#LITERAL SPITTLE COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH

[moondirti]

warnings: smut, afab!anatomy, unprotected p-in-v, eye contact, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), biting, hickeys, drooling, literally a good for nothing thirst, pwp

Miguel O'Hara likes to watch your face as he fucks you.

Doggy style and cowgirl are good 'n' all, don't get him wrong. There's a particular way to them that allows him to hit parts of you inaccessible in any other position. But Miguel O'Hara likes to watch your face as he fucks you – sandwiched between your spread legs, rutting in missionary – because nothing gets him going like the subtle unravelling of your expressions. The manner in which your brows screw up, or the tears that droop your lashes. How glossy your lips get with the spittle you've no energy to swallow, drooling, fucked silly on his cock.

Yeah, if he had it his way every time, he'd choose to be real up close and personal, his full weight on top of you. Nothing gets him going like when your noses touch one another, your jaw captured in his hand. He holds your head in place because he knows how flustered you get with constant eye contact, all demure in spite of the wanton moans he thrusts out of your chest. So, you're either a shy thing or his attention is too intense, severe reverence pouring from carmine irises onto every tenuous reaction. The room, your shared space, heady and sweltering hot with sex.

And he never misses a thing. He sees the way your teeth clench when he pinches your clit, ignited by the strict pleasure. He sees how your cheeks cringe, pull, drop, when he plugs you with his cock, siphoned into stillness by your spasming slit. And when he whispers filthy promises onto your chin, mouth pressed there in a perpetual kiss – gonna fuck you full, corazón. my pretty girl, clever girl. gonna cum into you and lick it clean. you'd like that, hm? uhuh. yeah, i see you. i know you would – he revels in the hot bursts of breath that fan across his cheeks. He's always close enough that he can feel, not just hear, your moans.

That's the thing. Miguel likes panting in tandem with you – warm, dry palm smoothing the matted hair off your cheek. He's always infinitely more composed, though. A thin sheen of sweat glazes his bronzed skin, and his cock is slick with both your juices, but he still manages to keep his wits about while you hardly remember yours. They're always honed in on you; how you respond, what you like, what he does that draws the loudest scream. He peppers your face in kisses and nips the fleshier bits. He nuzzles the plane under your jaw. He keeps his efforts almost exclusively focused on your head and cunt, equally divided amongst the two, and it's only on the rare occasion that he ventures away from either.

To take a nipple into his mouth, maybe, tongue lapping at the pebbled peaks. To lay hickeys over your chest – a personal favourite past time when the rise and fall of it is another indication to your enjoyment. To drag his fangs softly on the soft expanse of your tummy. He always makes good on his word, so he eats you out like your pouring into him will quench him for weeks, stuffing his face on puffy folds and refusing to come up for air.

All the while, though, his eyes will remain trained on you. They never left. He props your neck up by a pillow so your expressions are still accessible to him, and when he moves gradually down your body, they're focused upward through dark lashes. If you squint through the foggy pleasure that obscures your vision, you in turn can recognise the subtle smirks he makes at every ministration. The sniffs when you cum on his lips for the umpteenth time. The lewd wet of his fingers when he sucks them in preparation for your needy hole. He scissors them into you, stretches you enough, then dives back up to squash a bruising kiss to your lips as his cock finds its way back in again.

Because he can't forget the other component of his promise, of course – to pump you full of his seed. It's so much, an hours worth of build up, straining his heavy balls from the moment you started. He humps you until every last drop is adequately milked from them, groaning into your mouth as his tongue wrestles yours. It's hard to breath with his body pinning you down, all broad shoulders and defined muscles, and the unrelenting attention battering you into something stupid – yet the hypoxia only adds another intoxicating angle to the mix. You have to make the decision between stopping for air or taking him in in all his vigour.

And, more often than not, it's the latter. It's the least you can do after all he's given you, after all.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #thirst #miguel headcanons #headcanon #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #smut #spiderman 2099 #spiderman: across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #x you #x y/n #reader insert #x reader #spider-man

[emmyrosee]

Hey if you’re ever not busy can you do a Suna fic where he just got his wisdom teeth removed😭I’ve seen it done on so many haikyuu characters but Suna and I think it’s so cute. You also write him the best😓

THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR THE KIND WORDS AND THE ADORABLE PROMPT 😭💖💖💖

—-

The nurse told you that they’d used a strong anesthetic because of how impacted his teeth were, but when it took them quite a few times to finally wake him up, you knew you were in for a ride.

Rintaro always hated the dentist. Always. He blames it on childhood trauma (he didn’t have any. He never brushed his teeth and that was his problem) but up until last night, months after his dentist told him he’d need an extraction as soon as possible, he’d been trying to get out of it.

Deep down, seeing him so relaxed in the chair was a relief. The teeth were out, now he has to heal. Easy enough.

You smile as you make your way over to his slowly waking body, taking his hand gently in yours to be the first thing when he woke up. Kissing the knuckles finally had him stirring, and he blinked those bleary green eyes open at you, you practically saw the hearts forming in them.

“Morning, sunshine,” you coo, moving your free hand over to card the messy locks of hair from his face. “How do you feel?”

He tries to speak, but it comes out as a croaky ‘guhhh’ and from a few feet away, the nurse chuckles.

“He’ll have some nasty cotton mouth- literally- for the next few days, but communication should be normal as he starts to wake up,” she says, snapping the gloves off her hands. Then, she passes you the care directions, “no rush. If you need anything, just press the buzzer.” At this point, Rintaro has taken the liberty of grabbing all the gauze he can to put in his mouth. You assume it’s to absorb all the spittle.

“No, no honey,” you chuckle, gently grabbing his hands and pulling the damp cloth out easily. “Be careful. We can change your gauze when we get home.”

“I ‘ont wonna shange my gods,” he mumbles, resting his hands on yours. “‘Ike my gods.”

“Gauze, baby,” you titter. You lean over to plant some kissed onto his forehead, hoping your affections will ease him back more. “The nurse said you might be woozy when you stand, so let’s take it slow okay?”

“Yesh, bosh,” he slurs out. He blinks his foggy eyes before letting them wander around the room, over the sharp objects and wooden cupboards, all before wandering back to you. They widen before a brow quirks in confusion, "who're you 'gain?"

"Me?" You snicker. "I'm the one who's gonna keep you alive for the next few days. Your parents are away, so you're stuck with me." You turn your head slightly, "though that may be the other way around."

"Keep me 'live?" Now, he gives you a small, messy smirk. "'re too schexy to keep me 'live."

"Are you hitting on me?"

He doesn't answer you. Instead, he lets out a small string of laughter, head rolling around his neck in haze. You snort before opting to move him up and out of the room, "come on Romeo. Before you pass out on me."

"nuh-uh," he argues. You, however, choose to ignore him.

It's hard to pay attention when there's a pile of 185 centimeter man on your right shoulder, saying goodbye to every hygienist, dentist, secretary, patron, and flower on the sidewalk on the way to the car. There's a slurp from the spittle in his mouth that rings in your ear and makes you want to gag, but you chose to count some of your blessings.

He's at least mobile- unlike the horror stories you've heard about Osamu falling asleep in the seat while Atsumu wailed about the bandaid on his arm.

Finally, you and your oaf are able to make it to the car, his eyes closed in an attempt to sleep, and you jostle him awake slightly.

"I need you to work with me just a bit longer, okay?"

"When'd we get ousside?" He slurs.

"Not long after you said goodbye to the flowers," you say, rolling your eyes. "Watch your head, babe."

He ducks under your guiding palm, but you're not fast enough before he bumps the crown of his head against the door frame, mumbling a soft "ow" before moving on. It takes everything in your power to not laugh at his poor expense.

"It's because you've got such a big melon head, booger," you tease, and he smiles softly.

"'Ike mewons."

"I know baby."

You buckle him in before closing the door. You give yourself a stretch before heading to the driver's side.

You hadn't had him out of your sight for 25 seconds before you open the door and see him with your chapstick, completely rolled up and making a move towards his mouth.

He's either eating it, or trying to apply it.

Neither sounds like a good idea.

“Rintaro!” You scold, reaching for the chapstick. “You can’t eat that! You’ll get sick!”

“You’re th'ick,” he grumbles, but he does release his hold on your chapstick. His head thunks back against the headrest, letting you buckle while he says one more round of goodbyes to the flowers.

"Gonna nap," he murmurs, and you chose not to fight him on it. "Don't pick mah nothe."

"Why the hell would I do that?" You ask, laughing as you start the car.

He doesn't answer you. He's too busy letting his jaw slack open and let out the wheeziest of snores. You put your hand on his thigh and squeeze lovingly, allowing the hum of the engine and warmth from the sun lull him to sleep.

He's out, he's comfortable, and you can't wait to tell him about how, even drugged out of his mind, he still tried to put the moves on you.

You'll have to leave out the head smacking, though. Let him blame himself for that bruising.

#im not proud at how long this took me to post #but leave me alone #suna rintaro #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x gn!reader #suna rintaro x reader fluff #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna #suna fluff #suna x reader #suna x reader fluff #suna x gn!reader #suna imagine #suna haikyuu #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gn!reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n

[blasphemousgoggles]

Livesey My Beloved

A Doctor Livesey x Reader. I don't know okay.

Warnings: Mild Gore, Blood, Premarital Kissing

Leaning against the wooden wall of the moon lit ship, you wheeze spitting out the blood in your mouth. It's a miracle you haven’t passed out yet, having to haul yourself from the island back onto the ship but with the black spots clouding your vision and blurry surroundings you ain’t far off.

Groaning, you clutch your sides. There's blood everywhere, you really should have stayed in bed instead of brawling with those pirates. Your entire body is bruised, your nose is leaking copious amounts of blood, and you can barely walk. In short you look like a gory mess and you are literally leaking blood everywhere. What a terrible night.

It’s pretty late, the others are in bed, and you’re losing blood rapidly. Despite the situation you chuckle and bloody spittle comes out. You fight the need to fall over and bleed out on the floor because it would be a sucky way to die, you’d rather kick the bucket on a bed.

Stumbling on your bloody, probably fractured, mess of a leg you finally make it to your destination. You crash into the door and grip the handle, knocking loudly and heaving as you do so.

The door opens and you're greeted by the ship's beloved jovial Doctor.

“Oh! What a surprise!” a hearty voice proclaims. Then a pause and then a quiet laugh. “Oh dear. My friend, you appear to be quite injured!”

Despite the airy voice you can still hear unease in it. It's very dark out and you can’t make his face out.

With great effort you forced words to come out of your mouth.

“Heya doc, it's not too late for a check up is it?” You let out a toothy grin. Bad idea, blood leaked from inside your mouth and pooled onto the floor along with your nosebleed. You felt pretty bad about waking him up at this time but you’re pretty sure he doesn’t mind.

“Of course! Come in dear.” He quickly ushers you in and sets you on a cot. The lights are now on and you can see Doctor Livesey clearly. He is smiling but he appears to be very frazzled.

Livesey grabs a towel and holds it onto your nose. “Hold down on it and lean your head forward.”

You do so but unfortunately you feel the blood start leaking into your throat and it starts coming out when you breathe out of your mouth. Gross. As you're coughing out blood he wraps some gauze around his fingers.

“Apologies dear, I must stop the bleeding on those injuries while I tend to your other ones.” Livesey lets out an anxious laugh “Unfortunately this will hurt.”

You grimace, this is gonna suck so bad.

The doctor places his gauzed fingers into the lacerations and gory wounds of your body, stuffing each of them with gauze. Your skin feels like it's screaming and you wish that you could just pass out instead of being awake for this pure hell.

Livesey is putting some sort of saline or antibiotic on some of your wounds while you try to dissociate.

“How’d you get such injuries dear?” He asks with no laugh or jovial tone.

“Well you see, I got into a bit of a scrap with those pirates. It ain’t a big deal though.” You inwardly cringe as he stops applying ointment and grabs stitches.

“Not a big deal? You came to my door looking like death!” His eyes sharpen and he chuckles sardonically. “Dear, you must be more careful! I’d hate for this to happen again.”

You grin. “Aww. Concerned Doctor?” Thankfully your nose had stopped gushing and you could remove the now soaked bloody towel. Your muscles scream but you sit up higher on the cot and lean in closer. “You sure know how to make one blush.”

Livesey brightens up. “Dear try not to strain yourself for my sake.” So you lean back into your previous position into the cot, making a gross squelching noise of the soaked cloth.

He hands you a wet rag and you wipe your face off removing the dried gunk.

“Try not to move. This will sting.” He warns. You brace yourself. As the needle goes through you hiss.

“I’ll be quick.” Livesey assures. 

“Hah! It’s fine, I can handle it.” In reality you are literally fighting tears.

“You should have seen those guys! They’re looking worse than me!” You wheeze out. “I bet they don’t have half as good of a doctor like I do!”

He chuckles heartily “Flattering are we?” Then he frowns. Livesey finishes up the stitching and questions you. “Dear, may I ask a question?” You grinned “You already asked one Doc.” He doesn’t smile. “What were you doing out of the ship so late?”

Your grin lessened “I wanted to blow off some steam.” You turn away from his eyes “Honestly I didn’t expect to run into those guys.”

“Why didn’t you bring anyone with you? You know that there were pirates on that land.” He asks with no laugh. You're so used to the Doctor being cheery in every situation, having him not be makes you feel, well really guilty.

“I didn’t want to disturb anyone, it's late.” He raises an eyebrow “My friend, you ended up hurt. Now I have to treat you.” You grimace but he continued “You would have saved me the hassle of patching you up and instead asked me.” This time he leaned in closer “Unless you went out tonight with the intent to fight so that I could patch you up.” You blushed a very bright crimson. Doctor Livesey guffaws “Dear, you could have just asked for my company.”

Then he grimaces “In all seriousness dear, please do not do this again.” He pats your head “I’d hate for you to injure yourself for my sake.” You nod sheepishly “Will do.”

He then leans in closer laughing boisterously “May I kiss you darling?” he asks between laughs.

Your eyes widen and a big grin splits your face, “Please.”

He obliges then pulls away with a cheery grin.

“You should rest now dear. Sleep should help you heal!” He turns off the lights and you eventually doze off.

Despite every part of your body aching, you can’t help but grin.

Worth it.

#doctor livesey #dr livesey #livesey x reader #dr livesey x reader #treasure island #treasure island 1988 #x reader #mild gore #david livesey

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Rpg Anon: Oh fucking Hel (literally). Give a moment to debate this. Ok first of all, if we go with this, we HAVE to make Mukuro's Persona Fenrir, which will also need more research, and we'd HAVE to find Jormungandr (Ryoko or Yasuke or Someone "related" to the sisters). Also, damn I didn't think of that. Hel is literally "half black and half white" so damn. Another also, I really liked our Nyarlathotep idea cuz of Persona and junk so maybe Hel is the initial Persona. Needs debate.

Ok after hours of researching this topic, alongside Lovecraft bullshit, I've come to the decision that Junko should have Hel as her initial Persona but it comes with complications and conditions. Hel is rather seriously indifferent to everything especially death. She is kinda cruel and an asshole but it's hard to say that she's evil. Hard to say Fenrir, Jormungandr, and even Loki are actually "evil" either, but I'll get to that. She's not like Hades who actually is nice to people at times but is still super responsible yet strict. She's kinda responsible and definitely strict but lacks any sympathy or empathy. To put it simply, she's the definition of an indifferent and downcast gloomy death person. I'm gonna just say Junko does have Hel as her initial Persona, but only when she's playing up Monokuma. I find this rather awkward cuz Monokuma literally gets "Thrills, Chills, Kills!" when it comes to death and sadistically executing people. This is literally the opposite of Hel. But, I can't help but adore the half-white half-black aspect of this. Once Junko throws away the Monokuma "mask", she'll just move onto her true Ultimate Persona, Nyarlathotep.

Now, I've also come to the conclusion that Mukuro should have Fenrir as her initial Persona but I need your input on the second part of this debate, which involves lore important aspects. I'll simplify and abridge it for you when we get to it. First of all, obviously Mukuro was part of the Fenrir mercenary group. Obviously, she's basically the guard dog to Junko. In fact, she was basically a guard dog to Makoto too. (Fenrir was NOT Hel's guard or anything related but i'm just using symbolism). Obviously, Mukuro is very physically strong. Blah blah blah. This part alone is just too obvious not to have her have this Persona. Now to the second part.

Like I mentioned before at one point, Hel, Loki, Fenrir, and Jormungandr are argued to possibly not be "evil" in nature. Ignoring the others for now, it's argued Fenrir became a monster cuz of abuse. (Think of God of War 4 & Ragnarok). Norse pantheon tried to chain him up a lot but only succeeded the third time and then they put a sword in his mouth to mock him. My question for you mod is: Excluding Junko (which is the hard part), was Mukuro ever "abused" by the supposed good guys? This is important cuz it plays out Mukuro/Fenrir would want to assist Junko/Hel in ending everything.

If Mukuro is Fenrir, who's Odin and Tyr in this case? Odin gets killed by Fenrir and Tyr loses his hand cuz when they tried to trick Fenrir with the third chain, Fenrir got skeptical and Tyr had to offer his hand to make Fenrir trust them and when the third chain worked, Fenrir got mad and bit his hand off. Also, who's Vidar then? Vidar is Odin's son who eventually exact revenge on Fenrir but ripping/stabbing out his heart and breaking his teeth.

Fenrir broke the first two chains. The dwarves made a chain out of "impossible things" that "no longer exist in the world": The sound of a cat's footfall, a woman's beard, a mountain's roots, bear sinew, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of birds. They made a thin delicate looking ribbon and it worked on Fenrir. In this case, what would be Mukuro's Gleipnir?

Small little third part. Who'd be Jormungandr then? Yasuke? Ryoko? Jormungandr was a giant ass snake that circles the entire world and blah blah blah fought Thor at the end of the world and they killed each other. Thor died after taking nine steps backward before succumbing to poison.

Now for the last part of this rant. I think I might have finally found Mukuro's Ultimate Persona based on Lovecraftian mythos. The only problem I find is that, do these fuckers even exist? They feel fanmade. Regardless, I never like Yog Sothoth as her Persona like you said before (no offense) but it just didn't feel right. And now I found TWO people from Lovecraftian mythos who might fit the bill. The theme I wanted to go for was Mukuro is now trying to go against Junko and help the people and Future Foundation. And so, I present: N'tse-Kaambl and/or Nodens. I can't choose, though things might be leaning towards the first one.

N'tse is apparently "a beautiful woman in flowing robes bearing a spear and shield. Some credit the invention of the Elder Sign to her." Apparently, the Elder Sign is some kind of rune glyph that protects humanity from Elder Gods and binds them away or some shit. The stupid funny ass thing that makes this feel like some kind of weird fanfic to me is that 1. there is little real info about her and 2. she looks EXACTLY like Athena from Greek Mythology. Some people actually say that N'tse actually IS Athena and she crossed over myths to fend off Outer Gods. WTF. Regardless, you see where I'm going with this. Female Warrior lady who fights against Lovecraftian Abominations, which Junko is representing with Nyarlathotep.

Nodens is, I kid you not, apparently some badass old man fisherman hunter of Eldritch Abominations. And guess what? Just like N'tse, Nodens is ALSO a crossover god! He's actually a Celtic God of the Sea and Hunting who rides atop sea monsters, especially literal Sea Horses! WTF. Is this also fanfiction?! Nonetheless, Nodens gets special treatment cuz 1. In some way he is a Lovecraft God himself now but he's relatively benevolent and 2. Nodens actually is specifically stated to be hunting down and duking it out with Nyarlathotep. If you want Mukuro to specifically have the badass old man who dukes it out with motherfucking Nyarlathotep, who we are stating is Junko's Ultimate Persona (symbolism here), then I argue you give this fucker some thought.

And yes, I got both of these fuckers from Yugioh. I would say that they are not real lovecraft lore people, but guess what? Further research shows that THEY ARE NOW. I already said Yugioh has already made them official printed cards, that stupid nyarlathotep anime actually has these two characters, and so on. Stupid ass fanfic shit, but it's now canon.

So mod, pick your poison.

//Lol, I like that it got your head spinning.

//A few points:

I like the Nyarle idea too, but I gotta admit this one sounds equally as good. There's a lot of really good connections that I didn't give much thought before now.

Jormungandr should probably be Ryoko over Yasuke. I say this because Ryoko is closer to being a third sister to the group, and in A Student Out of Time (not canon to this blog or the main one, but still something I thought about) Ryoko actually IS a third Enoshima sibling, not just another part of Junko. Plus, Akechi's multiple personalities (not DID but I think it's close enough) give way to multiple Personas. It's not hard to assume Junko could have her own variant of the wild card given how much she can shift about.

"Lacks any sympathy or empathy" and "indifferent and downcast gloomy death person" are two things that describe Junko perfectly. The core reason why she's so obsessed with Despair is because it's unpredictability is the only thing her Ultimate Analytical Prowess cannot foresee, and it gives her a thrill, which is why she's so crazy in the first place. When she's not high on Despair, she's usually pretty Izuru-like in terms of her behavior.

The only thing I can think of with anything related to abuse with Mukuro is that it took a LONG ass time for people to warm up to her and not see her as a criminal, killer, spy, murderer, Despair-sister, etc. And because of that, she ended up getting a lot of verbal and emotional abuse from everyone to varying extents, aside from Makoto. Things are obviously different now, but that's all I got.

It seems pretty appropriate for Vidar to be Koime's Shadow. Since not only did she kill Mukuro, but she's also hosting AI Junko, so there's a varying degree of Revenge there. And this one's a bit of a stretch, but as for Odin and Tyr...I know they're not characters on the blog yet, but how about Hijirihara and Fujigawa? Mukuro's obviously killed lots of people, but the trauma that turned both of them into bloodthirsty monsters comes directly from the Middle School Massacre that they survived. It's a stretch, as I said, but I think it's an ok idea.

Isn't Gleipnir an anime about a guy that can turn into a stuffed animal suit?

I never really liked my initial pick for Mukuro's Persona either, I VASTLY prefer this whole Fenrir thing in the grand scheme of things. And I'm all for that as her Ultimate Persona. It really encapsulates how far she's come as a person in blog context. I might have to steal that for any more stories I make related to PToH, assuming you don't mind.

-Mod

#mod

[random-imagines-blog]

Struck Blind {Steve Harrington x Reader, Part 1}

Wordcount: 4138 Chapter Summary: You’re visiting your close cousin in Hawkins the Summer after he moved there. His anger gets the best of him, and puts you in a rough situation. Notes: I’ve had this idea in my mind for a while, finally decided to write it out. I hope this is for somebody out there, and not just for me. :) Warnings: Swearing, violence, douchebag Billy, douchebag Neil.

Chapter 2 can be found here. Chapter 3 can be found here.

Hawkins, Indiana. It was not a thing like California. Max had warned you about that when you had called and said that you were coming to visit, but you hadn’t imagined how different it would be. Palm trees were exchanged for thick pines, birches and maples and they were everywhere. The air didn’t smell as polluted. The humidity wasn’t nearly as heavy as it was. And there wasn’t the saltiness of the ocean mixing with the air and getting into everything. And even more than that - the roads were desolate and not over packed with stores and houses. So there was a definite lack of lights while you went out on a drive with your closest cousin, Billy Hargrove. Other than his headlights against the road and the sparse streetlights, it was darker than you had ever seen any night before. It made it hard to tell how fast you were going, but you knew that it had to be way above the speed limit. The seat was rattling underneath you. The sound the engine was making was more of an uproar than a purr. “Billy,” You said, making sure that your seat belt was secured. “I think you should slow down.”

Instead he just pressed the pedal down. The streetlights blurred past you. You looked at your cousin’s face. He seemed calm on the outside, but you knew that on the inside, he was fuming. His dad had spent twenty minutes yelling into his face, spittle flying out of his mouth - your uncle. And that was him toned down because you were there. Billy never flat out told you about the physical abuse but Max had. You became pretty close with his step-sister while they still lived in California. But you and Billy used to be inseparable. It hurt that he didn’t tell you a damn thing. You were hoping he’d open up on this ride. “Billy,” You said, putting your hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. He was chasing after something, some sort of high maybe, the adrenaline, but this is not what you signed up for.

You took a deep breath and leaned back. You were starting to feel nauseous. This was worse than the time that Billy had talked you onto the roller coaster at the Santa Monica pier. The windows were down, the wind was blowing your hair around. Whooshing into your face. You held strong.

Billy suddenly slammed onto the breaks and the car went drifting, turning to the left. You were thrown against the door as it moved. It felt like the breath was taken out of you before the car steadied and then found it’s course again. “Are you trying to fucking kill us?” You asked, between clenched teeth. “Whatever is wrong, we can talk about it. That’s literally what I’m here for. Stop acting like a dumb ass and -”

“Shut up,” Billy said, his face starting to light up, but not with any sort of happiness. With lights. Ahead of you was the Starcourt Mall, a shining beacon against the darkness. Evidently, that’s where you were headed. The movie theater inside was still open but it would be too late to start a movie. They’d all just be ending. “Just - shut up for a fucking minute, let me think.”

He had changed. And you didn’t like it. The death of his mother had been hard on him, and he lashed out a lot in the time afterwards but never at you. This was the very first time that those words were directed at you. So you shut your mouth. You didn’t want to push him anymore. You didn’t need anymore of his shit being shot at you like that. Not when you were only trying to help.

The car regained it’s speed. The mall was coming closer and closer. He slowed down to turn into the parking lot. You weren’t looking out the windshield anymore, or even your window. You were looking down at your hands. Picking at your nails. That’s when everything started to get a little topsy turvy. The sounds, the pain, the tightness as the seat belt kept you locked into your seat. The car had hit something. And it had hit something hard.

You didn’t get knocked unconscious, it wasn’t that bad of a wreck, thankfully. Bruised, definitely, and some whiplash, but otherwise unharmed. Your head slammed back against the head rest, making you feel a little dazed. A little dizzy. More than a little nauseated. You looked over to the driver’s side to see Billy. He had hit the steering wheel. He had a cut on his forehead which was dripping blood, not a lot, thankfully. The windshield was cracked, but not shattered. No broken glass. Another good sign. You bit back the stinging words that were on your tongue, wanting to ask if Billy was fucking insane. If he was trying to get the both of you killed. Instead, you unclicked your seat belt, and opened the door to the car.

All of the damage was done to the front of the car. It wasn’t decimated but there was some obvious denting. The engine wasn’t smoking. You didn’t know much about cars but you knew that once the engine was exuding smoke, nothing else mattered, get the hell out of there. Then you looked at the other car. Burgundy in color. Also no smoke coming from there. You had T-Boned whoever it was. Running straight into them as they were leaving the parking lot. There was broken glass on that end. All over the road, and inside of the car. Only one person was in there, a boy about your age, Billy’s age, and he looked more out of it than you felt. You stepped over the little pieces of glass to lean in, help him undo his seat belt as he just sat there. There were little cuts all over his face, his arm.

“Y/N!” Billy said, opening his own door and stepping out. But not away from the car. He lingered right beside it. “Get back in the fucking car.”

“Are you serious?” You asked, turning your head around, feeling a pain in your neck when you did so. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“It’s just Harrington, who gives a fuck?” He said, spitting onto the ground. “Get in the car or I’m leaving you.”

You blatantly ignored him. You opened up the car door carefully, trying not to get the glass everywhere. Steve Harrington. You’ve heard all about him from both of your cousins. Horrible things from Billy, and praise from Max who was not an easy girl to please. You figured that he was probably somewhere in the middle. Had the ability to be a jackass, but also could be the cute bat-wielder who protected your little cousin. But even if you didn’t know these things, you weren’t just going to leave him in his car to get hurt. Someone else could pass by here and hit his car, since the headlights were out.

“Y/N, I’m leaving you. I fucking promise.  I will leave you,” Billy threatened, his voice coming out angrier and angrier.

“So go,” You said to him, putting your arms around Steve and bringing him out of the car. “And call an ambulance when you get home, will you? You knocked him right the fuck out and I’m not carrying him to a hospital.”

Billy stared at you for another couple of seconds, scowled in your direction then got back into the car. The engine was still running, by some miracle. And he drove on out of there, leaving you under a streetlamp with Steve Harrington laying on the ground. You did your best to at least get him to the side of the road, where it was safer. Not much could be done about the car though. You just hoped that someone would have heard the crash, or seen the crash, and found a payphone or called from the mall.

You sat down on the grass, your arms tired. For someone who wasn’t big and muscular, Steve Harrington was fucking heavy. You checked him out as best as you could in that lighting, and tried to swat away any mosquitos that were coming in close. He groaned, which was a good sign. His pulse was a bit elevated, but given what just happened, that was probably to be expected. He blinked a couple of times, looking dazed.  His eyes were unfocused. But they found you easily enough. Your first glimpse of them showed how brown they were, but also big, even compared to his full eyebrows. And those eyelashes. You were almost jealous of them. “What happened?" He asked, continuing to lean against you.

“You were in an accident,” You said, and decided not to explain who it was that had hit him. Billy was having a hard enough time already. His father would kill him, maybe quite literally, if he found out that he had been in a car accident. Especially hitting rich boy Harrington’s car. “Your car got hit. I’ve seen a lot of movies where cars go up in flame so I thought I’d get you out before that might happen.”

He groaned again. He raised his hand and saw all the little cuts, but that didn’t stop him from running his fingers through his hair. His mane, might be the better way to say it. You should have guessed this was King Steve by the hair. Both Billy and Max had talked about it - more than once. “And - who are you?”

“Y/N,” You said. “Look, we’re just by Starcourt, do you feel good enough to get up? We can go over there and get some help-”

Steve tried. You had to give him that. He was stubborn enough to try to stand up on his own but wobbled as he was starting to rise. His hand rose up to his head and he closed his eyes, grinding his palm into his eyes. “Fuck,” He groaned. “My head is killing me.”

“Okay, okay, lay back down, here,” You stretched your legs out in front of you and lead him into lying down. He was using your lap as a pillow now. “Maybe don’t go to sleep, you could have a concussion,” You advised. Another thing you’ve seen in the movies. But now you were effectively trapped. You couldn’t get up and go for help when he was laying on your lap like this. You hated times when you had to hope that people were kind. That someone would actually call for help.

He made himself comfortable. But he kept his eyes open, and kept looking around. But his gaze always turned right back onto you. Probably not your best angle, truth be told. He was probably seeing double chins. Up your nose. But you still found yourself feeling a little flush at the way that he was looking at you. Headlights passing by caught your eye. A car slowed down but didn’t stop, the occupants just gawking out the window at the accident, at you, at the boy in your lap, and then carried on driving. Fingers crossed, fingers crossed.

“Why were you walking around here this late?” He asked, curiously. “‘s not safe.”

He was slurring a little bit. It was noticeable. But conversation was a good sign. Only now you had to think up a lie to protect Billy. “Just was wandering around. I’m only here for the summer. Visiting family. Had to get out of the house for a little bit.”

“It’s a bad idea. People get hurt around here when they go out alone,” He warned you. Which reminded you of what Max had said about some of the things that she had encountered since moving here. You hadn’t believed her at first. Who would? Monsters from another world. An upside down world. With openings at an old laboratory that experimented on kids and gave them special powers or something.

“Okay,” You said. “I won’t do it anymore, but you should be glad that I did, or you’d be the one out here alone right now,” You pointed out.

“I guess,” He groaned. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Hi Steve Bytheway,” You joked. “Someone should be calling for help soon.”

“Did you see who hit me?”

The direct question. The one that was going to make a liar out of you. You licked your lips nervously before the words came out. “No, I didn’t see anything. I just heard the sound of the crash. They were driving off.”

He let out another groan. He did that a lot, this Steve Harrington. “Just, try to stay awake for me, okay Steve? You  might have a concussion.”

You jostled him a moment later to make sure that he wasn’t falling asleep. He was a tough one. He was managing to stay awake, but he was continuously checking that his hair was alright. He even asked you once if he was still looking good. You laughed. How could you not laugh? “You look great, Steve. Is there some pretty EMT or cop that I should know about?” You joked.

He made a face at that. “Hopper is definitely not pretty.”

“Good to know,” You said. And speak of the devil and shall appear - if Hopper could be considered a devil. A big Sheriffs hat sat atop of his head, and a no nonsense look on his face. His car pulled up near Steve’s crash and he got out. He left the lights on, flashing red and blue. A warning to people to be careful, there was something going on here.You squinted against the bright glow. “Is this Hopper?” You asked Steve, who nodded. “Maybe he’s a little pretty.”

“You have weird taste, y/n,” Steve said, making another confused face at you.

“What does that say about you, I think you’re pretty too,” You said, and then stood up to meet Hopper halfway. “Hi, I’m y/n,” You introduced. He looked at you like he was trying to place your face. “I’m just visiting family here in Hawkins,” You explained quickly. “I was on a walk when I heard the crash. I wasn’t able to see the other car but-”

“We’ll take your statement down at the station,” Hopper said, gruffly. He sighed when he looked at Steve, who offered up a sheepish smile. “Whenever I hear someone got hurt, how do I always know it’s you, Harrington?”

So Steve was known to the Sheriff. That made your eyebrows shoot up with curiosity. Steve shrugged. “Guess trouble is attracted to me?”

“Or to the amount of hair spray that you use, kid,” Hopper signed. “You able to get up onto your feet?”

“Nah,” Steve shook his head. “I tried but - I feel really dizzy whenever I try. My ribs hurt too. Think the mall will get mad if I call in sick over this tomorrow?”

Hopper sighed again, clearly not enjoying this part of the night. “Alright, I’ll take you to the hospital. I’m sure they’ll give you a sick note. Your little sailor place won’t miss you.”

“You’re wearing that hat and you’re making fun of my uniform?” Steve asked. Hopper took hold of his hand and helped him up onto his feet while you watched the exchange with amusement. He did it a little rougher than he had to, so it was Steve’s turn to groan again.

“Come with me,” Hopper said to you, motioning back towards his car.

“What about my car?” Steve finally realized that was something that he probably had to worry about.

“I’ll call for a tow on the walkie,” Hopper said.

“Dad’s gonna be pissed,” Steve groaned, but together, the three of you went to the car. This was your first time in the back of a police car. There was a barrier between the front seat and the back. Goddamnit Billy, what has he got you into now? Steve sat back, and leaned his head back against the seat, looking up at the roof. His eyes caught onto you staring and he turned his head slightly. Grinned. “So you think I’m pretty?”

“You’re in the back of a cop car with a possible concussion and that’s what you focus on? You’re something else, Steve.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” He said. “I don’t think it’s a concussion. I’ve had those. Fucking Hargrove.”

Ice went up your spine at that moment and you had to look away. Of course. Of course your cousin was getting into fights after he said that he wasn’t. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You knew he wasn’t ever going to be a good boy but come on. Max had also left that part out. Probably at Billy’s insistence. You were going to bring that up later, absolutely. Beating him up. Leaving him out here. Billy was clearly threatened. Though why, you couldn’t be sure.

The ride was pretty quiet. You kept to yourself though you did keep looking at Steve to make sure that he was okay. Hopper did call for that tow, so at least his car wouldn’t be remaining in the middle of the road as a danger to anyone else heading that way. That was one less concern. But a new one was the way that he winced whenever the car made a turn. His hand was on his ribs, trying to protect them from the inside of the door. Small groans came out of his mouth that could barely be heard over the static talk from the walkie and the tires below. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Not just because of your concern but - because of the way that his mouth looked when it was open like that. And when his teeth grazed at his bottom lip.

“Do you think they’re broken?” You asked, after a particularly nasty jostle on the car. One thing you noticed about Hawkins - they didn’t take the best care of their roads. Not like they did in California. But then again, there were a lot less people here to complain about it. A lot of the driveways here weren’t even paved.

“Dunno,” He groaned, trying to hide the pain behind a smile. He was putting it on for you. The Harrington charm, apparently. “You sure you didn’t see the car?”

You had to look straight ahead of you. You felt bad about lying but Billy was family. If word got to his dad about this. If Steve and his his family, his rich parents guessing by the car that he had, showed up to sue Billy, or to arrest him for leaving the scene of the accident, who knows how bad things would get his father. So you lied, straight up, through your teeth. “Sorry. I don’t think I’d be much help, anyways. I don’t know that much about cars. And like I said, I’m new here so I wouldn’t know who drives what car and-”

“You’re rambling,” Steve said.

“I’m worried about you. I do that when I’m worried.” At least that part was a lie. Words just came out of you sometimes before you could help it. Spilling out.

“You remind me of my co-worker,” He said, his honey brown eyes still trained on you. When you side-eyed him, they looked quite clear. He was very alert. “Don’t worry about me. I’m glad that nobody hit you.”

That’s right. You had gotten out relatively unscathed. Your neck was a bit sore but that wasn’t obvious to anyone. No cuts. Nothing that gave you away. “Yeah, me too. That would have been one horrible welcome to Hawkins,” You tried to joke. He laughed politely enough.

--

Hopper took you both to the hospital, and then questioned you inside of the waiting room while Steve was being examined. You went over the lie again. You were visiting some family in town. You were honest with him at who they were. His mouth went into a thin line when he heard the name Hargrove. Billy already had a reputation - but he did say that Max knew his daughter, and she seemed like an okay kid. You were on a walk to clear your head, get away from the family for a little while - Hopper gave a little scoff at that, like he couldn’t blame you - and you were walking towards the lights of the mall to get to a payphone and ask someone to pick you up. That’s when you overheard the crash. You went to go see what was happening, and if anybody was hurt. You had taken a CPR class back in California so you felt like you could help if someone needed it immediately. You saw Steve’s car. The headlights. Beneath the streetlight. You heard another car driving off but didn’t see a thing.

You weren’t sure if he believed you. He didn’t give you any indication of whether he did or not. Just gave you a long look before closing his small notepad. “I’ll call the Hargrove house if I have any more questions,” He warned. You nodded.

“I’ll be there all summer,” You told him. “Feel free to call anytime.”

He asked you if you would like a ride home. You were tempted to say yes but - well, it wouldn’t look good upon your aunt and uncle if you came home in the back of a police car. “I’ll find a way,” You smiled. He nodded, and then headed out the doors of the hospital and you leaned back in the uncomfortable seat. You were going to stick around to make sure that Steve was alright. It was the least that you could do right now.

You waited well over an hour. It must have been getting into the early morning hours. You were tired. Nodding off in the chair. You were in a doze when you heard someone clear their throat. It wasn’t Steve, but it was the doctor that was seeing to him. “Were you here with Steve Harrington?” He asked. You nodded, rubbing your eyes. “He’s staying overnight for observation purposes. Visiting hours start at seven thirty in the morning.”

So they weren’t even going to let you see him to make sure that he was alright. That was annoying. The doctor walked off after giving you this information. He talked to the nurse behind the reception desk, leaving you alone. Small town hospitals were not at all like the big ones in California. Right now, it was nearly empty in here. There was a man who was clearly drunk over in the corner nursing a bottle of water, but no one else. No chaos.

Hesitantly, you went to the row of payphones. Was Billy even home? What would he tell his dad when he came home without you? You took a deep breath, inserted a coin that was in your pocket and dialed the familiar number. It must be late. Your uncle was going to kill you. You waited with bated breath for someone to answer the phone.

“Y/N?” Max’s whisper answered the phone. You sighed in relief.

“Thank god it’s you,” You said, also quietly. You didn’t want to draw the attention of the nurse or the doctor. “Did Billy come home?”

“Yeah, he went straight into his room and slammed the door. What happened? Where are you?” She asked, quickly. She sounded just as concerned about you as you had been for Steve.

“I’m at the hospital. I’m okay, nothing happened to me, I promise,” You said, just as fast. “Is your mom awake? Do you think that you could get her to pick me up? I could walk but - it’s a long way. And this town just does not have cabs.”

“I’ll go see, one second,” Max put the phone down. You could hear it being moved against the table that the telephone was perched on, rather than being put down on the hook. The sound of footsteps. You waited, fiddling with the steel cord of the phone. Oh Hawkins. How innocent you were. In California, these would have graffiti all over them. Or been cut just for fun by some prick. But these were untouched. The hospital was in really good condition. Max came back, out of breath. “Neil fell asleep but mom is still up. She said she’d come get you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Real okie dokie. Tell her I’ll be waiting outside.”

So Billy didn’t say a word. He just left you stranded. You shouldn’t be surprised. You weren’t surprised. But he was going to get a real talking to tomorrow. Either before or after you came back to the hospital in the morning to check on Steve.

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington oneshot #Steve Harrington Series #Stranger Things #Stranger Things series #oneshot #series #x reader #steveh

[authorautumnbanks]

How To Tame A Sorcerer: Side Stories (8)

Main story

Side stories

Yuji would not say that he is avoiding Kagome-san per se. He goes over to her home and enjoys the wonderful home-cooked meals or takeout that she provides for him and the gang. So, no, he would not say that he is avoiding her, but he refuses to be alone with her.

So he sends a message letting her know that he and the others will be over later tonight for dinner and a movie.

"Just let me talk to the bitch," Sukuna chimes in. A row of perfectly white sharp teeth emerges from Yuji's cheek. He scowls at the reflection in the mirror, sets his phone down on the dresser, and turns away to instead look at the wall. What an interesting pattern, he thinks, desperately ignoring the pestering of Sukuna. He didn't ask for this curse - spirit - whatever to reside in him. "I'll shut up if you'd just let me talk to the bitch."

"And let you hurt Kagome-san? As if." Yuji huffs. For weeks, Sukuna has been pestering him to meet with Kagome alone to talk to her about who knows what. All Yuji knows is that anything involving Sukuna is bad. He wonders where it went wrong. Too many times of seeing Kagome-san use that strange power of hers, or is it the way nearly every demon they have come encounter with worships the ground she walks on?

Either way, he won't risk Kagome-san's safety or the baby. Yuji falls down onto the bed and stares up at the picture of Megan thee Stallion he recently added to the ceiling. If only he could go back to the times when he was more worried about his latest celebrity crush than having a literal curse inside of him.

"I'm not going to hurt her," Sukuna growls. "I just want to talk to the bitch. I've got some questions."

"Stop calling her that," he hisses back. The freaking nerve of this guy. Is it so hard to not disrespect Kagome-san? Clearly, it is because every word out of Sukuna's vile mouth is an insult.

Freaking parasite.

"But she is one. She's protected by Sesshomaru."

Yuji clamps his lips shut and throws an arm over his eyes, ignoring how Sukuna's tongue reaches out and attempts to tug on his sleeve. Okay, Sukuna knows who Sesshomaru is. That's cause for concern, but he can't exactly go to Gojo-sensei about it when everything Yuji knows, Sukuna knows. His head throbs from all the built up worry and stress.

"I don't see how Sesshomaru-san protecting Kagome-san makes her one of those," he says, refusing to say the word. No way will he disrespect Kagome-san like that. Even with how standoffish he's been, she hasn't taken offense and treats him the same as always.

Sukuna snorts, disappears from his cheek, and reappears on his palm. The sharp nip to his ear jolts him and Yuji curses. "He's a dog demon. The dog demon and the lord of all demons. That makes her a bitch. And for him to be protecting a human..." Sukuna trails off, seemingly deep in his thoughts.

Yuji stills. The lord of demons protects Kagome-san? That should fill him with ease, but only dread settles in his gut. It makes him wonder how many eyes have turned Kagome-san's way with all these powerful allies on her side. "I'm not letting you talk to Kagome-san."

Sukuna tuts. "Then let me talk to her with Gojo around. I don't mind kicking his ass for the fun of it."

"Why are you so pressed to talk to Kagome-san? Whatever it is that you want, she won't give it to you."

"What I need to say to her is none of your business. It has nothing to do with you."

"It's my body. It has everything to do with me." Yuji smacks his palm, frowning when Sukuna disappears before he can hit him.

"Is that what you think?" Sukuna laughs, appearing on his left cheek. His slimy tongue slides back and forth like a windshield wiper, flinging spittle everywhere. Yuji grits his teeth. Sukuna does this crap on purpose to try to egg him on, but he's stronger than he looks. He might be a little dumb, but mentally he likes to believe that his resolve is sound.

"I'm not letting you talk to Kagome-san."

"We'll see about that."

#gojo satoru x kagome #gojo x kagome #crossover pairings #jujutsu kaisen x inuyasha #kagome higurashi #inuyasha fanfiction #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru #inuyasha x jujutsu kaisen

[theadventuresofgarlandodra]

The Adventures of Garl and Odra Manyboots- Crowley’s Party

Prev.

And today had been going so well too.

Odra was right in the middle of telling Dullahan about the time she was chasing a butterfly and accidentally went head over heels into a pit when she saw it.

Black armor. All too familiarly black armor.

Odra didn’t even remember consciously making the decision to get out of her chair, she was now suddenly across the room and launched herself at that bastard, that fucking son of a bitch who dared show his face here-

“Um. Ouch.”

It was only when Odra had sunk her teeth into the cretin’s arm that she realized this wasn’t Calipher. Nope. It was definitely his armor, she could guarantee that, but the blond twink inside that armor was not the edgelord Calipher.

The young man lifted his arm, smiling bemusedly. “Well, isn’t this a lovely greeting? Please get off of me though. Your spittle is starting to eat through my armor, and really, I just got it. I would like to keep it for a bit longer.”

Odra stared at the pretty boy for a second longer before she let go, dropping to the ground. She wiped her mouth off. “Did you happen to take the armor off of a bastard?” she asked as she wiped her arm off.

“I’ll only share a secret if you share one too.” The man knelt down, still smiling in a way that made Odra’s skin crawl. He was definitely beautiful by human standards, flawless skin, blond curls, and a magical glow about him. Literally. He faintly glowed gold, like the sun, except not nearly as blinding.

“Pass.” Odra stuck her tongue out. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else. I’m going to go back to my beer-” The goblin had just finished turning around to head back to her table when she bonked right into a pair of very muscled legs.

“Eh? What… Oh hello there!”

Odra was scooped up like a doll, held under her armpits by a goliath woman built like a gladiator. “Aren’t you so cute!” she cooed. “Like a little kitten, hissing and clawing at a wolf! We should keep her!”

“Thunderwarrior, that’s not a kitten, that’s a goblin. Put her down, she probably has some kind of disease.”

Odra whipped her head around as she was now surrounded by an adventuring party she’d never met before. The goliath was just one part of it. There was now also a half elf with the grayest skin Odra had ever seen, a satyr with a golden hoofed shaped boot on his left leg, a fire genasi with each strand of hair glowing bright like the end of a lit fuse, a balding, fat hobgoblin she didn’t recognize… and one scrawny one wearing goggles that she did.

“Hey! You!” Odra squirmed, but she couldn’t get loose from the goliath’s iron grip. “You were with Calipher! Where is that no balls cretin!?”

Kendrenal shrugged. “I don’t keep track of my failures. Siding with Calipher was a mistake. One I have remedied. I now work with Crowley, who is much better.”

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” the blond armor thief said, patting Kendrenal on the head as the hobgoblin practically vibrated out of his skin with joy. “Kendrenal, how about you get us all signed into the guild? Tell them you’re a part of my party, I might not come here very often, but I am an official card carrying member.” To demonstrate, he pulled the guild’s badge from his pack. “See? We’re all on the same side here. If you have a grudge with Kendrenal, I can help put it right.”

Odra bared her teeth. “I don’t need any favors from you, thanks. As far as I know, you’re no better than the guy who’s armor… you took…” She glanced down at his belt. “That’s not yours either!” she managed to finally wiggle her arm free and pointed at the mace. “That belongs to Calipha!”

“Well, as I’m sure you’ve said in the past,” Crowley reached up and poked Odra on the nose, “she should have kept a better hold of it.”

“Keep your fingers to yourself. I bite.”

Crowley chuckled. “Oh, you are delightful. Thunderwarrior, better put her down. She could be rabid.”

After giving her another rough pat on the head, Thunderwarrior plopped Odra back on the ground. “So cute,” the goliath crooned before Kendrenal scampered back.

“I’m a guild member now!” he proudly proclaimed before he started passing out badges. “And so are you, Wick’of’Candle…”

“Just Wick,” the genasi politely corrected.

“And so are you, Thunderwarrior,”

The goliath quietly squealed as she took the badge, which looked pathetically small in her hands.

“And so are you, Tynos,”

The satyr snatched the badge before he attached it to his hair like a barrette.

“And so are you, Elphira!”

The half elf took her badge, hummed appreciatively, and stuck it in her pouch.

The final member, the unfamiliar hobgoblin, hemed and hawed as he whipped his head around to look at the rest of the party. “Pardon me, but it looks that you’ve forgotten someone!” he snapped.

Kendrenal stroked his chin. “Did I?” He made a show of looking around at everyone. “… No, I don’t think so!”

The hobgoblin looked ready to pop as Kendrenal smiled innocently. “You nitwit, you forgot me! Second in command Turgut!” He shouted, shaking his finger.

“There’s a second in command Turgut?”

“You cheeky- that’s it! That’s enough from you! That’ll be ten laps! Ten laps around the guild building, right now! And I see that smile, Elphira, that’ll be twice as many laps from you! Come on now, on the double!”

Elphira responded by calling Turgut what was likely an insulting word in Elvish before she turned to Thunderwarrior. “Come on, Nalthea, let’s go check out the baths, my back is killing me,” she said.

Thunderwarrior beamed. “Then I will rub your back!” she proclaimed as she following the blushing half drow out.

“You’re not allowed to fuck in the baths!” Odra shouted after the girls.

The genasi, Wick, chuckled before he knelt down to Odra’s level. “There will be no passionate exchange between them. As beautiful as both of them are, Elphira is too shy to confess, and while goliaths are strong… they are incredibly dense and will not understand romantic intent unless you spell it out to them.” He pushed down his glasses, revealing his fiery orange eyes.

Odra scooted away from Wick. “Yeah, gotcha. You’re not my friend, and your breath smells like sulfur, so I’m just gonna go,” she said as she turned away again.

She slunk back to the table, where Garl was waiting for her. “… That’s Calipher’s armor?” he asked.

“I’m sure of it. And that second hobgoblin, the one with the hand cannon,” she nodded over at the bar, where Turgut was sulking as Kendrenal happily sucked away at a frothy drink. “He was there.”

“I think I remember him,” Garl reached to touch a chip on his arm, “left me with this. Course, since he wasn’t a guild member then, I don’t think the guild master will give a damn. Especially because he already hates the both of us. What do you think happened to Calipher?”

Odra eyed Crowley, who was laughing and talking with the guild master, who wasn’t laughing or even smiling.

“… I don’t know. But I have a bad feeling about Crowley.”

Next

#writeblr #short stories #writers on tumblr #fantasy stories #writerscommunity #dnd homebrew #goblins #spilled ink #the adventures of garl and odra manyboots #fantasy comedy #short fantasy stories #writers of tumblr

[blahkugo]

head empty only punk! haikyuu

#sunny begs #i froth #for punk ass men #I FROTH #LITERAL SPITTLE COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH #im sorry that’s a disgusting image #BUT PIERCED TSUKKI??????!?!!?!!! #SEPTUM KAGS ??!?!! #TATTED AND WEARING CHAINS??? #omg pulling kags by his chain to give him a kith #his chains dangling in your face while he pounds you #tongue ring suga #TONGUE RING SUGA OH MY GOD #I CANNOT STOP SEEING IT #PLEASE IM ABOUT TO CRY

[kindacruelandmean]

Drink up.

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI

*Summary: Dabi makes you drink his spit.

*A/N: This one is for me, yall. Really one of my nastiest desires 🥺. Tbh I was going to write it with Hawk's, but Dabi hits different. I'm a fan now.

*Tags/Warnings ⚠️ : Spit-kink, Degradation, Kidnapping, Forced Dehydration, 20 different pet names. Teasing. Patronizing language. Choking

"Did you know that the mouth produces 1 litre of saliva a day?" the scarred man sat at the other side of the table, his posture and attitude relaxed as if he was discussing the weather. "The more you know, right Cutie? This won't be your recommended 3 liters, but it should be good enough. "

Your only response was a furious glare from tired, dry eyes. Your throat felt like sandpaper when you swallowed, but you didn't want to give into his teasing. It was hard enough to ignore your pounding headache without his taunting voice.

You had been captured a few days ago. You were able to save your teammates from Dabi's blaze, but was unfortunately left behind. Exhausted, you were unable to defend yourself from being captured.

He forced you into a hot, muggy room and chained you to a wooden chair that sat on the wall-side of the heavy oak table. Placed on the table was a glass filled with his viscous spittle. Periodically, he would enter the room and make a show of spitting into the glass. This was one of many sick games that he subjected you to while you were held here.

"How long has it been? Surely you'll need to have a drink of water."

"Go fuck yourself," you croaked, throat pained.

"Mmh maybe that can be tomorrow's game, Dollface." He beamed with delight at your fear-fed reaction.

"It's just like a stuck up hero bitch to act like she's too good for hand outs from a lowly villain like me, huh?, Guess you don't want it. It has been a day or two, but you don't need water, right?" His cold, icy eyes bore into yours as he gauged you're reaction, looking for cracks. You tried hard not to give up, give in.

The scarred man rose from his seat. His finger trailed the rim of the glass for a moment, gooey strings followed his fingers.

"Last chance, Babydoll. After I leave out that door you might not see me for days, if you survive." He took his time picking up and inspecting the glass. "It'd be a shame if that Bakugou brat found your dehydrated husk." He lean legs strode towards the door, closer towards sealing your fate.

"W-wait... please... please!" The mention of your lover pushed you to your breaking point. You shook with anguish, unable to even cry out. "C-can I just have water, real water. I...I-ll do anything, please. I can't take this." You tried to reason.

"Finally come around? Well I got all the water you need right here. Its 99% water, after all. That and various enzymes. What more could you need?" Dabi was bubbling with mirth.

"You know...what I mean... please."It was hard for you to contain your dry sniffles.

Dabi sauntered back towards the table. "You're being awfully selfish and pushy." Coming over to your side, he lifted himself to sit on the table top. His heavy boots landed on your thighs and pushed down hard. You wailed in pain as his steeled ankles grinded against your thighs. Taking that opening, the scarred man shoved his free hand towards your chin. "How about some gratitude?" His grasp was tight as he shoved his thumb into your mouth, loudging it behind a row of teeth. Your mouth was fixed open. You gasped and cried at the intrusion, fighting to free yourself.

"Oh Toots, you're making some cute noises for me now, huh? You must really want it. You're my thirsty little bitch, right? Well, I won't keep ya waiting. Here it comes, fresh from the source!" With the drama of a show man, Dabi deeply exhaled, gargling the frothy contents of mouth, then leaned forward and launching the glob onto your tongue. It's took a snails pace to side down your throat.

"Drink up, Gorgeous! C'mon, it's what you wanted!" His palm squeeze tightly around your jaw. It caused you to gasp and choke down his spit. "There ya go, Baby. Lap it up, just like the filthy, nasty dog you are! Want more? Here ya go."

He brought the glass over your mouth and tipped it. "Steady your breathing, Bitch! Don't go choking just yet!" Dabi was reeling with laughter. Tossing the glass away he slapped his now free hand over your mouth. "Can't have you spilling a single drop." He was patient and gave you a few moments of struggled breathing and trying to reject the the fluids in your mouth.

"Aw need some help, Angel?" His pointing finger and thumb closed over your nose. The man smiled down at you, still patiently waiting for you to give. It took your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head before you could take no more. With no other choice you took a gulp, struggling to swallow your mouthful. He kept his hands still, through your retching and only removed his palm after he was sure you were finished. You puffed out cute little exhausted huffs and had drool stringing down your chin.

"Now wasn't that refreshing?"

#dabi x reader #Yandere!Dabi x reader #Yandere #Scumbag!dabi #Scumbag #Spit kink #bnha smut #mha smut #minors dni #Nasty night tonight@ #Spitbucket #Touya todoroki x reader #Mmmh guys I've had an awakening #Where are mu spit freaks please talk to me #Professor dabi knows spit facts #Awful human being me #degradation kink

[after-witch]

Title: You Would Cry Too (If It Happened to You) [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: You Would Cry Too (If It Happened to You) [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader] [It’s My Party Part 2]

Synopsis: Shigaraki won’t let you go to the bathroom. 

For request for a Part 2 of ‘It’s My Party (I’ll Cry If I Want To’)

Word Count: 2100-ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, graphic descriptions of eating disorder thoughts & eating disorder behavior 

Shigaraki has planted himself firmly in front of the bathroom door, legs crossed, Nintendo Switch in his hand. His back is hunched over and the screen illuminates his face with an artificial glow in the dimly lit bedroom you’d been trapped in for weeks.

You stand awkwardly in front of him, but if he notices your presence, he doesn’t say anything. Finally, you clear your throat and speak up.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

He doesn’t look up at you when he answers, bluntly.

“No.”

You clench your fingers and your toes in an effort to create and release tension, to avoid lashing out. You learned, very quickly, that lashing out only made him lash out, and his man tantrums were something you didn’t want to deal with. At least not right now. Not with your stomach feeling distended and bloated. Not with all the food you’d just shoveled into your mouth. Not with the steady hum of primal thoughts ringing in your head, wanting it out--needing it out, needing it out now.

He’d just left for a while, an hour maybe--he normally refused to leave around meal time (for reasons he shared in explicit detail, to your utter discomfort) but after receiving a dozen missed calls from one of his conspirators, he’d finally answered it and begrudgingly agreed to leave. He said he’d be right back.

You don’t know why you did it. You hadn’t binged and purged since you were kidnapped. The anxiety and fear of what he might to do to you overrode everything else in your system, overrode the need to be full and then empty, rinse, repeat. But it’s been weeks. Maybe more? No heroes are going to save you, that’s what he says, and you believe it. Who would want to look for someone like you, anyway?

And so after he left, the thought crept in. Why not eat? And eat--and eat? You held off for a while, hugging your knees and keeping yourself firmly planted on the mattress; staring right at the mini fridge he’d shoved in the corner of the bedroom.

It was like a switch, when you decided. A switch you are all too familiar with pressing. You calmly got up, opened the fridge, and pulled out all the leftovers (including, you admit, some takeout that was teetering on the edge of still-edible) stuffed inside. Plus a few cans of soda, for good measure. You ate almost all the leftovers, mechanically; it was like riding a bike after avoiding it for the summer, really, old habits hard-wired into your brain from years of use. 

You finished just in time to push the trash into the stray garbage bag you’d convinced him to keep in his room. He showed up before you could get rid of anything in your stomach, took a long, slow look at you, then planted himself in front of the bathroom. Did he know? Or was he just being weird again?

And so, your current predicament: Shigaraki, planted between you and the toilet that you desperately needed.

“Why can’t I go to the bathroom?” You keep your voice neutral, low, slightly annoyed. Nonchalant. You want him to feel like he’s ridiculous for denying you access to the toilet. 

Again, he keeps his eyes glued to the screen.

“You know why. I’m not stupid.”

“I have to pee,” you argue, whining, shifting on one leg as if you’re trying to keep it in.

He shrugs one shoulder up and down. “Piss in a cup. I won’t look.”

You sigh, then. “Fine. I have to… you know…”

He raises an eyebrow without glancing up.

You pretend to be exasperated, you pretend to be embarrassed. “You know. The other thing. Poop,” you whisper, dragging the word out as if he’s dragged it out of you like a terrible secret.

He scratches at his lip with his thumb and you fight back a wince. When he gets too upset, he scratches. He was bleeding like hell the night he’d kidnapped you. It was from, as he told you later while petting your hair--all the while ignoring your trembling--getting upset from watching you throw up in the bathroom.

But what you did in the bathroom sure as hell wasn’t anyone’s business but your own, though you’d been too frightened then (and now) to say so.

He sets the Switch down and you think for a moment that you’ve won. He stands up, and your stomach flips at the thought of victory; you wonder if you’ll even have to try very hard to get everything back up. But instead of moving, he leans back against the door and props his foot on it. His chapped lips are set in a grim line, and he folds his arms across his chest. A mockery of a casual pose.

“You’ll try to puke,” he says, practically spitting out the last word.

You feel your cheeks growing hot. You hate how blunt he is about it.

“Seriously? I just have to go to the bathroom.” The food in your stomach feels impossibly heavy. How much longer will it sit there, undigested, before it makes its way out of your stomach and out of your reach.

“I know you just…” He murmurs, and waves his hand haphazardly towards the garbage, then brings his fingers up and scratches, again, this time a hard line on his neck that is sure to bleed if he digs in one more time. “The bag wasn’t full before.”

You can feel humiliation, tight and fluttering, blooming across your entire body. No one is supposed to know, no one is supposed to see what you do. But what choice did you have, trapped in some villain’s dirty bedroom? But the fact that he knows just how much you ate makes you feel even more disgusting.

“Let me go to the bathroom.” You cross your arms.

“You’re not fat,” he says quickly, awkwardly. He’s staring off to the side, refusing to meet your eyes, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed. “You’re really… pretty.” He murmurs, low, almost reverential--and you swear you can see pink on his cheeks. You wouldn’t know how to process “a highly dangerous villain calling you pretty” if you wanted to, so you don’t bother.

“It’s not about weight,” you instantly whisper, throat tight with embarrassment. It is--but it isn’t. Not really. Not deep down. But you don’t want to explain that to anyone, and certainly not to some villain who kidnapped you and is currently standing in between you and a rush of vomit-based endorphins.

He thunks his back on the bathroom door. Petulant, slightly pissed now. “Whatever. I’m not letting you puke in the bathroom.”

The thought of keeping everything you just inhaled inside, the thought of it staying with you, growing on you, thick and sticky and heavy, is too much to handle. It reminds you of how helpless you are. And you are helpless, here, in this bedroom, with a villain who could kill you--if he’s merciful, kill you--with a firm touch of his fingers. You’ll never get out of this, not on your own. And no hero is coming to rescue a literal nobody civilian with no friends or family who cares about her, no one to miss her. You can’t even get into the bathroom to vomit, much less find a way to escape.

He’s staring at you, eyes widened, and you realize you’re feeling hot. You’re breathing heavy, erratic. Are you having a panic attack? A heart attack? Years of strain and stress finally coming to bitter end? You dig your nails into your palm and it hurts, and that’s good, maybe you’ll bleed now, but suddenly the wind is knocked out of you and you’re flat on your back, body bouncing slightly from its weight on the mattress.

He pushed you--he pushed you down. His hands, finger up, are pinning yours firmly against the mattress, your palms flat and stinging from where your nails went in hard; your breathing is gradually returning to normal and you stare up at him, face itching from his hair dangling above you while he stares down with an unreadable expression.

“Stop it,” he hisses. “Just… stop hurting yourself. You’re being stupid.”

Your eyes drift towards his neck, towards the scars and thin line that threatens to bleed red with another good scratch.

The words leave your mouth before you can even think them. “And you’re being a hypocrite.”

He scoffs, and you cringe at a bit of spittle that flies onto your cheek. “That’s different.”

It’s your turn to scoff, and the ludicrousness of the situation combined with the uncomfortable fullness in your stomach has brought back your ability to snark, apparently. “No, it’s really not. I puke, you scratch. Wow, we’re really perfect for each other, huh? No wonder you couldn’t resist kidnapping me!”

“Stop being so damn difficult,” he huffs. “I’m helping you and you’re being a brat.”

Your voice is harsh, snapping, as you spit back, “If you want to help me, then let me go to the bathroom and stick my fingers down my throat until I puke my guts out.” 

His eyes widen and you stare at each other in uncomfortable silence. You feel nervous sweat dampening your back. You feel terrible. You’ve felt terrible for a long time, even before you were kidnapped. You just want to feel.. okay... for a few minutes, just a few minutes at least. 

“I really want to throw up,” you whisper, all snark replaced with softness. Pleading. “It makes me feel better, okay? I just want to feel better for a little while.” You feel tears beginning to prick at your eyes but you can’t wipe them away.

He lifts one of the hands pinning your wrists and brings it up to your cheek. Your heartbeat quickens in fear--despite mantra thoughts of he won’t, he won’t, he said he wouldn’t hurt you like that--as he gently strokes your cheek, then moves up to pet your hair. It would feel nice... if you weren’t kidnapped.

“I’ll make you feel better, you don’t have to do that.”

He continues to stroke your hair, soft and soothing in its intention, until the storm seems to pass.

Finally, he speaks up: “If I get off you, will you try to get to the bathroom?”

“Yes,” you admit, blunt and open. “If the food’s still in my stomach, I’m going to try to puke it out.” You look away, aware of the strangeness of talking about it as a matter-of-fact. “If you didn’t jump on me, I’d probably just have puked it into the garbage bag.”

“How long does that take to get out of your stomach?”

You’re half-tempted to him to Google it, but you bite back your response, not wanting his calmer mood to go away anytime soon. “Um… I think like… 2 hours?”

He sighs, and slumps down on you, his weight heavy and warm and keeping you in place. He reaches for the PS4 controller he’d left on the floor and, as afterthought, grabs the second one before dropping it into your now freed palm.

“Hope you don’t suck at fighting games.”

#yandere shigaraki #yandere shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #yandere #yander x reader #afterwitch writes #shigaraki cockblocking eating disorder behavior was not on my writing bingo card #but I like it

[butwhatifidothis]

I think the Dimitri stuff feels so bad because it’s so blatantly hypocritical. Giving Edelgard all kinds of mental health issues and treating them with the utmost importance - nothing wrong with this. Doing that, and also going with Dimitri being CRAAAYYYYZEEEEEEE and an evil man and needing to be put down - bad!

FOR FUCKIN' REAL DUDE LIKE

Dimitri is literally everything Cap'n wants Edelgard to be. Compassionate and empathetic to a genuine fault? Check. Feels immense guilt for things out of his control? Check. Has hurt others close to him and makes a genuine effort to make up for it and redeem himself? Check. Has his mental health issues be a real, visible part of his life that he must learn to not let consume him? Check. Kind and caring? Check. Cares for the people under him? Check. Has multiple close relationships that help ground him and better himself? Check.

LITERALLY ALL OF THIS is what he is trying to portray with Woobiegard, but she can't hope to match up to canon!Dimitri because Dimitri had to actually face the consequences of his actions. He had to actually grow as a character. He had to actually own up to everything he did. His mental health issues actually affect him and are actually integrated into his character.

He's not just a pile of traits that never collide with anything or interact with anything, he is a character whose traits are woven into everything he does. His trauma isn't tucked away only to be used for big, dramatic moments - like, for example, he can rarely ever taste things and that is present in his mealtime and teatime conversations, it's present in his relationships with Dedue and Flayn, it doesn't magically go away when it's inconvenient in his uwu romance with anyone. His strength is present in his supports with multiple people and is consistently presented as something that he must keep an eye on or else he'll break something/hurt someone on accident. Again, this doesn't go away as soon as any romantic scene comes up.

Cap'n takes a look at all of this and says "oh, he has flaws? He has to grow? That must mean he is a morally inferior person to those around him." BECAUSE LIKE, even if we take his stupidass "Dimitri is rude because pronouns" shit that is already based on a misunderstanding of an entire language, he makes "is kind of rude to people" and turns it into "actually he has no mental illness, it's all toxic masculinity and his arc as a character is to stop being a toxic person" like bro what?? How do you get that from a guy being kinda rude??

So seeing Dimitri portrayed as someone he "truly" is, as someone with his "mask off" - as in, a maddened beast with SPITTLE FLYING OUT OF HIS MOUTH - when Dimitri never does anything half as heinous as Woobiegard does IN HIS OWN FIC, it's more than a little blood boiling. Dimitri is damn near the reason it takes so long to read this damn thing, because when he crops up I legit have to stop reading for hours at a time to take a break from just how excruciatingly horrible Dimitri is.

ESPECIALLY WHEN HE'S RIGHT LITERALLY ALL OF THE TIME AND IS ALWAYS PORTRAYED AS THE ONE IN THE WRONG that's just the cherry on top oh my fuckin' god. Dimitri tells Sylvain that he has a responsibility as both a noble and one who bears a Crest to protect the people under his care - that gets turned into "Dimitri thinks people should be used like tools." Dimitri tries to pardon Sylvain and Ingrid by convincing their families to take them back if the two of them apologize for betraying their people, family, and homeland - that gets turned into "Dimitri doesn't care about how his friends' families treat them." Dimitri points out that Woobiegard is showing more care for Miklan that for Miklan's victims - that gets handwaved away entirely to make it about how Dimitri "cares more about the state of the Relic than about his friend." Dimitri says that he hates Woobiegard for her involvement with the Tragedy, something that she has by WORKING WITH THE PEOPLE WHO DID THE TRAGEDY - that gets handwaved away entirely to "reveal" how "truly crazy and obsessed" Dimitri is. OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN Dimitri is right and is then shat on for daring to be right meanwhile I'm just over here bein' like "I'M WITH YOU KING CALL ALL THEIR ASSES OUT"

#ask #anon #exqueuese me princess #o captain my captain #get that mans outta there oh my god dude #actually painful to read through

[weareallstoriesintheend]

A writing request: Protective Clyde rescues reader from a guy being a little too handsy at the bar. Makes sure reader gets home safely. Super fluff/protective Clyde. Maybe ends with a 'thank you' kiss on the cheek. Annnddd I'm already crying thinking about you writing this

Safe & Sound (Reader x Clyde Logan) 

Note: For you @ladyinwriting18? Anything! 🥰

Part 1 of the Safe & Sound Series. Here is Part 2 & 3

Warnings: Creepy misogynistic bullshit. But also the fluffiest of fluff!  

Words: 2,407 

Smutty Part 2 - HERE

The smell of whiskey breath ghosting over your face made your stomach turn. You were just trying to have a quiet drink at the ‘Duck Tape’ after a long day at work and all of a sudden you were having your evening ruined by some overbearing guy with half a bottle of dutch courage behind him. “Seriously, I’m okay thank you” you said politely, trying to catch the eye of anyone who could get this guy off you. You were not one to be polite to guys that harass you usually but something about this guy’s overly aggressive lean towards you had put you on edge. All sorts of images and scenarios were flashing through your mind and your heart was starting to hammer in your chest. But just like always, just like you were taught from the time you can walk, you played it off by smiling sweetly and being as polite as possible. Annoyingly you’d chosen to sit in the back corner of the bar tonight so you had nowhere to go but past him. Your dress was high up on your thigh and you tried, subtly, to pull it down.   “Nah, come on sweetheart” he said with a smirk, flicking your long hair off your shoulder dragging his fingers purposely along your skin as he does it “Let me buy you a drink” You went to speak again, hoping to brush him off but the panic in you was rising. The feeling of his skin on yours had triggered something within you, you fidgeted your hands over each other on the bar top to stop them trembling. You looked up at him, mustering up that fake sweet smile again, turning to grab your jacket to leave – figuring this was the only way to get him to leave you alone – before you heard someone else speak.

“I’m goin’ to have to ask you to leave” you heard the deep drawl before you looked up. Clyde Logan was sidling his way across to where you were sat in the corner, the light of the bar was behind him like an aura. Your lumbering guardian angel. Honestly you’d never paid too much attention to him, he was just… Clyde. He’d been around forever except for when you’d returned from college and found out he was off in Iraq. Clyde was just the big grumpy bartender who made a mean vodka cranberry for you every Friday night; the same grumpy bartender who always slipped in an extra lime because he knew you liked it. You gave him a relieved smile as you caught his eye; he instantly turned his attention back to the guy leaning against you as he piped up once more. “Oh come on Clyde, I was only havin’ a bit of fun” he slurred, giving him a hacking laugh before slipping his hand up your arm and onto your shoulder. You instantly tensed up, skin crawling as you could feel the sweat drip from his forehead on your bare shoulder as he propped himself against you. “Oh I’m sure ya are. But see, I don’t think she finds it very fun do you darlin’?” Clyde said looking at you out the corner of his eye and you shook your head. “Now I’m asking ya to leave cause you’re making my customers uncomfortable. I’m damn sure this woman, nice as she is, doesn’t want your hands all over her now does she?” You shook your head again and the guy looked at you, having the audacity to scoff in offense at your response before turning back to Clyde with a grin. But Clyde kept talking “Her shakin’ her head there? That’s her sayin’ no. Got that? So I’m goin’ to ask you one more time to get off her. Look at her… sweet like a little bird she is, she don’t need your big greasy paws all over her like that” The drunk guy sneered and jostled your shoulders in a jovial way, trying to show Clyde how you were at ease you supposed, and you felt his metal watch strap nick your skin at the back of your neck and you hissed softly at the pain. There was a sudden thud and you looked down; Clyde had grabbed the guy’s free arm that was resting on the bar with his flesh hand. He gave it a sudden tug and the guy gave a high-pitched yelp as he was pulled closer to Clyde and off you. “I said… I’m goin’ to have to ask you to leave” Clyde repeated. You knew sweet, quiet Clyde could have a temper when he needed one; you’d seen him strong-arm a few guys out on their asses a few times over the years. You’d always quietly admired how sturdy and wide his body looked, comfortable and yet solid. So when he did things like that you’d silently sip your drink, pretending you weren’t watching his bicep bulge under his long-sleeved shirt as he grabbed the guy by the scruff of the neck or twist their arm behind their back and haul them out the bar. Another bar patron, an older guy, was walking past this little scene and shot the drunk guy a knowing look before giving his input “Now Billy! Logan here’s got two tours under his belt. Show the guy some respect. Make yourself scarce, come on” Clyde shoo’d this new guy off with a tilt of his head and the guy threw his hands up in surrender before walking away. Billy let out another hacking laugh that made you flinch slightly in your seat, it was full of contempt and far too much confidence for a man in his position “What do you think ya goin’ to do Logan? One arm freak ain’t gunna do nothin’ to me!” “I think you’ll find that I still have my arm, just my forearm and hand that’s missin’. I still got enough to break this arm of yours in three places if you don’t leave this beautiful young lady alone” “Oh I see, Little Logan got a crush” Billy grinned cockily at him, spittle was flying out of his mouth as he slurred and it made you cringe as you saw it landing on Clyde’s dark blue shirt. You started to panic again, you didn’t know what Clyde was going to do next and you shot him a look. You didn’t want him to get himself in trouble for you and after everything that had had happened at the speedway you worried that one little thing would get the cops on

his ass again. He caught your panicked expression and gave you a contemplative pout before turning his head back to Billy. He dragged Billy a little closer so he was bent uncomfortably; you could see his belt cutting deep into his side, pressed into him by the wood of the bar. He was flinching and groaning in Clydes strong grasp, when Clyde spoke he was close to his face and his voice was a low, slow and dangerously calm growl “Now somethin’ tell me this precious, good woman here wants me to spare you the pain I was plannin’ on givin’ ya, kind as she is. So I’m goin’ to let you go but if I ever see you so much as look at her again I’ll show you what two tours in Iraq teaches ya. Got it?” You watched as Billy quickly gathered up his jacket that was hanging haphazardly from the chair he had been sitting on and skitter out the bar like a dog with its tail between its legs. Clyde gave you a pouty but satisfied nod before calmly going back to washing glasses.

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The bar was closing in around an hour so Clyde made you another drink, extra lime as always, to steel your nerves. As he walked around, picking up after people and saying goodnight to the stragglers he kept a close eye on you. Always looking back over his shoulder to where you were sat. You smiled every time he looked at you, several times you thought about getting up to leave for the night but he always caught your eye and something in his look made you sip your drink a little slower. Maybe you should stick around.

“He didn’t hurt you or nothing did he?” Clyde said in a low voice so the last people that were leaving couldn’t hear him. Part of you wondered if he was embarrassed to be helping you but then you realised, as he turned his body to literally shield you from the gaze of the rest of the patrons in the bar, he was protecting your privacy. “No Clyde, I’m fine thank you” you smiled, brushing your dress down awkwardly trying to ease the tension. Clyde was a man of few words usually but he made up for it in the intensity of his stare and right now that stare was focussed purely on you. His eyes roamed over you and it made a heat rise up on the back of your neck. He made a grunting noise, almost to himself, and he leaned over the bar to fetch a napkin. He turned the tap on that was over the small bar sink and dipped the napkin under the running water. You gave him a look, raising your eyebrow in question and he nodded to you shoulder. You looked down and noticed a small trail of dried blood running down your shoulder from where the guy had cut you with his watch. “Can I touch ya? Is that okay?” he asked, eyes soft and concerned as he studied you. You nodded shyly and he leant forward and wiped the napkin over your skin gently. You watched his hand carefully, the huge size of it compared to your arm making you bite back a giggle. The cold of his horseshoe ring brushing lightly against your skin made you break into goosebumps. He dabbed and patted to make sure he got it all wiped away “There ya go, all cleaned up” He gave your arm a stroke with his thick knuckles, like he was doubly making sure you were all squared away. Clyde Logan didn’t smile very much, you always thought his signature grumpy pout was actually quite endearing, but in this moment as you gazed up at him he gave you the smallest, most tender smile and you couldn’t help but grin back at him. “You don’t have to take care of me you know?” you whispered, he shook his head as he hopped up on the bar and swung himself back over. “Well of course I do, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t have to deal with assholes like that!” You gave him a small push to his chest that barely moved him “You stop that!” you laughed, he chuckled as you dipped your head down, letting your hair hide the growing blush on your cheeks. “I only speak the truth darlin’” he said turning to wander over to the cash register “Give me 2 minutes to check todays takins’ and I’ll drive ya home” You scoffed and dropped off your high bar stool onto your feet “You really don’t need to do that, I’m sure that guy is long gone” “Well I can’t just let ya go home on your on now can I? What kind of gentleman would I be if I did that?” he said, you swear you saw him smirk to himself and he pushed his hip into the cash register to close it. He turned to you, swinging his jacket off the hook on the wall and around his shoulders. “Oh Clyde, you’re sweet but I’ll be okay” You stepped forward as you spoke and helped him pull his jacket over his prosthetic arm “Really! I don’t live too far, you know that! It’s only a mile round the corner I can walk it” You flushed at his forwardness and unexpected level of care he was showing you. The heat was rising up on the fact of your neck again and you couldn’t quite decide if it was embarrassment or something a little more intimate. “Nonsense, I won’t hear another word on the matter” he shot you another smile; you quite liked this more relaxed Clyde. There was something about that shy smile that made you accept his offer with a small nod. “Perfect. Let me grab my keys and I’ll drive ya”

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You hopped down out of his truck as he opened the passenger door for you, which he had insisted on doing; he’d even held out his prosthetic arm for you to use to steady yourself as you dropped unsteadily onto your driveway. You’d thanked him quietly and he’d responded “Nothing but the best for the princess” making you giggle and elbow his side jokingly. You both wandered down the driveway in comfortable silence, nothing but crickets and the crunch of gravel beneath both your shoes.

“Safe and sound now aren’t ya” he said, tapping your front door absentmindedly with his knuckle, watching you wrestle your keys out of your bag. You chuckled and nodded, before you could give yourself a second to overthink it you pitched up on your tip toes, pulling him down slightly with your a small hand on his wide shoulder, and placed a timid kiss to his cheek. “Thank you Clyde” you whispered. You giggled slightly as a noticeable pink blush bloomed across his cheeks and he shook his head and stuttered “N-no thanks necessary sweetheart”

You put your key in the lock and he turned to leave with a courteous nod goodnight. As you pushed open the door breathing out a tightly held in sigh, suddenly thankful to be in the comfort of your own home, you heard him say your name. You spun to see him a few feet away from you, rocking on his heels slightly “Come by the bar tomorrow night? I’ll make you another one of those cranberry drinks you like and…I’d errr… I’d love to see ya”

Now it was your turn to blush, you hoped he couldn’t see it in the shadow of your doorway

“I’d love too. See you then” you replied, giving him a small wave before going inside.

Maybe you should have paid more attention to the big grumpy bear behind the bar because it turns out, he’s rather sweet.

#clyde logan #logan lucky #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x you #request

[plush-rabbit]

Who’s A Pretty Boy?

Word Count: 5K

A/N: I wanna make him cry

You sit on your knees, body hovering above his stomach, hand laid flat as they hold you up, your mouth covers a soft colored nipple, pulling the soft bud into your mouth, having your tongue loll around it, quick, kitten-like flicks given to him as he ruts underneath you, his erection rubbing against your slit, enough to feel the warmth from the friction, to let sharp gasps escape past his scarred lips. He digs his heels into the mattress, stilling his hips above as he gives gentle, hesitant jerks above your core, and you can feel something warm slick by and coat your vulva in slippery strands.

“Tomura?” You call out to him, lips mumbled against his neck, feeling his pulse quicken. He whimpers in response and continues the motions, huffing and quickening his pace. “As much as I love how needy and cute you get under me, you know you aren’t allowed to jerk off to your heart’s content.”

“But I’m close,” he rasps out, his cock slipping past your lips, teasing at your entrance, before he pulls away and continues to rub at your outer area, staining it with thin, clear pre-ejaculate, sighing in relief when you run your tongue over an old scar, pressing a soft kiss on it, leaving it wet and soft. “I swear, I’ll get you off, just let me-”

“This isn’t about getting me off,” you remind him, raising him and moving away, letting his hips fall onto the bed with a soft thud. You sit on him, leaking onto his stomach, hands splayed across his chest, covering both breasts as the nipples peek through the gaps in your fingertips. “This is about you. You said such awful things about yourself.” You voice dips and he rolls his ankles, trying to look you in the eye but failing. “I need to make you feel pretty again.” You dip your head and kiss his temple. “My pretty,” you peck the space between his brows, “handsome,” your lips brush against his cheek, “strong,” his breath hitches as you kiss his nose, “wonderful,” your breath is warm on his lips and he parts them, his tongue peeking out and pressing against your lips for a quick second, “partner.” You kiss his lips- it’s soft and romantic, your tongue licking his bottom lip and once granted entrance, you push your tongue inside, curving around his and pulling away with a gasp and a soft blush tinting your face. “This is about making you feel good, love.”

He breathes heavily under you, chest rising and slowly, love bites bloom against his chest, circling around his nipples, darkening them in color and they pebble under your touch. Your palms slide and press down, rolling the buds under you, feeling the firmness poke at you. He whimpers under you, with a face a dark shade of red, eyelashes that cling together with dewdrops of tears. Your fingers replace your palms, pulling the hard buds, rolling and pinching them between your forefinger and thumb, a soft mewl escaping past his throat, his back arching and lifting you with him.

You slide past him, your slick shining on his stomach and he can feel the curve of your rear touch and graze at his erection, drips of warmth sliding past your lower back and slipping down. He keens underneath you, sharp sighs and hands curling around the bedsheet when you roll your tongue over a bud, the tip of your muscle teasing and prodding at the peach colored nipple. His hips buck, a hiss passes through his teeth as the friction sends ripples of pleasure down his cock. You nurse on his chest, pulling the bud in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as your tongue flickers around the shy, pink teat. He bucks and whines, soft mewls sounding the room, hands curling and fisting the blanket, fingers going rigid and nails turning to claws.

You pull away with a click, his teat shines in spittle, leaning down, you blow cool air onto him, peppering kisses over his areola, chuckling as he calls your name in a hoarse whisper. You give him a final kiss, pulling away with a soft smack and nursing on the neglected bud that beams with red from the treatment of your fingers. Underneath you, he lets pitiful sounds tremble past his lips as his hips stutter and rise with each breath, his cock twitching and he can only manage the word “close” in a rushed prayer, twisting the thin fabric of the bedsheet in his hands, cock burning with heat as he lets out a strangled cry. His hips stutter, and you’re a saving grace, moving yourself along him, edging his orgasm further, watching his face scrunch, eyes closed tight as you pepper yourself over his chest, past his collarbones and onto his neck, your nose brushing against new and faded scars. Your name comes in broken syllables, broken in between and high pitched, warmth flooding and sliding down your bum, and he drips and twitches onto his thighs, thick discharge staining his thighs in white cream that trails down his shaft.

He winces and grits his teeth as you move away from him, his still tender cock sparking with aftershocks when your hand wraps around him, your palm soft and warm as it envelops his cockhead and begins to jerk him. His eyes remain close, lips parted and moving with soundless words, words of praise that translates into soft pleads, mercy for a minute of rest, mercy for the pleasure to never stop, to let your hand roll over him and to milk him dry, to feel weightless as the second orgasm shoots past him, spurts of cream dribbling out. He calls your name, his fists loosening and the bedsheet under him is wrinkled and twisted into a swirl.

Tears stain his red eyes, spilling over with a mouth parted and face tinted red. He shakes underneath you, muscles tensing and hips rising in an attempt to jerk himself off in your hand, sighing and cooing as you tighten your grip. His arousal clicks in the room and spills over, coating him in warmth, legs twisting and he calls your name, hoarse and cracked, and when he collapses onto the bed, his thickness softening and the red tipped head that bloomed with life lessens into a delicate pink covered in white. Slender fingers raise and grasp your wrist in weak hands and yet with the mess of a man underneath you, you continue to take care of him, needing down to kiss at his chest, where he flutters and shivers in reaction.

Tears shine and flood over, tracing his cheeks in rapture and overstimulation, his face growing red and he whines under you, slapping a hand over his mouth, scrunching his face together as you hand swirls around him. It’s slow and tantalizing, a loose grip on his hardening member, feeling it swell as you glide up and down his cock in steady motions. He breathes harshly through his nose, nostrils flaring and chest blooming with red that creeps towards his face. You sit beside him, legs neatly folded underneath you and when you lower your head, he twitches, thinking you’re going to place his cock in your mouth, to finally feel a tighter grip that doesn’t make his legs kick out in frustration but he only whines more when you kiss at his collarbone, lips softly brushing against a scar.

“Stop,” he whines, voice high and needy, muffled and in pain. “This isn’t fair,” he croaks, feeling the familiar tightening of his belly. His hand falls from his face and rests above his chest, cupping at a breast.

“I think it is.” Your words are soft, nothing higher than a whisper, a hand rubbing his sides, a feather like touch that bumps his skin and leaves him squirming underneath you. “You said such bad things about yourself, Tomura.” Your lips drag along his body, resting upon another scar that extends three inches. “I don’t think you should get to call the shots after such negativity, dear.”

You tighten your grip at the base and give him a strong jerk making him gasp, beads of pearl peeking from his slit and shining under the light. And with the quick introduction of pleasure, it’s ripped away from him, your fingers fluttering away, nails grazing at a vein and he groans, throwing his head back, the building ecstasy flutters away, literally between fingertips. His heels press into the mattress, breaths deep and ragged, with a painful look on his face, he flutters his eyes open and looks at you through unshed tears.

“No,” he croaks, “what did I do?” His chest rises, and even to his own ears, he sounds so pitiful, so broken with the false promise of relief. “Please,” he begs and all at once, the image of Shigaraki is gone and is now replaced with Tomura who lays on his back, with a red tinted face, eyes pricking with tears and a voice broken with whispers and moans. “I promise to be good.”

Your hand cusps his face, thumb brushing a cheek, catching a tear that managed to slip and it glistens for a second before spilling down your palm. “You were so mean to yourself, Tomura. You know that right?” In your grasp, he nods his head shaikly. “I hate hearing you say such negative things about yourself.” You press a kiss on his nose, and his hand claws over his chest, red lines blooming in the next moment.

“I won’t say it again-” a groan fills the room when your hand returns to his shaft, fisted tightly over his base- “I- I promise.” He bucks his hips, trembling as you place a hand down on his navel, a silent warning to keep him still to which he follows with a shiver coursing down his spine. “Just please- please, take care of me.”

You inch forward, you hand gliding up and encasing his cockhead in your grasp. The hand on his face slides and tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear, pushing at the strands that stick to his forehead with sweat. “Do you know how much I love you?” Your lips meet his in sweet kiss, quick and with a quick swipe of your tongue across his scar. “I love you so much and to hear you call yourself such ugly names- something so vile and obvious lies,” your voice tightens and the space between his brows furrow, “it’s not nice Tomura.” You kiss at the corner of his lips, leaving a trail of kisses as you come to his ear, sucking softly on the lobe and releasing it with a nudge of your tongue. “You're so pretty Tomura. I don’t want you saying such awful lies about yourself, okay?”

He nods, unable to give a verbal confirmation. Chest stuttering and slowly your hand begins to move, stroking him and wiping your thumb above his slit, swirling the pre-ejaculate around his cockhead that has bloomed a deep shade of red, swelling and aching with the tease that has been enacted upon him. He sighs, eyes fluttering close, his pink muscle, swiping above where yours was placed. “Thank you,” he whispers, trying to keep his breathing under control. “Am- Am I allowed to touch you?”

“Not yet dear.” Your breath fans across his neck and when he reopens his eyes you’re positioned in front of his cock, lips hovering above, blowing cool air and watching him with careful eyes to gauge his reaction. He twists and lets out a hiss, nodding his head in rapid movements. “Sweetheart?” He hums in response, a soft moan in the back of his throat as your hand slides and flutters to massage his testicles, rubbing them in your palm, fingers moving expertly around him. “Does this feel good?”

“So good,” he mumbles, cock bobbing in excitement. “Can- Can you touch my cock, please?” He asks in a breathless tone, already close to his release with the little touch that he’s been given. “I- Please?”

“Whatever the prettiest boy wants,” you coo, and he can feel his face turn warm, eyes wide and once again, he’s unable to trust his voice, and nods to your praise, mouthing a thank you, keening as your other hand grabs his cock, fisting over it with a tight grip, soft clicking filling the room as his hands dig into the soft skin at your thighs.

The pleasure is so close for him, already at the doorstep with just a simple touch. He drags his nails across your skin, watching as you fondle him, rolling and massaging, tugging lightly and cooing over how handsome he looks- so needy and breathtaking and the words only bring tears to his eyes. He lets his hand slide and shakily, his palms cover his eyes. His breaths deepen, they lose the ragged, pleasure-tinted gasps and it’s replaced with a harsh, croak-like breathing, and he calls your name in a pained cry, shaking his head and it’s only intensified when your mouth replaces your hand.

Your mouth is warm, tongue lapping and swirlin above him and the hand moves away from his testicles and onto his thigh, rubbing a palm over him as you swallow. His tip hits the back of your throat, a bitter taste running down your throat and causing your eyes to water. He sobs as you take him, flinches at the wet smacking sounds that protrude from you and him, shivers and moans when your teeth graze against a vein. His eyes dart and your hand has disappeared between your core, fingers disappearing into you. Your cheeks hollow and he can only lament your name, something cracked and layered with pleasure and he cries as he shoots down your throat, filling your belly with warmth.

Even as he shivers and shakes, muscles tensing, you continue to bob your head in a quick rhythm, pressing down until your nose touches the base and you’re choking against him, eyes watering and releasing with a gag, your chin coated in a light layer of drool while his cock glistens with your spittle.

“What a pretty boy,” you call out to him, pressing your lips against his in a sensual kiss. “You look so cute. So strong and handsome.” Your words brand against his skin, flinching as he tries to calm himself through the aftershocks, lightly grabbing your hand and breathing hard with tears still in his eyes and mind growing foggy. “Tomura, you’re amazing.” You press your lips against a new scar, one that is still tender and stings when just the right amount of pleasure is pressed onto it. A scar that can be easily opened and make him cry in agony.

“No,” he breathes, shaking his head, repeating the word over and over until he is simply mouthing the words. “No, I’m not,” he whines, chest stuttering with cries. “I’m awful. Fuck!” He curses, spitting the word out and his fingers bend and twist and hepeirces his skin, marking it in red as he drags his hands down, teeth bared as hot tears burn his skin.

You call his name quick and pull his hands away from him, your face knitted in worry and continues to cry, stuttering and repeating his previous words, until they are muffled against your shoulder, his hands clawing at your back, and he’s exposed. He’s more exposed than he will ever be. He cries into your shoulder and tells you that he is not beautiful, he sobs and shakes his head. You run your hands through his hair, pet at his back and trail up and down his spine. You call to him, quiet and still, you pull his head off of your shoulder and his nose is tipped red and eyes that glimmer.

“Tomura, my love,” he flinches at the name and you pepper a kiss against his cheek, catching a bitter tear, “you are not awful. You are not horrible to look at.” You hold his face in your hands and kiss at his tears, mindful of the soft whimpers and the tightening of his hands against your back. “Tomura, I love you so much. You’re so handsome.” You kiss at his nose and swipe a tear away. You sniffle light and press your lips against him, dragging them across until they pepper and cover his face in love. “You are my everything Tomura. You will always be the more beautiful person to walk this earth.”

He whines at your tough and puts his lips on yours, pulling you above him as he whines and tries to nuzzle his cock against your core, desperate for a second of relief. You understand his message, settling above him, hissing and resting your forehead against his as you lower and rise above him.

The soft light catches and forms a halo around you, body glowing and shining with sweat. You are above him, glowing and ethereal, and he lays below you, covered in tears and scars, hands too afraid to touch you when you shuffle, moving your hips bending over to capture him in one last kiss, he lets his eyes half close as you start to swirl your hips. Your eyes clench close as you move around him, feeling as he fills your walls your own walls wrap and mold to his shape, squishing and trembling around him.

You’re soft; so deliciously soft, as he stays inside of you, cock twitching to life, already feeling the burning sensation of another orgasm about to come, teetering around the edges, the wisps of it’s burning flame dancing and teasing as you move above him, palms laid flat against his stomach, touching at his abdomen, smoothing upwards until they cup his chest, your own back arching and you clench at he hits at a spot. Your walls are like velvet, soft and welcoming, and he welcomes the pleasure, sighing and throwing his head back, letting your cunt wrap around him with a tight grip.

You’re above him- one hand holding you up as the other cusps his face and his eyes open in a daze, a soft smile tracing his lips and you two share another intimate kiss, tongues swirling around each others, pulling away with gasp and he looks at you with stars in his eyes, head tilting and positively in love.

“You’re so handsome,” you coo and when he starts to shake his head, his bottom lip trembling, you quiet him with another kiss, pulling at his cock and pressing yourself close to him once again. “So handsome, I swear.” He whines under you, bucking his hips in an attempt to get you to just focus on the pleasure. Your hands glide down his chest and you pinch at his abused teats that bloom in a red compared to the delicate peach color that they held. “I wish you could see how I saw you, so cute and strong.” You dip down and kiss and nip at a collarbone. “So strong and amazing.” You shake your head against him, tongue spilling out to trace the bone. “Handsome and wonderful-” you brush your nose against the base of his neck- “oh yes you are.” Your hand slides and traces against a scar the curves under his breast and pulls taut against his body. “So precious.”

His hands shake, latching onto your hips, nails that press and leave crescent marks tattooed onto your skin. “I’m go- fuck-” he curses, jerking his hips, pushing cock to the hilt inside of you when you spin your hips on him- “too sensitive,” he mumbles, cock pulsing inside of you. His hand leaves you, ring finger touching where your clit throbs with excitement, eyes fluttering open to look at you. You move above him, bottom lip tucked between teeth only to let go to moan out his name. He can feel your walls clench around him, squishing and fitting around his length as he moves in a rapid motion. He circles your pearl, watching as your breasts bounce, gleaning with sweat, eyes clouded with lust and drool pooling his mouth as he can feel his high approach. “Not going-”

You quiet him with a kiss, tender and fleeting on his lips. He mewls as your cunt slides off, his head inside as it grows hot, groaning and trying to reach for your lips again as you pull away from the kiss. “You’re allowed to, you know?” He narrows his eyes, confusion written over his face. “You’re allowed to love yourself,” you breathe out, stilling above him and playing your hands on his chest, slowly rising and falling on him. “You’re so pretty. So good,” you whine above him, brows furrowing as you sigh, slick slipping past and clicking in the room. “Handsome and lovely- everything about you is perfect- ah!” Your nails scratch against his chest, chest rising and falling as your orgasm edges closer. “I love you Tomura,” you moan, lowering yourself closer to him, your own eyes shining with tears, a twitchy smile gracing your lips as you try to steady yourself on him. “If- if I could- fuck- I’d,” you suck in a harsh breath and lower your head- “kiss your scars, every- every last one of them until you felt better.” A desperate whine trembles past your lips and he can already tell you’re reaching your end, your clit pulses underneath his fingertip, your breathing becoming more ragged and words broken by curses as you rise above him, whimpering with a lovesick look in your eyes. “I love you, Tomura.” Your head tilts and you grab at the hand on your hip and let it drag over the soft pouch of your stomach, grazing past a bouncing breast and letting it rest over your heart. “You’re so handsome. My- My handsome love.”

He sucks in a harsh breath, letting his hand press above your beating heart, sighing and arching his back as the limp in his throat tightens, spriing tears into his already puffy eyes. “I-” he bites his tongue and shakes his head- “I’d let you. I let you do whatever you wanted,” he croaks. His hand stays put at your heart while the other continues to rub at your heat. “You’re amazing.” Words die at his tongue, his hands fading from your body and he steadies himself with a sharp grip at your side, clicking his tongue at how you twist and laugh breathlessly, your hands covering his. Tears flow down his face in gentle rivers, calming and in relief as he can feel you twitch, still and moan his name, muffling it with your palm.

Words of affirmation, words that would repeat your own, die and choke him, wrapping and filling his throat with an indescribable heaviness. Your words continue to spill from your lips, full of grace and adorned with love, stuttering and repeating phrases as the words slowly slur together, his name said in a breathless chant, one that fills the room and drones out all other noise, gasping and whimpering. He cries under you, sniffling and chanting your name while his hands soften and rest on your hips and slide down your thighs and onto the bed, cock spilling his seed deep inside of you, painting you in a warmth that fills your body.

Tomura’s vision goes into a bright, white light- shining and blinding and there’s a hot flame that consumes his body, licks at his limbs and scars, consumes him and leaves him weightless for a second that lasts for eternity. He moans your name, crying and hands that dig into your hips, spilling his seed inside of you, as tears trace down the curve of his face. Eyes roll over, shutting shut, a heavy blush dusting at his cheeks as a loose smile breaks across his face. He twitches and whines, hisses between closed teeth as you move off of him, feeling ejaculate that had dripped from your cunt and coated him, moving down with syrup consistency. He shakes, his skin bumping and on high sensitivity, jaw slack as you kiss his chest, kiss the curve of his neck and finally his lips. He mewls under you, a shameful sound that makes your heart skip and his own jump at the sound.

He lays still, heaving and aching, with heavy knees while you flutter across the room. His eyes flutter close and he calls out to you, a soft whisper of your name that turns louder, growing hoarse with the abuse from his voice. His body is worn, completely spent and every so often, he gives a quick jerk, his body covered in shivers. His hands paw at the bedsheet in gentle scratches, whimpering your name until you come into the room, a towel that drips on the floor held in one hand, while the other hand holds a dry towel.

The bed creaks under your weight, drops of warm water slide down his thigh and wet the bed in small pools. He makes a noise of confusion, leg jerking as the towel is wrapped around his shaft. He sucks in harsh breath, swallowing nervously and shaking his head.

“‘M too sore,” he whimpers, shaking his head. “Not now.” He gives a small wave of his hand, trying to flutter around the towel that sticks pleasantly to his skin.

“I’m just cleaning you,” you say sweetly, drying at the fluids that coat his thighs and slide to the base of his cock. “You’re not in the mod for a shower, right?” He shakes his head no, mumbling out a soft word of exhaustion, a yawn reinforcing his words. “Then let clean you, okay?”

“Can you hold me?” He asks, raising himself on his elbows with a wince. “I’m cold,” he whines.

“Of course.” Your reply is quickly. He lays in silence, his breathing slow and steady, already drifting to sleep as something soft cups at his soft member, fondling it gently and it rests against him, soft and dry. He’s given a pat on his pubic bone, and he smiles softly. “All done,” you mumble.

Once more the bed creaks as you move to place the towels on the sink. You return to him, on his side, an arm extended on your side of the bed. You lay next to him, his face immediately burying onto your chest, lips ghost above your breasts and he sighs, moving his legs so that they rest under yours. Your hands come to thread through his hair, fingers parting and tugging on knots, freeing his hair.

“Feels good,” he mutters, immediately followed by a yawn.

“The petting?” You ask, and he nods in response, letting out a yawn that you mimic moments after. Your hands move to curve on the top of his head, nails lightly scratching at his scalp. He hums into your chest, arms snaking around and pulling you close. He mumbles words, too soft and muted to be understood, his hands trying to mimic your movements but only ending up as a soft dragging of his nails down your skin. You chuckle softly, pressing your nose against the top of his head, lips light on him. You hum and tap against him. “Who’s a pretty boy? Hm?”

He groans and his legs wrap around yours, chest heaving and heart beating against him. “I am,” he mumbles, lips pulling into a thin line that soon stretches against his face in a nervous smile.

“You’re so cute,” you croon, kissing him once more. His face burns against your skin. “Yes, you are,” you coo, voice raising an octave, lips in a soft pout. “You’re the cutest. Cutest villain, cutest boy- the absolute cutest,” you say with a honey sweet tone, pressing kisses against the top of his head, half kisses against his temple keeping him close to you.

“You’re cute,” he mumbles sleepily, eyes close and hands going to a soft limp. “Best thing-” he yawns and shifts on the bed- “to happen to me,” he trails, lips coming together in a pout to softly kiss at your chest. He means every word he says, wants to repeat them until they no longer feel like words- he wants to give you the praise that you just gave to him; will gladly pull himself apart if it meant he could show you how much he loves you. Your touch is safe, makes him feel like nothing could truly harm him. He stays curled next to you, wants to mouth and speak endlessly to you, to praise and love you, to have you cry with tears of joy as you both rest in the same bed. His body is decorated in scars, each with a story, all of them kissed and soothed by your lips and touch. It’s something deeper than love, he figures. He’s only ever felt devotion to someone, but it’s more than that with you. He can never explain it, words could and would never be enough, he wants to show and tell you. He will love you to the point of recreation, will shape the world however you want it to be, as long as you’d smile and kiss him- he’d do so much for only a smile.

Your eyes water and there’s a smile that stretches against your lips, curves and tugs painfully on your cheeks and your throat is tight. Even in sleep, he’s still so cute. Holding himself against you and telling you something so sweet, that you know will only be repeated when he’s particularly vulnerable. You smile and nod to yourself, hands returning to scratch at him. “I love you, Tomura,” you say in a tender voice, quiet and gentle against him. “I love you so much.” Your love registers in his sleeping mind, something soft and warm, three simple words that finally make him feel protected and loved. Your hand pets the top of his head, slowly and in a delicate motion, letting the ends flutter and cascade down his back, watching as the red in face, turns into a lovely shade of pink. You brush your fingertip against his face, swiping at the drying tear stains that shine on his skin, shuffling and pressing your lips against the scars that adorn his face in soft and jagged curves.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura imagine #bnha imagines #i hope you like it!!

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set

VARIETY: Neither Elizabeth Olsen nor Jurnee Smollett are strangers to having to really stretch their imaginations to dive into complex characters and even more complicated worlds.

Both have superhero films on their résumés: Smollett portrayed Black Canary in DC’s “Birds of Prey,” while Olsen stepped into Wanda Maximoff aka the Scarlet Witch’s shoes for Marvel’s “Avengers” franchise and then some — including Disney Plus’ first Marvel series, “WandaVision.” They are both now Emmy-nominated for projects that tasked them with jumping through time, blending genres and telling epic love stories (Olsen with “WandaVision,” Smollett with HBO’s “Lovecraft Country”). And, even though they are up in different categories (Olsen in lead limited series/TV movie actress; Smollett in lead drama actress), both of these shows are one-season wonders, leaving the performers and their audiences wanting more.

Olsen and Smollett dissected all that of when Variety brought them together post-nominations to talk about their celebrated roles and surreal playgrounds.

You both had a lot of magical or otherwise surreal elements to interact with on your shows. What did you actually have in front of you to react to on set?

Jurnee Smollett: We were very fortunate on “Lovecraft Country” because the whole VFX team worked so hard to create an atmosphere that was also practical in our space. I remember on Episode 3, the exorcism scene, we shot it over a course of three days and, while there was not a man in real life with a baby head on him, you’ve got the wind machines and the pictures are blowing and all the special effects makeup is being touched up. Atticus [Jonathan Majors] has pretty much turned into a rabid dog and I’m doing this spell with my ancestors and whether they were shooting behind us or shooting the elements, we were at our max capacity regardless because that’s just how we approach the craft. It was such a big sequence to shoot that that’s when the actor in you has to advocate for your instrument. I did go to the director and say, “Can you jump in and cross shoot Jonathan and I?” As an actor it is our job to shoot however many takes, however many angles you need, but then it is also our job to advocate for yourselves. And I love playing in this space because you get to use your imagination you get to go to crazy places. Because even while the practical elements are there; you get to go to crazy places. But I was grateful for the practical elements because it’s just so much easier.

Elizabeth Olsen: Did they have pre-viz so you knew what some of the supernatural elements looked like?

Smollett: With the Shoggoths they not only had a pre-viz for us, but for some of the scenes they had massive sculptures, like a dude standing there in a green suit with a Shoggoth head. The pilot we didn’t have this puppet, but by Episode 8, maybe we got more of a budget or something, but eventually we did get a puppet — which was really cool because you could see, “This is the moment his mouth is opening.” But also, Misha [Green], our showrunner, she just wants more blood, more dirt. She’d try to get them to blow spittle at us.

Olsen: That’s so gross!

Smollett: This concoction of Shoggoth spit, throwing it in front of this wind machine. I find the more practical stuff we have to work with, it just helps so much. And then there were the moments where it’s like, “No it’s just a green tennis ball and an X, and go.” How about you?

Olsen: For all those little things in the air and stuff in the ’50s, it was really important to our director [Matt Shakman] that we did everything ala “Bewitched.” It was all camera tricks, it was all wires. Our head of special effects had a lineage of a father who [did] special effects before him, and so puppetry and wire work and stuff like that were things that were already in his vocabulary, but we would have our special effect guys who are used to blowing things up and putting things on fire just balancing and making sure things aren’t swinging but they have to move. Even in the ’70s when she’s pregnant and everything’s in chaos, we really had a picture on the wall going in circles; they just figured out things with magnets.

When we were filming the finale, it was during COVID, during the fires last summer, and we shot Kathryn [Hahn’s] side at the beginning of the episode when she has my boys with her magic — we had to shoot them out because you always have to shoot the side with the kid out and also Kathryn was doing wires for the first time and of course it was with a corset and it was really hot and really bad air quality and so she had to be sent home by the medic at the end of the day. And so, on my side we were running out of days, and I think we had 35 minutes to shoot my side and my reactions to all of that, and there’s quite a bit of back and forth and throwing myself to the ground and hitting a different mark that will then stitch with the stunt double being pulled. I did a weird one-woman show sans kids, sans Kathryn. Our stand-ins were such a huge part of our show and I was so grateful to have them they’re reading lines with me, and our director, Matt Shakman, was like, “If you feel like you can’t do this, we’ll just do this tomorrow.” That gave an adrenaline rush to me and it just became, “I’m just going to do it.” There’s a lot of fear when you’re like, “Oh I don’t have the elements and I am on my own, literally.” But I’ve had to do this before and I’m just scared to do it because I feel stupid. But I already look kind of stupid — I’m shooting things out of my hands — so why don’t I just lean into it as full as possible and just do it and find it in some core, guttural space of desperation? That day was bizarre, but I was actually very happy that I didn’t put it off. I feel like sometimes as actors when there are things that make us nervous it’s like, “Oh we don’t have enough time to explore so let’s do it the next day if we can,” and then you’re in your head all night about it. And so, it’s nice to just do it, even if it feels silly.

Smollett: I’d imagine surrendering and using the fear and all that that you were feeling probably served you so well in it.

Olsen: And don’t you feel that, though? When you feel unsupported you just want to break down in tears and you’re not supposed to break down in tears or you’re not supposed to have those it’s those feelings in the moment, but there are other times where it is really useful and there’s something freeing about channeling it in some way.

Smollett: Yeah and it’s that word you just used: freeing. Being able to surrender — leap and the net will appear. And you’re right, if you would have gone home, you probably would have come back the next day and you would have overthought it. There’s something about using the adrenaline in that moment that I don’t think you can really teach an actor to do; it’s just experience. Because we go and we prep and we do all these things, and then you get to the set and there’s one distraction, two distractions, and those are the elements that just through experience you’ve learned to use.

But I have to say, when I was little, I used to go to sleep every night watching Nick at Nite and “Bewitched” was one of my favorite shows. I did not expect you guys, at all, to go to land of “Bewitched.”

Olsen: I didn’t either. I’m so grateful to it. I felt like I like forgot my body as an actor. You’re a very physical actor, so I feel like you probably don’t have that experience because you just seem so connected and free whether it’s on stage or doing action. And I really felt disconnected from my body until “WandaVision.” I was like, “Right, I have posture; I can walk; I have legs — all of these things are going to be telling the story and it’s period and so I get to move differently.” It’s been a while since I needed to create quite a different character, and it felt so good to wake up my body to the full character work.

Just watching you in the first episode on stage, I was like, “God damn, I want to feel that free on stage with a song and with an audience.” I’m a self-conscious actor when it comes to extras and things like that. There’s something about it where the crew’s the family, and with extras, I feel so vulnerable. And you seemed so at ease and in control and confident. It made you understand her fierceness and how fearless she was.

Smollett: Thank you so much! It’s so interesting that you point that out because, for me, singing in front of people terrifies me. It truly is one of the things that terrifies me the most. The thing about Misha’s writing is, she finds a way to teach you so much about a character in such a small amount of time. And in that first sequence we learn so much about Leti, from that fearlessness you talk about, the ease that she has in herself and in her person, but then you learn so much about her hypocrisy and the contrasting ideas that are at play inside. She’s a very complex one. In the scene with her sister where she’s talking about having dreams of pioneering into an all-white neighborhood in 1955, but she can’t afford to may for socks. [Laughs.] She didn’t come to her mother’s funeral, and yet she’s here yearning for some sort of family connection. And so, I just remember reading that and feeling so drawn to her and feeling like it’s a side of myself that I needed to unearth — there’s a Leti in me that I desired to actually be, but sometimes am not. And it’s interesting because through Leti, she really forced me to do so many things that I hadn’t done before and really become more fearless, become more unbound. It was just such a very cathartic experience for me.

Olsen: I felt that way with getting to do this sitcom comedy part. I felt like I was touching my childhood version of myself who was a ham doing children’s musical theater, who just who just like played for the laughs or whatever — that part that I don’t access at all, really, when filming. And Kathryn Hahn was such a force and Paul Bettany raised to the challenge, as well, of these comedic performances that were really physically funny. I started to get more comfortable — in the ’60s, ’70s, really got comfortable — and it was so much fun to touch that child that maybe was told too many times, “Oh, you’re such a ham” or you just felt like your big personality as a kid was not OK or wasn’t as appropriate. And so, getting to play with that was really freeing and very fun. As you were saying, there’s a release I needed to have, and through the comedy I was able to have it.

How did this sense of empowerment affect how you carried your own characters’ power? Was there something your character that inspired you to advocate for yourself or did advocating behind-the-scenes inform in-world behavior?

Olsen: I felt very lucky coming into this, because this is a world I know. And so, where my voice of advocacy came in was for actors who are coming into the world — like Teyonah [Parris], wanting to make sure that she had everything that she needed to understand where her character was going because this was a character that’s going to continue [and] if she had everything she needed for stunts. And then similarly with Kathryn, she didn’t realize there was someone who she could use to teach her hand gestures for her magic. And so, she was feeling nervous and lost, like, “How do I do this thing?” And I was like, “Oh, how do you not have that information!?” And then having a conversation with whom you need to on the crew up top and figure out how to keep everyone else feeling like they had everything they needed. And luckily, because this was a show with characters that Paul and I had before, the pieces came together and it was a situation where your voice is welcomed and heard.

From “Sorry For Your Loss,” the TV show I did with Facebook, I now have a producer voice that I can’t shut up. I now just need to talk to ADs a lot, and I need to talk to line producers a lot. I realize that I like having — especially if I’m No. 1 on the call sheet; if I’m a primary part — all of the information so I can understand why decisions that seem weird are happening, or else I’m going to get in my head about, “Why are we doing this this way? I just let people know that off the bat now because it makes me less of a control freak, having information. And it is a team effort and I think the actor’s value has changed in that in that respect. There’s a lot more opportunity for women to be vocal now, and so I’m just really seizing that opportunity.

Smollett: It was a very personal growing experience for me. It was time of transition [and] I’m still going through that transition in my life. In order to truly surrender and do the text justice, there was so much I had to bring to the altar every day to sacrifice. I remember talking to Jonathan about that, and he would refer to it as allowing your heart to break and hoping that the Holy Spirit would put it back together. She was essentially a woman trying to navigate her womanhood but she was never actually allowed to have a childhood. She was habitually abandoned by her mother and didn’t know her father and there’s something in that parental-daughter split that I found myself really relating to. Oddly enough like Leti, I was estranged from my father for years. He eventually passed away, really before there was that healing and so, oh man, it brought up so much shit with Leti. How does she see the world? She sees the world through the eyes of an abandoned child. With Leti, that made her overcompensate; with Jurnee, it made me shrink a lot. When you talk about that artist child, those of us who have been in this business for so long, you take on all the sensors. And I found myself just trying to love her a little more. One of the things I admired so much about Leti is this desire to love herself — this real desire to own herself unapologetically in a world that told her she was too Black and female, to exist in her entirety. It’s still a transition that I’m in, but I definitely feel so grateful to have been able to walk through some of that and navigate through some of that with Leti. But that’s, I think, the blessing and the curse of being an artist. You’ve got to be willing to bring your whole mind, body and spirit to it; nothing’s off limits.

Jurnee, the last time you spoke with Variety we were all assuming you’d get to return to this character, but now that HBO has said it’s not being renewed, do you have unfinished business with her?

Smollett: It’s no secret I’m heartbroken. I loved Leti and of course would have loved to continue playing her. But I am so incredibly proud of the work that we all created together — it feels so special and unique — and I am finding peace in that. We’re artists and there’s an endless well that dwells inside us— and there’s so much that’s out of our control. And I think I’ve done this long enough and I’ve experienced enough heartbreaks to know you don’t get attached to the results too much; you just try to stay in a moment. And I feel just so proud and blessed to have been chosen to go on this ride with these collaborators, so I am more so in the place of gratitude than loss.

On the other end of the spectrum, “WandaVision” was a limited series but Wanda Maximoff is a character you have been coming back to for years, Elizabeth. How do you approach that longevity — the changes in her, the changes in you and the interest in revisiting her at all?

Olsen: I’m 32 and I was 25 — so seven years ago — when I did the first one. There’s so much change that I’ve had, even as an actor and how I approach work and, I think, honor work so much more in the last five years, four years of my life. [Jurnee’s film] “Birds of Prey” feels like such a female-empowered thing, so I feel there’s a really incredible energy to beginning it, but then with me you hear people make comments about Marvel movies and it affects your own process. “WandaVision” really shook that up for me and made me reinvest.

Smollett: I so want to know your process with that because the comic book space was new for me. I’d been a fan; I’d seen all your movies and the other movies. How did you navigate all of those voices? Because they can be very loud.

Olsen: Luckily and also frustratingly my character was always this emotional anchor to a piece of the story. It was like the heart, if there’s a heart. Paul and I were the only romance that was really fleshed out in those movies. And so I just treated it like I would anything. And then, we have a really fun time filming “Avengers” And so it’s really goofy and the Russos are great. And so we, it feels light-hearted, and it feels like we have the last laugh at the end of the day. But when it comes to the reinvesting, that’s the whole mind game, right? Because you just hope that it continues to have this quality control, but the more the more things get made, you’re worried about that. Especially because I did a show on Facebook that was scripted, and I didn’t love the way they handled it. And it was hard. And so second season, we went back and we literally, as a team of producers, had meetings with people who ran Facebook Watch about where we thought they could improve. We had a whole presentation for them. And then eventually, they were like, “We’re not doing scripted anymore.” And so I didn’t have the greatest experience being a part of the launch of another streaming service. And so, the Disney Plus part made me nervous and then bringing these characters that are so big to television made me nervous. But Kevin Fiege explained to us that that they were not going to cut corners, and they’re going to try and create the same attention to detail, and they did. And I think it was really important for them to have that care for these first three shows that they were putting out because it was defining a new thing for them. And so, we were taken care of.

I think more for me with this with the reinvestment moving forward, I never had a six-movie or nine-movie thing; it was always two or three at a time — those were my contracts. And so, it’s always a really conscious decision. I wrapped “WandaVision” on a Wednesday and flew to London on a Friday to continue playing this part [in “Doctor Strange 2”]. I could have used getting out of the mindset, though, because they were totally different utilizations of the character and people would have had more time to understand “WandaVision” had we not just wrapped. And so there’s just a lot of, “We covered this in ‘WandaVision…’” It’s bigger than me, there’s lots of threads that are continuing on after me that I’m not aware of, and so it’s always about, “What can I get from this journey with this character that maybe I haven’t tapped into yet with her?” That’s where I keep approaching things from, so that I feel like I have some sort of strap-hang — that I can know that there’s going to be growth of some kind, even though it all maybe looks the same to other people. There is that conscious decision to learn a new element of this woman, or even of myself as an actor — something that I want to explore that I can bring to it.

Your passion for acting is apparent and you both produce as well. What about directing?

Smollett: I would love to one day. I find myself currently being incredibly excited about producing and ushering new voices and excited voices. I don’t know that I would want to direct myself — that’s a whole other skill. I remember watching Denzel Washington, who directed me in “Great Debaters” but he was also in it, and at that point he had such a command of his instrument that he was able to do that. But it’s a lot. And I remember him telling me, before directing himself, he went and made himself watch all his films just so that he could stomach this idea of watching himself in the editing room. And so, I love the idea of storytelling; I’m obsessed with just telling stories, but I don’t know that I would self-direct.

Olsen: I find myself still loving producing so much because I love asking questions and poking holes and thinking about reorganizing of storylines, things that I feel maybe need more structure. I loved writing essays in school so much; it was like something that I found creative because it was about putting so many different sources into a braid that could maybe create this larger conversation or thought at the end. And so, that’s how I look at scripts. That’s really satisfying enough for me, to play that role. I think one day I’ll think about it more honestly, what it what it would mean to be a director. I fear that if I were to do it anytime soon, I wouldn’t have the tools that I would want. I do ask lots of lens-y questions because I’ve really only been working for 11 years and only recently have I tried to really understand the art of what lenses to choose and why and what it makes an audience feel based on what you’re choosing. I want to have a better, more holistic understanding of [that] before attempting [directing] because I do think it’s such an art and just because I understand the structuring of a story or how a set works, I want to be able to provide the the image in my head. I don’t know if I have that skill yet, but I am curious about feeding it and nurturing that.

Press: Elizabeth Olsen and Jurnee Smollett Compare Notes on Genre-Blending Acting and Advocating for Performers on Set was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

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