#Fix Translucent Teeth

[news4nose]

When you flash a smile, you wish to exhibit a row of gleaming white teeth along with the warmth. But upon closer scrutiny, did you notice that your teeth don't quite meet that ideal. In fact, certain portions of your teeth may show lucency, and at times, they may seem nearly transparent. Why translucent teeth and now how to fix?      

[nottswitch]

— if you’ve been naughty, you get…

──────────────── 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩. ──

summary: quidditch is a sport that demands strength and stamina, resulting in physical exertion. exertion equals releasing disproportionate amounts of warmth, which, as it turns out, feels better shared.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

cw: 18+ smut, enemies to lovers, rough p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, semi-public sex, spanking, choking, degrading, hair grabbing, cursing

wc: 3.1k

a/n: the first fic of the naughty side of the list, so buckle up for the filth!! hope you enjoy <3

» navigation ; masterlist ; mattheo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

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The entirety of the Quidditch stadium roared as Harry Potter hovered proudly in the air, the Golden Snitch snug between his fingers. The ultimate rivalry between the houses never ceased to exist, be it on the school grounds or on the pitch, the students from other houses having chosen a side long ago and now discreetly passing galleons to each other in the stands. You craned your neck a bit, your loosely tied scarf sliding off as you watched the players descend onto the ground, the green and silver side clearly trying to get off the pitch as hastily as possible.

Mattheo was, for all intents and purposes, pissed. His nostrils were flared, his breath coming out short and ragged, the exertion from the long-winded game straining his aching muscles. His bat was clutched tightly in his hand, his knuckles almost translucent as he fought the urge to swing it at the annoyingly smug Gryffindors who seemed to be very purposeful with the loudness of their celebrations. A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth – the opportunity was too golden, no pun intended, to have a go at the guy, even though you knew that now, of all times, he wouldn’t dream of holding back. It was a constant push and pull between the two of you, a burning need to kick the other while they were down, and a loss of a very important game was a chance presenting itself on a silver platter.

"Hey, Riddle!"

The sound of your voice made Mattheo grit his teeth, the vibration echoing in his already ringing ears. His eyes briefly darted to you descending the stairs from the top of the stands, the look in them as close to murderous as it can possibly get.

"Don’t," he muttered, continuing to stride across the field, towards the tunnel, where the other players from the Slytherin team had already disappeared.

"Don’t what?"

Your voice was clearly taunting as you approached him, your arms crossing on your chest as you fixed him with a smirk. Unconsciously, your gaze slid down his body, taking in the sight of his Quidditch jersey clinging to him, damp with sweat and accentuating the ridges of his toned abs. You licked your lips, the action coming out of your subconsciousness that craved to feel those abs underneath your palms, although you had yet to admit it.

"Don’t fucking try me right now," Mattheo retorted without sparing you a glance. He was already more than a little aggravated, and the last thing he needed was your teasing and endless quips, combined with the effortless allure you always held despite being an insufferable little cunt. His uniform suddenly felt too tight, which prompted him to take off the green jersey, harshly tugging it over his head with one hand.

Your lips parted ever so slightly as you watched his torso opening up to you in all its firm, built glory. But the muscles weren’t the first thing that you noticed – as much as the view was enticing, it was also not completely new. No, the thing that made your breath hitch was the fact that he was literally steaming, as if he had just left a sauna. Translucent whirls were emanating from his heated body, his skin breaking out in goosebumps in the chilly December air. Mattheo didn’t even shiver, throwing the piece of clothing over his shoulder and flicking the bat from one hand to the other. His pace was firm and purposeful, leaving no doubts about his intentions to leave the Quidditch pitch as quickly as possible.

You had entirely different plans for him, though.

Without thinking much, you followed him into the tunnel leading out of the stadium, barely able to match his long steps.

“Or what?” you called out defiantly, finally reaching him at the price of your breath getting shallow and your heart beating faster than normal. You weren’t one hundred percent sure it was just the effect of walking quickly.

Mattheo stopped in his tracks, nearly making you stumble into his broad back. His eyes closed shut for a moment, his chest heaving as he took a deep breath, feeling his already nonexistent control slipping away with every single sound of yours he heard behind him.

“You will regret it,” he muttered through gritted teeth, not making a move to turn around to look at you – he knew that if he did, he could say goodbye to any traces of restraint still left in him.

“Oh, really?”

You knew you were walking a dangerous line by taunting him like that, but at this point, you couldn’t stop. Was it a sudden surge of bravery, was it recklessness or something else, deeper and yet uncharted, you couldn’t tell. You just knew that if you stopped right now – that was what you’d regret for a long, long time, possibly for the rest of your life. You stepped closer, your chest almost pressing against his back, feeling his muscles tense as your proximity registered in his mind and sent signals through his whole body.

That step was all it took for him to finally snap. In a split second, his hand was wrapped around your throat, pressing you against the wall of the tunnel. A strangled gasp escaped your parted lips, your pulse fluttering wildly as his fingers pressed right on the point, curling around your neck as if he was ready to snap it in half. He probably could, if he wanted to.

“Say another word and find out,” Mattheo hissed, the warm air of his breath brushing against your flushed face. His already dark chocolate eyes darkened further – you swore you could see his pupils dilating in real time, the dimness inside the tunnel failing to hide the mixture of anger and lust swirling in their depths.

“I’m not scared of you,” you whispered, your voice quiet but filled with a strange type of determination. Whatever was happening was something completely new in your dynamic, yet it felt like it had been building up the whole time you spent bickering and trying to get to each other using the power of biting words.

Mattheo’s hold grew tighter around your throat, almost cutting off the stream of much needed air flowing into your lungs.

“You should be.”

A loud thud echoed through the tunnel as his bat hit the floor, thrown away and immediately forgotten about. His newly freed hand gripped your waist, pressing you harder into the wall, the coldness of the surface seeping through the fabric of your winter robes. Mattheo’s body was flush against your front, creating a sharp contrast between the chill of the air surrounding you and his fired up skin, dampening your shirt with small rivulets of sweat dripping off him.

You swallowed thickly, unable to tear your gaze off his face, his dangerously handsome features tense and barely moving. You had no idea what to do with your hands, so they ended up on his bare chest without any real input from your mind, which, you could tell, was slowly turning off anyway. A hiss coming from him once your skin touched his was a surprise, but you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy his reaction. For some reason, you found yourself bold enough to try exploring this newfound knowledge, sliding your hand down his chest, along the firm planes and ridges. Two things happened at the same time: Mattheo’s fingers dug deeper into the sides of your throat, causing a strangled sound to escape your lips, while his other hand left your waist to grab your traveling wrist.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing right now,” Mattheo muttered, and you swore you could hear his teeth grinding against each other. “I’ll show you, though. I’ll fucking show you.”

Next thing you knew, you were lifted off the ground, stuck in the iron bars of his embrace. The instinct in you that still tried to persuade you that this whole thing was wrong made your dangling feet try to hit Mattheo’s knee. This weak attempt at defiance was quickly stopped by his arm moving down and tightly locking around your thighs, stopping your legs from moving altogether.

“Asshole.” You did hear the treacherous breathlessness of your voice, but also didn’t have it in you to care. The heat between your legs was rapidly intensifying, the friction created by your pressed up thighs only making you more desperate for something real, something substantial to quench your undeniable thirst.

A dark smirk appeared on Mattheo’s face, the one that did nothing to soften his expression – it only made him look more like the devil he appeared to be. A second later, his foot was pushing a door you didn’t even know was there, doing the same from the other side once he walked into a dark room that smelled like wood and broom polish. You didn’t have time to think or formulate a snarky response to his actions before you were getting turned around and bent over, Mattheo’s hand pressing insistently on the back of your neck. You barely had time to stabilize yourself against the cold wooden bench that stood at the wall, your scarf sliding off completely and falling to the floor.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaimed, although it was more of a formality, since you made no actual attempt to get up from the new position. Mattheo, of course, took notice of that, his smirk widening a bit.

“This the only thing you can think of?” His voice was cold and mocking at the same time, not failing to send a shiver down your spine – it was huskier than usual, an undertone of desire obvious even to untrained ears. Mattheo effortlessly lifted up the hem of your robes, the rumpled fabric of your skirt splayed across your ass in a way he found sinful. “Where’s the smartass attitude, hm?”

A sharp smack landed on your ass, stinging even through several layers of clothing. Your body jolted forward, a yelp breaking out of your throat both at the unexpectedness of it and a wave of pleasure the smack sent straight between your legs. Mattheo found himself enjoying your reaction, his hand coming up to rest on your hip, fingers curling and pressing into the flesh.

“Fuck y-,” you started to mutter, glancing at him over your shoulder, but another smack shut you up pretty quickly. You could feel the sting, only intensified when his strong hand grabbed a handful of your ass, roughly kneading and squeezing.

“Much better from this angle,” Mattheo murmured, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek as his eyes shamelessly roamed your body up and down. His free hand slid up your back, pushing you to lean further down against the bench until he reached your hair. His fingers threaded through your locks in an almost tender gesture, one so uncharacteristic of Mattheo Riddle, before he yanked your head back, making you hiss from the harshness of the pull.

The warmth of his body enveloped you whole as Mattheo bent over, his flaming chest covering the entirety of your back. A fleeting thought flickered in your mind, that even the warmest robes couldn’t hold a candle to the human heater that was Mattheo after a Quidditch game. As his mouth neared your ear, his hand never stilled on your ass, lifting your skirt up to bunch up at your waist and running over the fabric of your tights.

“Really?” he asked, mockingly, making you want to strangle him and kiss the hell out of him at the same time. Your lips parted when you felt his sneaky fingers pressing between your legs, causing your thighs to clench. “D’you know I can feel you getting wet?” he cooed, brushing his lips against your ear, you were sure, very deliberately. You closed your eyes, unwanted embarrassment making its way to your cheeks, and you just knew the bastard was smirking again. You couldn’t control your body’s reaction to him, though, and your wetness seeping through your tights fully gave you away.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought your smartass mouth could handle better than that.”

Mattheo gave your hair another tug before his hand slipped down, curling around your throat again. His grip was tight, not allowing even a single millimeter of movement, a strangled gasp escaping you once you felt his hips pressing to your ass from the back. His hard-on was firmly planted between your cheeks, straining against his Quidditch trousers, as if he was trying to break through the layers of your clothing.

“But when I’m next to you,” Mattheo continued murmuring into your ear, a malicious smirk giving his words a dangerous hint, “you’re just a bitch in heat.”

“Fuck. You.”

You somehow managed to find words, the ones you couldn’t bring yourself to say before. Mattheo chuckled darkly, feeling your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his thumb – you really weren’t the best in hiding your deepest emotions, though your face still tried to keep its defiant stance.

“That’s the plan,” he answered, as his fingers moved against your covered pussy, the sound of it, though muffled, still embarrassingly wet. Once his torturous movements stopped, you nearly whined, biting your bottom lip in order to save yourself from further humiliation. Your teeth sunken into your lip didn’t go unnoticed – Mattheo licked his own, his hand on your throat lifting you up just a bit, his body heat a fire burning your back.

“Didn’t know having you speechless would be so…” Another smack on your ass interrupted his words, a squeal caused by the mixture of pain and pleasure sounding through the dark room. “…so fucking hot.”

You gained the courage to push your hips back, a satisfied hum rolling out of your mouth as you felt his cock twitch at the friction.

“So damn impatient,” Mattheo whispered into your ear. His own hips bucked forward, forcefully, enough to make your body jerk again. “But you’re lucky, because…”

He suddenly straightened up, roughly pulling down your tights and baring your skin to the chilly air. It was already stinging from the previous slaps, the sensation now stronger as the frost of early winter bit at the sensitive flesh.

“…me too.”

You didn’t notice the moment Mattheo’s trousers pooled at his feet, but they definitely did, along with his boxers. You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head when his warm, slicked up cock slid through your folds, making you feel every inch of him, providing the friction you desperately craved. Your entrance clenched, as if trying to suck him in but failing. His tip prodded at your hole, your whole body backing against him in an attempt to finally let him inside.

You didn’t have to wait – a single deep thrust, and he was splitting you open in the best, most mind blowing way possible. Your high-pitched moan was so loud it could be easily heard outside, but you didn’t care – you couldn’t care. Mattheo’s groan matched up in volume, his hands gripping your hips with brushing strength.

“If I knew you’d be so fucking tight…”

He pulled out only to thrust right back in, making you moan so loudly you could feel the air shake around you.

“…I’d shut you up like that every. Single. Time.”

Each word was accompanied by another thrust, each one deeper than the last, even though it was physically impossible – at least you felt like he discovered new depths within you every time. The squelching sounds of your pussy roughly meeting his dick echoed through the narrow space you were squished into, the slapping of your bodies surely making its way into the tunnel behind the door. It was something you’d never felt before – the passion, the lust filling your very essence, consuming and turning your brain into mush.

Mattheo’s palm connected with your asscheek again, making it bounce and ripple. Immediately after, he squeezed the round mound, and you hissed, another sting shooting through your body. His pace was unforgiving, but you didn’t want to be forgiven – if that was punishment, you’d rather be guilty for life. The stretch of your walls around his cock felt like it was tearing you apart and gathering you back in one piece right after, and at that moment you were sure that no one else could fuck you like that.

His hand ended up in your hair again as he tugged you up, making your back press against his chest again. Somehow, it was still just as hot as before, causing you to break out in sweat from the exertion and his body heat seeping through your skin and bones. If the room had windows, they would certainly be fogged up. However, the only foggy thing was your mind, getting more and more dazed as your peak approached.

“You wanna cum, huh?” Mattheo growled, his laboured breath prickling at the sensitive skin of your neck. “Wanna cum on my cock, like the slut you are?”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting that, cumming around him was the only thing swirling in your head. You tried to nod, but his grip on your hair didn’t allow it.

“Words,” he muttered, his teeth clenching as he tried to hold his own orgasm back, determined to make you fall apart first. “The only time I want you to use your fucking words.”

“I wanna– Fuck! Wanna cum on your cock,” you managed to mumble, your cheeks heating up at the fact that you had just given in, had given him control over the pleasure you yearned for.

“Do it, then.”

With another rough slap on your ass, you came, wave after wave making your body tremble and shake. Mattheo was quick to finish right after, his growl bordering on animalistic as he spilled deep inside of you. The warmth of his cum felt like it was etched into your very soul, hot and sticky, your clenching hole squeezing some out to trickle down your thighs. Mattheo could get hard all over again just from the sight alone, but he resisted, pulling your skirt down to cover the delicious view.

For a few moments, you could only try catching your breath, leaning on the bench still somehow holding up in front of you.

“Next time you lose, you know where to find me.” Your voice was shaking, yet already filled with the cockiness of knowing that you, in some way, made Mattheo Riddle lose control.

“Next time I win, you won’t be able to walk for days,” he retorted, his tone bearing something akin to a threat. Or a promise.

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, smut, creampie, fem!reader, rough smut, fingering, semi-public, pro hero Bakugo

A/N: this request got the highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA & MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The day had been long, grueling, and sweat-inducing. As a pro hero, keeping in peak physical condition was not just a choice but a necessity. 

The air was thick with the smell of sweat and the faint hint of metal, the rhythmic clanging of weights creating a steady soundtrack to your exertion. 

Bakugo Katsuki, your relentless partner, trainer and one of the top pro heroes, was pushing you harder than ever. His methods were harsh, but you knew they were designed to break your limits and build you up stronger.

"You're slowing down, weakling," Bakugo growled, his voice rough with exertion but tinged with a hint of challenge.

You rolled your eyes, slowly trotting on the treadmill. "I kept up with you for nearly two hours, didn't I? Besides, I think you're just trying to cover up how tired you are."

His eyes flashed with annoyance and something darker, more primal. "Watch your mouth, or I'll show you just how much energy I have left."

Soon, he decided to move to another thing on his to-do list.

You were on the leg press machine, your muscles screaming in protest with each rep. Your tight, grey tank top clung to your sweat-drenched body, the fabric almost translucent against your skin. Every bead of sweat that slid down your nose felt like a drop of fire, a testament to your hard work and determination. Your shorts, snug and form-fitting, accentuated the curve of your ass, catching Bakugo's keen eye every now and then.

"Come on! Push harder!" Bakugo barked, his tone leaving no room for excuses. He stood close, his intense gaze fixed on you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

You gritted your teeth, the burn in your legs almost unbearable. "I'm trying," you managed to gasp out, your breaths coming in ragged bursts.

"Trying isn't enough," he snapped back. "You either do it or you don't. Now give me ten more!"

With a frustrated growl, you summoned every ounce of strength left in you, pushing against the resistance of the machine. Sweat poured off you, dripping onto your décolletage, glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights of the gym. Your body was a study in tension, muscles straining, every fiber of your being focused on completing the set.

"Eight... nine... ten," you counted aloud, finally locking the weights back in place. You collapsed against the seat, your chest heaving, muscles trembling with exhaustion.

Bakugo was immediately in your space, his presence as overwhelming as ever. He crouched down, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with a mixture of pride and challenge. "You did it," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But you're not done yet. Get up."

You groaned, the thought of more exercise almost unbearable. But you knew better than to argue. Bakugo's training methods were brutal, but they were effective. And you had a point to prove, both to him and to yourself.

He led you to the next station, a set of free weights. "We're gonna work on your shoulders now. I want to see perfect form, or we're starting over. Got it?"

You nodded, gripping the weights with determination. Bakugo's eyes never left you, his scrutiny both motivating and nerve-wracking. As you lifted, you could feel his gaze burning into you.

"Keep your back straight," he instructed, moving closer. His hands brushed against your skin as he adjusted your posture, sending a shiver down your spine. "Good. Now, lift."

You followed his lead, lifting the weights with as much precision as you could muster. Every muscle in your body was on fire, but you refused to back down. 

"That's it. Keep going," he urged, his voice softer now but no less demanding. "I want ten perfect reps."

You lost yourself in the rhythm, each lift a battle against your own limits. The sweat continued to pour, dripping off your chin and landing on your chest, mingling with the fabric of your tank top. 

Finally, you finished the set, dropping the weights with a triumphant gasp. Your body was exhausted, every part of you trembling from the exertion. But there was also a sense of exhilaration, a rush of endorphins that made the pain worth it.

Bakugo stepped closer.

For a moment, you thought he might critique your form again, push you for another round. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away a bead of sweat. "You did great, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice a rough whisper. "But don't think this means I'm going easy on you next time."

You smiled, a sense of accomplishment swelling in your chest. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Suki."

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something more intense passing through them. "Good.”

Before you could respond, Bakugo's lips were on yours, the kiss fierce and demanding. 

You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands gripping his muscular shoulders, feeling the strength and heat of his body.

He pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your lips. "Shower. Now."

You nodded, unable to form words, your body already responding to the command. The journey to the locker room was a blur, your mind focused solely on the promise of what was to come. 

The familiar scent of sweat and the sterile cleanliness of the gym's showers greeted you as Bakugo practically dragged you inside.

You stripped off your clothes.

Bakugo was quick to follow, his eyes never leaving your body. “Fucking hot as hell,” he commented, licking his lips. 

There was no shyness between you; the raw attraction was too overwhelming to allow for any hesitation. 

Inside the shower, the steam enveloped you both. The water was warm as you stepped under the spray.

Bakugo couldn't help but steal glances at your toned figure, his eyes tracing the contours of your muscles as they flexed beneath your skin. You, in turn, couldn't resist sneaking peeks at his powerful physique, the water sluicing off his rippling muscles.

Bakugo's body was pressing against yours from behind. His hands were rough, calloused from years of hero work. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his broad chest as his lips found the sensitive spot on your neck. 

Bakugo's lips traveled down your neck, nipping and licking at the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

You moaned, your head falling back to give him better access. 

He took full advantage, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone before moving further still. His fingers found your hardened nipples, teasing them into peaks as his mouth closed around one, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. 

You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Bakugo smiled against your skin, switching his attention to your other breast as his hand slid down your body.

Your breath hitched as his calloused fingers brushed against your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear. 

He began to circle the sensitive nub, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm. 

The teasing motions of his fingers had your legs shaking, threatening to give out beneath you.

Sensing that, Bakugo wrapped his strong arm around your waist to support you, his grip possessive and firm. With his free hand, he guided you closer, your bodies now pressed tightly together. 

The feel of his hard cock pressing against your stomach, made you gasp, and you reached out to gently brush the pads of your fingers against his mushroom tip.

He let out a hiss while his fingers continued their expert ministrations, sliding easily through your wet folds. He increased the pressure, his movements more insistent as he focused on rubbing your clit with his thumb while his middle finger teased your entrance. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice a low, husky growl. "You like this, don't ya, bitch?”

You could only nod, your voice lost to the overwhelming sensations. 

He slipped a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right to hit that sweet, spongy spot. 

Your inner, velvety walls clenched around his digits. “Suki,” his name fell on your lips like a mantra.

The intensity of your orgasm was almost too much to handle, your vision blurring as you were consumed by the release. 

Bakugo's mouth found yours once more, swallowing your moans with a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue danced with yours, the kiss wild and unrestrained.

Finally, he slowed, his fingers slipping out of you, leaving you feeling both satisfied and achingly empty. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. "You look so fucking beautiful like this," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire as he brought his fingers up and tapped them against your lips.

Without hesitation, you parted your lips, welcoming his fingers in. The taste of your own, sweet juices on his fingers was intoxicating, a reminder of the pleasure he had just given you. You met his gaze, your eyes dark with desire as you licked his fingers clean, savoring every drop.

Bakugo's eyes flashed with something primal, his breath hitching as he watched you, jerking his cock with a free hand. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "You're gonna be the death of me."

The hot water cascaded down your bodies, washing away the sweat and grime of the training session.

With a fierce kiss, he lifted you up.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling the hard length of his erect cock pressing against your wet folds. Your core throbbed with need, and you rocked your hips, seeking friction. “Shit.” You looked into his crimson eyes, silently giving your consent.

Bakugo's breath was ragged as he reached between you, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance, running it up and down through your folds. "You're gonna regret challenging me," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

"Oh, Suki," you moaned, his name a plea on your lips.

"Say my name again," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

"Katsuki," you repeated, your voice trembling as you wrapped your hands around his neck.

With a powerful thrust, he entered you, the sensation both painful and pleasant. The feeling of being filled by him was overwhelming, and you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

You gasped out an "Oi!" as he started moving, thrusting into you, allowing his cock to drag back and forth against your sensitive fold whenever he was withdrawing, feeling your hands grip his shoulders and your breath panting against his neck.

The sound of water, mixed with your moans and his grunts, filled the shower. 

Bakugo's pace was relentless, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. 

"Fuck," Bakugo groaned, his movements becoming more erratic. "You're so tight."

The rock of his hips picked up the pace, thrusting in the heat of your pussy as if you had not fucked in weeks, even though it had only been a day. It just felt too good to be inside you, thrusting and grinding, the slap of his hips against your mound filling the bathroom with lewd sounds. Bakugo grunted. “Yeah, fuck.” He thrust in and out, in and out, feeling your pussy stretching to take his cock, getting wetter and wetter with each of his thrusts.

Katsuki pounded into your cunny with a vengeance releasing his pent-up frustrations with each massive thrust. He grunted and panted as he plowed deeper and harder, slapping his body against yours until suddenly he stiffened as an exquisite, convulsive explosion ripped through him. As he exploded deep into your quivering pussy, he felt your echoing response as your body milked the cum from his cock with the force of your own orgasm.

“Katsuki!” you raked your nails down his shoulders, gasping for air.

Soon, the pro hero felt the second load building up, the tension coiling in his body. He gripped your hips tighter, his movements becoming more erratic. Within a minute, he shot another load of thick cum deep inside your quivering pussy. The sensation of his release sent you spiraling into another orgasm, your body clenching around him as you cried out his name.

“Katsuki!”

You were both breathing heavily, the air thick with the scent of sex. 

Bakugo leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, languid kiss.

When he finally pulled out, a mix of your juices and his cum began to drip down your trembling thighs, leaving a trail of slick, glistening evidence of your shared ecstasy.

After you finally stepped out of the shower, toweling off and getting dressed, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bakugo. 

"Don't get too comfortable, Y/N,” he announced with a smirk, catching your gaze. "We're back in the gym tomorrow. No slacking."

[sidekick-hero]

it isn’t over, it’s just begun

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember (prompts: backseat | clothes on | soft and slow | bruise) and @softsteddieseptember (prompt: Road Trip). This is super late, I'm sorry.

The biggest thank you to @firefly-party for reading over this and helping me make sense of English grammar and tenses. UGH.

6k | rated: e | warnings: (consensual) blood drinking | tags: vampire!eddie, monsterfucker!steve, dry humping, Steve takes care of Eddie

Read on AO3

“I’m dead, Harrington, not deaf! Haven’t I been through enough? Do you have to torture me with… with this? Crappy music from an even crappier movie? And here I thought we were friends!”

Eddie’s voice grew louder as he ranted, his hands flapping dramatically, his wide brown eyes sparkling under the streetlamps they passed. For someone technically dead, he was so alive—full of energy and life in every way that mattered. Even with his too-sharp teeth, translucent skin, and the absence of a pulse, he was still, well, Eddie.

Not that Eddie agreed.

That’s why they were here now, on this strange road trip to Washington D.C. to meet some friend of Owens who supposedly had a solution for him. How, Steve wasn’t sure. And if he was being honest, he didn’t entirely trust this friend—or Owens, for that matter. They’d been screwed over too many times, and Steve wasn’t about to risk Eddie’s… non-life.

Eddie seemed on edge too, fidgeting and talking too fast, too loud, confined in the tight space of Steve’s trusty BMW.

“If the movie’s so crappy, how do you know Take My Breath Away is in it, huh?” Steve countered, smirking, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

As expected, the question left Eddie sputtering, before he huffed and crossed his arms, pouting.

Steve took pity and turned the volume down, but not before belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way Eddie looked at him, his attention fixed solely on Steve. If he were being honest, that’s all he’d been craving lately—Eddie’s gaze, his words, his touch.

Steve was down bad.

They’d been driving for six hours, and Steve could feel the toll it was taking on him. He still wasn’t sleeping well—nightmares keeping him awake more often than not. The only thing that brought him any real comfort was when Eddie came back from his nightly hunts. It should’ve felt strange that the only time Steve truly felt safe from the horrors of the Upside Down was when the one "monster" they hadn’t killed or sent back to the alternate dimension was taking a shower in his en suite bathroom before crawling into bed with him.

Not that Steve thought of Eddie as a monster—just because he looked a little different and needed blood to survive didn’t make him one.

The only one who saw Eddie that way was Eddie himself. It had taken weeks to convince him to let them anywhere near him, constantly reassuring him that they knew he wouldn’t hurt them, that they loved him.

Eddie had only agreed to stop hiding in the woods if Steve was there, nail bat in hand, ready to strike at the first sign of danger.

That’s why Eddie was living with him now. And that’s why Steve was the one driving him to Washington to meet this friend of Owens.

“You don’t look so hot, Stevie.”

“Geez, tell me how you really feel, Munson,” Steve shot back, only slightly annoyed. Eddie sounded more worried than anything.

Eddie raised his hands in mock surrender, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Relax, you always look hot, big boy. But right now? You look beat. Wanna take a break?”

A break didn’t sound bad at all, Steve thought. Just to rest his eyes for a bit.

“Not your worst idea,” he conceded, much to Eddie’s delight.

Eddie’s voice turned theatrical as he declared, “I only have good ideas, I’ll have you know.”

Steve’s reply came without thinking. “Sacrificing yourself to the bats wasn’t.” The weight of his words hit him the moment the silence in the car became deafening—not even the sound of Eddie’s breathing, which was more habit than necessity, broke the tension.

Shit.

“Eddie, I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” Eddie cut him off, his voice flat, the humor gone. “There’s a path over there, leading off the road. Take it. We can park at the edge of the woods. You can rest, and I’ll... hunt.”

Eddie’s whole demeanor screamed for him to drop it. As much as Steve hated the tense silence hanging between them, he didn’t know what to say to make it better. He was sorry for how his words had come out, but the truth was, he’d meant them. Part of him knew it wasn’t fair—he hated what Eddie had done, but he also knew that, in Eddie’s place, he would’ve done the exact same thing. Saving Dustin, buying them time. Sacrificing himself because what was his life compared to theirs, compared to the world?

If Steve was being honest with himself, he’d admit that it wasn’t Eddie he was truly angry at—it was himself. He should have been there. He should’ve been smarter, faster. Better. But he wasn’t. He let them fend for themselves, and this was the result.

The car swayed as it rumbled down the gravel path, pulling him back from his spiraling thoughts. What happened, happened. There was no changing it now. The only thing they could do was deal with the aftermath.

Steve parked the car in a secluded spot, hidden from the road to give them some privacy. The second the car stopped, Eddie swung the door open and disappeared into the woods without a word. Steve sat there, staring after him, regret settling like a weight in his chest.

With a heavy sigh, Steve pushed open his door and went around to grab his nail bat and a blanket from the trunk. He crawled into the backseat, balling up his jacket as a makeshift pillow. The bat went under the driver’s seat, just in case, and he pulled the blanket over himself. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, and with the weight of guilt in his stomach and his mind racing, he doubted he’d be able to fall asleep.

But sleep had other plans. It claimed him within seconds, and as usual, Eddie was the last thing on his mind before darkness wrapped around him like a lover.

He came back to himself slowly, like wading through thick molasses, his senses gradually returning one by one. First, there was the awareness inside his body. He was thirsty. Hungry, too. A dull headache throbbed at his temples, and his neck ached from the awkward position he’d slept in. Everything pointed to him having slept far longer than he’d intended.

Next came his hearing—dulled ever since Billy Hargrove had taken a plate to his head, but still somewhat functional. He could make out the distant hoot of an owl and, if he concentrated, the faint sound of cars speeding by on the nearby road. Then there was something else—a rustling sound, faint and close by. He had to strain to hear it, and might’ve missed it if not for how near it was.

Steve kept his eyes closed, everything feeling too heavy and far away. But now, cautiously, he cracked them open just enough to survey his surroundings without alerting any potential threats.

The car was dark; the sun had set a while ago, from the looks of it. At first glance, it seemed like he was alone, and worry crept in about Eddie. But then the rustling sound came again, and this time his eyes landed on its source. Someone was sitting in the passenger seat, trembling violently.

“Eds?” Steve’s voice came out scratchy from sleep. He swallowed and tried again, softer this time. “Are you alright?”

The figure in the front seat—who Steve hoped was Eddie, though who else could it be—shook its head but remained silent. As Steve blinked the sleep from his eyes and they adjusted to the darkness, more details came into focus. Eddie was hunched over, knees pulled tightly to his chest, his feet up on the upholstery. Normally, Steve would’ve complained, but right now all that mattered was making sure Eddie was okay.

“Eddie, please, talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

He sat up and reached out to touch Eddie’s arm, but the moment his fingers grazed the fabric of Eddie’s jacket, Eddie recoiled, scrambling as far as the small space of the car would allow.

“Don’t,” Eddie rasped, his voice raw and jagged, almost unrecognizable.

Ignoring the warning, Steve inched closer, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Eddie,” he repeated softly, using the name again because he remembered the first time they encountered this version of Eddie—feral, lost, barely recognizing them. Nancy had said to repeat his name often, to remind him of who he was. It became a habit Steve hadn’t been able to shake entirely.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. Did something happen while you were hunting?” Steve’s stomach twisted at the thought. What if Eddie had hurt someone? Lost control to the instincts he barely understood? He should’ve been worried about whoever Eddie might’ve harmed—and he was, he was—but more than anything, he worried about what that guilt would do to Eddie. That it would push him to retreat, make him decide that he couldn’t be around people anymore. That he’d leave them.

Leave Steve.

At Steve’s question, Eddie finally looked up, and their eyes met. Steve’s heart lurched. Eddie's eyes were no longer the warm, familiar brown. They were red.

A whimper escaped Steve’s lips before he could stop it, and Eddie’s face—what little Steve could make out—twisted in what looked like pain. Steve realized, too late, that his involuntary reaction had struck at Eddie’s worst fear: that they saw him as the monster he believed himself to be.

“’M sorry, Eds,” Steve stammered, rushing to correct himself. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I’m not scared of you, I swear. I’m just worried for you. Let me help, please.”

With his back pressed against the glove compartment, cowering in the cramped footwell of the passenger seat, Eddie let out a dark, humorless laugh. “You have no idea what you’re asking, Steve. You should just take that trusty bat of yours and bash my head in. That’s the only way you can help.” His voice cracked, raw with desperation. “I… I don’t want to be a monster.”

“I’m not doing that, Eddie.” Steve’s voice was steady, even as his heart hammered in his chest. “You’re not a monster. You’re our friend.”

Eddie let out a bitter sigh, his hand fumbling for the car's overhead light. When it flicked on, Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Eddie looked more monstrous than ever—the sharpness of his teeth more pronounced, his skin drawn tight and pale, dark veins spidering beneath the surface. His red eyes glowed unnaturally in the dim light, and his trembling grew worse.

“I haven’t eaten in days,” Eddie confessed, his voice low and filled with shame. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to kill any of the animals out there. And tonight, when I finally got desperate enough to try… there were hunters in the woods.” He clenched his jaw, as if disgusted with himself. “I couldn’t risk it, Steve. I had to retreat before I hurt them. Before I would have... lost control.”

Steve’s heart twisted at the sight of Eddie—so vulnerable, yet fighting desperately to stay in control. It hurt to see the raw fear in his friend’s eyes, especially when there seemed to be nothing that Steve could do to make it better. There had to be something. Anything.

Eddie’s refusal to feed explained why the monstrous side of him was becoming more pronounced, more visible. The hunger must be unbearable by now, gnawing at him from the inside out. Yet, Eddie—the stubborn idiot—was willing to suffer rather than hurt another living thing. How anyone could see a monster in someone so kind, so selfless, was beyond Steve. He knew without a doubt that Eddie would starve himself to death before ever harming anyone.

But maybe it didn’t have to come to that. Not if Steve had anything to say about it.

“Maybe…” Steve began, choosing his words carefully, “you don’t have to control it.” At Eddie’s incredulous look, he quickly added, “I mean, what if you let yourself have blood—from someone willing to give it to you? You wouldn’t have to hurt anyone if it was, you know, consensual.”

Eddie blinked, his wide, reddish-brown eyes staring at Steve in disbelief.

“Could you repeat that? Because for a second there, it sounded like you were suggesting I should be drinking blood from a person.”

“It sounded that way because that’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Steve said, keeping his tone calm. “Not just any person—someone who’d let you do it, of course.”

Eddie’s expression hardened as his voice rose, anger mixing with incredulity. “Are you out of your mind? You’re suggesting I just walk up to someone and be like, ‘Hey, can I get some consensual blood-sucking in? I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but you’d be doing me a real favor.’ Is that what you’re suggesting?”

The flare of anger in Eddie’s voice was almost a relief. It was familiar, a sign that somewhere under all that fear, the Eddie Steve knew was still there. Steve would take Eddie’s frustration over the emptiness he’d seen in him any day.

“Of course not,” Steve replied, his lips curling into a smile as Eddie’s shoulders sagged a little. “I’m suggesting you drink from me.”

You could’ve heard a pin drop in that moment, even with Steve’s less-than-perfect hearing. He was certain Eddie had even stopped breathing, not that he needed to. Eddie just stared at Steve like he’d suggested they strip naked, douse themselves in glitter, and run sparkling through the streets of Hawkins.

“Did you hear me? I. Want. You. To. Drink. From. Me,” Steve repeated, enunciating each word with deliberate conviction.

Eddie was already shaking his head before Steve had even finished speaking. “No! No, no, no. Absolutely not. You’re insane. I—Steve, please, no.”

It was like Eddie was going through the stages of grief—anger, denial, and bargaining. Robin had explained those to him once, and now Steve was watching them unfold before his eyes.

He knew he couldn’t force Eddie to do it, no matter how desperately he wanted to. The truth gnawed at him: a part of Steve didn’t just want Eddie to feel better; he wanted to be the one who made Eddie feel better. And wasn’t that a messed-up thing to feel?

“Please, man. You’re dying. I can see it, and you can’t go on like this much longer.”

The look of utter defeat was painful enough, but it was the resignation in Eddie’s eyes that twisted the knife deeper into Steve’s heart.

“I’m already dead, Steve,” Eddie said quietly. “I died that night, and I shouldn’t have come back. Not like this. I don’t want to live as a monster. If I don’t feed, maybe I can at least die as a human.”

His words were calm, as though Eddie had made peace with his fate, but the sadness lurking behind them hit Steve like a truck.

It made him furious.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re seriously gonna sit there, look me in the eye, and tell me it’d be better if you were dead?” Steve’s voice shook with raw emotion. “Newsflash, asshole—if you die, it would destroy the kids. Dustin worships your scrawny ass. Mike tries to grow his hair like yours. Max would play D&D just to have you DM the game. And it’s not just them. Nancy. Robin. Me. Did you ever think about that? We need you, Eddie. So don’t you dare say it’d be better if you died, because it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t!”

His chest heaved with the effort of getting the words out, his anger mingling with desperation. But as the weight of his outburst settled, Steve felt something shift—like a festering wound finally being drained. It left him raw, but somehow… cleaner.

For a second, he thought it had worked. Eddie moved toward him slowly, his hand outstretched. Steve noticed the darkened tips of Eddie’s fingers, the sharpness of his nails, more menacing than they’d been just hours ago. But Steve didn’t flinch. He stayed exactly where he was, letting Eddie come closer.

Eddie didn’t bite him. Instead, his fingertips grazed Steve’s cheek, soft as a summer breeze. “You’re crying?” Eddie’s voice was a disbelieving whisper, like he couldn’t fathom that the thought of losing him could bring Steve to tears.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” Steve whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t care if Eddie could see everything he was feeling now—all the love and fear, laid bare for him to witness. If it meant Eddie would accept his help, if it meant Eddie would stay, then Steve would give him everything.

“You really mean it.” The wonder in Eddie’s voice made Steve smile, because it was so unmistakably Eddie.

“For someone so smart, you can be incredibly thick. Yes, I mean it. Now would you please get over yourself and bite me already? Jeez.”

Eddie’s startled laugh told Steve he’d said the right thing. “You do know I repeated senior year three times, right?”

“Yeah, and we both know that had nothing to do with you being dumb, dumbass.”

They both grinned at each other, the kind of goofy smiles that made Steve’s chest feel light. In that moment, all Steve wanted was to lean in and kiss Eddie—just close the gap and see what it felt like to finally do it.

But before he could act on that impulse, Eddie’s face suddenly twisted in pain.

“Eddie? Are you okay? What’s happening?” Steve’s voice rose with the anxiety building in his chest.

Through clenched teeth, Eddie managed, “I’m so hungry and you—” He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You what? Come on, man, I thought we were having a moment here. Talk to me!”

Eddie groaned, clearly struggling, and finally blurted out, “You smell so fucking good, okay? Happy now? You smell good enough to eat and it hurts.”

The weight of Eddie’s words hung in the small space between them, thick with tension. Steve had been through enough—beaten, tortured, fighting interdimensional monsters while babysitting a pack of troublemakers. He’d earned something good in his life, damn it. And if that “something good” was Eddie Munson biting him and drinking his blood to stay alive, then so be it. Steve Harrington would take it.

"Almost," Steve growled, his patience finally snapping. He framed Eddie’s face with his hands, pulling him forward into a kiss that had been months in the making. And Eddie went willingly—no, eagerly—letting Steve lick into his mouth with a muffled, desperate moan.

Without breaking the kiss, Steve leaned back, pulling Eddie with him into the back seat. Eddie followed without hesitation, lips still fused to Steve’s as if they couldn’t bear to part. Maybe it was Eddie’s newfound abilities, or maybe the kiss had awakened some hidden grace, but somehow, Eddie managed to climb into the back with him without so much as a stumble.

The heat between them was electric like a thunderstorm, a shiver of pure need running through Steve’s body.

As they sank onto the cool leather, Eddie’s weight pressed down on him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, something settled in Steve’s chest too—a deep sense of peace. He had craved this closeness for so long, the feeling of Eddie with him, on him.

“Eddie,” Steve moaned, finally pulling back to gasp for air. The moment their lips parted, though, he felt Eddie tense above him, realization dawning in his eyes. The danger of being so close to Steve, so close to his pulse, his heart pounding from desire, the blood rushing beneath his skin—it obviously hit Eddie like a freight train.

Steve knew if he didn’t act fast, Eddie would pull away, put distance between them when all Steve wanted was to be even closer. So he took the leap, pushing Eddie’s face toward his neck just as he wedged his thigh between Eddie’s legs.

“Please, baby,” Steve breathed, voice low and thick with want. “I need you to bite me. I want it. I want you.”

He didn’t care that he was begging—he only cared that Eddie wouldn’t leave him.

“Steve—” Eddie’s voice was strained, pained, and Steve felt the sharp graze of a fang against the sensitive skin of his neck.

Steve didn’t give him time to second-guess. He pressed his thigh upward, right against the growing bulge in Eddie’s jeans, and the movement knocked Eddie off balance. He fell forward, right into Steve’s arms, and Steve held him tight, refusing to let him pull away.

“I know you want to, so do it,” Steve urged, breath coming in shallow bursts. When Eddie still hesitated, Steve rocked his hips up and clawed at Eddie’s back, desperation leaking into his voice. “Do it!”

And then, finally—Eddie gave in. With a groan that was half-pain, half-relief, he sank his teeth into Steve’s neck.

It hurt.

But the pain wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst was the sucking—the sensation of blood being drawn from his veins. It felt foreign, unnatural, mixing with the burning throb of the open wound on his neck. The combination made his head spin, disorienting him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Yet somehow, despite—or maybe because of—the intensity of those sensations, Steve was painfully hard. His cock strained against his Levi’s, which already felt tight on a normal day. Now, they were almost unbearable, constricting, and he half-wondered if they’d cut off circulation to his legs soon.

It was confusing, how his body reacted to Eddie feeding on him, but what really sent shivers down his spine were the sounds Eddie was making. Quiet, needy moans muffled by Steve’s neck, soft hums of pleasure that Eddie probably wasn’t even aware of. And it wasn’t just that—Steve could feel Eddie mindlessly rutting against his thigh, the thick, hard length of him pressing into Steve like a promise.

Steve had never been this close to another guy’s hard-on before. The closest he’d come was watching Tommy H. jerk off beside him in his bedroom during a sleepover, Tommy’s eyes dark with something that had made Steve’s skin prickle. But this? This was so much better. It wasn’t just real—it was Eddie. And Steve had been halfway in love with him ever since that day when Eddie talked about Dustin, about how much the kid worshiped him, and how maybe Steve wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

The cramped space of the car was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths and soft moans, but they weren’t just Eddie’s anymore. Steve’s own sounds were growing louder by the second, the initial sting of pain transforming into a heady mix of heat and need. Each pull on his neck sent a pulse of pleasure straight down to his groin, making his cock twitch against the too-tight denim.

He had never felt anything like this before—this blend of pain and pleasure, of intimacy and raw need. And all he could think was how right it felt. How right Eddie felt.

Steve felt like he was drifting in a dream, the world around him soft and hazy, time slipping through his fingers like sand. He couldn’t tell how long it had been since Eddie’s teeth first pierced his skin—seconds, minutes, hours? Maybe even days. It was impossible to say, lost as he was in the slow, heated grind of their bodies. The friction between them pushed him higher and higher, though he wasn’t sure if it was the pleasure or the blood loss that had his head spinning. A distant part of his mind registered alarm at how weightless he felt, how far away everything seemed.

But Steve felt so good. Safe, even, wrapped in the arms of one of the most dangerous creatures he’d ever encountered.

It was Eddie who finally pulled back with a wet, slurping sound, his mouth leaving Steve’s neck as he gasped for breath. “Steve? Shit, Steve, come on, man, look at me.” Eddie’s cool hand cupped Steve’s cheek, shaking him gently, his fingers trembling as he turned Steve’s face to meet his gaze. When their eyes finally locked, Steve was relieved to see that the red had vanished entirely from Eddie’s eyes, replaced by the familiar warm brown that he had come to love.

“’ddie?” Steve slurred, his voice sounding weak, even to his own ears. He caught the worried look on Eddie’s face, the way his brows knit together and his lips pressed into a tight line, stained with drops of blood. My blood, Steve thought vaguely. Somehow, the idea didn’t bother him. Summoning the last bit of strength he had, Steve smiled and placed his hand over Eddie’s, still resting on his cheek. “’m fine. Promise.”

“You don’t look fine, Steve,” Eddie shot back, panic edging his voice. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Goddammit, why didn’t you stop me? Shit, I could’ve killed you.”

Eddie’s voice cracked with guilt, his words thick with fear and desperation. He sounded wrecked, not in the way the still-persistent throbbing in Steve’s groin suggested they both should be, but wrecked with the weight of what had just happened. But Steve didn’t care about that. He didn’t care that he was dizzy, or that his body felt light as a feather. What mattered was making Eddie understand that Steve wanted this. He wanted everything Eddie could give him—his hunger, his desire, his love. And in return, he wanted Eddie to take everything from him — his blood, his heart, hell, even his life. It was all Eddie’s for the taking.

A gasp slipped from Eddie’s lips, sharp and incredulous. “Eddie…” Steve’s voice was barely a whisper, his gaze soft and unwavering as he stared into Eddie’s wide, unblinking eyes.

“You don’t mean that,” Eddie whispered, his voice thick with disbelief.

Steve blinked, suddenly realizing he must have said it all out loud. Oops.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? So far, Steve’s gut instincts had always guided him right, more or less. He was still alive, wasn’t he? That was good enough in his book even if the Robin in his head was rolling her eyes at him.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I know you don’t believe me, but I do. I want you. All of you—the good, the bad, the ugly.” Steve’s lips curled into a smirk, mischief lighting his eyes. “And if you haven’t noticed…” He rolled his hips deliberately, making sure Eddie could feel just how much he wanted him. “I was really enjoying myself.” To drive his point home, he shifted his thigh, pressing it against the unmistakable evidence of Eddie’s arousal. Above him, Eddie’s face contorted in pleasure, a low moan rumbling from deep in his chest.

Gotcha, Steve thought with a smug little grin.

“And I think you liked it, too,” Steve continued, his voice dipping lower. “So why don’t you stop worrying and get us both off, huh? I��m not sure I can right now, so it’s the least you could do to make it up to me, don’t you think?”

It was a bold move, pretending to be nonchalant when, in reality, Steve felt like he was hanging on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if Eddie would catch him or let him fall. His heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as he watched Eddie’s face—those deep, whiskey-brown eyes wide with surprise, disbelief, and something else that made Steve’s pulse race even faster.

Then, something happened that Steve did not see coming at all.

Eddie laughed.

Not just a chuckle, either, but a real, belly-deep laugh that shook his entire body. The anxiety that had been etched into his features for so long, the haunted look he’d worn since coming back from the dead, finally melted away. In its place, there was warmth, the corners of his eyes crinkling as laughter spilled from his lips, dimples flashing in a way that made Steve’s heart clench.

Eddie was so beautiful.

Eddie’s laughter faded, the echo of it lingering in the close confines of the car like the remnants of a shared secret. His gaze softened, the humor in his eyes shifting into something far more tender, far more vulnerable. “You’re unbelievable, Harrington,” he said, shaking his head, but this time his voice was filled with awe rather than disbelief. “Here you are, barely hanging on, and somehow you’re still making me feel flustered. What kind of guy are you?”

His fingers, cool but delicate, ghosted over Steve’s cheek, the sharpness of his nails a reminder of the monster Eddie thought he was. But the touch? That was all Eddie—the boy Steve had been falling for piece by piece. “You really want me to believe you’re okay with this? With me? After what I just did to you?”

Eddie’s voice wavered, his uncertainty spilling out despite the bravado. “You’re either the bravest or the dumbest guy I’ve ever met. Maybe both.”

Steve couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, one that matched Eddie’s in its softness, despite the tension hanging between them. “I don’t hear you telling me I’m wrong, man. We’ve been talking about me—what I want. But what about you?” He paused, his voice gentle but probing. “What do you want, Eddie?”

Eddie’s reply came without hesitation. “You.”

Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest while the butterflies in his stomach went wild. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Then have me.”

Blessedly, this time, Eddie didn’t argue. He didn’t hesitate or question whether he deserved this—deserved Steve. He just did what Steve asked.

Pushing himself up on one arm, Eddie moved his other hand from Steve’s cheek, letting it trail down to palm him through his jeans. The earlier intensity had faded slightly during their conversation, but the moment Eddie’s hand found him, it was like lighting a match to gasoline. Heat surged through Steve, reigniting everything Eddie had stirred up.

Eddie's grin widened, his sharp teeth gleaming as he looked down at Steve, the dangerous undertone of it a sharp contrast to the mischievous, boyish excitement that always pushed Steve to keep up with his contagious energy. “I knew you’d be packing, big boy,” Eddie teased, his voice full of admiration and humor. “And all this for lil’ old me?” His fingers squeezed experimentally before running along the length of him, feeling the way Steve’s body responded, hardening further under his touch.

Steve, still a little lightheaded from the blood loss—made worse now that more of his blood seemed to be rushing south—blinked up at Eddie, his thoughts scrambled. All he could do was press his hips up, seeking more friction, his body moving on instinct even if his brain was lagging behind.

His hips began to grind against Eddie’s hand, slowly at first, trying to find a rhythm as Eddie held back, teasing, not giving him the relief he craved. Words failed him, but his body knew exactly what it wanted, each roll of his hips desperate and pleading.

“Didn’t anyone ever—fuck—tell you not to play with your food?” Steve groaned, hips stuttering as Eddie’s touch continued its slow, maddening exploration. It was risky bringing up the fact Eddie had just fed from him, but the elephant in the room wasn’t going anywhere, so why not address it now, while they were both caught up in the heat of the moment?

Eddie paused for just a moment, his eyes searching Steve’s with an unreadable expression. Then, he laughed softly, the sound low and rough, sending a shiver through Steve's entire body. "Oh, sweetheart," Eddie murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing against Steve’s ear. "You have no idea how much I want to devour you."

Before Steve could even process Eddie’s words, Eddie shifted, settling between his thighs. The new position aligned their hard cocks perfectly, and they both gasped at the intense sensation. Eddie leaned down, nosing along Steve’s jaw until his breath ghosted over Steve’s ear. “Thank you, Stevie,” he whispered.

Eddie's hips rolled slowly, expressing his gratitude with each movement, though Steve wasn’t sure what Eddie was thanking him for. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the electric friction between them, the delicious drag of flesh against flesh. The weight of Eddie’s body should have made Steve feel trapped, but instead, it just amplified his need, igniting something primal within him. He was prey—and he loved it.

That thought made him cling even tighter, his legs wrapping around Eddie's waist to increase the friction. Eddie’s pace quickened, hips thrusting with more purpose, slow but insistent, like they were making love for real. Like Eddie was buried deep inside him. And suddenly, that’s all Steve wanted—Eddie inside him, closer, always closer. His teeth in Steve’s neck, his cock in his body. He needed to feel everything.

Steve’s fingers dug into Eddie’s back, nails scratching against the thin fabric of his shirt in a desperate attempt to mark him, to claim him the way Eddie had claimed Steve with his bite. Eddie didn’t complain—if anything, the scratches seemed to spur him on. His breath hitched, and he let out a string of grunts and moans, the sounds vibrating against Steve’s skin as Eddie whispered praises into his ear. He called Steve brave, kind, selfless, and so, so pretty.

Steve had experienced some incredible sex in his life, but nothing compared to this—dry-humping Eddie Munson in the backseat of his car, bodies pressed together, breathless, and needy.

A familiar tightness coiled in his groin, his whole body tensing as he teetered on the edge of release. But something was missing.

“Bite me,” Steve begged, his voice high and needy, almost desperate.

Eddie whimpered, his hips stuttering for just a moment. “Steve—”

Not willing to let Eddie pull away, Steve’s hand gripped his ass, urging him to keep moving, while his other hand pressed against Eddie’s neck, guiding him closer to his own neck. “I’m close, baby, so close. Please.”

As Eddie's teeth sank into his flesh once more, Steve's vision blurred, the rush of pleasure and pain so overwhelming it felt like his soul had left his body for a moment. He must’ve floated away for a bit, because when he came back to himself, he was no longer beneath Eddie but lying on top of him, his head resting on Eddie’s chest, while Eddie’s fingers gently combed through his hair in a soothing rhythm.

Steve must’ve made a sound, or maybe Eddie was attuned to the change in his breathing, because Eddie noticed right away.

“Hey, sweetheart, back with me?” Eddie’s voice was soft, warm, filled with affection.

“Mmm,” Steve hummed, feeling content and utterly spent. His limbs felt like they weighed a ton, his body heavy but blissfully sated. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Never?” Eddie chuckled, his laughter light and fond, and Steve could feel himself falling even deeper into this perfect moment, cocooned in the warmth of post-orgasmic bliss.

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, his stomach growled loudly, breaking the quiet. Eddie snorted. “I think we have to move, darling. That sounded like a demogorgon.”

Steve groaned in protest, causing Eddie to give in with a soft smile. “Okay, fine. A few more minutes, but then we’ll get you something to eat and drink.” His hand drifted to Steve’s neck, thumb gently brushing over the already healing bite. “This took a lot out of you. Let me take care of you, okay? Like you did for me.”

Steve snuggled closer, the idea of being cared for by Eddie sounding better than anything. “Okay,” he mumbled.

Eddie pressed a lingering kiss to the top of his head, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Stevie.”

[honeyshiddendesire]

PAIRING: Red Leg Zeff x Female Reader x Monkey D. Garp

SUMMARY: You work at the Baratie and can't get enough of the icing that Chef Zeff makes but what happens when he catches you liking it a bit too much…or the one were Garp and Zeff tag team you 🤭

WARNINGS: HEAVY INCEST PLAY (no real relation)!! Use of DAD, FATHER & UNCLE!!! but once again not actually related! Just two old men being super perverts!! Double penetration (vaginal & anal)! Pet names like KIDDO, SWEETHEART, LITTLE GIRL (reader is mid 20s), KID, PRINCESS, DAUGHTER! Super icky shit!!! Reader is around her 20s working at Baratie! Reader doesn't get she's kinda flirty! FOOD PLAY! Sloppy pussy/ass eating 🤷‍♀️, DIRTY TALK, praise & degradation, dick sucking, double penetration full nelson, rough sex, slapping, spanking, hair pulling

LAST WARNING ⚠️ THIS STORY IS NASTY LOL DON'T COME FOR ME BEING LIKE EWWEEE THIS IS GROSS CAUSE YES…YES I KNOW. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

WORD COUNT: 6K plus

*Reposting this! I added to my old/deleted account but now its back. Alot was italicized and bold but that's 6k words I'll have to fix and I'm not about that life lol so enjoy 💖*

“Ohh~ my god~!” A moan deep within your chest erupted as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Head falling with a dramatic sigh, shoulders dropping in pure ecstasy. “Nnn~ Zefff~ y-you’re amazing~!” A pleased whimper leaving before a drawn out moan of the man’s name left your pretty little throat that still bared itself to him. He wanted to lick up your neck and mark it all over.

“So goood~ Dad~!” You whined out as your brows furrowed, the sweet taste overwhelming your senses and brain. Tongue darting out to lick at the white substance that threatened to drip down your chin. The man watching your every expression with focused eyes. “Zeff~ I want more? Please?” You beg as your eyes finally focus on the older man before you dreamily.

His face beat red for some unknown reason you couldn’t figure out. Chest rising and falling quickly as he looked at you. Arms crossed over that round chest of his making your eyes wander down. You couldn’t help but think of how soft it would feel against you before going back to look at him. Your tongue coming out to lick the spoon he gave you completely clean, eyes looking into his. Swirling your tongue around the spoon for one last time with a light moan as you looked at him deeply. Smiling as you hand the spoon back to him.

Zeff was flustered to say the least, jaw clenched and a deep frown set in his face. Arms crossed gripping tightly as he grinded his teeth, eyes looking at your shiny mouth. Heavy breaths leaving him as your drooling tongue lapped away at the white almost translucent icing. Looking like semen with how lewdly you moaned and sucked on the spoon. Totally unaware of the twitch in the grown man’s cock that you’ve stir to life.

You were only in your mid twenties, around Sanji’s age, the man he considered a son. You were just another kid. Hell you’d both make a good couple together if he was being honest.

Except!

Zeff couldn’t stop thinking of pouring that icing on his cock and making you lick it the same way you did the spoon. Wanting to see if you'd choke with icing and cum smearing those cute cheeks he wanted to smush in his large palm. Forcing you to look at him as he shoves his sticky cock deep in your little cunnie. Needing to pull those same whines and whimpers like you did licking a stupid fucking spoon. Oh how he wanted to split your cunt apart.

Bouncing on your feet with a big smile that has his brow twitching, “Zeff please?” You ask again, wiggling the wooden spoon to him in hopes he would give you more.

He looked at your glistening lips with hunger, they had to be so sticky from the icing he made you taste. You stepped closer with puppy eyes as you held the spoon higher.

“Dad~” You beg him with the name you tease him with as you get closer in his personal space, something you usually did without realizing. Not that he would ever stop you. A name you call him that makes his heart race and cock leak shamefully so.

“Just one more spoon.” He tells you sternly, making you squeal as you close the distance to hug him. Arms wrapping around his soft midsection as you squeezed him tightly, a hum leaving you. “Don’t spoil your dinner.” Zeff tells you as he pats your head making you smile up at him. Hand rubbing your soft waves that smelled of cinnamon and sugar, snickerdoodles, he thought to himself.

“Thanks dad always worrying about me.” You giggle playfully before turning around to scoop some icing out of the bowl.

Moaning as you wiggled your hips side to side happily. Ruffles on your sprinkle patterned skirt exaggerated the movement of your ass shaking as you licked the spoon with a hum. Bending over to put your elbows on the counter gave him a glimpse of your soft looking thighs he wanted to bruise.

Picturing the way you’d squeal as he pried them open, shoving your panties to the side. Your shocked whimper as his thick cock slaps against your cunt before forcing its way inside. But he wouldn’t be able to stop stuffing your tight pussy no matter your protests, needing to feel your cunt filled. Fucking you on the counter with his hands squeezing your thighs till he left marks.

Or keeping you how you are now by just pressing a heavy hand to your head. Smushing your cheeks against the counter as he pushed your panties down and skirt up. Slapping your cunt if you squeal in complaint but he knows you're his good baker. His sweet little girl, always listening and following orders without complaining.

He knows if he slammed his fat cock in your tight wet cunt you’d accept and take whatever he gave. Even if he spanks or fucks your throat, pulling on your ponytail while he rams his cock in. Anything. You’d take it all.

“Zeff. Marine’s are here. Well…one marine?” An employee explained, making him grunt in annoyance now that he had to turn away from your bent over form.

“Tell everyone to go home.” Zeff waves off the guy who just nods, you’re completely oblivious to the whole ordeal.

Shaking your hips to a tune in your head, you never realized how much time had passed or the fact you grabbed wayyyy more than a spoonful. “Hmmhmmhmm~” you sing away as you dig in the bowl again.

Just outside the kitchen Zeff raises a brow at the famous marine, “What’s a marine like you doing here?” He says with a serious voice before both men smile and take a seat together.

“What can I say, Zeff, even Marines can appreciate a good steak.” Giving a roaring laugh that Zeff joined in on casually.

Then as Zeff went to stand and grab drinks he was interrupted by your sweet sounds. Not realizing just how much they echo in his restaurant. The discovery making his heart race with excitement realizing just how loud your voice would travel as he takes you.

“Uh Zeff~” You moan his name still in disbelief that he’s managed to make such a perfect flavor. Texture so smooth yet sticky but somehow still managed to remain light where you can’t help but crave more. Knees nearly buckling so you’re left dropping to your chest on the counter, ass even higher.

On your tippy toes even in your heels, eyes rolled back as you pictured the naughtiest things. Everyone thought little you was so sweet and chipper. Dressed like a cute princess everyday even ignoring Zeff’s protests and still managing in heels. Skirts and dresses with the cutest prints all the while thinking of eating the desserts you make off of Zeff.

Pouring this icing all over his cock, which you bet was perfect enough to stuff you like a cannoli. Thighs pressing together at the thought of him pouring icing on your pussy and licking you clean. His skilled tongue, able to taste every flavor of your essence, pin point every note. The thought left you drooling even more.

“Mmm~it tastes so good.” You whimpered as you let your head lay on the counter on its side. Spoon forgotten in your hand as you needed to calm yourself down. Always getting turned on while eating sweet treats thinking of eating them off the big man, but that was your little secret no one needed to know.

“Just when I thought we became friends, you go and hide a tight thing like that?” Garp whistles as Zeff and him peek in the window on the kitchen door. Your bent over form showing the underside of your ass now making the two old men lick their lips.

“The kid’s a looker that’s for sure…but I don’t know. She’s Sanji’s age I could be her dad.” Zeff grumbled, making Garp laugh deeply.

“Sounds even better. Come on Zeff old man, don’t you want to hear her moan like that around your cock instead of that spoon?” Zeff looked you up and down slowly, picturing your legs on his shoulders, heels scratching him. Your neck thrown back as Garp stretched it out, the bulge in your throat would be clear for the both of them.

Smirking, he looked at Garp who only laughed as he slapped a hand on Zeff’s shoulder. “Haha! That’s the spirit.”

Opening the door the two men entered and that’s when the sweet torture began.

Your ass bent so far that the underside of your cheeks were peeking out. Swinging your hips again you helped the two old men’s gaze. Swaying them side to side in short swings that made your skirt swish around for them to catch a glimpse of your very sheer panties.

Such sheer fabric that they saw every detail of your pretty pussy. The panties were for looks not for coverage as they did everything but cover your intimate areas. Fabric so delicate they could shred it in barely a second. Mouths watering at the sight of you pressing your thighs together with another moan of Zeff’s name. The thigh high socks you wore making their jaws clench.

Your greedy hands having put the spoon in your mouth again, too addicted to the sugary treat to contain yourself longer than a minute. “Ugh~ dad! How do you do it?” You whimpered as your eyes rolled back in a lustful imagination.

What you’d do to lick this icing off of him. Watching that stern expression try to remain calm as you lick his sticky cock.

You wondered what it looked like. Was it thick and short, just all girth to stretch you or was he a big man both length and width? Or maybe none of those and super thin with an average size which is fine as long as he’ll let you sit in his lap.

Oh how you wanted him to just bounce you on his thigh as he calls you his nasty kiddo for wanting such things from an older man. But he’d be even ickier for making your cunt so messy in the first place.

Always being so nice and strong, such a gentleman and chivalrous who could resist. You bet he was wild in bed though. Gentleman act out the window as he forces you on his cock. The image of Zeff’s soft body squeezing you down into the mattress, practically sitting on your thighs in a mating press to remind you who’s always in charge.

Chef Zeff.

The greatest, rival only to his protege, Sanji. A man who would do anything to get in your panties but you were too busy trying to get in his daddy’s to care.

“You doing alright there kiddo.” Zeff’s voice rings out to you, making you gasp.

“Looks like the kid had a sugar crash.” Another man’s deep laugh boomed, making you stand up straight and spin around. Being the airhead you managed to drop the spoon on the floor, accidentally kicking it under the counter.

“Whoopsie! S-sorry chef!

“Now you’re making a mess in my kitchen too little girl?” His choice in name had your face flush and a small smile pole at your cheeks. Taking a quick glance at him you mumbled a quiet, “Sorry dad.” You mumbled your usual title when either you mess up, wanna tease him or he’s being extra stern with you.

A joke you never realized stirred his cock to life. Garp even noticed considering the name was making him lick his lips. Looking at Zeff with a wide grin as he leans down to whisper something you miss.

“Dad aye? Think this kiddo can even handle a couple of dirty old dogs like us?” He asked in a chuckle now taking in your innocent act.

Both watched as you turned back around and went to your knees, chest going allll the way down to the floor. Checking for the spoon you reached your hand under but clicked your teeth as you couldn’t reach. Bending down more, arching your chest further into the floor till your cheek pressed into the tile.

“Dang it.” You mumbled to yourself quietly wiggling your fingers.

“Shit.” Garp grunted teeth grinding together as your skirt full on flipped over, unawares to you and the ruffle malfunction. Pussy lips on full display from the sheer panties that were barely panties.

“Dammit Kid!” Zeff snaps as he removes his hat, hand rubbing over his face in disbelief. Eyes widening as he watches you arch into the most prettiest position. Posed like that he had a clear view of your slutty holes that stared at him perfectly. Whichever one he chooses he knew it would be a tight fit.

Hearing you whine, and literally seeing your pussy clench around nothing as you tried to wiggle your arm for the spoon had the man lose it. Walking over to you he crouched down right behind you, hand going to the base of your spine.

The large palm that placed itself ut there shocked you making you gasp as you looked behind your shoulder. The sight of you looking back at him in this position made him smirk thinking of taking you like this. Wondering how your face would look taking his cock.

“Oh I’m sorry Zeff! Am I in your way?!” You squeal taking your arm out from under the counter, now leaning on your elbows still bent over.

Always so oblivious to the positions you put yourself in at times. Usually it was to Zeff’s dismay when he’d catch a glimpse of your bent over form but today things would change.

“No such thing kiddo.” He reassures before chuckling that deep tone that you loved. Letting his hand slowly travel up your spine following the curve all the way up to the back of your neck. A shiver leaving you as he let it slowly travel back down, a whimper slipping out.

“Dad! That tickles!” You squeal out with a little pout as you wiggle your hips to shake off the feeling. Your ass brushing against his cock making him groan.

“Quite the squirmy one isn’t she?” That other man said making you laugh as you looked back under the cabinet. Stretching your arm out further.

“Can’t help it! He’s always tickling me! He’s silly!” You laugh as you look at the spoon so close but so far. Zeff humming as he rubbed your lower back before a bold fire flared up in the man’s chest. Feeling you brush against his cock was making him ready to pounce.

“Can’t help it sweetheart. I’m a naughty old man, what can I say.” Zeff finally confessed, making you look back at him with a pout. The pose and how your face stared at him made his cock twitch harder.

“Tickling doesn’t make you a naughty old man.” You frown and he smirks at your naïveté, hand going up your spine again until he grabs you by the neck.

“Come here kiddo.” He commands, applying the tiniest bit of pressure to your neck making you sit up. His arm going around to drag you back flush against his chest. Hand going to wrap around your waist tightly.

“You’re right it’s not the tickling that makes me a bad man. It’s the uncontrollable urge of wanting to shove my fat cock in that tight little pussy of yours that makes me a bad man.” His admission practically growled in your ear, making you shiver.

Your eyes widened as you turned your head to the side to glance at him. “Really Da-Chef?” You went to call him dad again, but stopped as you pressed your thighs a bit together not wanting to sound icky. Biting your lip as you played with the ruffle on your skirt.

“Nngh!” You gasp as you felt Zeff’s large hand going on your leg, sliding inwards. Kneading your thighs as he made his way up making you squirm.

“Yes. Now sit still for your father.” Zeff smirks at your shocked expression, submission melting in your eyes as he reassured your icky fantasies. Turning them to reality in a matter of seconds with a simple command.

“Why don’t you be dad’s good girl and help my friend and I out?” Zeff asked as he started to kiss along your shoulder blades. “Mmm~!” You sigh in pleasure as you bare your neck to the side, leaning back into his squishy body.

His lips leaving kisses along your neck as his hand still groped at your thighs. “Dad~” Voice a spoiled whine as you slowly open your legs for him to further his descent to your wetness.

“Obedient little thing ain’t she.” You heard the other man say accompanied by the sound of rustling clothes. The sound of a zipper making your breath hitch. “Oi! Bring the lass to me ya greedy bastard.”

“Who are you calling a greedy bastard? This baby is mine I’m just sharin’ with you.” Zeff grumbled against your neck, sucking a spot for later.

“Well ~ share her then.” Garp said with excitement as he rubbed his hands together. Going over to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair to sit in with a small grunt.

Zeff grumbled as he nipped the skin of your neck but had to agree it was definitely dessert time. Taking his arms to slip them under your spread thighs he lifted you up with a grunt.

“D-dad!” You squealed in total shock at his strength still with a peg leg, your arms going behind you to grab his shoulders.

“Getting old I see.” Garp laughs at his friend's exact reaction to his aching bones. But that wouldn’t stop the horny old dogs, not even for a second.

“Shut up! Don’t act like I didn’t hear you just a second ago!” Zeff snapped back with a laugh as he sat in the chair Garp pulled out for him.

Keeping you in his lap as he sat in front of the other man. Your legs were going to close as you sat in front of the new man but Zeff only clicked his teeth in disapproval.

“Easy princess. Open up those pretty legs of yours if you know what’s good for you.” Zeff tells you with a kiss to the side of your head making you whimper.

“Name’s Monkey D. Garp, vice admiral.” Garp winked at you as he spread his muscular legs leaning back in his chair as he propped an arm up on the table.

He was just as handsome as Zeff, white hair on his head and happy trail that was peaking out of his opened pants. Swallowing at the sight of his strong body from his unbuttoned shirt.

“Careful looking at me like that little girl.” Garp smirked at you as he rubbed his large bulge in his pants, mouth watering at the sight. Biting your lip you watched as he released his huge cock from his boxers, tip leaking angrily. A groan left him as the cool air touched the hot flesh in his big palm.

Zeff was kissing along your neck, hands pushing your panties to the side with impatience. “Always teasing your father hmm?” Zeff asks you, making you shake your head. A swap to your open thigh left you gasping in shock at the sting. “Don’t lie to me sweetheart.”

Keeping your legs open he let his hand run over your wet slit, groaning at your dripping folds. Fingers dipping in to catch at the honey that spilled from your lips. Scooping some up to bring his fingers to your lips. “Open wide.” Zeff smirks as he shoves his fingers in your mouth to taste your essence.

“Mmm~nghh ” you whine as he gags you on his fingers. “Moaning like a whore over eating some icing. Have you no shame little girl?” Zeff tells you to make your eyes roll back as you feel fingers touching your pussy again. Glancing down you see Garp’s large fingers circling your slutty hole before dipping inside. Stretching you out on his large fingers had you yelp and push back into Zeff with a whine.

His fingers were so large as he shoved two in your tight wet cunt. Your walls squeezing his fingers that he started to scissor open and spread for his friend. Thumb swiping some of your slick to run at your clit, making your body shiver with pleasure.

“My dirty girl loves having two old men fawning over her. Isn’t that right princess?” Zeff asks as his lips kiss your face and neck, cock pushing into your ass. You nod, turning your head into his loving kisses, feeling so safe and cozy in his strong arms.

“You should grab that icing off the counter and have yourself a snack.”

Garp looks at the man with a wide grin as he removes his fingers from you. “Haha! I like your thinking old man.” Garp laughs as he gets up to grab the bowl, sucking on his fingers that we’re just inside you as he walks with no shame. Big cock bouncing between his legs making you whimper and wiggling back into Zeff. His cock felt thick against your ass too and you couldn’t help but cling onto him more.

Zeff removed his wet fingers from your mouth and brought them down to your ass. Rubbing at your other hole that you’ve never touched makes you whine, “Dad?”

“Shhh princess. Daddy’s just checking to see if this one works too. Gotta make sure you’ll fit my friend here.” He teases you as he lets his wet fingers circle your ass before slowly inserting one inside.

“A-ahh!” You cry out as he slowly stretches out your unused hole. Garp sitting down licking his lips as he watched you being prepped.

Pouring some icing on your pussy made you gasp but it turned to a scream as Garp wasted zero time in dropping to his knees. Big tongue lapping out to lick at your asshole that Zeff stretched up to your clit. Licking every hole completely as he looked at your face. “Shit it does taste good.” Garp moaned at the sugary treat that now decorated your tight folds. Hands coming to spread your pussy open as he shoved his tongue inside. Swirling the muscle to lick your walls before sucking on your clit again.

Zeff’s fingers pick up their pace as the extra stimulation makes you more relaxed. A moan leaving you as he adds a second finger thanks to Garp being a messy eater and licking both holes. His drool dripping down to help the other man unawares of his own mess making. Groans and moans being fed into your pussy as Garp ate you out loudly. Big tongue going from fucking your pussy to sucking on your clit. The mix had you gasping and shaking.

Pouring more onto your clit, he sucked on it roughly as he shoved his thick fingers back inside you. “Ahhh! Dad! Uncle~!” You moan out and Garp’s fingers speed up at your new title for him too.

“God I wanna keep her. Share her with me forever. Fuck! Please.” Garp babbled into your pussy as he licked your hole around his fingers.

Garp was a greedy man despite not admitting it. Tongue and fingers both so impatient he’s fighting with his own self to choose which to do first. Not being able to decide by fingering you or tasting your essence directly.

“U-uncle t-that feels good.” You moan as you arch your back, causing your lower half to push into their fingers in both holes. “AH! Dad please! Cum! C-can I cum dad please! I-I’ll be good.” You plead as you feel heat boiling throughout your body like a tea kettle. Skin growing slightly sticky from a small layer of sweat and the icing on your pussy.

Garp pulled back and pushed your top up exposing your breast that lacked a bra. Pouring a bunch of icing on your tits he went to work cleaning you. Sucking your nipples free of the sweet treat, licking his way across to the next with a moan. Grazing his teeth against the hardened bud making you hiss but arch into him further nonetheless.

“Wanna cum for your dad and uncle?”

Nodding your head rapidly makes the two men chuckle at your impatience, but Garp wasn’t judging; he was rather impatient himself. Finger fucking your cunt faster and rubbing at your clit so he could feel you soak his hands. “Yesyesyes! Please dad! I wanna cum for you.” You beg as you turn your head to look at him.

Zeff catches your lips in a kiss as he fingers your ass faster along with Garp. Moans filling his moan from you as your orgasm washed over. Slutty holes clenching around the fingers that never stopped moving. Wanting to help you ride it out till you were shaking from over sensitivity.

“That’s it baby girl. Doing so good cumming for us.” Garp praised as his eyes watched your cunt soak his fingers. Your holes tighten around their fingers making their cocks twitch with excitement.

“We can’t wait to stretch your little holes out on our big cocks little one.” Zeff says against your lips making you shiver at the intimate closeness and lewdness of his words.

Legs shaking from your orgasm had the men smiling with pride. Garp licking up from your pussy back up to your tits that he started sucked harder. Squirming as his free hand groped and grabbed them harshly, loving the rough feeling of his calloused skin. So rough even when they’re trying to be gentle, ugh it left you literally melting. Legs naturally falling more open to receive whatever they gave you.

Both withdrawing their fingers made you whine at the empty feeling but Zeff only kissed your head. “Hush princess. You’re acting greedy like your uncle, it’s our turn now.” Zeff smirked as you turned to look at him. Drool falling down from your lips as your eyes practically sparkled.

“Sorry dad. What should I do?” You ask not wanting to be reprimanded. Pleasure only in the forefront of your mind as there would be other times to be a brat.

“Spread your legs up here pretty girl.” Garp said, lifting you up onto the kitchen table out of Zeff’s lap. Taking off your panties you leaned forward and put them in Garp’s pocket for his later memory. The action caused the man to laugh but shove them deeper inside nonetheless.

Laying back on the table you spread your legs wide to accommodate his size But to your surprise he went around the table stroking his cock. Grabbing the icing he winked at you as he poured a bit on messily so it would drip on you as well.

Sticky cock tapping at your lips making you whine as you licked them. Sticking your tongue out you let him slide his heavy tip inside. Licking around to suck at the icing and the precum that dripped, “Mmm~ uncle please.” You beg him as your arms reach up to grab his thighs.

Zeff lets out his thick cock to slide it along your juicy cunt. Groaning at your wetness against his heated cock, his precum mixing with your essence. Zeff waited until Garp pushed his cock further in your mouth before he slammed his dick into you.

Wanting you to feel the burn, the stretch of his cock inside you. It was cruel that he wanted it to hurt you a bit before pleasure washed over you like an ocean wave. “Ahh ~mmphm!” You scream around Garp’s long cock that fucked into your throat.

Pulling off of his cock with a scream, “D-dad! It’s too big!” You cried out, mouth drooling with desire. You loved how he didn’t give you time to relax. Your pussy creaming around his cock that forced its way inside lovingly. Taking what he wanted for himself despite your fake pleas.

“S-stop it!” You moaned out as he fucked your weeping cunt roughly. Garp’s hand pushing your shoulders back down onto the table with a grunt. “Don’t think so kid. You stop it.” Garp snaps as Zeff swats at your clit making you whimper.

“Don’t be a brat. Just be a good kiddo and take my cock like you’re supposed to.” Zeff tells you as he runs his thumb down to your wet slit to collect some slick before rubbing it against your clit.

Garp opens your mouth to shove his cock back inside which you willingly received. All of you moaning at the pleasure you’re all getting now, “There you go kid. Look how pretty you look, sucking cock and getting your pussy abused.”

Garp rubbing your cheek as you swallowed around him from the praise. Mouth drooling as your throat accepted his large member, heavy and hot against your tongue.

“Wow princess~ I didn’t think you’d fit my cock in that throat of yours.”

“It looks so great how it puffs out her neck.” Zeff grunted as he pulled out of your cunt only to force his way back inside. Not caring for your whimpers knowing they’ll change shortly considering he was fucking into your sweet spot. Your spongey cunt crying out to accept his fat cock.

Zeff’s strong hands push your legs back so your cunt accepts him deeper. Your hand going up to cup Garp’s balls as you swallowed around his cock. Choking on his dick that bullied your throat recklessly. Moaning as your pussy gets used roughly and deeper.

“Sucking Uncle’s cock like a good little girl. You like getting used like this huh kid?” Garp asked as he let his hands grope your breast roughly.

Thrusting his hips shallowly into your throat or he’d cause some serious harm. Long, thick cock fucking into your wet mouth that wrapped around him. Tongue licking at the base of his cock. “Mmmm~” You moaned around his leaking cock with lust as Zeff forced your pussy open to his liking. Putting his knee up on the table to rest on his solid leg he fucked you harder till you were screaming around Garp’s cock.

Garp slapped your tits before pouring some icing on them to lick you all over. Easing the sting of his slaps with sucking off the icing. Tongue twirling around your sensitive nipples, moaning from the sweet taste.

“Damn kiddo you’re so tight.” Zeff groaned as he rocked into your cunt, table rattling like the ocean from the back and forth thrusting. Garp going in your throat at the same time as Zeff so you couldn’t run away from the pleasures they were giving you.

Your nipples being sucked on roughly with your holes being used made you whine. Whimpers and gargled moans left you uncontrollably. You wondered if you should’ve been embarrassed but you weren’t. The feeling of Zeff’s cock filling you like no other left you shaking and tightening up as you felt yourself going to cum.

“Ease off old man.” Zeff grunted as he felt your pussy clamping down on his cock. Wanting to hear you moan out a bit unfiltered Garp backed out of your throat.

“Well let me join you, I'm almost there.” Garp huffed out but Zeff nodded and pulled out to let the marine manhandle you into a full Nelson. Garp’s wet cock sliding into your ass slowly with Zeff erasing the pain as he slid into your pussy. “Where in the world have you been princess?” Garp groaned out feeling your warmth.

“Fuuuuuck!” You choke out as you feel them moving inside of you with no remorse. Their cocks big enough to hit your sweet spot no problem getting you wet. Fucking your furthest walls making you moan out for them. “Uncle! Uh nngh ooooh! Yes daddy!”

It was incredible how you felt your brain shut off turning to mush as you got manhandled. Your walls tingling with pleasure that you never imagined you would feel. The man you’ve lusted after for awhile was finally balls deep fucking into your cunt it was amazing.

Tight holes swallowing the men inside you. Slick dripping down to land on their heavy balls. “How does my little girl like getting her holes used?” Zeff asked as he rolled his hips into you. Hands gently touching your breasts before pinching your nipples roughly. Twirling the hardened buds before sucking them into his mouth for a taste test.

“I asked you a question, doll.” Zeff stated as his teeth grazed your sensitive nipples. Sucking on them and flicking them with his tongue to tease you. The actions causing you to clench around him feeling all hot as his eyes stared at you.

“I l-love it! Ahh! Feel so full!” You cry out in your folded position. Eyes in your skull with drool dripping to your tits as your cunt and ass got fucked. Holes gaping with their girth, slick and icing layering your skin. “They’re so big!” You squeal as their lengths thrust into you.

Squishing sounds, wet slaps and slurps of Zeff’s mouth filled the kitchen making your ears ring. It sounded like the dirtiest porno and you wanted to watch it over and over. “Thank you dad! So good! More~!”

“Shit Zeff I’m gonna have to visit a lot -Nngh fuck!” Garp moaned as he lifted you onto their cocks, up and down up and down. His veins popping and muscles flexing as he pumped you onto their cocks like a fleshlight.

“Ahh! Mmm! So strong uncle! Oh fuck! D-dad t-thank you~! So full dad it f-feels great! Please dad, plea-ahh! Please can I cum!?” You beg as you feel your tummy burn with a desire that needs to release. Zeff’s cock bulging your tummy a bit while Garp stuffed your ass like no one’s business. The two men groaning at your endless babbling of bliss as you got impaled.

“Oh does somebody need to cum?” Zeff asked, biting your bottom lip before pulling away to slap your breast. “Always being so slutty all the time and you wanna beg me to cum?” Zeff asked as you pathetically whimpered nodding rapidly but he only rolled his eyes.

“I spoil you.” Zeff grunts as he rubs your clit and leans down to kiss you. “Go ahead sweetthing cum on our cocks and we’ll reward you with some more cream.” Zeff’s lewd words wrapped around you like a blanket of erotic pleasure. Music to your ears as your body tensed and pussy fluttered around his cock, ass clenching tightly.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” You rambled as Zeff rubbed your clit quicker, Garp moving you faster than you thought possible. “Fuck I’m right with you kid. Cum with me, sweetheart.”

Nodding your head you gasped as you felt his dick twitch before shooting out ropes of cum. Your tight walls spasming around both cocks made you twitch and moan out as you squirt all over Zeff. His fingers rubbing at your clit as you were screaming, juices splattering all over the chef in front of you and your thighs.

“ZEFF~!” You screamed, body burning on fire from total bliss, “Zeff~dad yes!” You moan as your juices drip onto the floor beautifully for his eyes to admire.

You looked at him dreamily as he twitched inside your pussy, cock fucking sticky strings of cum into your cunt. Riding out their highs Garp grunted as his limbs started to burn. Sitting back against the table Garp watched with fascination as Zeff pulled out of you. Cum glistening his cock, dripping out of your pussy brightly.

Zeff groaned as he pushed his seed back into your puffy folds, “You did well for me Y/N. My perfect helper.” Zeff praised, licking his lips at the way your walls twitched with over stimulation against his fingers.

“To think I only came here for a damn steak.” The marine chuckled as he removed you from his tight hold but kept you connected on his lap. “If you ever want a break from the old chef then you give me a call and I’ll scoop you up for a little adventure.” His voice was followed by kisses to your shoulders, hands rubbing your sticky thighs softly. You smiled lazily as your head went back against his chest.

Zeff fixing his pants before going to get a rag that he wet with warm water. Coming over he gently cleaned you up as you rested against Garp still cock warming him in your ass. The snowy haired marine smirked as he nipped your neck.

A high pitched gasp left you as you felt Garp twitch inside your tender ass. Eyes widening as you looked up at him, “Sorry sweetheart. It’s been a while since I got some good ass guess I’m still pent up.”

“Dirty old man.” Zeff laughed, shaking his head as he walked over to grab more things to clean the floor. Not paying his friend any mind if he desired to use you again knowing you belong to him from here on out.

You felt overstimulated but the thought of him not being able to contain his excitement again has you wiggling your hips. Moaning quietly with shut eyes at the feeling of him starting to stiffen inside of you again. It felt weird but knowing he needed more of you fueled your hips circular rotation.

“Fuck princess~ such a sweet little girl. Uncle’s sweetheart.” Garp breathed out as you tried to fuck yourself back into his large cock but was having a hard time. Garp flipped you on your tummy keeping you both connected as he started to ram into your ass from behind.

“Perfect little ass.” The marine grits out as his palm presses your head into the wood. Whimpers leaving you as he fucked into your ass. You couldn’t contain your screams or yelps as he pulled his hand back to slap your ass. “Little slut taking whatever she’s given.” Garp rambled making you twitch, “Right princess? Like being a little whore for your dad huh? Letting him pass you around to his friends so they can see how perfect you are. Such a perfect slut baby girl.”

Gathering your hair in his hands he fucked you roughly pulling your head back. Ass rippling from his powerful thrusts made you tremble, thankful the table was there. “Dirty girl loving some old cock like the icky kiddo she is~ so fucking good taking my cock like she was meant to.”

Zeff whistles as he takes a look at you, pausing from his cleaning to see your debauched state. “You look beautiful like that princess. All fucked out drooling over yourself as your getting stuffed.” His voice gets closer but your teary eyes blur the vision in front of you making you whine.

Cock fucking your ass harder with spanks inbetween making you moan and scream. Soon your mouth just hung open with deep moans and groans. Your pussy leaking down your thighs further making a mess of you that Zeff just cleaned. “Dad~” You cried out, clenching around Garp’s dick.

“Uncle I-” You tried to call to him but Garp let his leg go up on the table for leverage and a deeper hit that left you silent. Eyes rolling back as his heavy balls slapped into your clit with each powerful thrust. “Like having uncle fuck this ass of yours?”

“Mmhmm~ yes don’t stop uncle! I’m gonna cum again!” You wail as you feel him lean down, pushing into you deeper as he goes next to your ear. “I wanna hear you scream my name. Can you do that for me sweetheart? Wanna cum on my cock like a good girl?” He asked as he nipped your ear making you whine.

Backing up he let his long arm circle around you to rub at your clit. Fingers running over your slick folds and clit with the large size of his palm. His digits getting absolutely soaked as he thrust them into your seed filled pussy. Thrusting only a few times had you cumming with a loud shout.

“Garp~ yes! Right there uncle yes yes yes!” Your voice is a broken whine that has Garp shooting his cum deep inside of you. Thrusting into your ass till he was completely finished, twitching along with you with overstimulation.

It was an overwhelming orgasm that washed over you both. Heavy breaths and pants leaving you as Garp kissed your head. Pulling out of your ass with a grunt as you hissed from the soreness. His hands massaging your back as you were still bent over against the table. You groaned in pleasure as his rough calloused hands kneaded into your body like a dough ball.

You felt like you were on a euphoric cloud and you didn’t want to come down but a hand to your cheek catches your attention. Opening your eyes only to find Zeff there with a warm smile.

“Proud of you kiddo.”

“Thanks dad.” You smile before looking at him with a big smile of your own that same mischievous twinkle in your eye. “Since it’s contaminated for restaurant use, can I lick the bowl clean?” You ask, making the two men laugh loudly before Zeff hands you the bowl with a grin.

“Go right ahead kiddo. My plan already worked so it’s unnecessary now.” Zeff winked with his own smirk of mischievousness that had you gasp in shock.

“You planned this?” Garp asked in shock right along with you as you question as well, “Like this whole thing?”

Zeff shook his head laughing a bit, “Not the whole thing. Just the sleeping with you part. Him tagging along was just an extra treat I guess.”

“Oh…well I’m glad I came in to work today!”

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith clenches the flower crown in his hand, breathing heavy. The delicate petals of the not-daises crumple and crush in his fists, blue pollen smearing on the leather of his gloves. Half of the crown sits perfect, intact, unblemished and unbroken. The other half is miserable and unfixable, destroyed by something bigger than itself. He stares at it, hard, at what it is and what it represents, until his eyes sting from the dryness and begin to blur.

“Lance, I —” His voice comes out raspy, crinkled as the flowers. He swallows. “I’m never really going to — to love you. You know that, right?”

Lance’s quiet humming never stops, never hesitates. He continues to carefully poke the not-daisies onto their stem-string, building another crown, a new one, just as beautiful. “I know.”

Keith frowns. “You…know?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why do you…” He glances down at the crushed flowers again. Suddenly he wants to straighten them, desperately, fix their bleeding creases, their crumpled pieces. He tries, a little. He takes a broad petal from the biggest of the delicate flowers and smooths it against his thumb, again and again, trying to fix the brokenness. The crease disappears, but the petal lays flat against his skin; translucent, soaked with its own oils, bending to the shape of the pad of his thumb. It droops when he peels it off, worse than before. He feels something gentle touch on his head, a barely-there weight around the crown of his skull, and he smells something floral, aside from the flowers, like shampoo. Lance settles again beside him, second flower crown gone from his hands, now searching for a long enough not-daisy stem to start a new one. There’s a lump in Keith’s throat.

“Then why do this? Why —” He sweeps his hand out, broadly, gesturing the the not-daisy field before them, gesturing to the picnic blanket and the basket of food, gesturing to the castle in the distance, to the room they’ve shared more often than not lately, to their lions, to them, to them, to them. “Why do you hang out —” his voice cracks on the term, the blasé-ness of it, the fib, the hiding from the truth, the softer word to replace the truth — “with me like this? Why do you spend so much of your time with me? Alone? Why do we do what we —” He stops for a moment, finding himself short of breath suddenly, more feeling than the situation calls for crashing down on him at once, crushing his windpipe, making it hard for him to breathe, harder to speak. “Why do you stay with me like this, if you know?”

“Well, because I love you.”

He does not hesitate to say it. He does not swallow harshly as if the words are acid in his throat, as if they are too heavy to be spoken aloud. He says it easily, steadily, wondrously, as if it’s painless. As if Keith had said it first, and he’s simply responding. As if it’s something he says often. As if the words were not hard to find, were already heavy on his tongue, as if it was easier to say them then to lock them behind his teeth, choke them down. Maybe they are, for him.

Lance picks his head up from where it was hunched over the not-daisies, tying off the chain and lifting it, resting the crown gently on his own head. Coronating himself, with soft flowers, with the strength of a thousand men. He flicks his gaze to Keith, then, brown eyes wide and soft and glassy, slightly, shimmering in the orange sunlight, dark despite it, heavy and light alike. His expression is open, earnest. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

Keith doesn’t understand him. He knows Lance, knows how things eat at him, how small rejections build and build from the centre of his chest down his spine and wrap around each of his nerves, lighting him up inside. He’s seen how the doubt shapes his words, reshapes his sentences, clouds his thoughts. He’s seen how Lance pulls away from people before they can pull away from him. He’s seen the same ache in the Blue-turned-Red Paladin that he has, the same black hole in his own chest; the pain of the one left behind.

How is it so easy, then, for him, to say — it?

Keith holds his gaze, heart pounding, breathing short and shallow, as long as he can, as long as he can bear. He is the one to look away, in the end, and Lance soon after, looking for yet another long-stemmed daisy. It is only then that Keith realises that his second crown is crushed, too, in his other hand, stained with oil.

“Reason enough,” he echoes.

Lance hums affirmatively, absentmindedly lifting his legs and placing them on top of Keith’s, casual. Keith can’t tell if the move is deliberate or not, if Lance is genuinely oblivious to the intent of Keith’s sentiment or if he’s choosing to ignore it.

Either way it doesn’t matter. Lance slowly works his way through a good chunk of the flowers surrounding them, cheekily ordering Keith around the field, instructing him on what flowers to pick, how many, how often. Lance claims he just doesn’t want to move, but Keith is sure he just likes bossing him around. He organizes them in small piles by size as Keith gathers them, favouring the wider and fluffier ones, working with his tongue out in concentration as he carefully makes one, two, three, four, five more crowns than the two he’s already made, not including the two Keith destroyed. (Those were carefully scooped up from where Keith had discarded them, placed gently in the bottom of the picnic basket. Lance hadn’t said anything nor had he made any particular face, except that there was determination in his eyes as he held the crumpled flowers, defiance, almost, as he lovingly placed them among their used dishware and leftovers.)

Once he finishes the last knot — one crown for each team member, plus one to hang on Shiro’s doorknob — he swings his legs off Keith’s lap, sighing as he gets to his feet. Keith sees a sliver of brown skin as he stretches, a flash of his hip as his shirt lifts with his raised hands. It is the same temptation it always is, although it makes Keith more nauseous than usual.

“C’mon, you lump,” Lance says, holding out a hand. “I call dibs on not carrying anything back to the castle.”

Keith stares at his offered hand for a moment. He gets the same feeling in his belly that he used to get before walking into his final exams. Like he is being tested, like he is unprepared, like he is going to fail.

He stands on his own, quickly busying himself with gathering up their blanket and basket.

He follows just behind Lance as they walk through the field, back to the castle. They take their time — no one else will be back yet — and Lance stops every three seconds to coo at a beetle, take a picture of a plant, draw a heart in the dirt. Keith finds himself smiling without permission, struggling to school his face when he realises.

Keith has never met someone who is so unapologetically himself. He knows Lance has struggles, knows he doubts himself more than anyone on the team, probably. But so much of him is just a blatant adoration for the world around him; an obsession with the stars, an affinity for speed, an ataraxia in water, a blatant delight for any critter. He loves so much so often he bleeds with it. Keith has no idea how he survives, how he protects himself. It terrifies him. How is he supposed to protect Lance if Lance refuses to wear any armour? If he flays himself open and trusts everything and anyone? It’s as if he hasn’t yet learned to be wary, even though he has been hurt. Keith cannot fathom how he’s like this, how he’s survived like this.

Later, that night, he lies awake and counts Lance’s breaths as he thinks.

This wasn’t meant to last.

He doesn’t mean that they’re doomed to fail. They are, probably, the same way most things are (his mouth twitches on reflex as he hears Lance calling him emo in his head), but he hadn’t meant to start anything, with Lance. He doesn’t think Lance meant to start with him, either. He certainly never anticipated Lance, head pillowed on Keith’s chest, drool gathering on his ribcage, leg flopped over his and hand twitching in his face and hair. He never anticipated hearing his name muttered in Lance’s sleep, or watching him shoot up from a nightmare, wide-eyed and terrified, only to relax immediately back into sleep when he sees that it’s Keith who’s holding him. He never anticipated his own hands combing through Lance’s hair, his squeezing of Lance’s feet in between his thighs to keep them warm, his boots at the end of the bed, gloves on the nightstand. He never anticipated the way the smell of Lance’s shampoo would help him breathe again when he shoots straight up in terror and forgets where he is. He never anticipated the softness, the quiet smiles, the feel of his nails on his back, the press of his lips to his neck, the taste of his sweat on his skin, the breathiness of his hitched throat in his ear.

It started with a fight.

Of course it did, really. Why they were alone in the training room, Keith cannot recall, and why they turned to sparring with each other rather than staying at separate corners of the room he is at a loss. (Well, he does know. He knows he watched the litheness of Lance’s body as he bent and and contorted it and felt the swoop of his belly at his smug grin every time he landed a shot. He knows he watched sweat bead up on his forehead and drip down his face, burning a trail down his long neck. He knows he watched Lance bend over to set up shots, stretch, anything. He knows all that. But he thought he had restraint.)

He knows at one point they were snarling at each other, arguing over who had cost them a match with the gladiator, and then he knows that Lance had brazenly challenged him to a fight, and Keith had laughed in his face. He knows that they lunged at each other. He knows that he intended to give it to the smug asshole who had refused to leave him the fuck alone for even one fucking second since they got stuck in space. He knows he had Lance pinned to the ground, because Lance may insist that they’re neck and neck but Keith sure as shit had the upper hand in hand to hand.

What he doesn’t know is who kissed who. He doesn’t know who bit whose lip or who gasped or who shoved whose hand under whose shirt. He doesn’t know. He knows it escalated, he knows he felt fucking drunk on the taste of Lance’s skin, knows he felt like devouring every sound that came from that smart fucking mouth. He knows they didn’t even bother moving from the training mat on the floor.

He does know that he was the one who knocked on Lance’s door first, the next day. But when they fell into bed again Lance was the one who was prepped and ready, who opened the door within half a second and yanked him in by the collar, smirking.

Lance shifts slightly, muttering something as he turns his head. Keith freezes, barely daring to breathe lest he wake him up, waiting until after Lance has settled again, after he’s gone heavy on Keith’s chest.

In the beginning he’d convinced himself it was physical. Lance is objectively fucking hot, anyone with eyes can see that, and it’s not like Keith has any other fucking options here. But tonight, after everyone had split off after dinner and they’d landed in Keith’s room, again (is it really even Keith’s room, anymore? Lance’s hand is keyed to the lock. His products line the bathroom counter. His clothes are intermixed among Keith’s. He can’t remember the last time either of them had been in Lance’s room, let alone Lance by himself), as they always do. They’d gotten ready for bed without even talking, slipping in pyjamas and brushing teeth and running through a ninety four step skincare routine. They’d laid next to each other on the bed, Keith working through a random novel he found in the library and Lance breezing through some kind of math game on his tablet, before Lance had sighed some time before midnight, kissed him gently on the mouth, whispered “I don’t feel like doing anything tonight,” and then flopped on top of Keith’s person, wiggling until he was comfortable, passing out as soon as he was.

Keith’s hand curls around the curve of Lance’s shoulder.

Physical, physical, physical, he chants to himself. You have ruined every single person you have ever loved.

Lance groans slightly again, clicking his jaw.

“Keith,” he murmurs, accent heavy in his sleep. His lips twitch up in a smile.

Keith’s stomach turns.

———

next

based on this post

[konigs-left-pec]

After like 6 months, I've FINALLY decided to let this heap see the light of day. Colonel!König is still ruining my life (specifically domColonel!König...I'm totally normal about him and 100% on my knees and chewing through my cage.)

mdni: smut, v fingering

Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ

König had just returned from a month-long stint in the Middle East and was still fully geared up, shedding dust all over the living room rug when you decided to throw off your robe, revealing his favorite strappy black lingerie. His tired blue eyes widened almost comically in surprise, though that feeling was quickly overtaken by burning lust as he drank you in, fatigue pushed to the side just like he was about to do to the dainty translucent cups hugging your breasts like a second skin.

And then his phone rang.

"König..." Your sigh was a warning, a pleading whine to let it go to voicemail just this once.

"I'll be quick, liebling." He promised, kissing your forehead sweetly and pulling the still ringing phone from his pocket, "Go wait for me. I'll be along in a few minutes."

You complied, albeit not without a grumble or two beneath your breath as you stooped to snatch your robe off the floor before heading to the bedroom. You wanted - no - needed his hands, his lips, his cock. Anything that he would give, you would take. You wanted the darkest parts of him to consume you, the parts that offered only pain blighted pleasure. You would thank him for it.

Your claim to the Colonel's time was peripheral, of course, and those optimistically promised few minutes had evolved into a half hour of you squirming unsatisfied in your shared bed, palm crushing the delicate lace of the open gusset framing your pussy, fingers struggling to reach the spot you needed most. Physical touch not nearly enough, you turned to fantasy, trying to conjure the weight of his body above you and the punishing glide of his cock. You didn't even hear the door open nor the click of it closing behind him as he stepped into the room.

"What are you doing, schönes Mädchen?"

Gasping, you floundered, finding yourself unable to articulate under the intense scrutiny he fixed you with nor to stop the futile way your fingers kept moving in and out of your soft cunt, muted squelching noises filling the deafening silence between you. Foggy with pleasure you notice he'd removed his tactical gear, dressed only in his fatigue pants and a gray tee stretched over the broad barrel of his chest.

His left hand was skimming lightly up your leg and by the time he got to your mound, you were trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"You've been bad tonight, liebling..." his fingers gently pried yours free from your messy quim, taking their place in a lazy plunge in and out that had you gripping the sheets, "I told you to wait for me..." He popped two of his sticky fingers into his mouth and your brain fizzled, "How do you think I should handle this, hmm?"

You need to come. He's tapping gently against the intricate lace framing your needy cunt; you grit your teeth and open your eyes (when had you closed them? ), realizing he's expecting an answer. You knew what he wanted to hear.

"I need to be punished, sir."

It comes out breathier than you intended, you can't seem to get enough air with the way he's staring into your eyes; his own pupils dilated, pitch black engulfing his normally bright blue eyes until only a sliver of color remained. He only hums thoughtfully in response, removing himself completely from your person (you swear your cunt actually weeps at the injustice here) and stands beside the bed, arms folded across his chest as he waits for you to join him.

"On your knees then, meine frau."

Your breath skitters in your chest when you notice the way he's straining against the seam of his trousers and you stare pointedly, reaching to press your palm against the heat there. He inhales sharply through his nose, a hairline crack in his indomitable control before he bats your hand away, repositioning them on his hips, wordlessly encouraging you to sink to your knees.

He peers down at you over the swell of his chest, pulse leaping against the strong line of his throat despite the calm and steady breaths he's taking in. You want to be a brat, make him answer for keeping you waiting, but you also want him to rail you into the carpet until your knees bleed; an answering pulse throbs between your thighs and you clench around nothing.

Guess that settles that.

"Show me how obedient you can be for me."

[struggling-with-drivers]

More brainrot thoughts, blame and thank @pucksandpower

Au where Charles is a gold digger and Max is the f1 driver Charles wants.

Okay okay okay so, can you really blame Charles, like can you really blame Charles?

His mom had been arm candy to his dad, that much was by no means a secret. It might have influenced his way of looking at life, more than anyone realised. But it's not like he wasn't influenced by anything else he grew up with.

The opulence that surrounded him, the over indulgences lurking in every corner, the wealth that absolutely did not whisper. Especially not during those few weeks the entire country breathes for Formula racing.

Charles was raised in luxurity, and it was everything he had ever known. The words your face is all you're worth, had been intrgrained into his mind and body since he was a child. He had showed no really skill in any of his subjects, neither any of the 100s of sports his Maman had rotated him through. He was hopeless at seemingly every single one of them, it did however make him a very interesting person, and if there was one thing Charles Leclerc could.

It was talk.

Charles was a great conversationalist, and an even bigger flirt. Cheeky in just the right way, and seemingly obliviously innocent in every other. Except he knew what he was doing, he knew he was a tease, especially when he ran his hand over someone's chest and practically purred into their ear. About how good he could be.

Then he would pull back, bat his eyelashes. Hook, line and sinker. Charles was have an amazing night, and then be showered in gifts and hush money. With an invitation of next time tucked away in his back pocket.

Pierre had called him a practically unsafe escort once, Charles had corrected him, he was in fact being very safe.

Then Pierre had brought along his Formula 1 colleagues, and can you really blame Charles?

Max had seemed so sweet, so forbidden in the crowd of Eden. Charles wanted to sink his teeth into Max, if not for the hush money, but for the way those eyes would look at him when he begged for more.

Then Max had rejected Charles, even after he had touched his chest, even after he had purred in his ear. Max had even resisted the way Charles battered his eyelashes at him.

What Max hadn't been strong enough to do, was look away. His eyes had been fixed on Charles's open shirt since Pierre had introduced Charles to the other. His gaze locked to the way that translucent shirt had a cut so deep, so when Charles bend over, Max could see his belly button. Not that he needed the gap, the shirt itself was seethrough enough on it's own.

Charles had guided Max's hand to his side, and Max had excused himself for a drink.

Abandoning a full drink on the table.

He had needed air.

-

Max didn't see Charles again for a month, and he should have known better, in fact he should have expected the beautiful man to show back up in his life. Because then there Charles was. Right at the Monaco GP, walking down the Paddock, his arm linked with someone else, dressed in all red, supporting Ferrari.

Max should have brushed it off and moved along, so why couldn't he?

Why was the only thing he could think about as he accepted the trophy and got doused in champagne, that a certain beautiful man clad in Red would look better in Blue?

Pierre - who Max didn't think he had talked to more than few times in the last year - had clasped his shoulder, warned him not to be stupid. Then that was it, and Max had seen him move away, hug Charles, and pepper a few kisses on his cheeks, before Charles had nuzzled his way back under the arm of some guy Max didn't know. Not that he cared.

But Charles had looked at Max, even as the Monégasque kissed the cheek of his lover? Keeping the eyecontact, as though he had forced Max to watch, a way to taunt this could be you. He needed to get his shit together, they had met once, and seen each other twice.

Then came the victory celebrations, and Max didn't know how Charles had ended up on his lap, there was plently of spaces left in the booth, but he had picked Max's lap as his preferred seat. Except, Charles hadn't looked at Max not even once. Even he had kissed Pierre hello, right there, on Max's lap.

His eyes had been glued to Charles.

Who did not even look at him once, and Max - fully sober - was feeling so fucking intoxicated. Over this guy, a stranger, a something. Something dangerous, something that reeked of scandals.

When Charles had gotten up, all eyes turned in his direction as he sauntered away. Max knew, for he had looked as well.

Monaco GP was over, and Max could relax, at least that's what he told himself. The world had other plans for him, how had Max never realised how small Monaco really was. That Damned beauty seemed to show up everywhere, at the coffee shop, when he was on a run, even at the paddle club.

Had Charles always been around?

Except, each time he saw the Monégasque a longing feeling spread through his chest, it was followed by the reminder, Charles was always looking at someone else. Max doesn't think he saw the same person twice with an arm around Charles.

Max wondered briefly, in a moment of weakness, and post nut clarity, would the price be worth the feeling of his hands on Charles waist. Then he had chased the thought away, with the unnessecary paperwork, and NDA's and besides. Pierre had said to not be stupid. Pierre - who probably cheered every time Max made a slight mistake - had warned him.

-

Charles knew his effect on others, he was fully aware of each set of eyes that followed him. Nothing thrilled him more than walking through the street, being someone's accessory, and everyone appreciating him. Charles had quickly found himself enjoying a specific pair of eyes, they belonged to a certain Dutchman. Someone Charles would never had imaged being able to get with a few years ago. But that had been when Charles was younger, and now, he had honed his skills well enough.

He knew that it was only about time before Max Verstappen would break.

-

Max will sometimes see Charles hanging around the paddock during the European stint of races. He had convinced himself that he had become immune to the magnetic pull of the charming Monegasque. But it was quite a shock when - after having made the long journey to Suzuka - he sees the familiar perfectly messy hair.

More somber than he had ever seen Charles before. The beauty had traded in his typical Ferrari red for AlphaTauri white and navy, and a guest pass declaring him “Guest of Pierre Gasly.” Then he had joined Pierre on a track walk.

Max had watched as Pierre and his trainer continued making their way around the Suzuka Circuit even as Charles wandered towards the run-off area on the outside of the Dunlop Curve. And then Max watched as the normally composed and aloof man fell to his knees.

Max looked around. No one else seemed surprised to see the Monegasque’s body shaking as he sobbed on the gravel. Max had spotted Daniel across the track with his own trainer and nudged his way over to the Australian.

“What’s up with him?”

"Charles Leclerc?" Daniel questioned, "You don't know? He's Jules- was Jules god son."

"Oh," Is all Max said, he didn't know what else he should have said.

And Max felt so stupid, how hadn't he made the connection before?

No wonder no one else had seemed surprised, that Charles was constantly hanging around the paddock, wearing Red when his friend was in white and blue.

No wonder that in addition to being especially close with Pierre, the older drivers seem to have a bit of a soft spot for him. He probably should have realised there was more going on after hearing someone mention Pierre and Charles grew up together.

They'd all seen that the sport can take and take and take - the sobbing man of front of him was proof enough of that.

Max had barely realised, he was standing in front Charles before the words. "It sucks." Had rushed out of his mouth, and god, the other man snorts. Too taken aback with what Max just said, to have realised he stopped crying.

He looked up at Max, and a brief thought barrels through his mind. Fuck Charles looks good on his knees. But then Max reminded himself that that was probably pretty fucking inapproiate. Instead he reached a hand out, a sort of apology, but definitely an attempt to help to other to forget what Max had just said.

"Thank you." Charles smiled at him, the tears were still fresh on his chins, but Max could breathe a bit lighter when his hand clasped with Charles. He rest his other hand on Charle's back, as he wobbled for a few moments. Before Max realised where they were, retracting his hand to his side, far too fast, far too uncomfortable.

"Thank you." Charles repeated, letting go of Max's other hand. Max made an attempt to not show the disappointment on his face, the way the Monegasque smiled at him, told him he had failed. And Max didn't mind loosing that much when Charles looked at him like that.

-

With a few weeks in the back mirror, and some alcohol in their bodies. Charles had found himself with Max in the driver's penthouse apartment.

Max's lips were moving against his own, but then Max spoke, and Charles just wanted him to shut up. That's why he kissed him to begin with.

"What's your price?"

Charles froze for a moment, before returning to running his fingers over Max's sides.

"Your guilt will tell you tomorrow." He murmured back against Max's lips, so Max was aware of how Charles worked, and for some reason, it hurt.

Charles had never been paid directly, never a predetermined amount, it was all in hush money and gifts, places he had been taken and shown off, the clothes on his body, the drinks in his hands, the jewellery around his neck and fingers. Pierre had once called him a prisoner in golden chains, and Charles had told him he was full of shit.

But then Max cooked him breakfast.

This was not part of the deal, this was not part of anything. This was not how this was supposed to go. Max was supposed to tell him it was a mistake, and pay off Charles to keep quiet. Not cook him breakfast.

"Why- why are you-" His voice failed him, the Monégasque known for his smooth tongue, and tempting words, cannot speak. His greatest weapon had been lowered by a man in a silly apron.

"I don't regret anything."

Charles had been gifted jewels by princes and dukes and lords. He had been gifted Ferraris and Lamborghinis and Bugattis by billionaires. He had even been gifted a yacht by a sheikh once (long story). But this was the first time that he had been made to feel human after. That someone had gifted him the feeling of being wanted for more than his body. And now he feels like crying at the sight of slightly charred toast and scrambled eggs.

Max seemed to panic at the distress Charles was feeling. Unable to understand what was going on, not that Charles blamed him at all.

"I'm so sorry," Max had rushed out an apology at the first sight of potential tears, "are you vegan? Celiac? Fuck I should have asked, I have celery! Do you want celery?"

Charles had laughed at that, tears in his eyes at the sight of the formula 1 world champion reduced to panic because someone like Charles might not like his breakfast.

"I fucking hate celery," Charles had told Max, feeling a lot better, despite the Dutchman's confusion and seemingly oblivion to all the feelings that had been cruising through Charles.

Then one of Max's cats had jumped on the counter and tried to kidnap Charles's toast, and Max had set chase after the cat, and Charles had found himself thinking.

I could get used to this.

[fungal-rot]

Cherry Red

18+ MDNI (implied fem!reader)

⁺˚°｡⋆♱✮˖☽𓋼𓍊◯𓍊𓋼☾˖✮♱⋆｡°˚⁺

this is a tipsy ramble, but- okay fuck, we know Javier loves a good set of nails. he loves them all.

short, long, squared, almond, coffin, stiletto, you name it.

his favorite color, however? red.

cherry red, to be specific.

there’s just something so sensual, so passionate and fiery about it. the way those nails could be cupping his jaw, leaving a bite accentuated with crescent contours on the flesh of his face before slowly dragging down, down with a path of an incandescent red. down his throat, his chest, the soft trail of hair on his tummy, getting lower and lower, and then-

his hips would buck into your touch, all the while his eyes would be fixed at your beautiful hand, fingers curled perfectly around his shaft with a prominent splash of red, nearly identical to the angry head of his cock, gliding up and down in languid, careful strokes.

his chest is heaving. loud, quick grunts sound from the depths of his throat, snarling and baring his teeth like a wild animal, absolutely primal. you’d press a delicate, tender kiss to the underside of his cock with pillowy soft lips, and Javi’d moan a breath of your name. you’d repeat the action, occasionally flicking your tongue out to kitten-lick at his skin, tasting and savoring the musky flavor of the bead of pre-cum gathered on his tip.

eventually, he’d feel his stomach tighten. his cock twitched in your hand, and he spilled hot rope after rope all over your fingers, painting your nails a different color. a hint of cherry red peeking through the translucent, milky-white cum dripping from your knuckles and tips of your digits down onto his lap.

as Javier came down from his high with panting breaths, he’d watch you stick your fingers into your mouth and lap away his spend with a satisfied hum, eyes fluttering shut while you tasted the familiar bitter, heady taste that was Javi, then they’d release from your lips with a wet pop, and your nails would be all pristine and pretty again, and he’d want to do it all over.

maybe this time with your cunt swallowing his length while your fingers embedded into the column of his throat.

yes, Javier loved red nails.

⁺˚°｡⋆♱✮˖☽𓋼𓍊◯𓍊𓋼☾˖✮♱⋆｡°˚⁺

I want to ride his face like a bicyc-

[yandere-yearnings]

HEAVENCALL (??? x Fem!Reader)

feat. Cecilia Romano

♡ oneshot, approx. 1k words

♡ post-specific warnings: NSFW, sub + bottom afab reader, fingering (reader receiving), 'good girl' used on reader, depictions of gore and violence, masochism & sadism, Stockholm syndrome, abuse, collaring, blood play, (extreme) knife play, implied mind break, implied imprisonment, vaguely implied reference to cannibalism, extreme toxicity, DDDNE

♡ a/n: most important thing to anyone reading this is to pls be mindful of the content warnings above and to not read if you think it could be triggering for you. this is vv dark fiction and i legit cannot stress that enough. a lighter christmas fic will be posted soon, which can be viewed alternatively.

this is @unhappy-last-resort's gift for our secret santa fic exchange!! unhappy i'm gonna need you to forgive me for how shitty this turned out lmao. i lied when i said it would be my last rewrite and got wasted so i could churn smth out before today. i'm burnt out to all fuck and too tired to fix the medical inaccuracies drunk me did not consider so pls pretend that the femoral artery does not exist and the bleeding is venous otherwise our reader is technically dead and not just passed out💀 this is purely a work of fiction. yandere behaviour in real life is a cause of concern. proofread, unedited.

♡♡♡

It was because you hadn’t seen light in days. Chained up to this wall, waiting like a dog for your angel to come down to you — sensitive eyes, slithers of blinding white around her silhouette looking like a luminous halo. Deaf to her footsteps, blind to the blood on her dress or the stench of it, all you knew was her when she put her hands on you. Learning to treasure it, since it would only be you here grieving every touch you were deprived of when she left.  

“Miserable thing,” fingers smoothing out in your hair turn violent, she tugs, “feel special yet?”

When she chokes you, you do. You think the collar might just cut into your flesh from the force as Cecilia pulls on it. Lips meeting hers, you are whole again with the way her nails dig into your cheek, like she wants to rip the skin right off. Bringing the claim she has on each corner of your soul right to the surface, the sole thing that has become easy for you to understand is that you are ruined for this world.

“Please…” you beg, and you remain unaware of what for. There is something pulsating inside of you, blood beating bones from depths in which a consuming rot grows ugly. Cecilia’s scalpel shows an animal starved, and you recognise that it’s you. The spit and drool come like magic, she wets your dry throat easy with just a few fingers in your mouth — you are hungry. Her knees hit the ground for you, in turn your heart wants to come right up as penance for your unworthiness.

Thin gown bunched up into the crease of your groin, too light to feel any warmth from it — and you are too taken by the coldness of the blade on your thigh to care. Aching for the push, so your body could give way and you could feel the sharpness nestle inside of you, to wrap around something, to bury it in the grave of an open wound. Cecilia keeps a distance your cuffed wrists cannot close, and your desire drips from you with nothing to hide, nor cling to.

Spine lined with explosives, the first graze has the pleasure spark seriatim; the release of pressure you had been neck-deep in brutalises you, and you are delirious on the feel of being ripped apart without the motions. Each score burns. New layers of you are uncovered and exposed to this world and Cecilia wrenches your head down to watch. 

Mouth agape, your drool parts a translucent line over the pooling sangria. “More,” pleading for it, despite how muffled it came out. You want her to rip this chunk of you right off. You want to be between her teeth and down her throat. You want, and it’s butchering. “Deeper,” the tears come with your chest squeezing, come with the choked up moan when her digits bear down on your tongue harder. Your mistake is clear to you the moment you see the wash of those baby blues lock on you, the reverie of bringing the sky down to your prison and the vastness as you lost your mind to it has your breath hitching.

Ringing in your ears dulled to the scattering greys when Cecilia hits you, cheekbone smashing against the wall, sending the vibrations all throughout your skull. Ecstasy takes on the taste of metal. Sure enough, the savage inside of you is unsettled, is not yet satisfied.

“When have I ever let you command me?” Her knife edge twists, makes ribbons of your tissues — makes you writhe deliciously. “Do you think you have a will?”

“No.” The answer needs no contemplation, it has been ingrained in you. “‘M sorry,” your vision spots when you crane your neck, you’ve been putting more and more of your weight into the bricks, your shackles sting. “Was so good I went dumb, ‘m sorry. I won’t do it again,” you sniffle, “p-please…”

Acutely aware of the moment the surgical steel leaves you; biting your lip to suppress your whimper when the air hits. “That’s better,” and you are sure this is a punishment until Cecilia takes your face, “see, you know how to be a good girl, don’t you?”

Something hot floods your guts, you’re nodding before you even have a chance to rub your thighs together — not that you’d be allowed to. Her palm is pressing right to the laceration, she keeps you splayed apart like that, and her nails are mere millimetres away from showing you a supernova. Red tracks streak a trail all the way to your core, the fabric in contact with it is damp, is threading clear strings to a place that’s throbbing with need to be desecrated.

All your nerves fray when she sinks in, and just like that, the ability to latch onto her human caress is wasted on you. Only remembering how to stay agape, how to curl your toes and tear from your bottom lip to hold back your moans. Your walls are sopping for her, they slobber just as much as you do for the euphoria Cecilia imposes into you. Gasping her name, flashes of a world outside you no longer want to return to, legs trembling when her thumb comes up. She plays you so well, makes a mess — makes a masterpiece out of all your misery and mortality alike.

Whispering, “you were my best decision,” — and like a blessing, your undoing lays rest to you. Pink slick and pain, everything becomes sweet in this swarming black. Angels. Her laughter, a hymn. Singing. Heavencall.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

from @peach-flavored-cyanide

i knew you would ask me this ceo of dustyscarf.......

exposing myself as a kpop fan again 😔😔😔 and you accidentally chose a breakup song so rip 🙏🙏🙏

48. mistake - purple kiss

You could be my lover, but you're gonna fade away The gap between us is growing wider, I'm escaping from the dream It'll be the same, a little bitter, but it's a shame, forget it Your words that came to mind for no reason

sans trudges through the snow, his boots sinking into the endless white expanse of snowdin. the town is empty, ravaged by the howling winds. he glances at the gyftmas tree in the middle of the town, only half the ornaments put.

“STILL DOUBTING YOURSELF, HUH?”

the unexpected voice pulls him from his thoughts, and sans turns. papyrus is there, a head in the air with his scarf around his dismembered neck. there is a faint shimmer to him, a translucent glow that always makes sans’ chest tighten. papyrus is only a ghost – a reminder of what he has done.

“following me again?” sans asks, his voice low, not accusatory.

papyrus grins, a grotesque one. “SOMEONE HAS TO KEEP YOU COMPANY. YOU’RE NOT EXACTLY GREAT AT KEEPING FRIENDS THESE DAYS.”

sans rolls his eyes and keeps walking, but papyrus follows him as in anchored.

they move in silence for a while until papyrus speaks again. “YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT HIM, AREN’T YOU?”

sans’ steps faltered, and he clenches his fists. “what’s it to you?”

papyrus rolls his eyes. “PLEASE, BROTHER. YOU GET THIS LOOK WHEN YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT HIM. LIKE YOU’RE NOT SURE IF YOU’RE MAD AT HIM OR MAD AT YOURSELF.”

the words sting, not because they are wrong, but because they hit too close to the truth.

geno’s voice echoes in sans’ mind, sharp and cold like shards of ice. “you’re unraveling, sans. you act like you’re in control, but you’re just a glitch like me. a mistake in a broken system.”

sans’ breath hitches as another memory surfaces: geno’s calm, almost clinical voice speaking to him. “you don’t care about them. not really. you just want it to stop. you think killing will fix it, but it won’t. you know that deep down, don’t you?”

he grits his teeth, shaking his skull as if to dislodge the voices.

papyrus looks at him, his expression softening. “YOU’RE DOUBTING YOURSELF THERE AGAIN, AREN’T YOU?”

sans glares at him. “what do you want me to say, papyrus? that he’s wrong? that i’m not losing my mind?”

papyrus’s grin fades. “I JUST WANT YOU TO STOP TEARING YOURSELF APART.”

sans looks away, his gaze fixed on the endless white horizon. “he’s real,” he muttered. “he’s the only thing that makes this mess make sense. but i-”

“AND IF HE’S NOT?” papyrus’s voice is quiet, almost gentle.

sans clenches his fist, his hands trembling. geno’s words came back to him, colder than the snow. “fine. destroy yourself for all i care. you’re just a story i’m stuck watching, sans. nothing more.”

“shut up,” sans hisses, unsure if it’s towards the geno in his head or his brother in front of him.

papyrus sighs. “I’M NOT TRYING TO HURT YOU, SANS. I JUST WANT TO REMIND YOU OF WHAT YOUR GOAL IS.”

“i don’t need a reminder,” sans says bitterly. “i haven’t forgotten.”

they walk in silence for another long moment, the snow falling softly around them. when sans turn his head, papyrus is gone, no trace of him left behind but the scarf snug on sans’ neck like a noose.

sans trudges forward, the ache in his chest heavier than ever, geno’s words and papyrus’s ghost trailing after him like shadows he couldn’t outrun.

[obesogen]

The Back Room

contains: voyeurism in a public setting, degradation/humiliation (of the FA, not the fattie) fluids, Feeder/feedee, gender unspecified, 2nd person/reader insert if ya want

You are just an innocent bystander. This is not your fault.

It's Friday. You're out to dinner with a good friend at the fancy all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet in town.

Your buddy just put in their two weeks notice and you two you are celebrating in indulgent fashion. The plan is well underway when you can't help but notice a couple walk into the restaurant.

Well, one of them walks in. The other waddles.

The skinnier of them is about 5’8” or so. They appear somewhat haggard but strong, a works-with-their-hands type. Their companion is easily twice their weight and significantly shorter, a fluffy, soft marshmallow. They are wearing bike shorts that are catastrophically too tight, causing a hill of insistent chub to crest the waistband. The fabric of their shorts has been stretched so far as to become translucent. Silky arm fat bursts out of the strained crease of their crop top's armpit and side boob is dripping out of the bottom of it. Chunky calves threaten to envelop their proportionately delicate ankles and feet.

These two have to be a Feeder and feedee, they just have to be. You silently pray that they are because you're not at all sure you can stop trying to get a look, even if they're not.

The Feeder greets the beaming Host warmly and it is immediately clear that all three know each other well. The two of them must be regulars. You watch with mounting arousal as the Host and Feeder carefully lead the slow-moving feedee along the path of least resistance through the dining room. It takes a quick eternity for them to cross it gracelessly, through the tittering and disdain of fellow diners, unconcerned.

All the while, you're trying hard not to obviously, hungrily devour the stolen glimpses of swaying soft you catch out of the side of your eye while badly pretending to be listening to your friend. You're appalled by how sweaty and riled you are, how fast you were gripped with monstrous lust, all hunched and tense over half finished crab legs (or whatever you would eat. I would be eating crab legs). They disappear into the back room, usually reserved for parties.

You are by now having serious trouble hiding your predicament. You haven't even been pretending to pay attention for the last minute.

"Hello?! Anyone home?" your friend snaps their fingers in your face.

You laugh a little too quickly and make appropriate eye contact with them, flushed. You apologize sheepishly. You just got caught… off guard, you say. Momentarily. Sorry. "I bet, you fucking perv" they laugh at you pityingly, but not entirely unkindly. They know you have a type and that type is legendary. They know it's just so difficult for you to be painfully hard under the table pretending not to watch an enormous person struggle to walk 150 feet across an all-you-can-eat buffet. A horny mess like you can’t really be expected to listen to them talk about whatever shit Danielle in Accounting did last week. You couldn’t possibly stop imagining that stranger’s upper arm in your teeth for 20 seconds and let them finish a thought. You have never been able to be an appropriate amount of horny, how could they expect anything else from you. You eat your food in shameful, steaming silence.

Though the feedee remains behind closed doors out of your sight, you see their Feeder get up to start fixing plate (s) for them. By the time they return to the back room they're carrying 4 plates, balancing them expertly in fine dining style. The plates are laden with various treats which you definitely were not watching them lovingly select.

One plate is all fried: crispy egg rolls, spring rolls, crab rangoon, chicken wings, juicy fried pork and chive dumplings, scallion pancakes, the works. Various sauces.

The second plate is heaped with sticky sweet bbq ribs, sweet and sour chicken, a mountain of white rice, and a landslide of mixed veggies with a ton of extra baby corn and snow peas. Their feedee clearly has good taste.

Still another plate is all seafood: the aforementioned buttery snow crab legs, shrimp, steaming mussels, spiny little rock lobsters, clams… more shrimp, but tempura this time.

The last one isn't really a plate, its a bowl. The bowl is filled with vanilla soft serve (of course) and fresh fruit. Just for good measure, there's also two shiny, glazed roast pork buns balanced precariously on top. You bet a little bit of vanilla ice cream getting on a sweet, doughy pork bun is good as hell. No, you can’t be horny and hungry. You are already full and still have food. You are considering trying it though. Not to try to get a look, of course not, but just to get some dessert.

While you are deliberating and “talking” to your friend, you spy a busboy running towards the back room holding an extra-wide, high weight capacity folding chair. It's clear that this hefty cutie isn't their most comfortable on even the armless chairs that are as used to accommodating heavy people as any chair at a buffet should be. They still need something wider.

You’re dying in here. You need to wash your face and think of the least sexy things you can imagine: hairless plastic abs, taxes, etc. You excuse yourself to use the restroom and ask your friend if they want anything from the buffet on your way back.

“I want you to make sure you wash your filthy hands when you’re done, you useless degenerate” they snap. “C’mon, man, Jesus Christ—” you look around as you get up to see if anyone heard your friend, who has since lost all patience and good humor towards you and your inability to get it together.

You get up from the table and it’s as bad as you feared. You’re so aroused, not to mention full of crab legs, and just need to cool down long enough to make it home. Or at least to the car after you drop your friend off.

Your underwear is tight and rubbing your poor swollen dick. You’re so overstimulated that each step towards the bathroom is somewhat labored. Thankfully, labored movements toward the bathroom are not uncommon here so you fly under the radar for the most part.

You almost reach the bathroom door when out of the corner of your eye you realize that you suddenly can see them through the glass doors of the back room as you pass.

The Feeder is indeed lovingly in the midst of hand-feeding the feedee an egg roll dripping with sweet duck sauce. They have one hand under their feedee’s belly, which is pulled out of their shorts, nude and sumptuous under the long banquet table. It hangs heavy between their knees when fully unfurled with two massive lobes comprising the bottom of the apron and a pronounced dip in the center; 3 shaped.

You accidentally make eye contact with the feedee briefly, as you turn to enter the bathroom, sweaty and collapsing from fevered arousal. They just slowly lick their lips, staring into your very being, hungrily, menacing, devouring you with their eyes, daring you to keep looking.

You almost make it to the stall, but unfortunately for you,

You bust in your underwear, untouched, and now facing the long walk back to the table, wetly covered in yourself.

Worth it.

[gamblersdoll]

Hey pookie ^_^

guts calms nerd down after she fails a difficult exam

nsfw

cw: praise, oral(f)

you never really failed exams, because you’re usually good at remembering the wording or the similarities of the wording on the exams.

this, was entirely different.

first off, they completely blind sighted you, you answered correctly, you always did, besides the fact you werent good in math. the problem? oh, ‘you didnt show your work.’ that was the problem you found with school, because not showing work meant you either cheated or guessed correctly.

and because you didnt show your work, your grade of a passing one hundred turned into a forty five. and school was almost just about done.

word caught wind to Guts’ him immediately going to your place to do whatever he can.

“how did you possibly fail?” he gritted, sucking his teeth as well.

“i dont know! all because i didn’t show how the hell i got the answer! so that means drop my grade to a forty five.” you swore, putting your head in your hands as you bounced your knee.

when you curse, Guts’ knew it was bad.

“hey, it’s not that big of a–“

“no, its not a big deal to you!” you shout, rocking back and forth to try and calm yourself. yet, that obviously wasnt working. he sighed, bringing himself to his knees.

“you passed it, you know that.” he says, pressing your legs apart and looking up to you. you start to protest, immediately shutting up when you’re told to. “you know the answer, the questions.”

he pulls your panties off, having you raise your hips off the ledge of the bed to. he’s practically salivating from the scent of your pussy, swiping a quick stripe up your slit.

you jolt, pressing your hands flat against the bed to support yourself up. “you know that you shouldnt have failed, so why beat ‘yerself up?”

“Guts its not like–“ you try to say, immediately shutting up after feeling his suckle on your clit. you bite your lip, feeling his hands grip on your thighs.

you decide to lay on your back, knowing absolutely that you will fall forward. “thats it, there you fuckin’ go.” he said, drooling his pool of spit from his mouth to your slit.

“you didnt fail it, not my nerdwhore.” he reassures, sliding his tongue inside your cunny, then back out and up and down your slit. you moan out, tears in the corners of your eyes. “let go, little girl.”

you started to move your hips against his face, but he pulled away. he clicks his tongue, and you whine. “Guts, please not today..” you protest.

“what are we going to do next time for tests or exams?” he asks, resorting to rubbing circles into your clit. he waits patiently, pressing on the bundle of nerves.

you try to figure out what the fuck hes talking about, because first he’s eating your pussy now hes asking what to do next time.

oh, he’s talking about the exam.

“sh–ow the work next time..?” you hiccup, immediately moaning in surprise as hes back at licking in between your folds and hood.

“thats right, we’ll show our work. even if we know it, yeah?” he coos, his thumbs pressing into your hips.

why that felt good to you when he pressed into your hips, you have no fucking clue. but you did know that shit made you closer than ever, chanting his name in hiccups or whines.

“go ahead, cum in my fuckin’ mouth.” he says, growling against your sloppy pussy. he laps up at the translucent sticky fluid drooling from your hole, and hes finally satisfied from his craving.

you lay against the bed, panting and twitching from the fact he only had to make you orgasm with a few words—

hold on.

he’s back with a warm wet rag, wiping at your folds and between your cheeks. “ill fix it ‘fer you.” you couldnt protest to that, finding it better to just relax for the moment since you were a mess for a few days.

but whatever the fuck he did, your grade went from a forty five back to the one hundred you had before. word spread saying that he had failed the exam too, newsflash, he didnt. yet he had failed a exam and went to the math teacher threatening him to fix the grade.

your grade was fixed, being somewhat thankful for that, yet why did he feel it necessary to do all of that for you?

you had a sub for the rest of the year, finding out that the teacher was nervous about not fixing the grade, or it came to light that he had been cheating on his husband with a female colleague.

to hell with that, he was gone, and Guts had basically saved you.

[sidekick-hero]

Wiggly WIP Worm Weekend

So I've been tagged in a lot of writing games lately, but due to a severe shortage of spoons, writing and fandom have been on the back burner lately (booooo capitalism). BUT I'm working on my next (probably late again) entry for @steddiesmuttyseptember (backseat and clothes on) and @softsteddieseptember (soft and slow and roadtrip). Thank you for the latest tags @hbyrde36, @steviewashere, @runninriot 💜🙏🏼

Snippet from it isn’t over, it’s just begun

“I’m dead, Harrington, not deaf! Haven’t I been through enough? Do you have to torture me with… with this? Crappy music from an even crappier movie? And here I thought we were friends!” Eddie’s voice grew louder as he ranted, his hands flapping dramatically, his wide brown eyes sparkling under the streetlamps they passed. For someone technically dead, he was so alive—full of energy and life in every way that mattered. Even with his too-sharp teeth, translucent skin, and the absence of a pulse, he was still, well, Eddie. Not that Eddie agreed. That’s why they were here now, on this strange road trip to Washington D.C. to meet some friend of Owens who supposedly had a solution for him. How, Steve wasn’t sure. And if he was being honest, he didn’t entirely trust this friend—or Owens, for that matter. They’d been screwed over too many times, and Steve wasn’t about to risk Eddie’s… non-life. Eddie seemed on edge too, fidgeting and talking too fast, too loud, confined in the tight space of Steve’s trusty BMW. “If the movie’s so crappy, how do you know Take My Breath Away is in it, huh?” Steve countered, smirking, raising an eyebrow in challenge. As expected, the question left Eddie sputtering, before he huffed and crossed his arms, pouting. Steve took pity and turned the volume down, but not before belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs. He couldn’t help but enjoy the way Eddie looked at him, his attention fixed solely on Steve. If he were being honest, that’s all he’d been craving lately—Eddie’s gaze, his words, his touch. Steve was down bad.

Tagging with admiration and without pressure: @pearynice, @just-my-latest-hyperfixation, @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe, @ataliagold, @steddie-island and

@augustjustice 💜

[the-ellia-west]

Here, Have a Sneak-peek

I love how Marril's Intro perfectly conveys his personality

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

Marril brushed the tips of his gloved fingers over the paper, grabbed the upper corner, and folded the crease open. The Assassin scanned it once more and scoffed as he crumpled it. A foolish attempt at tricking him. 

Keresan’s name had never been whispered in the alleys of the black market, nor printed on a card. With that level of obscurity,  he couldn’t be the noble he claimed to be. Marril had been suspicious from the moment he’d laid eyes upon the chaotic handwriting. But the address made it obvious as a butterfly trying to hide among rocks that this was a trick. Abandoned for years, every criminal and noble in the city gossiped superstitions about the old place over tea and whispers. 

A scowl darkened his face at the mere thought of a client as he blew a strand of long raven hair from his face. Hundreds of lectures about morals, monsters, and murder from people who thought money was an adequate exchange for a man’s life. But everyone who’d summoned him always needed him for something. His blade-bearing hands had seen their fair share of blood, but no matter how well those nobles scrubbed their skin clean, he could always see the streaks of scarlet between their elegant fingers.

Marril fixed his lips into a false smile as he stepped up to the door, muttering to himself under his breath. “Vatsú maravi fala kún ge pé'delzhua kún'a. Time to eat fish from a bloody fisherman I suppose.” He knocked.

The old, cracked door creaked open, revealing a man with pale lips and a waxy smile a few feet beyond the threshold. He examined the Assassin with sharp scrutiny before he spoke. “Honrul said he’d get me the best. That’s you I assume?” 

Marril squinted at the man, eyeing his hands where a strange translucent skin stretched up to the bottom of the nails. The man hid his strange hand behind his back. Slitted pupils in his clear ocean eyes watched the Caliskian closely as his lips twisted into a snarl, showing the teeth of a carnivore. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”

The Assassin narrowed his eyes. 

“Insolent. Answer me.” 

Marril raised his head and looked down on the man. He swore at him in his native language. “Your comfort is not what I was hired for.”

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[misswhyso]

um. steve who's always had a weird haziness to his childhood memories, like there's a translucent piece of film stretching across ages 0 to 10. almost as if there's nothing there, but sometimes the light hits it at an angle and his reflection stares back at him, waiting. he doesn't know what he's been waiting his whole life for, though he knows it's coming, then—

and then he does. then steve rolls wrong off his tongue, and now all he knows is seven, and it has always been seven, and he has always been able to close an open wound, drag someone back from the brink of death. when he was five, papa set a bleeding rabbit on the table in front of him and said, aren't you going to save him? are you going to let him die, seven? you wouldn't, i know you wouldn't. when he was eight, he plunged his hands into a man's stomach, trying to put together his organs and ribs.

seven (steve) thinks there's a certain kind of rottenness to his being. all the people he could have saved. all that he could have shielded the kids from. all the time he spent losing fights and running when he could have brought them back. goodbye barb holland, goodbye bob newby, goodbye billy hargrove (and oh that one stings, doesn't it?).

seven (steve) who runs when lucas comes through on the radio, finds a guy in a suit trying to hunt the kids down. they're outside the hospital, and el had flung this guy to the wall, and now he's grinning, blood on his teeth and down the side of his face. they're coming, is what he tells them. they're going to fix this fucking town, even if it means taking you down.

and the worst part (because there's no such thing as rock bottom in hawkins): you're not going to find her, you know.

this is when steve (seven) knows. the man goes on, says, she wouldn't shut up, the fucking kid. little birdie can talk.

steve (seven) pulls out a gun, the one nancy made him carry around. he's so unbelievably glad he listened to her.

what, the guy says. going to kill me faster?

bastard. steve/seven kneels on the ground, next to the dying man. dustin makes a sound, terrified. seven/steve wants to never hear that sound again.

he presses his fingers to the man's head wound. slowly, surely, the skin stretches. crawls in a desperate attempt to touch. the clarity comes back to his eyes. blood drips from seven's nose.

no, steve says. he stands back up, trains the gun down at the man's stomach. if you want to die, you're going to have to beg for it.

he shoots.