hand. He steps over a splintered piece of door frame. He sees James. 

          "What in the name of-"

          James shoots. Richard goes down, dead. Sheriff Carter stops in his tracks. It looks like he runs away, but James knows better. He races to the kitchen.

          Jesse is under the table. A bullet breaks the window. Another lodges itself into the table. James can't see the sheriff outside. He stays in the door frame, away from the now empty window pane. A head looks inside.

          James is quick to fire, but not quick enough. The bullet meets the air that would have been the sheriff's head a second before. James curses. He should have brought more bullets. There aren't many in his gun. 

          Jesse tries to make his way out from under the table, but another shot almost hits his hand. Then another. Then another. 

          James thinks carefully. It's another revolver, from the sound of it. Six shots before he needs to reload. He's used five.

          Use your last bullet, fucker…

          That's when James hears the sound of breaking wood.

          Shit-

          The sheriff stands in the living room, facing James. He holds up his weapon. He fires.

          James is hit in the shoulder. He drops his gun. The sheriff reloads and plans to aim for James' head.

          A knife speeds out of the kitchen, hitting the sheriff in the chest. Another one goes through his eye. He falls back, dead, on top of Feather Richard.

          Jesse stands in the doorway of the kitchen, prepared to throw another knife. He stops and drops the knife when he sees that James is hurt.

          Jesse wants to dig the bullet out, but James knows better. Instead, he asks Jesse to get three things: a good, sharp needle, some thread, and a bottle of strong whisky.

          James downs most of the whisky before Jesse is allowed to touch him. It doesn't do much to ease the pain, but it makes James feel better. More of the whisky is used to sterilize the wound, the needle, and the thread. Jesse questions leaving the bullet inside the wound, but James insists. 

          "The bullet won't kill me as fast as an infection. Saw it happen when I worked with Doctor Banker in Deadcreek…"

          Jesse, happy to make a joke at a time like this, snorted. "His name was 'Doctor Banker'? Surely he should have been a banker and not a doctor…"

          James hisses when the needle enters his skin, then groans and leans back against the wall. "Hell, he could have been both. He was a smart man…"

          "Was?"

          "He- fuck- ain't around anymore." James swallows more whisky. Jesse finishes closing the wound. He uses scraps from his dress to patch it up and clean the blood. James stands. Jesse stands, too, holding out his arms to catch James if he falls. 

        "You shouldn't be up and about with a wound like that-"

          "Don't really have a choice, do I?" James hisses, drinking the last of the whisky from the bottle before looking over at the mess in the living room. He stumbles, drunkenly, into a chair. "Damn. I destroyed your home."

          Jesse sighs. "You're not the one who broke down the door with an ax. Or put a bullet through the window. Or in the dinner table…"

          James laughs stupidly. "You were good with that knife. Hit him right in the middle. Where'd you learn to throw like that?"

          Jesse leads James upstairs. "I didn't. I just…threw it. I got lucky."

          "Twice?"

          James collapses onto the bed. He grinds his teeth and grips his arm, just under his injured shoulder. Jesse, not knowing what else to do, runs into town to get a doctor.

          The doctor helps James without too much questioning. He recognizes him as the stranger covered in blood, but he took an oath, so he looks at the wound and assesses that everything should be fine.

          "Didn't hit any arteries or bone, by the looks of it. Large hole in the flesh, but a pretty clean one. You got lucky. Good stitching, no need to open it up or redo it. You did this yourself? With your left hand?"

          James glances over at Jesse. "Yes," he lies. "Not the first time I've had to patch up a bullet wound. And I'm already left handed."

          The doctor glances at James' left hand. "Nobody beat the left-handed Devil outta you as a child?"

          "They tried to."

          The doctor peels away from James and wipes himself off, even without any blood on his clothing. "Well, I think my work here is done. You should be fine, so long as you limit the use of that arm. Try to avoid straining your neck, as well. 'Might pull on the muscles and cause more bleeding." 

          Done with James, the doctor assesses the two dead men in the living room. He agrees that the undertaker is better fit for the job. He goes to leave, but shoots Jesse a pointed look before he does. 

          "The deputy won't like to hear that Sheriff Carter is dead in your home, ma'am. And none of us are happy about what happened to Father Richard."

          Jesse swallows. The doctor leaves.

          The undertaker arrives with the deputy. The undertaker says nothing as he removes the bodies from the living room. The deputy won't shut up. He has many, many questions. 

          James, still drunk, both on whisky and pain, is conscious enough to answer a few of those questions. He tells the deputy what happened between him, Sheriff Carter, and Father Richard. He claims that he was the one throwing knives, and that Jesse was hidden under the table. He also insists that Jonathan, like a coward, ran away as soon as Father Richard started tearing down the door.

          "Well…" the deputy starts, "That does sound like Jonathan, to run away at the first sign of trouble. But I thought he, the sheriff, and the father were pals. They were always together…"

          "Maybe somethin' between them went sour," James replies. "It can happen. Don't know why they'd bust down his door, though, and go after his wife."

          The deputy purses his lips. If James is right, he can't be over 22 years old. "Hm…and you defended her as best you could, is that right?"

        James nods in affirmation. The deputy glances over at Jesse. He's doing his best impression of a damsel in distress, crying into his hands and torn-up dress.

          The deputy turns back to James, pointing a thumb at Jesse. "What happened to her hair?" 

          "Don't know. 'Assumed Jonathan did what he thought was right to punish his disobedient wife."

          The deputy's eyes go from suspicious to relieved. At least the stranger had sense. "And the doctor patched you up? Doesn't look like his handiwork…"

          James forces a chuckle. "What? Do you think I patched myself up? Most I did was drink all the whisky."

          The deputy looks around again, hands on his hips. He hangs his head and shakes it. "Every day, things get worse around here…" He starts walking away. He pauses at the remains of the front door. "Didn't John tell you to fuck off when you met him the other day? What are you doing in his house?"

          James shrugs with his good shoulder. "He sobered up and invited me in. 'Figured he was a better man than I thought at first."

          The deputy looks between James and Jesse with disbelief. But he's not a detective, and his boss is dead, so he can't do much about the situation. He leaves, making a mental note to ask the doctor if he really patched up the stranger's shoulder without removing the bullet.

          As soon as everyone but Jesse is gone, James stands and makes his way out of the house and to his horse. Maple whinnies and greets him. Jesse runs after him.

          "Are you leaving?"

          James mounts his horse. He grits his teeth. His shoulder aches. "Can't stay. You'll be alright, with those three dead. That young deputy doesn't seem like the type to hang a woman, even if he follows Father Richard's gospel." James pauses. "Sorry to keep addressing you as a woman and such, but I figure you don't need everyone else knowing what you told me."

          Jesse frowns. He feels where his hair ends. "Take me with you, please."

          James shakes his head. "Too much trouble."

          "But I won't be any trouble for you! I can cook for you. I'm good with a needle and thread. I have my own horse. And if you decide you don't want me, or if I decide I've had enough, then you can feel free to leave me in the desert to die."

          James shakes his head again. "I didn't mean to say you would be the trouble, sir."

          Jesse is taken aback. James continues. "I understand your husband and those other men made you feel less than enough. I've enjoyed your company, believe me. But this is your home. And it's not a happy feeling, no matter who you're with, when you can never go back to the place you called your home."

          Jesse huffs and marches to the end of the barn, grabbing something off the wall. He makes his way to Ash and starts saddling him up.

          James blinks. "Now, wait just a minute-"

          Jesse snaps back to him. "This place ain't a home." He finishes preparing his horse. "You wait here. I got some things to grab before we leave."

          James hangs his head, then starts chuckling. He dismounts his horse and follows Jesse inside. "Hold on! You'll need help knowin' what to bring!"

          

          It's not too long after James and Jesse leave Sunstone that the clouds roll in, blood-red and low to the ground. The townspeople stare up at the sky in disbelief. If Father Richard were alive, he would shout about the wrath of God coming to cleanse Sunstone of bad apples, the non-believers and the sinners who don't properly fear the Lord.

          The God of Deadcreek, however, has no interest in ridding the world of sinners. It does, however, have every intention of wrath.

          The people and animals of Deadcreek shamble across the prairie towards Sunstone. They arrive without much sound, only the occasional groan and the quiet clinking of spurs and hooves.

          The screaming destroys the rest of the silence.

          The people and animals of Deadcreek are no longer alive. Flies follow the animate corpses as they make their way through the town. Their eyes glow with unearthly light, the Holy Light of God. Gunfire, pitchforks, and shovels do nothing to stop them. The faster ones are those without legs, using their arms to crawl across the grass and sand. They make quick work of the living. Once they're dead, their corpses join the ranks of Deadcreek. The God of Deadcreek, a black cube that spins slowly on one of its corners, smiles upon them. 

          It took three days to raise the Believers, the Flock of the Deadcreek Gospel. On the third day, they made their way to Sunstone and converted the sinners to Lambs of the Lord, a congregation of righteous men and women with pure souls inhabiting impure, rotting flesh. They follow the trail of the Nonbeliever, towards the next town. The Shepard-God of Deadcreek grows larger and stronger with every soul that joins its congregation.

          James must be punished for his transgressions against the servants of the God of Deadcreek. 

#my writing #this was inspired by that one song #hell's coming with me by poor man's poison #yeah #can I get some feedback? thanks. #this is a different kind of western...

[pandaswitch]

hihii im here to request for demon slayer please. Can I get some headcannons for when the reader is held hostage by a demon 😨 what will the hashiras do

Where’s my love?

➠ Summary: After days of no response from you, the hashiras are informed of how you were kidnapped by a demon.

➠ Type: Headcannons.

➠ Genre: Angst/Fluff

Damn, it took me a while to write this for no reason. I didn't put Gyomei because i didn't feel inspired. 😭

Tomioka Giyuu

Poor man.

He was already having no sleep because of how worried he was.

Starts cold sweating as soon as his crow says your name.

Like, he gets so anxious.

“How could I let that happen? I was supposed to protect them.”

If you’re a demon slayer he can somehow calm down.

After all, those are the risks of this job.

BUT IF YOU’RE A CIVILIAN.

Oh, poor Giyuu, he feels so guilty.

He knows the demon probably just kidnapped you because of him.

So, after saving you, he just wants to take a step back and get out of your life.

Well, he doesn’t want to.

But he would do everything for you to be safe.

Kocho Shinobu

Girly goes into killer mode.

How does that demon to even touch you?

She. Is. Pissed.

Before heading out to look for you, she takes the cruelest poison she can find so the demon dies slowly and horribly.

My girl is playing no games.

Now all her time is put into finding where you are.

When she does, it takes her a while to acknowledge you.

She’s too busy making that bitch of a demon suffer.

After the demon is finally dead, she turns around and looks at you with a gentle smile.

“Hello darling”

I’m scared of this woman.

But I love her so much.

Rengoku Kyojuro

His smile drops suddenly.

“How? When? Where?”

He can’t think about anything else, he just wants to save you.

He doesn’t even care if he’s still injured from his last mission.

That man IS saving you, it doesn’t matter if Muzan himself is the one that is holding you hostage.

Thank God it isn’t Muzan lmao.

When he finally finds you, he can’t help but sigh in relief that you’re okay.

“Hello Beloved! :D”

And after slaying the demon, he carries you home bridal style.

He just wants you to be close. <3

Uzui Tengen + wives.

Tengen was the one who got the news.

“How unflashy”

Not you ofc.

He’s talking about the demon.

I genuinely think he would be like:

“They’re one of my partners, they can handle that.”

And realize that it’s more serious when it had been 3 days and you still haven’t come back.

And when Makio starts berating him so he will go and look for you.

LMAO.

So, he comes to the rescue.

Oh boy, when he finds you, he talks way too much to the demon.

Maybe because he knows it won’t take him too much time to kill it.

He kind of feels guilty when he sees your wounds, meaning that you fought back, even without a katana.

“You did it well, I wouldn’t have expected less from you.”

Just like Rengoku, he carries you all the way home bridal style.

When you two get home Suma, Makio, and Hinatsuru totally focus on you.

Hot bath, your favorite food, they basically just take care of you.

Suma braids your hair while Hinatsuru caresses your face and Makio is asking questions.

Tengen feels his heart warm at the sight.

Just there he allows himself to think what would’ve had happen if he hadn’t come in time.

Oh.

Now he’s holding the four of you tightly.

He’s just a big-ass baby.

Kanroji Mitsuri

She’s trying her best not to cry.

She knows she must handle this situation quickly, and there’s no time for her to cry.

Probably starts looking out for you on the spot.

If you asked her, she would drop a mission just to save you.

All serious and determined.

But probably she just completed her mission faster, without any distractions and left right after it.

MY WOMAN JUST SKIPPED LUNCH TO SAVE YOU.

This girl is going to find you, it doesn't matter how hard it is.

And she does, killing the demon takes her a little while but she does it without injuries.

AND THEN.

She turns around and looks at you with teary worried eyes.

SHE’S A BABY.

Runs to you and hugs you tightly.

“WAHH, I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU”

People would have thought you were the one who saved her.

Tokito Muichiro

“Who?”

Okay, just kidding.

His memory is not that bad at this point.

He stays there for a second, looking into the void.

All the possible plans run through his mind.

What is he going to do?

When he comes back to reality, he realizes that he’s hyperventilating.

The only time someone he loves that much has been in such a dangerous situation was when his twin died.

“Okay, calm down.”

He’s a hashira, isn’t he?

He is supposed to protect you.

That’s the only thing that matters.

And he does, he spends 24 hours straight looking for you, with no break.

When he finally finds you and the demon, he slays it fast and tries his best not to lose control of his emotions.

When he kneels in front of you, he doesn’t say anything.

He just starts caressing your face, a small and relieved smile on his face.

He’s so glad you’re okay.

Shinazugawa Sanemi

If I was scared of Shinobu.

I’M FUCKING TERRIFIED OF THIS MAN.

He goes WILD.

Looks for you like crazy, probably shaking out of anger.

He probably cut a few trees while on the way to where he thought you could be.

And by cut, I mean he punched them until his knuckles were bleeding.

When he finds the place, he has no mercy.

Like, he takes his time.

He doesn’t even cut the demon’s neck.

He has been torturing it all night.

But how does it dare to touch his beloved partner?

And when the sunrise arrives, he drags it out, so the sun burns it.

After a while, he comes back and carries you on piggyback.

“Don’t ever do that again, idiot.”

Iguro Obanai

Just like Giyuu, he starts blaming himself.

“This wouldn’t have happened if I was worthy of them.”

But more in an internal rage kind of way.

First of all, he takes his time to break stuff.

He isn't usually violent but he can't help but be furious at himself.

Poor Kakushi had to clean his state.

It doesn't take him long to find your location.

He makes it fast, the demon was talking when he cutted his neck.

Obanai doesn't wanna know its reasons, he just wants you to be okay.

He doesn't say a word, he just caresses your face, checking if you're hurt.

He takes you home, it doesn't matter if you can walk he is just going to carry you.

"I'm sorry" that's the only words you're gonna hear from him in a while.

#giyuu tomioka x reader #obanai iguro x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #muichiro tokito x reader #kocho shinobu x reader #rengoku kyoujurou x reader #kanroji mitsuri x reader #reader insert #demon slayer #uzui tengen x reader

[unhinged-transmasc]

"If you go on T you won't look like a pretty anime boy, you're gonna look like an ugly man!" is so funny because I'm SE Asian, have been on T for 3 years with subtle (but satisfactory) changes, and definitely still have been told I look like an anime boy or a K-pop idol (because racism.) I do like to take care of my appearance and make an effort to look nice and stylish, but that's not a "pretty anime boy" or "K-pop idol" thing, I'm just A Guy who wants to look nice and pretty and cool. It's such an odd statement cause from my perspective it definitely does not consider the experience I described above, LMAO. It's assuming a "little white girl who doesn't know any better and likes anime" person, or something like that. (Just putting this out there because transmascs of color definitely need to be heard more, and transitioning on T experiences are all very very different.)

And anyways, the condescending way people talk down to trans men who do want to look like their cute/pretty fictional men transition goals is so weird... Like, what's wrong with that, anyways? Some fictional guys are really designed nicely, and may give new perspective on masculinity or maleness that people IRL may not show depending on where you live. Anyways, I think even if T changes you to be more masculine than you expected, you can still present in a way inspired by characters and styles you admire if you so like.

And the other side -- what's wrong with looking like an "ugly" man? I feel like that's saying any masculine trait is "ugly," so if you think that please reevaluate yourself. Looking more like a man Is Kind Of The Entire Point. Many transmascs will embrace that masculinity, and that's not anything bad, wrong, or poisonous. If you think it makes them look uglier or more like a predator or enemy, I want you to know that is not a very kind mindset to have toward transgender people, or to any man in general; it's rather in poor taste, and shows you are not an ally to transgender people. So if you do desire to be an ally, I urge you to reevaluate yourself and challenge yourself on what being a "man" entails, what being "masculine" entails. Because it's not inherently immorality or ugliness, it's just a gender.

This framing of masculinization as something to be warned against, that we don't know what we're getting into is not very cool, definitely ignoring we have our own agency and choices and feelings about our bodies. Like, when we go on T, often we know what it will do to us, and what kind of person we are gender-wise. We're making that choice for ourselves, absurd that we're treated like we don't know any better. We know. Don't treat it like a warning that we'll become less desirable types of people.

#transgender #transmasc #trans man #this was a sideblog for shitposting but y'know what lemme talk abt this shit too #transandrophobia #text #long #queer #lgbtq #intersectionality

[foxy-eva]

Stripped Bare

Summary: After a mishap at work Spencer and Reader end up in the shower together – and things get heated. 

Request by @rrrogertaylor : Inspired by the show Chuck - Early seasons Spencer and Reader are in a suspect's hotel room and they open a puzzle box and get sprayed with what they think is poison. They start pulling their clothes off and jump in the shower together to get it off and Spencer has a moment of realization while looking at her.  

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut, Fluff

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) a potential health threat (but they are fine), mild anxiety, awkwardness, embarrassment, getting interrupted, sexual tension, showering together, forced proximity, handjob, fingering, protected penetrative sex

Word Count: 4.7k

Masterlist

It wasn't unusual for Spencer to get paired with you while working on a case but it was unusual for him to permanently get distracted by your beauty. He had already been aware that he might have caught feelings for you but those last few days have made it almost impossible for him to think about anything else. 

When you stepped into the suspect's hotel room, the sun shining through the large windows made your skin glow. Spencer had to look twice when he caught sight of you because he wasn't sure if a divine being had suddenly appeared in front of him. 

Being surrounded by profilers all day made it almost impossible to hide anything, so he tried his best to avert his eyes quickly to not alert you. Little did he know that you had long caught on to him looking at you. Every shy glance made your heart jump as a shimmer of hope spread through you that Spencer might reciprocate your feelings for him. 

The both of you tried to act as normal as possible around each other while inspecting the suspect's hotel room. He was already in custody but you needed to find evidence that he was the guy your team had been looking for. It didn't take long for you to spot a mysterious and suspicious wooden puzzle box that begged to be opened. 

You caught your coworkers attention by calling out his name, followed by, "Come here, take a look at this."

Spencer was by your side in an instant, looking at the curious object in your hands. It was obvious that there was something in there the suspect didn't want anyone to have easy access to. He clearly underestimated the boy wonder standing beside you. 

With a few skilled motions, the puzzle box clicked and opened, spraying translucent mist all over you and Spencer. He dropped the object and quickly reacted, grabbing your hand to run to the bathroom with you while yelling at the police officer in the room to leave and call Hotch. 

You basically ripped all of your clothes off within seconds and followed Spencer into the shower. There was not a lot of space but Spencer made sure that the both of you were able to rinse off properly. Only when you kept accidentally touching each other while scrubbing down with soap did you realize how close you were standing. 

It took a few moments for Spencer to stop focussing on his own skin and noticing the naked woman standing in front of him. The hectic motions to wash your bodies slowed down when you locked eyes with each other. You were standing so close to one another that you could almost feel the other's accelerated heartbeat. 

In that moment Spencer wished he would be a stronger man, he really wanted to withstand the temptation of looking down to find all the glory your body had to offer. After a few seconds of staring into your eyes he dropped his sight at last but regretted it instantly.

Your beauty was too much for his poor heart and body to handle and no matter how hard he tried, once he got a glimpse of the curve of your breasts, there was no way to stop his desire from growing. For a split second he thought that you might not notice but then you looked down as well. 

When you found his eyes again, panic was written all over his face while a smug grin spread over yours. Even though your cheeks probably were just as heated as his, you still managed to keep your composure – for now at least.

"Oh… my god, I- ," Spencer began to stutter while his eyes fixated on the tiles of the shower, "I'm… I am SO sorry. You're just so beautiful and please… oh god, please just ignore that."

You noticed him squinting his eyes together and wondered if he was trying to focus on something else to distract himself from his impure thoughts. He was so focussed on the tiles behind you that he probably hadn't even noticed yet that your bodies were touching. 

"How could I possibly ignore that," you snickered. "You're touching me, Spencer."

He looked down to where his hardness was pressed against your hip and he almost slipped in the shower in his attempt to step back. There was just not enough room for personal space. 

With a firm grip of your hands on his upper arms you hindered him from falling over and pulling you down with him while he yelled, "Oh my god!! I am so, so sorry!"

"It's okay, Spencer. Don't worry, I'll just turn around," you suggested to end his misery. 

Even more panicked, he squeaked, "Don't! I'm sure that will make it worse. I'll turn around."

And so he did. With little grace and not without almost grabbing your chest, he managed to turn around, a defeated sigh falling from his lips. 

"I am truly so sorry," he mumbled while facing the shower glass. 

"Stop apologizing. I'm not mad at you. Besides, this way I can help you wash down your back," you chirped while squeezing some shower gel into your palms. "Is that alright?" 

"Yes," he agreed.

As you spread the soap over his shoulders and back, you made sure to press your fingertips into tight muscles to help him relax a little. The longer you kept massaging his back, the more pliable he became under your touch. The sound of a shy moan falling from his lips rushed through your body like lightning and sent heat directly into your core. 

"Your hands feel so nice," he sighed.

You became curious which other sounds the touch of your hands could evoke from him, so you dared to let them wander further down his body, lightly brushing over his backside, making him whimper. It was clear how much he wanted you and you would have been more than happy for him to turn around and take you right then and there. 

Of course you knew that he'd need a lot more encouragement to even come close to acting on his desires. The longing to see his flushed cheeks and hungry eyes again became almost unbearable, so you whispered, "I think I'm done here, you can turn around again."

His head dropped as he looked down at his body, mumbling, "I'd rather not."

It was all the confirmation you needed that he was just as aroused as you were. It broke your heart to see how embarrassed he was for his reaction to sharing this intimate moment with you. 

"It's okay, Spencer," you tried to encourage him but he shook his head. 

"No it's not! I really don't want to make you even more uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable," you purred as you stood on your tiptoes to let your lips ghost over his ear. "I'm turned on."

"Wha… what?"

You reached your arms around his body and pressed your chest into his back as you began to kiss down his neck. With a curiosity he had never experienced before, you let your palms brush over his chest and stomach. 

"Tell me to stop and I will," you whispered against his neck. 

"Please," he whimpered and you halted your actions until he continued, "Don't stop."

One of your hands lingered on his chest, noticing his heartbeat getting faster by the second while the other one moved further down his stomach. With two of your fingers you followed the line of hair leading from his navel down to his erection. Your touches were light and gentle as your fingertips traced his length, exploring the velvety skin without granting him any relief.

"Please…," he begged you to touch him properly. 

Right when you wanted to wrap your hand around his aching hardness, three firm knocks against the bathroom door disrupted your actions. The both of you jumped at the sound and you stepped back from the man you so desperately wanted to feel close to you. 

The person on the other side of the door let you know, "I'm Doctor Rogers, I'm here to check your vitals once you're done. We are about to send samples of the liquid to the lab. Are you guys still feeling alright?"

"Yeah, we're fine!" You shouted towards the door. 

"Could I come in here to collect your clothes?" Dr. Rogers asked. 

"Just a second!" 

Your heart was still racing when you turned off the water to step out of the shower. Quickly you wrapped yourself in a towel and handed Spencer one as well. Once any evidence of indecency was hidden, you opened the bathroom door to face a woman in a hazmat suit. 

"That's unsettling," you muttered while stepping aside for her to collect your clothes from the floor. 

"It's just a precaution," Dr. Rogers explained and handed you what looked like folded scrubs. "You guys can wear these in the meantime."

Once she had left the bathroom again, you closed the door and looked at Spencer who had been unusually quiet. 

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied.

Although you already knew the answer, you still wanted to know, "Are you still embarrassed?" 

He averted his eyes without answering your question. How he could still doubt that you reciprocated his feelings was something you would never understand. Even though you already told him that being this close had been just as exciting for you as it was for him, you decided that actions speak louder than words. 

Stepping closer to him, you took one of his hands in yours. He found your eyes once more, unsure what you had in mind. 

"Just because you can't see it," you cooed while leading his hand under your towel until his fingertips could brush over your slick folds, "doesn't mean it's not true."

His eyes widened when he felt your arousal coating his fingers, the black of his pupils almost swallowing the warm amber of his irises. To your surprise, he didn't drop his hand when you let go of it. Instead he pressed his fingertips against your most sensitive spot, eliciting a whine from your mouth. 

He licked his lips, looking at you as if he was ready to devour you whole. The change of his demeanor surprised and excited you at the same time. It was as if something in his brain had finally clicked now that he had realized how much you really wanted him. Before Spencer could continue to tease you, another knock against the door interrupted you again.

"Are you guys still conscious?" Dr. Rogers wanted to know. 

Barely, you thought.

"Yeah, we'll be out in a minute!" Spencer answered while removing his hand from your center. 

He kept his eyes on you when he brought his hand to his face to clean his fingers with his mouth, the sight of this sinful act making your knees weak. You were aware that whatever could have happened between you had to wait now that a stranger was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom. 

It was as if reality came crashing down on you when you put on the scrubs, remembering why you had been in the shower with him in the first place. There was a possibility that you were poisoned or drugged by whatever that liquid in the puzzle box was. Spencer sensed your concern after he got dressed as well and with that any sexual tension was gone between you.  

“We’re going to be alright,” he promised. 

However, when the both of you stepped out to get your vitals checked by Dr. Rogers you couldn’t just forget about what happened moments before. Sitting beside him on the small couch of the hotel room felt almost unbearable. 

“Your heart rates are increased but that’s nothing to be too concerned about,” she said when she was done. “I’ll stay next door until you’re cleared. I’ll check on you again in a bit but don’t hesitate to call if you’re starting to feel unwell. The hospital is on standby but as long as you guys are feeling alright and we don’t know what we’re dealing with, you’ll have to stay in this room.” 

Almost in unison the both of you said, “Thank you, doctor.” 

Once Dr. Rogers had left the room Spencer got up to get his phone and call your boss. 

Hotch was unusually kind on the phone and you weren’t sure if that should make you feel better and worry you more. They had the suspect in custody and hoped to get some answers from him but until then there was nothing you could do other than wait. 

Spencer sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping more distance from you than necessary. You wondered if he wanted to make up for the forced proximity from the shower by giving you that much space now. You tried to distract yourself by looking at your phone but nothing could ever take your mind away from the gorgeous man sitting a few feet away.

Dr. Rogers checking on the two of you briefly distracted you from your thoughts but that didn’t last once she had disappeared again. 

Neither of you found the right words to address the awkwardness of the situation but when more than an hour had passed without a word being spoken, Spencer tried anyway. 

“Do you uhm… want to talk about it?” 

It was clear that things between you have forever changed after what went on in the bathroom. There was no way to tell if it was for better or for worse but you were adamant to at least have some fun while it lasted. You could always figure out what all of this meant later. 

“About what exactly? How hard you got when you saw me naked?”

The rosy shade you found so endearing instantly spread over his cheeks once more. He buried his face in his hands while mumbling something inaudibly. You went over to the edge of the bed to sit down beside him, gently brushing over his hands until he revealed his face again. 

“To be honest, I would have been a little offended if showering with me didn’t have any effect on you,” you giggled. 

“It’s not fair, you know. Even with those loose fitting scrubs you still look so incredibly beautiful,” he muttered

You were still in a teasing mood when you chirped, “Weird way to pronounce the word sexy.”

For the first time in what felt forever Spencer laughed, a sound that had the ability to instantly warm your heart. 

“I’m attracted to you, too,” you confessed. “In case that wasn’t obvious when you touched me.” 

Instead of saying anything, he just sighed at your words, the memory of feeling how aroused you were clearly letting his mind fill with indecent thoughts. His cheeks were glowing now and you noticed how his pupils dilated at your words. 

“What’s wrong, Spencer?” You purred. “Do I need to call the doctor for you?”

"If whatever that liquid was won't kill me, I'm sure this will," he groaned.

It was obvious how tense Spencer was getting, so you got up from your place beside him to give him some space. You never intended to be cruel to him and this clearly wasn’t as much fun for him as it was for you. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop now,” you apologized. 

Before you could walk away from him, he took your hand in his and mumbled, “Please, don’t stop.”

His words were the same as they were in the shower, so you decided to copy them as well, “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” 

With a smirk forming on his face, he chuckled, “I’m not uncomfortable.”

He didn’t add what you said earlier, but you still heard it – I’m turned on. 

He pulled on your hand until you were seated beside him again. When you looked at him then, you almost got lost in the depth of his eyes. His sight dropped to your mouth and he licked his lips, ready to taste the sweetness you had to offer. With his hands cupping your cheeks, he brought your face closer to his until you met in a kiss. 

The way his lips brushed over yours was gentle and careful as if he was trying to memorize every second of this kiss. You let him have the lead for once, even though his tender touches were contrasting the burning desire growing inside you. It was hard not to get impatient when every fiber of your being yearned to connect with him. Just when his tongue brushed over your lips to ask for entrance, somebody knocked on the hotel room door. 

You pulled away from each other hastily, right in time to not look too suspicious when Dr. Rogers entered the room. Unlike before, she wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit this time which could only mean good news. 

“You’re clear to leave! It was just distilled water,” she informed us. 

A relieved sigh fell from your lips at her words. However, once you realized you had to leave behind this room and whatever could have happened with Spencer, your heart felt heavy. There was no way of knowing how things would turn out between the two of you once you stepped back into reality. 

The next few days felt like being stuck in a haze. You did your best to act normal around Spencer but anytime he stood too close to you, your heart threatened to jump out of your chest. When you got back home after finishing the case, you knew you couldn’t wait another second without being with him. 

Just when you opened the door of your apartment to drive over to his place, you found Spencer standing in your hallway. After staring at each other for a few seconds, you stepped aside to invite him in. 

“I really need to tell you something,” he began while nervously walking up and down your living room. “What happened between us… I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

Oh. 

Your mind started racing to all those moments you were sure that Spencer had feelings for you. Suddenly you doubted your own profiling abilities, unsure if you had misinterpreted his behavior. 

Already dreading his answer, you asked, “What do you mean?”

“It’s not just about… sex for me,” he paused and halted his movements to find your eyes. “I really like you.” 

Oh. 

A wide grin spread over your face at his confession. “I really like you, too.”

He met you with a surprised, “Wait– you do?”

“Wow and they call you a genius,” you laughed. “Of course I like you, silly boy. How could you ever think this was just about sex for me?”

"I– you… in the shower," he stammered. "You were uhm… aroused."

"So were you," you reminded him with a sweet laugh. "I am attracted to you and I like you."

Stepping closer to him, you placed your arms around his neck to place a tender kiss against his lips. As soon as he felt your nearness, it was as if he had no more doubts about your feelings for him. It was obvious that he didn't have any more time to waste to finish what you started the other day. His hands firmly gripped your waist, moving along with you through your apartment without ever breaking your kiss. 

Once you reached your bedside, you hastily started to undo the buttons of his shirt, getting frustrated when it took longer than you liked. Spencer’s hands were quick to assist you, helping you rid him of the fabric before he focussed on the hem of your blouse. Within moments, both of you shed your clothes, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. 

You pushed Spencer down on the mattress, moving with him until he was laying on his back with you in his lap. Leaning down to continue your kiss, you started to rock your hips against the hardness straining against his underwear, making him moan into your mouth. You felt his hands wander to your hips, taking a hold of them and burying his fingertips into your supple skin. 

The friction you created between your legs let your panties dampen quickly and you couldn’t stop the sounds of your own pleasure from escaping your throat. His fingers started wandering over your upper body, dancing along your skin, leaving goosebumps on their path. He started fumbling with the clasp of your bra, making you smile when you realized he was struggling to open it. 

You removed the piece of clothing yourself, noticing the hunger in Spencer’s eyes when he glanced over your exposed chest. With his lips agape, he looked at you as if he had just witnessed a miracle. 

His eyes found yours again and he whispered, “You’re so beautiful.” 

“You can touch them, you know,” you cooed at his reaction. 

He didn’t need more encouragement, his warm palms were on your breasts in a split second. Only touching you didn’t seem to be enough for him, though. With one hand on the mattress, he pushed himself up until his face met the soft curves of your chest. With your hands on the back of his head you secured his position, relishing the sensation of having him close. 

He started exploring your curves with open mouthed kisses, licking and sucking on every inch of skin he could reach. When he reached your hardened peaks, you moaned out his name and felt him twitch against your center. Before his ministrations got too much for you, you firmly pushed against his shoulders until he lay back down once more. 

Leaning down, you shared another kiss before you moved your lips over his jaw and throat, nipping on sensitive skin as you descended down his body. You kissed along the waistband of his underwear before you sat up beside his hips. Dragging your fingertips over his chest and down his stomach, you felt his muscles twitch underneath your touch. You trailed the line of hair from his navel downwards, just like you did in the shower the other day, before you hooked your fingers into the fabric to remove it. 

You were hesitant to touch him where he was clearly aching to feel you. Glancing over his exposed body lying in front of you, you couldn’t help but take a moment to fully indulge in the sight of his beauty. It was different than when you saw him bare the first time, now you could take all of him in unabashedly. 

He didn’t say anything, instead he patiently watched you as you took your time looking at him. When you locked eyes with him again, you found him smiling at you. 

“I’m sorry,” you giggled as you motioned down his body, “I got distracted.” 

Instead of teasing you for the obvious display of your attraction towards him, he opened his arms and cooed, “Come here.” 

Laying down beside him, he gently kissed you while brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“We can slow down if you want,”  you suggested. 

“I have waited long enough for this,” he breathed. "I really want to finish what we started the other day."

A sneaky hand found its way down his body to wrap around the base of his hardness. His eyes widened and pupils dilated at the sudden contact, a whine falling from his lips. 

“Like this?” You giggled. 

“Yes,” he groaned and you started to stroke him. “Fuck, yes.”

He was throbbing against your hands as you moved it up and down at a torturously slow pace. Pressing your own thighs together, you felt yourself getting needy for some attention. Your eyes were fixated on his face, taking in every twitch of his lips and furrowing of his brows.

He seemed to get greedy to experience you in the same way. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss while his fingertips brushed over your stomach. They found their destination between your legs, pushing the soaked fabric of your panties aside to let his fingers glide through your folds. 

“More,” you mumbled, “I need more.”

Spencer understood, letting two of his fingers enter your core. You couldn’t help but start rocking against his hand as he pushed into you while you became relentless with your own hand on his length. However, it still wasn’t enough. 

“Spencer, please…”

He pulled his head back slightly to look at you. You stared back at him with half-lidded eyes, heated cheeks and panting lips. 

“What do you need?” He groaned without ever stopping the rhythmic motion of his hand between your thighs. 

"I need all of you."

His confidence seemed to grow the more you got lost in the pleasure. Spencer grinned at your words, pleased that you said what he apparently wanted to hear. When he removed his hand from your center you whined in protest, making him chuckle, “I know. Just a second.”

You let go of him as well to hand him a condom from your nightstand before ridding yourself of your underwear. He positioned himself between your legs and put the condom on while letting his eyes roam over your body. 

"God, you look stunning," he groaned and let his tip run along your folds to coat himself with your arousal. 

At this point you were pretty much burning for his touch, needy for him to finally grant you relief. When he positioned himself at your entrance, you whimpered, impatient to finally feel him inside. 

“It’s okay. I got you,” he cooed as he sunk into you. 

Swinging your legs and arms around his body, you brought him impossibly close, not allowing any distance between you. Your walls began to flutter around his length once he started moving. With slow and deep thrusts he pushed into you, making your whole body quiver in pleasure. 

Tender lips found each other for an urgent kiss, yearning to let your bodies melt into one another in every way possible. Even with his weight on top of you, being with Spencer still felt like it could make you float, clouding your mind as you chased your relief together with him. 

“Fuck,” he panted, “you feel so good!” 

You answered him with a moan and your hips joining his movements in perfect synchronicity. The tension in your body became almost unbearable and begged to be released. 

“Harder,” you whined. 

His pace became ruthless, he was keen on pleasing you. He hovered over you, your eyes locked while you felt like you might actually fall apart from this sensation. 

You tried your best to keep your eyes open, looking at him and noticing his face scrunching up more and more as he came closer to his own undoing. With one particular forceful thrust he sent you over the edge without ever averting his eyes from you. 

“Here you go,” he groaned as he felt your core pulsating around him. 

He helped you through your high before allowing himself to fully indulge in the sensation of finally having you after all those months of longing and pining. While you tried to catch your breath, Spencer’s movements became erratic as he chased his own high. You pulled him closer to let him bury his face into the crook of your neck just moments before he started to quiver as he released any remaining tension. 

You still had your legs and arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly against your body while feeling his hot breath on your neck. He smiled into your skin when you started to let your fingertips dance over his back in soothing patterns. 

Although the longing to have him as close as possible was still not quite soothed, it was inevitable for you to move at last. After cleaning up you found your home inside each other's arms once more. 

"So, you like me, huh?" You broke the comfortable silence after a few moments. 

"Yes. I do."

With a playful tone in your voice you suggested, "Then maybe you should ask me out sometime?"

Spencer propped himself up on one elbow to be able to look at you.

"Do you want to have dinner with me? Tomorrow maybe?" 

You placed a soft kiss on his lips before whispering, "I would love nothing more."

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#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John || Pt.1

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: ☑️ My sweet Bri begged for a love-letter-centric Egan fic and with her wonderfully infectious ideas this was produced, the first part of many.

Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters, he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

It was specified in the request to use or create some of those old WWII dirty acronyms, so in here you have Bucky making up his own for his starlet crush (acorn). I’m ripping off a few ladies here, Lana Turner, Betty Grable, Hedy Lamarr to name a few -the moodbaord is for general aesthetics, I try to keep my fem!readers and oc’s as ambiguous physically as possible. (Besides the fact Johnny Egan finds you mouthwatering, which -be honest with yourself here sweet thing!!- he would.

Rating: 18+ this is the letter writing, vintage form of sexting. i kid you not, this man swings wildly from sweet as pie to downright filthy and vintage slang for anatomical parts is used freely. This would make a better shameful diary entry than a letter but he’s a rogue and he’s in a war, cut him some slack.

Fun game: how many times can Major Egan manage to mention Buck in a horny fan letter to his crush?

Dear A.C.O.R.N.

It is highly unlikely that you remember me, but, all the same, we have met. Now, hear me out, I’m sure fellas say that to you all the time but my point still stands and to match them I’ll do you one better, seeing as how I am not buttering you up for something in return -I have met you, yes, but I have also sung to you.

There. Said it.

Not that you’d recall that either, but then again maybe you would, but either way it doesn’t matter as the entire reason I am writing to you is because it is entirely unlikely you will ever open this god-awful endeavor made of pen and ink.

I am quite drunk, you see.

A necessary medicine. And they do make good whiskey here, one of the few joys they haven’t rationed yet. It’s got me wondering what’s your poison of choice. Something fruity? Or are you an olive sucker? Like that salt on the rim? Or maybe you go for somethin’ silky and warm goin’ down your throat? Which-ever it is, I bet you’d be a surprise, sweet ACORN, I just know it. You were a surprise at the canteen. Back in Jersey? Before shipping out? I know you were on a whole tour and kisses were goin’ for dollars but still, you were a surprise.

A lovely one, really. And that’s the point of this letter. To tell you that you're lovely and while I’m not the pen-pal sort, I’ve written home 80 letters tonight to families whose boys I was supposed to bring home. It got me thinking: Bucky, why the hell don’t you write nice letters? Whyd you only write ‘em now that you gotta? And it occurred to me then that the one silver lining in this whole Air Exec job is the desk, the lamp and the office.

I could write anybody from here. I could write you.

And you wouldn't read it so I could write anything. And it could be a nice letter. ‘Cause I don’t know anybody of yours to tell you anythin’ sad about them and you don’t know me except that I’m alive and drunk. Which is better than those poor eighty two bastards. Which reminds me, I’ve still got two more but maybe Buck will take those, he took seventeen off to his bunk to write from there. Buck doesn't have a desk because he’s not as important as me and he has all the luck.

You’ve met Buck, too, Acorn. He was the appalled pretty one with the straw colored hair pulling me off you after we had our duet. He objects to your nickname, see, even though you didn’t seem to mind. You were lovely, A.C.O.R.N. And I’d not wanna ruin this letter by telling you what it means, not now that I’m actually writing to you and determined to be nice but Buck knows and while he agrees with me as much as any man in the nation that you’ve got the most robust rack on the silver screen -he has objections, you see. So it wasn’t the song or the canoodling he didn’t like, and I still say, he broke up a little love affair that night. Bastard. So I’m writing to you now because as the acronym suggests, I’ve got a goal in my mind in regards to you. I tell myself -Bucky, there’s reasons to make it back.

Reasons, Bucky, reasons. Like Acorn and her halo of gorgeous hair that smelled like coconuts and the way she thought my new lyrics were pretty clever. That’s what you said, acorn, you said they were pretty clever. Now I may have been a little drunk then, too, but I think you might’ve been tipsy, that coke smelled too strong to be straight. I still have the straw you gave me, it’s bent to hell but I’ve taken it up each mission. I’m not counting on it for luck so much as a reminder of the aforementioned reasons. To come back. Your lipstick has mostly worn off but I figure it’s still the same.

You had your precious lips around it. That’s what matters.

And that’s the sorta sentence that makes Buck think I shouldn’t write letters.

But what he can’t accuse me of is being dishonest or vague. I’m being straight with you. You deserve that much, you were lovely and very straight shootin’ yourself, dear little girl. I could pinch your cheeks right now, you’re so sweet. And don’t think me a coward for sayin’ all this under assumption that you won’t read it. I hope you don’t since it’s not worth your time and if you do I wish I’d written less about me and more about you but I need you to know if we were face to face I’d say the same:

You were lovely, you ARE lovely!!!! and I think all your work for us boys is swell and you’ve got the bestest set of knockers any of us have ever seen and I’m stayin’ alive in hopes to see ‘em again some day and while the girls here are swell and sweet they aren’t zippy like you. At least not the ones who’ve put out so far. And if I had you face to face, I’d find a way to make you laugh again and I’d tell you to your face you’re lovely and if I’d been David Nivin in Love Trap with you, I’d have stayed in that little kitchen with you and ate all your burnt flapjacks and watched you in your apron and made babies with you till we were old.

Anyway. It needed saying. And maybe I’ll say it to your face given the chance again. I was working my way up to a proposition for burgers and milkshakes when Buck ruined it. But maybe you’ll tour? Here!! Over here. In England or maybe in Europe once we kick the Nazis bastards out.

Now that’s motivation. That’s a reason! -clear out a nice little swath of land through fortress europe so Miss Lana Tierney can sing in the city of lights surrounded by nothin’ but wine and good food and a buncha boys who love and appreciate her.

Because we do, ma’am. We do.

And make no mistake, I do this to keep the country safe and try to bring as many boys home as I can but every second I also think - it’s where you are too, and so I must continue keeping it safe.

If you, by some godawful chance, do read this letter, please don’t feel pressed to respond or pull out a restraining order. Think of it this way, it’d just be one more “Dear John” letter and the system is clogged as it is. You just deserve a nice letter and my wrist is past sore, one more doesn't matter. And being unable to deliver nice, I’ve written this.

~ I am ever your respectful (and hammered) admirer, Maj. John Egan

P.S. if you do happen to read this I’m sorry. Buck told me not to do this but I just had to Acorn. You’re just too swell and I really have got to get myself to a theater before long, I miss your Angel face.

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! This was entirely out of my usual comfort zone but I’ve had fun writing it and I’m trying to tune my ear to pick up his voice, that’s been stretching. This series will have many letters in it but there will also be fic, so fear not. I’ve got some plans already figured out for this series but I do love a suggestion or ten so have at the inbox with what you’d like to see play out.

Hope you enjoyed, if you’d like to be tagged in future MOTA fics, drop a note below.

#masters of the air #callum turner #john egan #Major John Egan #Bucky Egan x reader #callum turner x reader #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfic #hbo war fanfic #Bucky Egan #mine #archive

[two-dolla-bills]

Top 10 mechanisms songs that you can get away with playing at a retailers without too many side eyes

I got a job in retail and I felt inspired lol

Disclaimer: this is not a list of the best mechanisms songs/the ones I think deserve to go "mainstream", they're just the ones that would blend in the best

1. Sirens

This song is probably the mechanisms' least "centered" song. It doesn't mention any characters, it has no narration, and out of context it just sounds like A Song that you might hear on the radio. Sirens is to the mechanisms as you're the one that I want is to grease, you know?

2. Trial by song

THIS one. It's in the same category to me as Sirens; you can listen to it by itself and not suspect much. Unlike Sirens which can be completely separated and still make sense, this one is more like a whole new world from Aladdin. There are parts that make it obvious that it's from a larger whole, but if you just so happen to catch the "safe" parts you won't suspect much.

Points were deducted due to Mr. Soldier's unique vocals. (Unique as in not very common in mainstream music)

3. Empty trail

This is no offense to Dr. La Cognizzi, but sometimes when she sings it's hard to make out what she's saying, which works in her favor in these circumstances. It sounds country/rock, which help it blend in with some dad rock songs. If I remember correctly, the melody was actually taken from a Led Zeppelin song, so if you aren't paying attention to what's ACTUALLY being said you can get away with claiming it's a cover.

4. Ties that bind

Although this one does mention many plot points, many fans have stated that they had no idea what the fuck was being said until the have looked for the lyrics (myself included) this, combined with it's jazzy rythm, make it able to blend in with other songs, similarly to empty trail

5. Odin

The most "normal" song out of the entirety of The Bifrost Incident. This song made it to the top five because it has similarities with Roam by the B-52's, but had points deducted due to it clearly being about an awesome space train

6. Lost in the cosmos

This might just be personal opinion, but it sounds like a church song. You can pull off the effect of it being about earth Jesus and not space robot Jesus if you have particularly bad quality speakers and a busy store w/lots of noise. Again, the lyrics kinda give it away as to not being entirely main stream

7. Stranger

Look it's a banger, ok? Many of the lyrics could be taken as just being metaphors, but I feel like you have to squint to "see" it. Pay too much attention and shit gets a little weird. Also, points deducted because it's two men singing together and not a man and a woman, which throws a wrench into the works. At kohl's it might raise some eyebrows but in like hot topic it'll blend in a little better

8. Redeath

You would think a song about a sphoenix (space phoenix) would be lower on the list but you'd be wrong. It's a really pretty song with a good original melody, and it's something that can be drowned out by a particularly rowdy crowd. Like Stranger, it would blend in better at a hot topic than at kohl's, but only slightly.

9. Elysian Fields

The melody in Elysian Fields is taken directly from the song wayfaring stranger, which has been coverd by Jonny Cash, Ed Sheeran, Poor Man's Poison, and The Longest Johns, AS WELL HAS having been featured in the movie 1917 and in the video game The Last of Us II, which make it very recognizable. Because of this recognizability, people who know the original song may be caught off guard by hearing it in a Walmart with completely different lyrics. It was originally in 7th place, but the popularity of the original takes off many points

10. Once and future king

It's a banger, don't get me wrong, but it also very heavily and clearly mentions plot points from the album, which itself is heavily base on Aurtharian mythology; something very well known in the western world (also the names are not common at all and most haven't been in fashion in centuries). In a crowded, busy space with not very good quality speakers it could potentially blend in, but one or two names might sneak out. The only reason it's on the list is because of the instrumental outro, which sounds normal enough

#the mechanisms #hnoc #tbi #udad #two songs that didn't make it on the list were cinder's song and sleeping beauty #they're both good but too specific

[lenreli]

endless pawns playing a fixed game

Explicit, 7.8k, Dream/Hob. Reacher-inspired AU with an ex-spy Hob and mafia kid Dream!

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

[AO3]

When Hob took the Endless family bodyguard position, it was mainly for the paycheck. And also a lack of breaking kneecaps for collecting debts, which he does feel some way about. More that it’s a waste of his considerable skill, but nonetheless. 

Recent hushed rumours around the estate have made the Endless bosses more paranoid for their well-being, so he’s gathered in his time at the vast place. 

The bosses are ― well, efficient mob, and just generally terrible people, as evidenced by shouting matches featuring Night or Time, which surely can’t be their real names― 

Then again, with their children’s names, with the many different aged children also getting into screaming matches with the parents, Hob considers his lack of family a blessing, in cases like this. 

The kids, with all sorts of D-name, are varied, and from what he gathered, either orphans gathered up for some good PR, or due to some twisted sense of actually wanting a family. Or maybe they were from people and former mob bosses the parents killed and raised, which would be an impressive sort of fucked up. The kids are mostly a non-issue for him as he does his job, and usually walks past a few of them throughout his days― 

He’s used to seeing Death’s much-too-kind smile, to Destiny being cloistered up in the library, to Desire’s comings and goings at all hours, and surely he must’ve seen Dream somewhere before that night of the attempted poisoning. 

As he looks around the room as some poor schmuck is taken, screaming and pleading, he catches blue eyes and is momentarily stunned. As Desire talks to Dream, Hob gathers that stoic, pale man mainly lives around the art quarters ― which would explain why Hob only briefly remembers him. Plus, the art quarters are very dark and moody, and this is probably the first time he’s seen Dream in actual good light, arms crossed as he talks quietly with Desire. 

As he stares at the cut of Dream’s suit, the blue eyes stare at him for a moment, and Hob catalogues the minute expressions of annoyance as Dream talks with Desire. He definitely knows those blue eyes, have felt them following him since he arrived at the estate, a background awareness of everything else, and Hob considers Dream’s pink, plush lips, low voice begging and screaming, pale skin splashed with― 

“Gadling!” His boss calls and he looks over, Dusk folding her arms and giving him an unimpressed look, “you’re needed.”

Blinking, he puts his hands into the pockets of his pants, “what about Cori?” He’s pretty sure Cori actually gets off on the torture in his job, and he’d hate to take that from him.

“Who the fuck knows. Hence, you,” Dusk drawls, and she gives him an extra glare for good measure, eyes narrowing as she looks between him and Dream. Hob nods and suppresses a smirk, thinking of how cute it is that she thinks her disapproval, or even some don’t fuck who you work for would stop him. 

-

If there’s something Hob likes about his job, it’s that there’s always plots under schemes to uncover, always people to kill ― and now, Dream’s blue eyes staring at him occasionally, like they’re drawn to him. And maybe when Hob feels like a pointless one night stand, he gets a pale twink with dark hair and bites into his neck, replacing the high whines with Dream’s deep voice, the coarse black hair he tugs with the soft-looking spikes of Dream’s hair. Just for a bit of fun. 

Hob’s always one for looking for the bright things in life, especially after getting out of his former job. 

The point is, his life is pretty good, potential firing squad due to some light treason notwithstanding. 

-

Sometimes the goons of the estate think that the Endless kids should learn how to defend themselves, which would be good, he’s sure, if said goons weren’t such idiots when it comes to teaching them. And today they’ve managed to drag a scowling Dream out of his art quarters, which is why he’s actually witnessing their poor attempts at teaching today. 

“Are you going to keep judging, or are you going to give a few pointers?” The big man frowns at him. Hob blinks and crosses his arms, leaning more on the wall as he glances at Dream, hair ruffled and scowling. 

“I’m not the teaching type,” he says with a shrug, and the goon scowls, no doubt angry at Hob as he barks orders at Dream, who looks just as impressed as Hob does with him. 

The subpar teaching makes for good entertainment, and Hob briefly considers maybe giving Dream private lessons. Or maybe not so private, if only for the good screaming and whining to be echoed throughout the grounds. 

At last, the goon gives up with a huff, and Hob stares at the bruise on Dream’s cheek, the colour matching the other’s lips as Dream straightens out his ratty black clothes, small specks of blue paint on the bottom of Dream’s shirt. 

Dream looks at him, stepping closer, absurdly plush mouth opening―and a phone rings. Dream frowns and takes out a flip phone, answering it curtly, then shortly leaving. 

-

A week after that, something is wrong. Dream has been one for Wednesday meetings with his sister in the library, and nothing. Only Death, looking faintly worried. 

Then a ransom call comes in, and Hob only gets that Dream’s been kidnapped before he holds his anger tightly, the Endless parents not even worried as the modulated voice lists their demands. Many of the fellow security and goons give him skittish looks, who have been wordlessly ribbing him for taking a liking to Dream.

Hob says nothing to the Endless parents as he leaves the room, ringing up some of his contacts to get something, and quickly ― before he decides they need some persuasion. 

In the end, it takes seven days for him to find out that Burgess, another mob boss, recently hooked up electricity to an abandoned building, the night before the ransom call. Hob briefly considers going to Fawney Rig, where Burgess’s own mansion is, then considers after, once Dream is back at the estate. 

For all the heightened security that the Endless parents put in, they’re remarkably unconcerned that their own son is kidnapped, whether out of neglect, or simply because of the people around working on it, Hob is unclear about. And, well, if they didn’t give him his income, he’d consider adding more bodies to the one’s he’s already planning on.

When he tells security of his plans, they offer to give him some goons as ‘back-up’ and Hob bites back a scoff. “I can handle it myself,” he frowns, glaring at the man until he steps back, nodding sharply. 

-

The plan is to go through the abandoned building and kill everyone that’s not Dream. A simple one, but it’s never failed him yet.

Hob is almost offended at the front door, when he goes in to see five rent-a-thugs, nothing approaching a challenge as he methodically makes his way through them. With two already dead, he uses the body of one as a shield, gunshots ringing out, but soon silenced by one of his daggers through the shooter’s heart. 

The other two go down with more daggers thrown, and once he’s collected and cleaned them off with fabric from the cheap suits of the men, he puts them away and sighs. 

Unsurprisingly, the other rooms are easy enough to go through, finally finding Dream tied up on a chair, with two men near the door, guns raised at him. Hob puts on a disarming smile, putting his hands up. “I’m going to be nice, and tell you how you die,” he says, smiling brightly. Then men are shaking, guns rattling quietly in their grips. “You,” he nods to the man on his right, “are going to try and shoot me, and then I’m going to go after your buddy here and kill him with a clean knife to the heart. Then I’m going to take it out of his body and throw it into your heart, and you’ll both be dead before you hit the ground.” 

The men seem even more freaked out, sharing scared looks ― but this isn’t about them. Maybe he wanted to show off, just a little bit, for the captive audience. Dream’s blue eyes are wide, mouth gagged with black fabric― and the man on his right moves, and it goes like he said, pulling out his dagger and cleaning it off the dead man’s body before stowing it away. 

“Hello, Dream,” the other man’s eyes go even wider, a muffled sound going through the gag as he walks up to him, leaning over the chair to cut loose the ropes holding Dream. “We haven’t met yet officially, but you can call me Hob,” he smiles as he rips off the gag, then goes to the ropes around Dream’s legs, cutting them off as he stands up. Dream also gets up, face even more pale ― and Hob’s brows furrow as he touches the corner of Dream’s mouth, where a bruise is. “Maybe I should’ve tortured them more,” he remarks. 

“Thank you,” Dream croaks, eyes a dark, deep blue and Hob hums, stepping away as he rubs his thumb, still feeling the soft skin under it. 

“Let’s get you back home, Endless.” Hob gives Dream a once-over, finding nothing out of place with the black suit, or the way Dream’s holding himself. 

“Is it just you?” Dream asks as they step outside of the room, and Dream stops, looking at the bodies lining the rooms as they go through each one. Dream always takes a moment to stop, looking at the various bodies, wide eyes leaving them to look at him ― and his clean suit, not a speck of blood on him.

“I was offered back-up, but they’d just get in the way,” he says with a shrug. Dream nods as they exit the building, and Hob opens the back car door, then stops Dream from getting in. “Burgess met you, didn’t he? Probably to gloat, he seems like the type of asshole to do that,” Dream steps back and nods as Hob leans on the car door. “Do you expressly order for me to kill him for you, or do I have to do it without it?” 

Dream’s mouth moves, opening and shutting before something hard settles over Dream’s expression, “you can kill him,” Dream says, voice breathless and Hob nods. Moving out of the way, he gets in on the other side as Dream slides in, looking at the dark screen between them and Mervyn, the driver, starts the car. 

Dream still looks shocked, wide-eyed and flushed cheeks, and Hob considers the effects of kidnapping, which are never good. Or maybe it was all the dead bodies, especially considering Dream maybe doesn’t have much experience with that. 

Hob watches as Dream takes deep breaths, suit jacket being thrown off, then shoes joining them, and Hob tilts his head, looking at pale collarbones, sweaty and glistening as Dream undoes the top buttons of the shirt, black a contrast to the white of his skin. “I need you,” Dream says roughly, eyes mostly black, and Hob blinks as Dream pulls him closer by his collar, “to fuck me,” Dream states before kissing him, biting into his lips. Or maybe, Hob thinks nonsensically, grabbing onto Dream’s waist as the other man slides into his lap. 

Hob blinks, eyebrows raised, “no complaints here, just as long as you don’t regret it,” he breathes, fingers sliding up under a black shirt, and he watches as Dream shivers, bony limbs pushing him down onto the backseat. 

“Definitely not,” Dream says sharply, cold hands tearing open his blazer, then waistcoat and shirt, and Dream pauses as his blazer is thrown off, eyes zeroed in on the bracers around his biceps ― and the daggers in them. There’s a huff as Dream takes them off, then the bracers and his waistcoat and shirt, and there’s another huff as Dream stares at the harness around his shoulders, the guns on them. “Hob.” 

Suppressing a smile, he shrugs as he toes his pointed shoes off, Dream still on his lap as he watches Hob pull out a tiny syringe, then a few small daggers and puts them on his other weapons on the floor. 

“A syringe?” Dream asks, leaning closer to look.

“Lethal poison,” he says, sitting up to sit against the car side, his hands going under Dream’s shirts to take it off, pale skin and pink nipples, and he nibbles up Dream’s neck, restraining himself from drawing blood as Dream whimpers. “This too, plus another, but you’ll have to take my pants off for that,” he whispers into Dream’s ear as he tugs the hair tie off his wrist, throwing it onto his pile of weapons. 

Dream makes a sound, cold hands getting warmer as they tug at Hob’s pants, “a hair tie?” The other man asks incredulously, belt being taken off to join the rest of the weapons as Dream takes a moment to stare at the line of tiny daggers lining the inside of the belt.

“The hair tie can also turn into barbed wire,” he offers with a smirk, “and not that, I forgot about those,” he shrugs, arousal a constant, pleasant buzz with how Dream is sitting on him. Dream mutters something, words incomprehensible as Dream sits up to tug his pants off, the underwear, knives strapped with harnesses on his thighs thrown with everything else, and Dream’s look of annoyance makes Hob bite back a laugh. 

“Is that all? Anything else?” Dream hisses, and Hob does actually smirk as Dream tugs at his chest hair. Hob hums and touches the crotch of the other’s pants, feeling a wet spot already as he unbuttons them, clearly not as turned off by all the weapons. 

“Not today,” he says. Tugging Dream closer by the zip of his pants, there’s a broken sound as they kiss filthily, and Hob’s already addicted to the feel of Dream’s smooth skin as his nails scratch down thighs, Dream’s lower clothes soon joining the rest. “I’m not taking you raw,” he drawls, smiling as Dream tugs his hair and pulls back with a huff. 

Dream mutters some more and reaches for the back of the passenger seat, revealing a compartment filled with small packets of lube and condoms. Desire, probably, Hob’s mind supplies as he takes some of the lube and a condom. “I thought this would involve more fucking, not all these―” Dream’s complaint turns into a moan as Hob pushes a finger inside Dream, and his cock twitches at the thought of going inside that warm heat as he bites at the other’s jaw. 

Dream pants, breath harsh near his ear as fingers grip his chest hair and he adds another finger, twisting and stretching the walls around them. “Hard or soft?” He asks, free hand digging into and trailing up Dream’s spine, feeling him shiver and shake as Dream clenches around his fingers. 

“Now,” is the desperate order, and Hob pulls Dream by the hair into a forceful kiss, making those pink lips even redder as he takes out his fingers and prepares his cock, lube and condom cool compared to the burning heat of Dream on top of him. Hob groans as he enters the tight heat, Dream shuddering and squeezing around him, and Dream cries out, a hand coming down from his hair to dig into the stubble of his jaw. “Yes,” Dream breathes, twitching. 

Hob takes a deep breath, smelling blood and sweat on Dream’s neck as he gets used to the feeling, a part of him wanting to drive in, but also Dream was just kidnapped, so he tries to have a modicum of care as he bottoms out, nails digging into Dream’s waist as they adjust. The tenuous self-control frays as Dream wriggles on top of him, licking into his mouth as Dream grinds down onto his cock. 

“Stop being such a pussy and fuck me,” Dream croaks ― and there’s a gasp as Hob’s free hand circles Dream’s neck, nails digging into the other’s esophagus until Dream coughs, eyes wide and dick leaking onto Hob’s stomach. 

“With the way you’re acting, no,” he frowns as Dream continues to cough, eventually nodding frantically as Dream’s hand pulls the one away from the other’s throat. 

Dream licks his lips, a bit of terror in his eyes that makes Hob’s sharp anger lessen. “Please,” Dream whispers, eyes still overtaken with black, a thin ring of deep blue as the car passes a pot-hole, jostling them and Dream wails. “Pleasepleaseplease.” 

“Better,” he breathes, tugging Dream’s hair roughly as he guides the other man up and down his cock, feeling tight walls slowly loosen up as Dream is impaled on him. Dream tries to say something, but Hob shifts him and only a cry comes out as he hits the other’s prostate, and Hob nibbles at the blossoming bruise on Dream’s throat in the shape of his hand. 

Dream sobs and claws at his chest, at his shoulder as they fuck, as his tempo rises ― and Dream comes with a sob, squeezing his cock tightly and pulling an orgasm out of him. 

-

Checking all his weapons are where they’re meant to be, he puts on his clothes as Dream frowns, glaring at him on the backseat. “Now, I have to report to security, and you’ll probably have to deal with your family, so. See you around, Dream,” he says with a lazy fingered salute as he hops out of the car. “Mervyn,” he says with a smile and a nod towards the driver. Mervyn gives him the middle finger as he leaves. 

The security briefing is, well, brief. Mainly because he doesn’t reveal the people who kidnapped Dream. So that he can go after them himself, but that’s splitting hairs. There’s a cacophony of sound, and there’s a done-up Dream, looking only a tiny bit ruffled as he’s surrounded by all his siblings as they talk at him. Dream catches his eye and sends him a desperate get me out of here look, and Hob only shrugs, leaning against the wall as Death and Delirium move on to hugging Dream, only quickly though. 

Dream scowls, bruises on his neck hidden by layers of collars and black as he steps into Hob’s space once the room has cleared out and the siblings have dispersed. “Will you join me? To my room,” Hob raises an eyebrow and Dream looks away, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt, “for protection, after my ordeal.” 

Hob frowns, Dream looking so exhausted now, and he nods, following after Dream into the labyrinth of the mansion until they end up at a room near the art quarters, opening into a red and black bedroom. Hob watches as Dream sheds off his clothes, marks and bruises ― mainly from him, bright against his skin as Dream goes into the bathroom. Hob closes the bedroom door as Dream fills the bath in his en suite, eventually hopping in with a weary sigh. 

There’s only the sound of a ticking clock, a far-off, muffled television as Dream curls up in the bath, eventually hopping out after at least an hour. Hob’s heart aches, which he ignores as Dream pulls a fluffy black towel around himself. “Hob,” Dream whispers, voice rusty as Dream dries himself off, getting into a ratty black shirt and pants. “Will you stay? Until I fall asleep?” 

Dream looks at him with red-rimmed eyes, drained and tired, at how vulnerable Dream is, and he wants to make sure that no-one else ever sees that look, as much as he wants to make it even worse. However, he did say, he would deal with Dream’s captors, and he thinks of the soft touch of the other’s skin, the fiery determination, even after being rescued. 

His heart, which he long thought dead, twists at the other’s exhaustion, and the decision is simple.

“Of course.” 

-

Going through the information gathered on Fawney Rig, Hob may actually have a bit of a challenge, so he decides to take his time working out angles, and what he plans to do. Especially when he discovers that the kidnapping wasn’t the first time he’s interacted with Dream, and those haven’t been good either. Nothing as overt as kidnapping, but enough of a pattern to make Hob think of the many ways to flay an old man alive.

Afterwards, Dream asks him to his room more. Sometimes for just peace of mind, apparently. And other times for sex, which isn’t trouble at all, and Hob is happy with the way things are going in life, even as he deals with rising amounts of plots against the Endless family with no clear mastermind, much to his frustration.

However, there’s always time for some fun, this time with Dream pushing him against his bedroom door and kneeling down, hands quickly taking him out and Hob gasps at the hot mouth around his dick, sucking him to hardness. Groaning, Hob grabs onto soft dark hair as Dream pushes his hips against the door. 

“What, no undressing me first?” He says, and Dream stops to give him a withered look, clearly not in the mood to deal with his many weapons. Hob barks out a laugh as Dream licks him. 

Dream moans, long black lashes fluttering as Hob fills up in his mouth, the other’s nails digging into the harnesses under his pants, daggers cold against his skin as Dream licks and sucks. 

“You may want to move those hands,” he breathes, tugging the other’s black hair, “daggers.” Dream gives him a tired look and pulls off him, teeth lightly grazing the top of his cock, annoyance showing even more as Dream tugs down his pants to reveal the harness and taking off the daggers. 

There’s a huff as Dream’s mouth returns, one of Dream’s hands going underneath his shirt to tug at his chest hair, and the pleasure fizzles steadily, unwilling to look away from the other man.

Even just looking at Dream in this position is enough to make his arousal build, spiraling at how much Dream obviously enjoys it. “So pretty,” he whispers, and Dream shivers around him, lashes fluttering and Hob smirks as Dream’s hips move, grinding into air. “Taking me so well,” he says, a hand trailing down to touch Dream’s jaw, going down to a pale throat as Dream moans and swallows around him. “Knew you’d be good with lips like these.” 

Dream whimpers as his hand goes up to pink lips, split around his cock, a thumb pressing inside the warm heat. There’s a cry, blue eyes shiny and tears sticking to the edge of long lashes. 

His orgasm is a slow thing, helped along as he tugs Dream by his hair, making him choke and swallow around him desperately as he comes. Dream coughs, covering his mouth as he swallows the white fluid. “Was that necessary?” Dream asks, voice rough and fucked, and Hob meets on the floor with a smirk. 

“No, it was just fun,” he says with a grin, making Dream gasp as he tugs black hair roughly. Pulling him in for a messy kiss, licking some off of Dream's puffy lips as Dream whimpers. His other hand goes to black skinny jeans, swiftly undoing them―and Hob raises his eyebrows, leaning back as Dream’s face reddens. “Was it the praise or the way I used you?” 

Dream’s face burns even more as his hand feels a softening cock, come coating his fingers as he takes his hand out. 

-

A different day, and Hob’s spent hours between Dream’s sheets, wringing out orgasms until he’s had his fill, the night air cool on his skin as he sits up on the bed, a warm lamp and moonlight showing their clothes strewn about the room. He at least tries to sit up, with a skinny arm going around his waist, and there’s a groan as Hob puts some of his daggers back into their harnesses. “Cuddly, are you?” He asks. 

“No,” Dream groans, muffled against his skin as the other man curls around him, a thumb going under one of his thigh harnesses as bright blue eyes peek at him. “Surely there’s better things to do than whatever you’re planning.” 

“Like making you come even more?” He asks, raising an eyebrow as he finds his syringe of poison, putting it into place. Dream huffs, pouting as Hob moves off the bed to sheathe even more of his weapons before haphazardly putting on his pants, afterglow settling in his veins.

“I could read to you,” Dream says, pride in his tone and Hob blinks, baffled as he turns to look back at Dream. “I have been told I have a good reading voice,” Dream explains as he picks up a book from his nightstand. Hob considers ― and Dream does have a good voice, and Hob did work very hard today with his own side project of dealing with Burgess. 

Hob crosses his arms and waits, although, “well, Prince of Stories?” Hob says sarcastically, and Dream blinks, shock on his face before it quickly becomes blank, Dream flipping through to the start of the book, a bookmark kept in place near the end of it. 

“Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink behind the lake, The shadows lengthen. In Carcosa,” Dream begins, words deep and resounding, and vaguely familiar. 

“Horror?” He says with a grin, going back to sit on the edge of the bed. Dream’s eyebrow twitches. 

“It’s what I’ve been reading,” is offered primly. Dream clears his throat and pulls the sheets over himself, eyes focused on the page in front of him intently. “Strange is the night where black stars rise. And strange moons circle through the skies But stranger still, is Lost Carcosa―”

-

Hob frowns as he walks towards the art quarters, knowing that Dream would be there, since he’s not in his room. While the mansion has many cameras, there are none in Dream’s art areas or their rooms ― and not that he’d care for them, but it’s handy, especially with what he wants to talk to Dream about. Sighing, he enters the art room, finding Dream mixing paint near a canvas. “Anything you want to tell me?” 

Dream turns around and blinks, paintbrush in his hand dripping black paint. “About?” 

“Like another attempt on your parent’s life, which I only found out about after I left your room,” he says slowly, walking closer to Dream. 

“What are you implying?” Dream asks, shock giving away to an offended glare as the paintbrush gets put down. Hob doesn’t say anything, just watches as Dream glares at him, and continues―until a tiny tic, Dream looking away momentarily. 

“You knew,” he drawls as he grabs the other’s jaw, forcing blue eyes to look at him as Dream tries to look away again. “Why?” 

“You have some gall to accuse me,” Dream breathes, trying to push his hand away and failing as Hob digs his nails into Dream’s jaw. There’s a brief look of terror from Dream as his fingers go down a pale throat, beginning to cut air from his windpipe. “It wasn’t,” Dream gasps, voice high, “I did want to spend more time with you, but also.” 

 “Again. Why?” He asks as he lets go, letting Dream wheeze and take some deep breaths. 

“They want to send Delirium off,” Dream mutters, “and we―my sibling and I, don’t want that.” 

Hob nods, rumours and attempts coalescing into a clear picture, “that’s all? They want to send her away?” 

“Among other things,” Dream says quietly, giving him a wide-eyed look, “you can’t tell anyone.” 

Hob crosses his arms as he tilts his head, “I don’t know. I do enjoy the money.” 

“Once they’re ― nothing will change with that, I swear,” Dream says, almost pleading, “just a change in who runs things.”

Sighing, Hob steps back as he pats Dream’s cheek, a brief flash of fear crossing the other’s face. And, well, he did briefly consider killing the parents himself for the way they acted with Dream’s kidnapping. “As long I get my money, do what you want,” he says curtly as he leaves. 

-

A day later, and Dream freezes once he enters his bedroom. “Hob, I thought you’d be…” Dream trails off as Hob smiles, waiting for the other man to come closer. 

“Maybe I wanted to reward you for being so honest with me,” he says, holding his hands out ― which Dream takes warily as he pulls Dream on top of him. The other man looks confused and apprehensive, even as they share biting kisses. “A gift,” he breathes, smiling as Dream’s hands go under his shirt ― and stops, the hands leaving to pat over his thighs and chest. 

“Why do you have no weapons,” Dream says flatly, patting his thighs like he expects them to suddenly materialise from where Hob stashed them in the en suite. Hob resists rolling his eyes, bringing Dream in for another kiss, licking into the other’s mouth as their clothes are shed. The arousal builds slowly as he grabs Dream’s hip, stroking up and down as Dream gets his lube. 

“No,” he whispers, and Dream lets out a sound as Hob takes the lube from Dream, coating his fingers in it ― and Dream makes another sound as Hob puts the finger in himself, feeling odd after so many years. “Like this,” he says into Dream’s lips, watching Dream’s eyes widen, mouth dropping as Hob puts another finger in, stretching himself. 

“You―what,” Dream chokes, thin hands gabbing his waist tightly as Dream stares down as Hob puts another finger in, stretch sliding from weird to pleasurable as he brushes his prostate, gasping at the jolt of it. 

“A gift,” he whispers, looking up through his lashes as he finishes prepping himself ― and putting a condom on Dream’s red, leaking dick. There’s a whimper from Dream, hands fluttering up and down his chest as Dream breeches him. “And a punishment,”  Hob says with a grin as Dream bottoms out, and he shivers through the pleasure, nails digging into Dream’s jaw to force those blue eyes to look at him. 

“Fucking you? A punishment?” Dream asks, expression flummoxed, then quickly turning into determination and cockiness as Dream holds him down. The rhythm builds quickly, sometimes brushing against that bundle of nerves and bringing Hob closer to orgasm ― and Dream looks quietly smug, blue eyes dark as Hob clenches around him.

Hob blinks, watching as Dream fucks into him, nails scratching marks into his waist as Dream gets closer to coming ― and when Dream exits him, he puts his hand around the other’s cock. Dream cries out, orgasm stopped in place by his hand. “I think I need another orgasm. You, however.” 

Dream’s eyes widen, pink mouth gaping, cockiness forgotten, “but I. No. Hob,” Dream pleads, “Hob, please.” 

Smiling at how he can feel Dream’s cock twitch and jerk in his hand, he deems the orgasm stopped ― and uses his other hand to control Dream by the hips, guiding him in. Dream cries out, body collapsing on top of him as Hob guides the other’s cock, oversensitivity making it pleasure-painful as his cock eventually starts to fill again, and there’s only the sound of slapping skin, his moans and Dream’s pleading as his next orgasm arrives slowly. 

By then, he’s stopped Dream’s orgasm once more, who continues to beg into his neck. 

His third orgasm is erring on the side of painful and dry, but he enjoys it anyway as Dream lets out a broken wail as his own orgasm is stopped, Dream’s body shaking above him, and he can feel tears on his neck. “Do you think you’ve learnt yet?” He asks breathlessly, smiling as Dream nods against his neck. “I’m not entirely sure you have, considering that stunt you pulled.” 

His fourth orgasm is entirely dry, the oversensitivity making him grit his teeth as his walls clench around Dream’s throbbing cock. Dream at this point is completely incoherent, only the suggestions of begging are almost discernible beneath broken sounds. 

It’s after he’s stopped Dream’s orgasm for the seventh time, does he take Dream out, who is a collapsed, shivery mess on top of him. As he gets up from the bed, Dream blindly reaches for him, eventually gripping onto one of his biceps. “Hob,” Dream croaks, blue eyes watery and puffy, black eyeliner running. 

“Behave, and I might let you come,” Hob purrs, pulling Dream in for a filthy kiss by his hair, and then leaving to put everything on in the en suite.

-

Next day, the soreness is pushed away with painkillers ― and the way Dream stares at him, eyes pleading and suit askew at a meeting for the family. Hob listens on with half an ear, mostly looking outside the window as he feels Dream’s gaze on him. 

“Oi!” A voice hisses next to him, and Hob turns around to see Matthew ― and a cut-off, decaying finger in a ziplock bag. “Hold this.” 

Sighing, he gets out his leather gloves, putting them on before handling that, turning it around to look at a tag also in the bag, only making out a vague Choron, “more dirty work?” 

“Trash, actually,” Matthew says as he picks up a drink. Hob gives him an unimpressed look. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it, I just wanted a bit of space.” 

Hob goes to say something, but catches Dream’s intense stare across the way ― the way Dream’s lips have parted as they hand at his hands. “Ever wonder how they lived with that?” He asks idly, shaking the bag and bringing it up to his eye level, Dream’s gaze pinned on his hands. 

Matthew chuckles, and there’s a gulp and sigh as Matthew drinks more of the middling beer usually on offer for such a fancy place as this, “badly, probably. Can’t imagine jerking off with a missing finger, poor fuck,” Matthew says with a laugh. Hob smirks, and the rest of the meeting passes uneventfully, and Hob watches as Dream squirms in his seat, heavy gaze resting on him all the while. 

Meeting adjourned, Hob’s unsurprised with how fast Dream appears next to him ― although, the way Dream grabs hold of his lapels and pushes him against the corridor wall is a bit of a surprise, considering the cameras as they share heated kisses. “What brought this on?” He asks, gloved hands holding onto the other’s jaw, watching as Dream shivers, body pressing against him. 

“Hob, you know why,” Dream says, tone almost desperate as he pushes his face into Hob’s hand. “Please.” 

Humming, his hand trails down the other’s torso, feeling Dream press even closer as he reaches Dream’s clothed cock, his other hand going to tug Dream’s head to the side as he bites into the marks hiding under Dream’s collar. Arousal flares as Dream whimpers, squirming against him as he opens the other’s pants, leather-clad hand stroking Dream’s leaking cock. 

“Yes,” Dream gasps, a pale hand gripping the back of his neck as he strokes Dream, almost no friction from pre-come getting onto the leather. “More,” Dream breathes and Hob looks up, catching sight of a goon staring at them. 

“Think this is good enough for now, don’t you think?” He smirks, keeping eye contact with the shocked goon as his hand in Dream’s hair ghosts down his back to slide under Dream’s shirt, feeling him shiver and cry out. The goon seems to move out of his stupor and walks out of sight, Hob tracking him as he bites further up Dream’s neck. “After all, the only reason I’m not fucking you at this moment, is if I’m not sure if you deserve it.” 

Dream lets out a pathetic sound, clutching him tighter he presses against the slit of Dream’s cock, making the other man shiver. “It won’t―that won’t happen again,” Dream pants.

Hob sighs, twisting his wrist as Dream moans, hands scrabbling desperately over his torso as it takes only a few more strokes until Dream comes. There’s a loud cry, Dream going boneless as his other hand goes to Dream’s front to pinch at pink nipples hidden under the black dress shirt. “Next time, I won’t be as nice,” he says, hand moving out of― 

Until Dream grabs his wrist, and his cock, neglected, throbs as Dream licks his come off the black leather, eyes an intense dark blue as they look at him. 

“Needy, aren’t you?” He rasps, Dream’s eyes fluttering shut as he continues to lick the his gloved hands, and Hob moans as Dream grabs his cock. Dream undoes his belt and zipper as his thumb presses Dream’s bottom lip, black glove and pink lips making his cock twitch before Dream gets his own hands on it, stroking it in a frenzied rush as Dream bites at his fingers, licking the palm of his hand as Hob comes with a groan.

-

Dream has asked him to be around his art room, looking haunted ― and Hob gets the impression he’s there for more emotional support again, which. He’s a bit out of practice with, but for Dream usually just requires being in the area, so he’s sitting in one of the plush chairs and reading a book, while Dream mixes paints and glares daggers at a canvas. 

There’s a sigh, and a clatter as brushes get put down, “why do you let them do that?” Dream asks, apropos of nothing and Hob blinks, attention dragged away from his book to Dream.

“Let who do what?” He crosses his legs, placing the book down the side of the chair. 

“I heard some guards talking about you. They don’t know about you.” Dream clarifies, eyes narrow as they stare at him. 

“They don’t matter. And I like to operate so that people under-estimate me,” he shrugs, putting his face on his hands. “Art not co-operating today?” 

Dream scowls and glares once again at the canvas, then stands up and comes over to him, hands gripping his thighs. “I read about you ― or what wasn’t heavily redacted. What did you do?” 

Hob’s brows raise, and he huffs, gently pushing Dream away with his foot ― and Dream lets out a sound, blue eyes darkening as they stare at his pointed shoes. That’s always an option, Hob considers as he guides Dream onto the floor, shoe on Dream’s shoulder. Cocking his head, he thinks that Dream kneeling for him might be one of his favourite things. “A light disagreement with a former employer, nothing interesting,” he breathes. 

“It said you’re to be executed on sight, from the MI6, that wasn’t redacted,” Dream scowls, trying to hold onto getting his answers. Hob hums, smirking as he puts his other leg in between Dream’s, lightly pressing onto the other’s crotch, and Dream gasps. 

“The disagreement wasn’t so light, then,” he amends, feeling Dream’s cock fill under his shoe as Dream grabs onto his shin, nails digging into him. 

“Hob,” Dream growls, staring up at him with blue eyes swallowed by black ― and Hob’s other shoe taps against Dream’s cheek, trailing to the other’s jaw and pulling his face up, legs loosely crossed as he does. 

“Dream,” he mimics, feeling Dream shiver as he grinds his shoe into a hard cock. Hob blinks, resting his head on his hand, watching as Dream holds onto his ankles. “While you’re down there, there’s better things to do than talk about ancient history,” Hob drawls ― and Dream shivers, arching into the shoe on his groin ― and the point of the other shoe presses into Dream’s pink mouth. 

“I―I don’t,” Dream whines, muffled by his shoe as he’s given him a wide-eyed look, surprise as Dream grabs onto the shoe near his mouth. There’s a whimper as Hob continues to press onto Dream’s cock, making the other man shudder and curl in on him, Dream’s nose brushing against his other shoe, cheeks flushing red. 

“You don’t even have to do anything if you don’t want, which I’m sure you’ll enjoy,” he purrs, own arousal making his dick hard in his pants, and he grins as Dream moans, blue eyes glazed over as they look at him, mouth open. “Look at that,” he breathes, leaning over to grip Dream’s hair, Dream following along obediently. “Now,” he guides Dream’s face to his other shoe, still grinding into Dream’s cock as the other man whimpers. “Be a good boy and lick.” 

Dream lets out a whimper, staring up at him, then to his shoe, blinking ― and there's a frisson of pleasure coiling inside at seeing a tentative lick on the top of it, blue eyes fluttering closed. There’s a broken, surprised noise as Dream kisses his shoe, hands moving to grip underneath as kisses and licks get laved upon it. 

Having been roughly involved in the BDSM scene, but again. Disagreements, and yet he’s delighted to see how easily Dream falls into subspace, feeling the scrape of teeth through leather as Dream bites at the point of the shoe, sucking it and Hob shivers, dick throbbing as he watches. Licking his lips, he lifts the one on Dream’s crotch, and Dream whines, staring at him imploringly. “If you want to come, you’ll have to work for it.” 

Reclining back in the chair and resting his fingers on his cheek, Dream takes a few deep breaths, blinking up at him. Dream moves forward, a hand coming to grip the ankle of the shoe that was grinding into him ― and he lets out a pleased sound as Dream starts to press against his shoe, chest arching into his leg as Dream moves up and down. 

“Beautiful,” he praises, stroking Dream’s red cheek as he whines and grounds up against him, licking the top of his other shoe, and there’s only the sound of their breathing, and Dream’s whining, with leather creaking as Dream works himself towards orgasm. 

Dream comes with a cry, hiding his face into Hob’s shoe as he pants, weight falling onto Hob’s legs as Dream stares up at him. 

-

A week later, Hob enters Dream’s room, who reacts with ― embarrassment, blue eyes looking away as Dream’s face starts to redden. “What?” Dream asks, voice gruff and giving him a death glare. 

“I’m going to visit a mutual friend today,” he says dryly, and Dream, hunched over a desk with a notebook, tenses as Hob pulls a gun out of the holster under his suit jacket. Refraining from rolling his eyes, he grabs the barrel of the gun, butt facing Dream as he walks up to the other man, other hand in his pants. “Remember, whose men I had to deal with to free you?” 

Dream’s eyes widen, looking between the gun and his face as Hob leans against the desk. “Why now?” 

“Had to make a plan, at least a bit of an effort regarding some things,” he shrugs, and now Dream looks more confused, closing his notebook. “As for this,” he rattles the gun, thumb moving to the side of it to show the shining gleam of it, “a kiss? For luck,” he says with a grin. 

The other man scoffs, staring down at the barrel, “why? You don’t need it,” Dream mutters, glancing between the gun and him for a few moments. Hob raises his brows, and Dream’s lips purse before he moves forward, lips pressing onto the barrel of the gun. There’s a clack of teeth against steel as Dream grabs onto his hand, eyes dark as they stare up at him. 

A pink tongue presses against the barrel and Hob takes a breath, feeling himself get half-hard as Dream pulls him down, breath almost mingling over the top of the gun―  And Hob takes the gun away, putting it back in its holster, Dream’s stare heavy and Hob forces his mind back on track, that’s not filled with Dream’s delicious cries and warm skin. “Later,” he manages, voice rough as he steps back, and eventually out of the room.

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #dream of the endless #hob gadling #writing #not sfw #oh my amoral baby of a fic i care you so much #the second part is pretty much almost done and so

[weatheredfailnot]

Please take these sections from EE3 on the Shadowkeeper (Cylva) because I love her so dearly

Transcript below:

A NAME SPOKEN IN WHISPERS

Around the time Ardbert and his comrades left Tomra, they stumbled upon evidence of the larger design. Threads linking together the disparate troubles of the realm. A name spoken only in whispers— the Shadowkeeper.

A singular force sowing chaos and discord throughout Norvrandt to an unknown end.

During Nyelbert's search for an energy source to replace the crystal he shattered, he began to suspect that the now-lost stone was not, in fact, a naturally occurring mineral, but rather had been deliberately placed under the mountain. Pursuing the truth of that theory led them to discover a connection to Lamunth, the gem counterfeiter whom Ardbert and Lamitt apprehended so long ago in Nabaath Areng. When they visited Lamunth's gaol cell to interrogate him, however, they found the man convulsing on the floor and frothing at the mouth. Ere the poison took his life, he managed to sputter the name of the Shadowkeeper. Further investigation revealed that this sinister figure had ordered Lamunth to secret the crystal in the mine shafts, and in return rewarded him with the illusory magicks he would employ in his forgeries.

They also came to learn that Tadric, the mastermind behind Voeburt's monstrous plague, had not worked alone. Research documents recovered from the court mage's laboratory mentioned the Shadowkeeper by name, the meticulous entries describing how the arcane lore shared by his co-conspirator had contributed to the completion of his transformation magicks.

The mining industry of Nabaath Areng threatened with demolition.

A scheme culminating in the death of Voeburt's royal heirs. The Shadowkeeper had plotted the downfall of two mighty nations, and Ardbert's band feared that Lakeland, the third of Norvrandt's major powers, would be next.

Lo and behold, a rebellion erupted in the home of the elves. The reigning king was deposed, and the Shadowkeeper, their heretofore faceless nemesis, took the throne.

The elven king, Lelfrey, was a passionate proponent of the arts- music and dance in particular- with his focus on such refined pursuits earning him equal praise and scorn. His was a peaceful rule, free of war and strife, but this passivity cost his kingdom dearly in matters of foreign diplomacy. A poor negotiator, he ceded border territories to Voeburt to avoid conflict, and signed an economic agreement with Nabaath Areng that put Lakeland at a clear disadvantage.

As these political blunders chipped away at the nation's authority, a sentiment of discontent among Lakeland's high-ranking nobility began to fester and grow. Traditionalists dreamed of a return to the golden age when all of Norvrandt lay under their control, and it was the Shadowkeeper who granted them the power to act. Rumors that this new player was the king's bastard child ran wild, and, true or not, served to unify the disgruntled nobles under a single banner. They indulged in treachery to undermine rival nations, while at home, their assassins targeted influential royalists. The scene was set for revolution.

The Shadowkeeper was attended by two dark-robed mages, by whose malevolent arts the traditionalists were empowered. One of their gifts was lupine transformation, a change which granted the recipient preternatural strength and agility. Thus bolstered by a company of these wolfman soldiers, the Shadowkeeper's faction stormed Laxan Loft and captured the royal seat for their leader. No sooner had the winning side declared a new age of glory for the elves than did they muster their forces and launch an invasion into Voeburtite lands.

Caption reads: The Shadowkeeper emerged amid blood and chaos, a formidable and enigmatic figure perpetually encased in stygian plate armor. Similarly clad in midnight raiment, the Shadowkeeper's forces inspired terror in all who witnessed their advance.

THE BATTLE OF LAXAN LOFT

The heroes were poised to continue their search for Nyelbert's replacement stone in Nabaath Areng when the silver-haired Cylva abruptly left the party. The swordswoman excused herself on the premise that she wished to reconnoiter the troubling situation in Lakeland, but in truth, she was hurrying back to don her black armor, unsheathe her blade, and lead the elven traditionalists in their rebellion. Cylva, the great deceiver, had been the Shadowkeeper all along.

She was, in truth, no bastard child of King Lelfrey-that was merely a fiction concocted by Mitron and Loghrif, her Ascian accomplices. Her true origin lay in the Thirteenth, where she had died young and powerless, an unrealized champion of the reflection-turned-void. The Ascians had found her in the moment of her demise, and it was they who brought her soul to the First to serve as a pawn in dark machinations.

Cylva was to insinuate herself into Ardbert's band, and guide them along the path to becoming Warriors of Light. That which they cast aside in their journey towards heroism, she would take into herself, growing ever stronger as a disciple of Darkness. And when all was in readiness, she would reveal herself as the villainous Shadowkeeper. By her hand would the Warriors of Light be slain, and despair sown in the hearts of the populace.

What the Ascians did not plan for was the Shadowkeeper's defeat at the hands of Ardbert's party. Cylva had steadily amassed her power, feeding on her erstwhile comrades' respective sacrifices of personal ambition, innocence, independence, and tradition. Yet despite her best efforts, Ardbert would not forsake what she sought to purloin- his caring heart.

Even in the midst of their deadly confrontation, he regarded her as a comrade in need of saving.

Thus denied her full ascension, the Shadowkeeper wavered and fell.

Swallowing their grief at the loss of a friend, the heroes turned their wrath towards the villains who had orchestrated this tragedy. The Warriors of Light now shone so brightly that even high-ranking Ascians could not stand against their incandescent fury. Even as Ardbert struck his final blow, fulgent power swelled in a cataclysmic wave, and the Flood of Light was unleashed upon the lands of the First.

Caption reads: In her bid to slay the Warriors of Light, Cylva turned her transformation magicks upon herself. Though Ardbert and his comrades did indeed struggle against this formidable lupine abomination, it was the necessity of striking down their former friend that presented the greatest challenge.

#FFXIV #Cyella #Cylva #My posts

[unboundprompts]

Pirate Prompts Inspired by Songs

-> writing prompts from the lyrics of songs that give off pirate vibes. feel free to edit as you see fit.

"You ain't welcome 'round here anymore. You might as well go." - Hell's Comin' with Me by Poor Man's Poison

"Kick him in the head and throw him over." - Drunken Sailor by aeseaes

"Tear this place apart and leave not but a single shred. Tonight we'll be much richer men, tonight they'll all be dead!" - Side Quest by The dread Crew of Oddwood

"So, you want to be immortal with a loaded gun?" - Start a War by Klergy, Valerie Broussard

"He wiped the blood from his face as he slowly came to his knees. He said, 'I'll be back when you least expect it. And hell's coming with me."' - Hell's Comin' with Me by Poor Man's Poison

"I sold my soul to the calling." - Fire by Barns Courtney

"Abandon everything you know, sail with us and we'll show you what it means to be alive" - Abandon Ship by fin

"No second life, no second try." - Side by Side by Storm Seeker

"You line your pockets full of money that you steal from the poor." - Hell's Comin' with Me by Poor Man's Poison

"Dance my dear like the raging seas. Sway my ship until the sun rises. Spin like the wind like there was no tomorrow and the end was near." - Into The Night by Firkin

"Whisper your siren's song to every girl who comes along." - Vixen by Destroy Boys

"So much I have lost and so much I resent." - Only Us by Miracle Of Sound

"They didn't know him by his face, but by the gun around his waist." - Hell's Comin' with Me by Poor Man's Poison

"Pain is what you desire." - Start a War by Klergy, Valerie Broussard

"We've drunk a couple bottles and set our grief aside." - As the World Caves In by Matt Maltese

"Sold my soul to the barrel and the devil set me free." - Into The Night by Firkin

"I am the devil that you forgot." - Hell's Comin' with Me by Poor Man's Poison

"This is our ship, and we're your crew." - Abandon Ship by fin

"Let the sin we swim in drown us." - Only Us by Miracle Of Sound

"You sail among liars." - Start a War by Klergy, Valerie Broussard

"I'm dying to feel again, anything at all. But I feel nothing." - Gold by Imagine Dragons

"I know you're out there in the shadows." - Dear Fellow Traveller by Sea Wolf

"A pirate's life is hard to live, but the treasure will help, no doubt." - Side by Side by Storm Seeker

"Glory and gore go hand in hand." - Glory And Gore by Lorde

"We've got nothing left to lose." - The Captain's Dead by Paddy And The Rats

"Don't ask for me to lie then beg for forgiveness for making you cry." - Human by Rag'nBone Man

"If they think they're better still, I'll bring them to their knees." - Sticks and Stones by Ye Banished Privateers

"We lost a good ship to the depths." - The Voyage of the James Caird by Graeme James

"The rain and sea and storm winds crashed against our ship with wrath." - The Flying Dutchman by The Jolly Rogers

#prompts inspired by lyrics #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #prompt list #story prompt #rp prompts #fic prompt #story prompts #dialogue ideas #rp meme #writing dialogue #pirates

[cvlutos]

TWISTED WONDERLAND: MOULIN ROUGE

WARNINGS: Dark Content | Sexual Themes | Implied Prostetution | Violence | Yandere | Etc. | Proceed with Caution Dearest. | Inspired By Lovely @elenamegan14, who I absolutely adore.

═ PROLOGUE ═

DEAREST ARISTOTLE FAMILY,

Hello Aristotle Family, I have received word that your father, James Aristotle, has passed, truly a sad day and I give you time to grieve. Yet time is money and I fear that a certain family, your family to be exact, is still quite indebted to me. I do send my condolences. Though fear not, it is not much I desire from you, dear Aristotle family.

I ask for your eldest child to be sent to NRC and aid me. You needn’t know why, but they will indeed be safe. All that the eldest needs to bring are whatever they desire. Shelter and all other needs will be provided. Within this envelope contains a special boating ticket and I do hope you do not lose this. I expect the eldest child to arrive before the end of fall.

I’ll Be Waiting,

DIRE CROWLEY

Pulling the fabric of your thick coat closer to your form, your luggage trapped between your legs as your sit on the deck of the large ship. It’s crowded, all eager to board off the boat and onto what one would consider paradise island. It’s dark and unseeable. Yet the anticipation is tastable, like fresh oranges, and you can already taste the citrus without having to bite it. We all sit in the dark, for the inside of the boat is only for the rich, nobles, and royalty. Not poor underdressed commoners. With little to their name. We are forced to be outside like dogs. The sun set hours ago, and the moon missing as if stolen from the sky. The only thing illuminating the path is the ship lights at shine onto the fog-covered ink of the ocean.

Consider yourself lucky.

A letter was sent from none other than Dire Crowley, owner of NRC. Night Raven Club or Night Raven Coterie. It rests heavy within the inside of your coat, as do the thoughts of worry and fear in what you have to do for Dire Crowley. NRC is a notoriously dangerous, yet lavish place, having been around for generations. It’s also known for draining the very pockets of men and women alike, leaving those same men and women begging for scraps along the island, begging to be able to get back into the club, like drug addicts going through withdrawals. Until the next boat arrives to take them home. Though most go kicking and screaming, dragged onto the ship. Yet the boat itself is unpredictable and unreliable. Once you’re on the island, you can’t get off, at least not easily.

People have gambled away all they have and all they are. Truly a dangerous place.

Consider yourself one in a million.

Crowley had sent you a special invitation, promising a beautiful bedroom for your stay, for as long as you carried out whatever he needed to be done. Though, this letter wasn’t for you directly, but for your family. Due to your father, a man who so desperately sold off almost everything to NRC, leaving his wife and children in ruins, and went crawling to Crowley for it all back. Your father believes Dire Crowley to be a kind man. A very kind, gracious man, that understands and is oh so forgiving. So Dire Crowley did what your father asked, gave back all that your father foolishly lost. Though not without something in exchange. Your family would forever be indebted to the man named Dire Crowley, and would do all he needed to be done when he asked. A deal could last generations if Dire Crowley so wished.

Your father has passed. Escaped the consequences of his actions, so you, as the eldest, must do what your father can’t.

Night Raven Coterie.

The Club of Twisted Imagination.

It’s a name everyone knows. A name that you either despise or worship. Like a whiskey that burns your throat when you drink it, so painful, but so good. It’s a name that lulls you into eternal sleep. That burns your skin worse than that of the bluest flames. That poisons you and kills you. That leaves you stranded in the desert with nothing but the clothes on your back. That drags you into the deepest parts of the ocean or lures you into the hungry den of lions. Or a heavy collar that restricts who you are.

With its great seven-standing beauties and the poor souls trapped within its confines. Unable to escape. Unable to ever be free.

══════ ♡ ══════

Heartslabyul.

Strictness.

Order. Order. Order. Rules. Rules. Rules. Nothing more. Nothing less. This club room is almost as twisted as the island. With 810 rules, written and posted on the walls before you enter the room that rests beyond the crimson-red door. Tables and chairs were all placed orderly, with red painted roses in the center. It’s almost like a never-ending tea party. All were directed towards a stage of checkered patterns of red and white, with heavy velvet curtains hiding the stage. Til the exact moment, exactly with the clock, do the curtains open.

The Queen’s Arrival.

Riddle Rosehearts, The Red Rose Tyrant.

Short in stature but large in presence. A boyish, arrogant look as he entertains and dances across the stage before strutting down the catwalk and onto a smaller circular stage. Closer to you. Closer to the rich and desperate people. Begging to be hit by his leather riding crop, begging for him to look down on them with a sneer. He’s alluring, sweeter than the sweetest tart, and scolding like freshly brewed tea. He’s merciless. Unforgiving. Bad-Tempered. Selfish. Spoiled. A sadist that ties sinful men and women to their chairs and punishes them. He’s cruel and all things within that room, behind that door, the door in the color of blood-painted roses, must be orderly.

══════ ♡ ══════

SavannaClaw.

Perseverance.

Wild and Free. Bathing in the coolness of the Savanna freshwater springs. It’s loud and in constant motion. It’s rowdy and not for that of fate of heart. A more hands-on experience, with colors of browns and yellows. With floral from the savanna decorating the hot and steaming room, it’s the perfect place for fights. For arguments. With no tables or chairs, most men and women find themselves staring up at the stage, bodies close and compact. Like an herd a suspecting prey. Until a sudden roar sends everyone into a frenzy.

The Roar of a King.

Leona Kingscholar, The King of Beasts.

With a cocky smirk and emerald eyes, he stalks onto the stage. Displaying nothing but power. Nothing but strength. Barely dressed with anything, yet leaves you begging for more. Pleading for the lion beastman to drag you onto stage and ravish you. He dances feverishly and leaves you stubbing out the door, or passing out amongst a wall, drenched in sweat. He’s confident, so cocky in his position as Prince. Ordering you to follow and listen, and you do. He’s the bad boy, a predator to prey. The lion hiding within the tall grass. There are no rules in the savanna. There are no rules. Once you open the burnt yellow-colored door, any and all could happen. Only pray that you survive.

══════ ♡ ══════

Octavinelle.

Benevolence.

Deep and cool within the darkest depths of the ocean. Of smooth jazz and a nightclub atmosphere. Soft lighting and candles. Many call this the Mostro Lounge, though the clubroom has its special performances. Most times, it has an average audience. A break from the other rooms of NRC’s the Great Seven, a place of twisted relaxation that comes with a price. Soft cushioned seats, all well dressed, well behaved, till the siren sound begins and comes the beauty of the depth.

The Emergence of the Sea Witch.

Azul Ashengrotto, The Deep-Sea Merchant.

Seduction at its finest. An alluring smile and charming voice, as if had eight arms that pulled you onto the stage. His moves hypnotizing as he gracefully moves across, like a fish in water. Simple, soft, seductive. Drowning in the embellishments of his voice, till you, his chosen one makes it onto stage and he dances around you. Constricts you in the tentacles in this voice, luring you into false, calm waters before the climax. A loud symphony of instruments and heat. Like the arrival of a new storm. The only thing that can save lies within a golden contract, one in which you only have to sign your name. All this lies within the deep, lies behind the lilac purple door.

══════ ♡ ══════

Scarabia.

Mindfulness.

Energetic. A party all day, every day. A truly freeing place that makes you want to do nothing but dance and jive. But to dance and spin around several unique dance partners. Or sing and listen to the various instruments, from the thrumming of drums to the strings of guitars. The smell of the sun and the taste of spice, the sound of jewelry being thrown and forgotten, till you dance and find yourself naked. Your clothing and all your money gone from you. Til none other than the diamond in the rough appears.

Like the sound of sand in an hourglass,

Kalim Al-Asim, The Cave of Wonder’s Diamond

All that is left behind disappears into the sand of the fourth room. As the sway of energetic hands and hips brings you into a hypnotizing stare, as he moves across the room, with a smile on his face. He has an innocent aura, but aside from the overly friendly touches, he doesn’t seem all that innocent. He gives you all you desire; all that you want and beg for. You’ll forgive him for all that’s stolen. With desperate hands and desperate voices, begging him to do this and to dance this way, he obeys. Like a mouse, ready to be swallowed by the snake. Greed to appease you all. All awaits you within the land of sands, behind the door of orange.

══════ ♡ ══════

Pomefiore

Tenacity.

The room of pure perfection and poison. Of dark violets and bold red. With nothing, the smell of intoxicating perfume and caramel apples that were to die for. Everything within this room is beautiful. So perfect. With little room for sitting, but all the room for an enormous stage and a special performance for those who could afford it. Not just anyone can waltz into the room of beauty, it’s come with a deadly cost, and the beauty will get what is owed.

A Poisonous smoke that chokes you.

Vil Schoenheit, The Fairest Queen.

Slow. Seductive. Like aphrodisiacs had been pumped straight into your veins as he sings. It’s hot, as have you squirm in your seat, gasping for air, for relief at any movement he makes. Any roll of his hips, the dragging of his hands, the deepness of his voice. Yet you feel tied to your sit, unable to move as he poisons your very blood. Mirrors placed all across the room, showing you your own patheticness as you watch him dance. As you lean into his tempting touch only for him to pull away and the intoxicating show to end and you must leave the room behind the door of dark purple and deep red.

══════ ♡ ══════

Ignihyde.

Diligence.

A room of technology. Yet never the main show. Don’t expect much when arriving, for the main show never seems to appear. It’s a dead room most nights, with only a few there to sit and relax in silence. Now don’t be mistaken. An audience waits on his beck and call, waiting souls for the moment he announces he desires to perform. On the nights he does, it’s packed, people upon people, pushing and shoving to get a glimpse of him.

The Cries of the Dead.

Idia Shroud, The King of the Underworld

Like cries and mourning of the King of the Dead, begging for just a small feeling of his leather boots, just to slightly touch. As he degrades his audience for being so desperate for him. Deep and brooding, hot and heavy. It’s loud and last hours before it dies down and he once again retreats. Spending most of his time entertaining his fans with calls and private appearances. Truly a costly performance. One that you will pay with your life behind the door of blue.

══════ ♡ ══════

Lastly, Diasomnia.

Nobility.

Truly a hard room to find. Only those that are deemed worthy can find the door of green and watch what happens beyond. With candles of green flames and music that feed on you, leave you drowsy. Slumping in seats, allowing whomever to do what they please with you. Though the room is classy, truly the place of nobility, as the sound of trumpets brings your attention to the stage.

The Royalty of a Dragon.

Malleus Draconia, The King of Briar Valley.

It’s stranger than most. Whether he chooses to do an alluring dance or to sing into a mic. Maybe he’ll choose to play the violin, or simply read a book. Anything he chooses to do with being done gracefully. And be completely unforgettable. Treating each of his guests like royalty, treating each of them like prized treasure in his cave. He’s loving, yet so fierce. Yet not a sight for just anyone. You must be lucky. Special. One in a Million to find the door of green and push past painful thorns.

══════ ♡ ══════

Prepare yourself, [Name] [Surname] of the Aristotle Family.

ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited

#t.manor.au #moulin rouge AU #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #t.manor.horror.stories #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere scarabia #yandere heartslabyul #yandere savannaclaw #yandere octavinelle #yandere pomefiore #yandere ignihyde #yandere diasomnia #yandere dire crowley #dire crowley #dire crowley x reader

[ravencincaide]

Who’s really in control?

Summary: You were a sweet temptation, a guilty sin that brought out the worst in him, satisfied him, tortured him. He wanted to take you with him but you were not ready to leave.

Pairing: Chuuya x Fem!reader 

Inspired by Kinktober prompt 4: prostitution.

Warning: 18 +, Minors DNI! Prostitution/ prostitution-by-choice, stripping & striptease, lap dance, brothel, blow jobs and deep-throating, mention of orgy, cursing, drinking, unhealthy infatuation- kinda, questionable life-choices- definitely!  

Author note: If only you knew the kind of shit I had to google to complete this fic. My sanity, or search history, will never recover from it. Seriously. 

Enjoy.

______________________________________________________________

It was no secret that Chuuya visited more than a handful of shady stripclubs which doubled as brothels in his life. While it may not be a weekly or daily obsession for him like it was for Dazai, he did spend a good portion of his pay on it. In his defense, visiting these kinds of places was practically expected of an executive. After all, meaningless one night stands were always more favorable than deep attachments. And Chuuya couldn’t deny that some days, coming to these kinds of places was all about satisfying his carnal desire; the need to fuck a warm hole. The face, voice and age, not mattering. Other days however it was a bit more intimate than that. 

Twirling the glass of cheap wine in his hand, Chuuyas blue eyes flickered to the dancing girls, one slowly stripping on the main stage. Twisting her body around the pole, to show off her barely covered cunt underneath the glittery skirt. Her shirt gone, with only an ugly bright green bra holding her silicon filled tits in place. Twirl after twirl, she swayed her hips to the rhythm of the music in a poor attempt at seduction. She kept going until she was happy with the number of twenties at her feet, before taking another piece of clothing off, the ugly bra, keeping the crowd of drunken men with no tastes entertained. They responded by throwing more cash at her feet which she crawled and rolled towards. On the smaller stages on either side of her were clothed pole dancers; twirling in a much slower fashion, licking the poles or shaking their asses as a teasing preview of the kind of things they could do behind closed doors. 

Not them. 

Chuuyas' gaze moved further towards the two almost-empty bars. Then flickered up towards the darked DJ booth looming above the stage where girls would hang out prior to their dances. Still no. He readjusted himself in the seat and glanced behind himself towards the private rooms. Often girls would loom outside them, hoping to catch the eye of a man rich enough to pay for one of those rooms. 

“ Looking for someone?” He heard your familiar voice from behind, before feeling a pair of arms wrap around him. He felt you rest your head on his shoulder, a gentle floral scent of your perfume filling his senses- a pleasant refreshment against the cheap wine, sweat and hormones. 

He didn’t reply. 

Instead Chuuya swirled the glass in his hand again as he considered whether he should drink the dark red dish-water this place called wine or not. He didn’t bother bringing up the fact that you were late. And you, as always, did not bother to apologize for wasting his money. You both knew you’d make it up to him sufficiently and in whatever way he wanted. 

He just needed to ask for it.  

You moved closer, pressing your breasts tightly against his back, leaning forward ever so slightly. “ What’s your poison tonight?” 

In reply Chuuya raised the glass and let you take a sniff before bringing it back to his lips and finishing it. Underneath the wineglass laid a simple black keycard with golden painted letters. 

Room 13. 

You reached out and took it, bringing it to your lips. Holding it there until Chuuya finally looked up at your face. Then you gave your best seductive look as you untangle yourself from him. “ Shall we then?”  Chuuya watched you move towards the private rooms, lingering long enough to drop a tip towards one of the waitresses- if one could call them that- before going after you.

Chuuya watched you wave the card at the bouncers who were quick to open the doors into a long dark hallway full of rooms on either side. Soundproof. One of the first doors was opened wide, giving full view of the fucking inside. Sounds of exaggerated moaning, dick thrusting in and out, balls hitting ass and slapping reached your ears. Then the voice of a man stating ‘my turn’, silence before followed by another cry from the girl. Then more vigorous thrusting. 

 Neither you nor Chuuya gave her or whatever was happening in that first room any of your attention as you made your way towards the last room of the corridor. Located on one side, golden numbers 13 glimmered under the lamplight. You stopped right outside the door and stretched the card towards him. Chuuya didn’t hesitate when he took it from your fingers, pushed it in, then typed the one-time code into the card reader. 

The door swung open with ease.

Chuuya was the first to go in, making his way towards the chair straight ahead. To his right was a large bed with silky black sheets, surrounded by mirrors from various angles, including the ceiling. On the opposite end was a leather couch and a bar right next to it filled with exclusive bottles reserved for high-end clients, such as himself. That was where you went, first eyeing the different songs you could pick from the playlist by the bar, then once you picked one you liked you reached over towards a bottle and began pouring a glass of wine that you deemed would suit his tastes and mood. Just as Chuuya dropped himself into the chair, you came over with it and stretched it towards him. Your fingers brushed his as he took it from you, taking a sip.

 His attention on you clearly said he wanted more than wine. And you were not one to disappoint. 

You circled the chair, your fingers trailing him from one shoulder, over his tense back, and then to the second. You did a twirl so you were in front of him, hands on his thighs, chest bent forward. You saw his eyes flicker down to your breasts then back up again, drawing in a breath as you dragged your hands slowly to his knees then back up to his hips, up his stomach, chest and landing on the back of his neck. You inched closer, your breasts closer to his face, your hips swaying side to side, your ass brushing against his thighs with each move.   

“You seem so tense tonight Chuuya, work got you all pent up?” You purred as you turned around, your hands leaving him for a moment. You placed them on his knees, lowering your ass down to his crotch. There you ground yourself against him a couple of times. Before you twisted back around, saddling his lap. You were face to face with him now, one hand in his hair. You moved against him to the music, each movement of your hips rubbing against his crotch and the growing bulge. A little heat, a little friction and just a hint of your pussy feelable through your thin clothes. 

You watched him swallow, the blue of his eyes growing darker. He flickered his attention between you so seductively moving in his lap and to the red of your lips. Just as he made a movement towards your lips you slid off his lap to your knees, your face inches from his clothed dick. Then you crawled backwards out of his reach. Chuuya growled, a sound of impatience and approval. He was ready to bend you over and fuck you almost as much as he wanted to continue watching your dance. Another moment away from you and he settled back into the chair, waiting for you to continue. 

Up on your knees you ran your hands up your body, pulling your shirt upwards along the way.  Soon it found its way to the floor as you shifted to your feet in a crouched position, then you seductively leaned upwards, bringing attention to your round ass which you gave a slight twerk until you were standing straight in front of him. You took a step out, showing off your long leg, partially hidden beneath your skirt, before you made another circle around his chair. 

“ I don’t wanna talk about work.” Chuuya replied stiffly, his eyes flowing your twirl until you were back in front of him again. He licked his lips, his eyes flickering from your half sheer bra to your hips, where the skirt met your skin. 

In response you swayed your hips more, running your hands up and down your body, pausing on the top of your skirt. Slowly you pulled it lower, revealing the edge of your panties before you dropped on your knees and slowly crawled towards him. Gripping his thighs you pulled yourself up, your face going up between his legs, up his chest and stopping inches from his lips. You could smell his breath on your face; wine and cigarettes. And he could smell yours, cherry flavored gum. Your hips were doing a figure-eight in his lap before you leaned back and sat down on his thigh. You hooked a finger into the waistband of the skirt and slowly began pulling it down, revealing more of your sheer underwear. You barely got them down an inch before his fingers found the material and he tugged it off your ass and down your legs in one rough motion. 

You flickered your eyes towards the place where he threw your skirt before turning back to him, licking your lips as you moved more roughly against him. His hands found their way to your breasts, groping and fondling them through the thin lace of your bra.  You threw your head back, a soft moan on your parted lips before tilting your head to the side. Your bottom lip between your teeth; you could feel him growing harder beneath you.

Then you moved back, sliding off his lap again until your knees made contact with the carpeted floor, fully intending to do another circle around him, maybe two before losing more clothing. However you only made it back to the soles of your feet, before Chuuya had other ideas; gripping a fist full of your hair, Chuuya yanked you down then forward, forcing you back to your knees. Your head now inches away from his bulge. “ Get on with it.” 

“ It will cost you extra hun” You stated, your flat tone the only indication that you didn’t approve of the rough treatment. 

“ This enough?” Chuuya dropped a wad of cash at your feet, giving you just enough time to glance its way before he pushed your head towards his crotch again, growing impatient. 

You licked your lips while your hands focused on getting rid of unnecessary clothing. Then you took anything-but-small Chuuya in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the tip of him. His lengths was in your hands which you stroke up and down in a twisted motion, like a corkscrew. You could feel him relaxing into the touch. After a few moments you released him and moved your lips lower and lower, until your tongue was trailing his balls, first one then the second. You didn’t hesitate to take one in your mouth, your lips caressing them. Then you let it out with a pop, giving the second one equal treatment. 

“ Just like that doll” Chuuya groaned, his hand tangled in your hair. You could feel him twitch. Letting go of his testies you rubbed him a handful of times with your hand before leaving it at the base. Then you ran your hot tongue up the entire length, stopping only until you were back at the tip. Your eyes flickered up to him, locking onto the pools of dark blue as you took his full dick in your mouth, as far as it would go.  

Chuua moaned loudly, his head thrown back. 

You twisted your tongue around him as you slowly pulled him out until just the tip was in. There you gave two flickers of your tongue over his slit before taking him all the way back in again. You pulled back just half way before taking him back in again, picking a rather slow yet steady speed finding a comfortable rhythm. You could feel his muscles twitching under you, as if Chuuya’s goans of pleasure weren’t enough of an indication that he was having a good time.  

“ You’re taking me so good doll, just like that” Chuuya moaned, his hips suddenly thrusting upwards into your mouth. Your eyes widened, tears gathering in your eyes as he gripped your hair tightly for a few thrusts, then bringing your head down to meet his thrusts “ Come on keep taking me like that yeah. Good, nice and deep, yeah?” 

You made a humming sound, your hands gripping his thighs as he fucked your face, growing more and more erratic with each thrust. Then you felt it; his hot seed hitting the back of your throat. 

If you hadn’t been humming you would have definitely been gagging. You were glad for knowing this old prostitutes trick. 

You did little as he continued to thrust into you salvaging the last moments of his orgasm. With each thrust cum and spit would spill past your lips, down your chin and drip onto the floor, mixing with your tears. A few more, then his hand clasped over your nose, eyes dark as he waited for you to swallow whatever was left of his cum in your mouth. You sent a glare his way before you did that. Feeling the seed sliding slowly down your throat. Satisfied, he let your nose go and pulled out of your mouth; the residue sliding down your neck to your breasts, joining the mess on the carpet.  You wiped your lips on your hand then locked eyes with Chuuya as you licked your fingers clean. Then you leaned forward and used your tongue to lick up the white ring of cum and spit at the base of him. 

Only once he was clean did you stand up. 

When you returned you had two glasses of wine in your hands, a fresh one for him and one for you. Once he took it, you moved to sit beside him on the armrest of the chair salvaging the cool wine against your sore throat. His arm was draped around your waist and your legs were draped over one thigh,you feet hanging  between his legs. Your tall heels just barely scraping the carpet. You looked relaxed yet ready; an order from him and you could either saddle his lap or drop back on your knees in front of him. Whichever picked his fancy tonight. 

“ I can take you out of here” Chuuya stated suddenly in a sober tone rather than tell you how he wanted to fuck you. When you glanced down at him you saw that he was fully focused on nursing the alcoholic drink in his hand instead of giving your body attention. “ I have the money for you to be comfortable and you’ll be in control of your life.” 

You stared at him for a few moments longer, unsure how to respond to his offer. Then you licked your lips before leaning towards him until his eyes abandoned the dark red wine and focused on your face instead. 

“ Tell me executive Chuuya Nakahara, who’s actually in control?” Your hand reached down his body, grasping his length, earning you a groan of pleasure. You found it cute how flushed he becomes despite you having just sucked his dick and he having just fucked your mouth. It was adorable how quickly he responded to your touch;” The man coming here every two weeks, spending money earned through blood, sweat and murder or the prostitute who spends an hour on her knees, never dirtying her hands, never dealing with gore or rudeness, having a ton of free time and yet matching the monthly pay of your highest subordinates?” 

Your eyes stared into his own. You wondered if he understood that not all prostitutes were damsels in distress. Understood that this between you was strictly professional- this was as much a job for you, as his next kill was for him. You wondered if he’d stop the pity- maybe he’d finally realize this palace was not good for him and stop seeing you all together. Or at the very least stop staring at you with those eyes. The eyes that made it too easy for you to have him coming back to this filthy club, coming back for you. But you said nothing to him, not really. The money he brought in was good, and he was always nothing if not gentlemanly. 

“ This one is on the house.” you winked before sliding down between his legs and taking his lengths deep into your mouth, ready to give him a round two. A round that was bound to have him keep him coming back for more. To keep him hooked on the unhealthy fantasy of seeking out these meetings with you, in hopes that one day you’ll get tired of playing a whore and finally decide to build a home. With him.  

#chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya smut #kinktober #Describing-lap-dance-since-no-one-will-fucking-do-it-but-everyone-mentions-it #prostitución #Chuuya filth

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

I Don’t Get It

Bam gets a proposal to do a photoshoot for a certain magazine with his girlfriend, Y/N, and she couldn’t be happier!

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Fluff)

2.2k Words

Warnings: Extremely suggestive content, injuries, nudity, bimbo Y/N, crude language, kissing, lingerie, jealousy

An: Happy Valentine’s Day! This is the first non request fic from me in a while! XD While doing research for the Bam wedding fic, I got to rewatching Unholy Union, so this fic was inspired by the Playboy photoshoot Missy was in in episode 4! This moodboard by @princessthatcantfuckingsleep also reminds me a lot of Y/N in this one lol XD If you want an idea of how far ahead I write these fics, this was also inspired by the fact that I got an official Bam skate deck for Christmas!! So cool! Anyways, thank you for all of the requests and please keep sending them in!!

Getting calls from the hospital at midnight about Bam was a part of your routine but that didn’t stop you from rushing over every time to make sure your boyfriend was okay. You’d sit in the waiting room, anxiously filing your nails or fixing your lipstick in the mirror of your blush compact before a nurse called you up- you were in there so frequently for him that they knew you by name. A couple night shift nurses in their blue scrubs and ugly rubber hose-off clogs would shoot you dirty looks, but the notion that it was inappropriate to have your tits out in a hospital never really seemed to bother you.

She showed you to a room and you tottered in on your stilettos, your eyes going wide as you flicked the light on, “Oh my god- Bam!” There was your boyfriend, laying back on a gurney in a paper gown with his arm in a sling, a sight you had seen many times before. Hurrying over to his side, you sat on top of the sheets and threw your legs across his thighs. The pained grimace that Bam was wearing from his broken elbow was replaced with a grin as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him to your chest, “I was so worried about you! What happened?”

“Mmm…m’feel like shit, babe.” Bam murmured from your cleavage, his voice hoarse as he looked up at you with bags under his eyes, “Fell off the skate ramp’n busted my ass. ” You reached up, cupping his face in your palm and smoothing a shiny, bubble gum pink polished thumb over his cheek as machines in adjacent room beeped softly. At least he didn’t hurt that cute little face of his, you thought, but your heart still ached. Pouting, you cooed, “You have got to be more careful! I swear, next time you break that elbow, it’s gonna turn to dust!” Bam snaked a free arm around your waist, pulling you closer as he shot a glance back at the judgy nurses and mouthing something to them about taking a picture because it would last longer.

“You should really be more careful on your roller skates if you keep getting hurt like this!” Turning back to you at the sound of your voice, Bam paused for a second and blinked in disbelief, “I don’t roller skate, Y/N. I’m a pro skater.” You nodded, smiling as you gave him a peck on the cheek, “Yeah, that’s what I said!” You had been dating for well over a year and you still hadn’t gotten that down. Still, Bam couldn’t be mad at you- you were just too cute to annoy him.

Reaching up to run a hand through his black curls, you sighed “Anyways, is there anything I can do to help you feel better?” Bam thought for a second but dismissed the first idea he had though he knew you’d be more than eager for it. He groaned dramatically, wincing, “You know, I’d kill a man for some McDonald’s right now.” Nodding over to the untouched tray of hospital food on the bedside table, he chuckled a bit at your look of shock, “Are they really feeding you that?” You gawked at the gray, unseasoned slop on the tray in horror. If you didn’t know any better, you would swear those doctors were trying to poison him! Pulling him close again, you sighed, “Oh, you poor thing…” Bam knew that he, a grown man, would be perfectly fine without you treating him like a baby bird with a broken wing, but he couldn’t deny that it felt pretty damn good. Sitting up, his lips met yours in a sloppy and gross PDA kiss. This was how you showed your love to each other, much to the annoyance of everyone around you. Some couples go to art museums together or see plays- you and Bam just ate each other's faces.

If there was one thing that could make Bam feel better, it was his girl, so he decided that as soon as he got out of the hospital, he would take you to the mall as payback for your hard work at getting him back to health. The whole time you were right by his side, compassionately listening to him whine about how he wouldn’t be able to skate for at least a month and bringing him your “homemade” baked goods to lift his spirits. Bam couldn’t ask for a better girl, even if you did forget to take the chocolate chip muffins you “baked” for him out of the plastic package you bought them in before you visited him.

☆彡

The two of you were quite the odd couple- here you have this cool rockstar bad boy with this bubbly little thing hanging on his arm. It could have been the navy blue sling around Bam’s arm (the one that wasn’t glued to your lower back, handy for when guys would ogle you) or how your skirt barely covered up the last inch of your ass, but it was most likely the smattering of blotchy, wine colored hickeys on your neck and chest that caused people to stare at you. Your boyfriend was a jealous man, and even though he thought guys who got all pissy when their girlfriends showed a little skin were idiots, he still liked to show people who you belonged to. Plus, you didn’t care that you rarely left the house without them because you didn’t mind getting them.

Sitting on the shiny metal bench at some shoe store with tissue filled boxes crowded around you, you examined one of the many pairs of heels Bam picked out for you. You originally had your eye on a pair of bright blue see-through kitten heels you saw in the window, but as things tend to go, you got a bit carried away. The pair you held, feeling the sticky black patent leather of the seven inch heel, came out of a box with the word ‘Pleaser’ written on the side in curly cursive. They were stunning, but you had some concerns, even while you stared at them with stars in your eyes, “Oh, Bam, I'm not sure if I’d be able to walk in these…” He shook his head at your hesitancy, grinning, “Don’t worry about it. You like ‘em?” With a bit of hesitancy, you nodded, and he wordlessly took them from you, putting them back in the box, “Then we’re getting them.” You giggled, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek.

Usually Bam was pretty sensible with the stuff he picked out for you, but there was something odd about him today. Normally, your wardrobe was all pink pink pink, but the low rise leather mini skirts and vampy purple lingerie sets from Spencer’s (among other things) that your boyfriend paid for struck you as strange. As you sat down at one of those mall coffee shops together, you decided to finally ask the question, holding back giggles, “So, what’s all this for?” Bam looked down at the mountain of bags piled at your feet nonchalantly, then shrugged at you with a grin, “What? I’m not allowed to splurge on m’girl once in a while?” This was really exceeding good boyfriend behavior. You took a sip of your white mocha blendy coffee drink, “I mean, like- yeah, but this is just so much! There’s gotta be some reason you’re doing all this.”

He leaned back in his seat, looking left, then right, before leaning in and dropping his voice like he was about to tell you a secret, “Well, I got contacted by this magazine to be a guest photographer for a photoshoot, and they want you t’be in it.” God, your face just lit up. You were going to be in a magazine- an actual, real life magazine! You couldn’t believe it! Your eyes widened as you splayed your shiny acrylics on the table in disbelief, “Wait, really? Like, really really?” He nodded, smirking all cool at how giddy you got. In your excitement, you leaned across the table and accidentally grabbed his sling arm. Bam gasped in pain and you jumped back, clutching your hands over your mouth, your eyes going wide as some people turned to look at the spectacle you were putting on, “Oh my god- I’m so sorry!” But you quickly forgot about it and went back to your previous excitement while he was still recovering, “But what is it? What magazine? Vogue? Cosmo?” Your boyfriend chuckled at your eagerness, still clutching his arm as you looked up at him with those big ole eyes before clearing his throat and speaking low, “Well, it’s Playboy.”

☆��

Ecstatic didn’t even begin to describe how excited you were. All morning before the people from Playboy showed up, you were gushing to Bam about it, following him on his heels like a puppy and prattling on about how excited you were, “I’m gonna be just like those cute girls in the bunny outfits! This is gonna be so much fun- Oh! We could even use some of the lingerie I already have! Wouldn’t that be cute?” Your boyfriend thought back to the frills, hot pink, and cheetah print that filled your underwear drawer- a far cry from the gothic-medieval idea they pitched to him. He smiled, shaking his head, “I had no idea you’d be so down for this…” Most girls generally wouldn’t be, but of course you were- this was the opportunity of a lifetime!

An hour later, the crew was there and you were all done up and dressed, complete with these black leather thigh high boots that took twenty minutes to lace up. Different from how you normally dressed, but definitely not bad. When you were ready, you went outside in one of those fuzzy robes to the set Bam rigged up- this big thing with a fire and knights with swords, very Medieval times. He was fiddling with the camera lense when you came giddily prancing over to him, “Hi, Bam!” Your boyfriend glanced up at you, looking you up and down, “Can I see what’s under that?” Nodding, you slinked the robe off your shoulders. He blinked a few times as he stared at you, shamelessly eyeing you with his jaw nearly in the ground. That tiny corset top did wonders for your boobs, and the rest of the outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination either. After a moment he shook himself out of his trance, looking back up to you, “Alright, let’s get shooting!”

You took photos outside until it got too cold, which frankly wasn't that long considering whoever organized the thing had the bright idea to shoot outside in the dead of November. Heading inside after you, Bam brushed off the dirt he acquired on his pants from having to lay army crawl style to take the photos, “You wanna get a few more?” He cracked a smile, “Maybe with a little less clothing?” Sitting down on the couch in the living room, you smiled coyly and rubbed your arms to warm yourself up as the rest of the crew filtered in, “Oh? Like how much less?” Bam shrugged nonchalantly, adjusting the camera lense as he set up, “I dunno. Naked ‘d be nice.”

“No way!”

☆彡

The two of you came to a compromise- you got to keep your underwear on while you held a hot pink skate deck you found lying around in front of your chest. A great idea on your part- you literally had Bam’s name shamelessly plastered across your tits. “Hey, Y/N? This isn’t Hustler. Can you, uh- little bit higher? Yeah, that’s it.“ Glancing down, you could hear him snicker when you realized you were accidentally exposing yourself. You giggled and blushed a little as you quickly fixed it, “Oh, sorry!” Your boyfriend murmured something to a very confused camera guy about not dating you for your brains.

All those hours of posing in the mirror for nobody but yourself in your bedroom really paid off, you thought, hearing Bam’s murmured comments from behind the camera, “Yeah, that’s it…perfect. Just like that.” Holding back giggles at all the attention you were getting, an idea suddenly crossed your mind. “Hey, Bam!” He pulled away from the camera for a second as you called out to him, a smile playing on your lips, “Let’s do one together!” Shaking his head, you could’ve sworn you saw a bit of color on his cheeks.

“C’mon! It’d be so cute- If you show your boobs, I’ll show mine!” You couldn't help from smirking as you watched him mentally weigh out the options of your very convincing argument. While the other photographers got their cameras ready, your boyfriend tugged off his shirt much to your delight as you happily tossed the deck to the side. It was a fact that you could talk Bam into anything if you asked sweetly enough. Straddling his lap as he sat low on the purple chaise lounge that he bought just for this photoshoot, you waited for the cameras to start flashing before you leaned down, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss. Maybe you hammed it up for the camera a little, but Bam didn’t have a problem with it. Smiling at the feeling of rough, calloused hands squeezing posessively at your hips, you pulled away slightly, your eyelashes fluttering as you giggled softly against Bam’s lips, “Yr’the best boyfriend ever…”

#jackass #bam margera #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff #jackass x reader #bam margera x reader #missy is such a fashion icon how is nobody talking about this!

[abysswalkersknight]

Got some more Bat Lilia!!!!! this was inspired by @llondonfog's post and watching videos of bats eating fruits in their little fluffy burritos, for some reason they always look angry while eating but in the cutest way possible.

Anyways it may be a bit muddled but hopefully still good, enjoy!

--------------------------

Oh, look how far you have fallen, laments Lilia Vanrouge as he struggles in his cosy confines, above him the puny human child giggles and once again offers him the banana he benignantly refused earlier (squeaking vulgar insults and curses that the child obviously couldn’t understand) ‘now, now Mr Bat you can’t heal on an empty stomach.’ The silver haired baby chided him, lightly tapping him on the nose, if I were not trapped in this meagre form child I swear I'll… a loud growl echoed throughout the room, Lilia's aggressive squeaks quickly simpered when he realised that the sound came from his own stomach, why stomach? Why?

He was a feared general. Both humans and fae tremble at the mere mention of his name, all he’d need to do is glare at a man to have him crumbling to his knees mewling apologies and begging for his life. Yet here he is, trapped in bat form, bunched up in a fluffy pink wrap and being fed to by this bubbling human brat. And none, none of his intimidation tactics were working on his caretaker, instead of cowering like he was meant to, the child simply giggles and continues trying to feed him that wretched yellow, mushy stuff!

‘Get that away from me you lowly being!’ he squeaked angrily, flapping his wings in an attempt to free them from his prison of fluff. 

The boy could have poisoned the fruit! He probably knows what he is and is trying to take him out while he's injured and trapped in this form! In his brutal fight with the blanket Lilia hadn't noticed the fruit coming closer until the moment he flung his head around and had his mouth stuffed with an excessive amount of banana 'see, isn't it good?' The child chirped, happily watching as Lilia struggled with his mouthful of mushy fruit. 

As he packed the banana in his cheeks to chew better Lilia absently thought back to the time Malenor challenged him to see how many rats he could stuff in his mouth (three so far) even though the banana was much softer his jaw still aches slightly as he chewed, curse this little brat, I… 

oh wait.

He chewed a little slower, savouring the taste, this is actually pretty good. Give me more kid, give me more! 

The child seemed to understand Lilia’s incessant squeaking as he gladly offered more fruit and was surprised with his new bat friend’s change in attitude. It had been rather cold and windy when Silver ventured outside after a terrible storm had passed the night before, as usual his uncle had left him home alone so all he could do was check up on all his animal friends to make sure they had made it out of the storm safe. It was then the little boy came upon a strange looking bat, drenched and thoroughly conked out. Poor Silver nearly had a heart attack when he saw streaks of red on the bat but on further inspection the red seemed to be some weird type of dye or something. After carefully wrapping the injured bat in his cloak, Silver hurried back home to the cabin in the middle of the woods where he and his uncle lived. Once again his uncle wasn't home so no one was there to see Silver crash through the door and rush up the stairs toward his room, surprisingly the bat hadn't stirred at all during all the bumping around. Which brings them three days to now, where Lilia had suddenly woken up in his pink prison, weird stuff on his wing and having fruit shoved in his face. At least he now realises that banana tastes good.

A week passes and now Lilia’s wing is all better, he could’ve flown off and be back to Briar Valley by now (the boy called Silver had released him the morning he was healed) but something would always call him back the next day, and it wasn’t the bananas the boy somehow always had ready whenever Lilia decided to reveal himself, right now he was perched upside down on a branch right outside the boy’s window observing as Silver did his daily chores, his cheerful whistling echoes throughout the empty house which builds a sense of unease in the fae. Lilia doesn’t know much about humans but even then he could tell that Silver was quite young, about eight or nine, that’s far too young to leave a child alone for this long. Lilia’s seen the uncle return only once that whole week only for the brute leave just as quick as he came, not even giving a word of acknowledgement toward the sweet child, the fae may have been repulsed at the sight of children a few centuries ago but after raising the young prince he has discovered what wonders a child could bring, he had revelled in the knowledge that he had been granted the chance to care for Malenoa and Leven’s child and it disgusted him to see this lowly human disregard the little treasure before him, yes, Lilia will admit that he’s grown quite attached to the boy in the short time they’ve been together. Which is why his snout curls into a wicked grin as he sees Silver frown at the front door for the fifth time. 

Soon his carefully planned scheme will soon come to light.

Afterall how could he just let his sweet, adorable saviour go without repaying him?

A few months later

‘Uh, general?’ Baul starts, unsure of how to phrase the sight before him.

‘Yes, Baul?’ Lilia breaks off a piece of banana to give to the tiny human resting in his lap before stuffing the rest of it in his mouth, he shoots his second in command a glare, throwing the peel in a growing pile and daring the fae to question him. Baul gulps.

‘Nevermind sir.’

#knight's writing #lilia vanrouge #silver twst #twst #bat lilia #honestly I was meant to post this awhile ago but distractions happened so I dug this out of all my drafts #I must hold a bat now after all those videos

[katsukikitten]

Stalker vibes Tomura, inspired by the manga cap above and for @cwtomura because she deserves Tomuy/Tenkoyo love

His knee is in your back faster than you can think. Pinning you to the dirty pavement in the dark alley, cock jumping when he hears you yelp.

He leans over, looking at your tear stained face and he lets out a long loud sigh. Like he's disappointed and yet still his ruby gaze looks bored.

Dull.

No light in his eyes to be found, paired with his almost agitated frown. His scarred lip snarls as he thinks it all over. How you fell into his lap, literally, two years ago.

Even if you deemed it an accident, to him it was fate.

Fate that poisoned his mind with the all consuming thoughts of you when before there wasn't much thought in his head aside from watching the world crumble to dust under his long fingers.

He doesn't like that you look displeased with him, doesn't like how you flinch when he reaches down to move the hair out of your face so he can see you better. It makes his skin crawl, makes some emotion root around in his subdermis that only his blunt nails can relieve. Taking his already ashen fingers to dig deep grooves into the skin at his throat. Blood weeping in their wake.

He's been overthinking since the moment he laid eyes on you. Should he keep you, should he let you go?

He had let you go before, many times before, watching from the shadows and only to make sure you were okay.

Tomura was fine with it, lurking in the shadows until fate brought the two of you together again. Maybe you'd bump into him this time or once more, fall into his lap by accident but that didn't happen.

No no, fate has other plans, fate just sped things up.

Tonight was like any other, Tomura tailing you to make sure you got home safely but when you approached your home in a far too shitty part of town, a man came outside. He was smiling and you weren't. He stepped closer and you back, cornering you into the alley the two of you were in now.

Garbage personified kissing and pawing at you despite you beating on his chest. He grinds his teeth, tic in his jaw as he rushed forward.

Tomura wasn't inclined to play hero but for you, oh darling for you, he'd do anything.

Gripping the man's hair to yank him off of you. Ruby red eyes glowing in the low light of the yellow street lamp, a cruel cat smile on his lips and when you spot the beauty mark and scar your stomach clenches.

"He's bothering you." It wasn't posed as a question but you nod anyway, clutching your shirt as you look at the man with moonlight hair hidden under a dark hood.

You watch the horror unfold with unblinking eyes. Your ex boyfriend disintegrates inches from you. Skin and hair slowly flaking away from muscle starting at his head where the hooded figured held him by a fistful of his hair. It takes you a moment to realize that as his matter falls away to expose his muscles and bones that it is turning to ash and when the man stops screaming it seems your 'hero' stops having fun.

Turning your ex into a plume of dust that settles between your feet. The pile disturbed by the air of a passing car and when you look up again fear settles deep into your bones.

Burns into the soles of your feet as you run on instinct from the infamous villain who's hand was still stretched out, your shoes slapping the pavement wet from leaking trash and poor drainage.

Fate doesn't allow you to escape. You barely make it to the other end of the alley as you look back and he hasn't moved. Slipping on an old receipt that sends you falling into a puddle.

And then his weight is on your back faster than you'd like.

Your yelp echoes around the brick but no one would come if you screamed.

He looks like a predator, his prey underfoot that he inspects closely. Makes you wonder if he's thinking about playing with you a bit more or if killing you now would be more fun.

Still he does nothing but claw his skin and you remember reading once that if you get kidnapped they were less likely to kill you if you were kind.

"D-dont do that. You're scratching too d-deep." You try to make eye contact but his gaze is so intense it makes you look away. Eyes flickering every but his face. After a moment he stops only lets out another long deep sigh.

He says nothing as he gingerly helps you to your feet, slowly you take a step back and another and your back hits the brick wall. His raw ruby eyes cutting over your body before he's reaching out.

Fixing the hem of your skirt with a firm tug and when he sees your wet shirt clinging to your skin, showcasing the lace of your bra he snarls. Hand moving up to the hem of the soft cotton, running it between two fingers as he thinks.

"You've ruined your shirt." He's pulling it up and over your head before you can protest and when he sees the dampness of your bra his thumbs brush lightly over the padding. Another displeased face, coming around and unhooking your bra with one hand and you make that pretty sound again.

That yelp.

And suddenly all he can think about is if you yelp like that for someone else, if your voice gets high and shaky. If you look up at them like you are now. Long lashes fluttering, eyes wide, big and pouty while your full bottom lip quivers.

He cannot help himself, cupping your cheek with his pinky slightly raised as he traces over the seam of your lips. Breathing slowly as he watches you open your mouth as if you'd take his thumb into your wet warmth. As if you'd swirl around the digit if he pressed down on the wet muscle.

He pulls away, lip in a snarl as he rips his hoodie off of himself, shoving you into it with a rough pull of your limbs with one finger raised at all times.

He smells good, crisp. Like pine and sundried linens, just below is a note of ash from warm hearths. And the closer he gets the dizzier you become until he's roughly fisting your hair, tilting your head back to force you to look at him.

"Handsome." You let the thought slip and suddenly he's kissing you. Forcing your mouth open with his tongue and you whine when you feel the wet muscle slide over yours. Knees weakening as your body moves on its own, hands fisting his threadbare t-shirt and the soft locks of his hair. His thigh slotting between yours, giving you sweet friction as you grind into his thick muscle.

He pulls away abruptly, grabbing onto your jaw so tightly your cheeks begin to indent from the force.

"I am the only one who should touch you." His voice is low, deadly. The gravel of his tone cementing his threat as he waits for you to nod.

When you do he leans away, stepping back enough to adjust the hem of your skirt again with a harsh tug. Sharp gaze slicing you with each swipe of his dark eyes before he turns away, walking towards the mouth of the alley.

Anxiety grabs at your lungs, constricting them until each pull of breath becomes difficult, making you feel that if you let him leave now you may never see him again.

The white haired man isn't surprised to hear rushing footsteps but he is surprised when a delicate arm slides through his.

"You'll w-walk me home?" Giving him a nervous smile as he looks down with lidded eyes, "It's what a good hero would do."

His lip twitches, the corner tugging up in a bored smirk.

"Heroes don't dust creeps in seedy alley ways."

"My hero does."

#shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader