#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?      

[drgnflyteabox]

daddy cool ⋆˙⟡

john price x fem!reader summary: “I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.” ↪or the one in which hairy muscle daddy john price asks you to show him your skills disco style tags/warnings: 70s clubbing, body hair is a central theme, scent kink, daddy kink, deepthroating, rough oral (m), cigars, some alcohol, manipulation if you squint,vaginal fingering + sex, a bit of exhibition kink but not really at all (one line), 'little' not used as a size indicator, dom/sub, oral (f), tiny gape mention

“I think he’s interested in you,” Debbie whisper-screams in your ear. It’s hard to hear her over the boom of the drums, over the four on the floor beat and soaring voices. 

“Really?”

“Girl,” she laughs, incredulous. You look over your shoulder and sure enough he’s fixing you with a stare hot enough to burn through steel.

He’s flanked by two others, but you hardly notice them. You’re staring right into the deep V of his open shirt, at the fur peeking out of it, at the pink of his tongue as it swipes his bottom lip under his mustache. Sinful.

The booth he’s sitting in is draped with orange translucent curtains, creating some illusion of privacy. No overhead lights, either, just a soft cave and dark burgundy leather. Perfect for a bear like him.

“Should I go over there?” you whisper-scream back, curling closer to Debbie, “he’s a bonafide stud.”

She laughs, throwing her long hair over her shoulder, “yeah he is, and he’s looking at you, girl.”

You peek again. He’s smiling this time, like someone who knew you’d look twice. Beyond his shirt, his pants are so goddamn tight you can see almost everything. Christ, who let him out of the house looking like that?

“I’m gonna go over,” you say before you can stop yourself.

A saxophone disco beat booms through the club, thrumming right through you down to your toes, which you move to dance your way to him. Debbie laughs behind you, disappearing into the crowd.

Your hips go side to side, your teeth bite your bottom lip, and you fix him with what you hope is a clear message; you’re hot.

He stays exactly where he is. There’s a smugness about him now, the same smugness you saw when you looked twice.

You can’t really blame him for it. Someone that looks like that is bound to expect attention, desire.

God, he’s just your type. A quiet kind of arrogance, one arm slung over the back of the booth as he lifts a cigar up to his mouth and puffs. Lazily, like a big lion that knows he doesn’t have to hunt to get his food.

“Hello, love,” he says slowly when you get close enough. You’re still bouncing to the music, but you lean forward to hear him better.

“Interested in me, are you?” you’re going for a coy, simpering kind of approach. Something about him makes you want to lay it on thick, want to seduce. To preen a little.

His knuckles are dark in the lighting, hairy and tough like he works with his hands, which you catch as he pats the booth beside him. 

You hadn’t even noticed his companions leaving.

“Saw you dancing,” he lifts a glass from the table, dark liquid, his mustache getting wet, “thought you might be interested, too.”

“You thought right,” you slide in beside him, the leather seat cool even through your tight bootcut pants. You tilt your knees towards him, lifting an elbow to match his on the back of the booth.

Reds, yellows, oranges dance on his skin. The occasional sparkle of the disco ball peeks through, but mostly it filters through the orange booth curtains and spreads into an archipelago of little bright spots. This lighting agrees with him, accentuates the best parts, makes them look darker and more defined. You’d feel like a pervert looking down his shirt if he wasn’t also doing the same to you.

“Name’s John, love,” and when you tell him yours he says, “that’s fitting.”

“So, what do you do?” boring, typical– but it’s all you’ve got. You’re surprised you can get words out at all with the drool pooling in your mouth. This close, you can see how his shirt strains where his shoulders move. A little too small, but it’s probably on purpose.

Should be illegal, honestly.

His eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s the kind of guy whose entire face changes when he smiles, who looks disarmingly more approachable that way.

“I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.”

“Talent?” you cross one leg over the other, trilling internally with satisfaction when you see his eyes fall to your thighs.

You know you aren’t being subtle in the least– and you aren’t trying to be. But you won’t say anything outright, not yet, not while the anticipation feels this tasty.

The booth isn’t private, but it is insulated. The music is loud, but not too loud, just enough that it thrums through you, that you can hear him. Anita Ward croons in your ear, encouraging you. He can ring your bell, that’s for sure.

“That’s right,” he puffs again. The smell makes you lightheaded.

“Moviestars, you mean?” you roll your ankle around, watching him watch you, wondering if he likes the polish colour you picked. 

You like that he’s visibly affected; licking his lips, that meaty hand climbing higher up his thigh.

“Something like that, love,” he smiles again, leans back in the booth and launches a counter attack to your leggy flirtations – he spreads those legs, feet pointed out, hunched just so that his belly starts poking out of those sinfully tight pants.

Motherfucker.

Looking back up at him, his eyes are crinkled at you, head tilted forward. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Which movies have you produced?” you lean your head on your hand, looking at him through your lashes, “anything I’ve seen?”

“I hope so,” he hums. His eyes flit down to your feet again, up to your midriff, then back to your eyes– it’s hot, but it’s also not just a flirtation. He’s assessing, “have you seen Swan Lady? The Nun and the Two Vikings?”

You frown, “no, I haven’t heard of either.”

“How about Call of Duty: Servicing the Captain?”

Ah, it clicks. Your eyebrows go up, into your hairline, “you make pornos?”

“Aye, smart girl,” he gruffs.

Pornos, huh. You could laugh– he looks the part. A little sleazy, unabashed. Masculine not to the point of parody but it’s close. The ‘stache is in style, but in combination with everything else is just the cherry on top.

You only have one question, “you don’t star in any?”

“I prefer working behind the scenes,” something about the way he says behind feels filthy.

John tells all. He does scout, finds girls who want to have a good time (like you), and gently (or so he says) nudges them in front of the camera. I can always sniff ‘em out, he says. The ones that’ll do well on film, that have star quality.

“How can you tell?” you ask, lips pulling on your straw. John has ordered you a tequila sunrise.

You can’t help but trace the skin of his neck with your eyes, roving at the bob of his Adam's apple as he explains. Girls who can take the gloves off, so to speak. Says he can tell by the way they move, how free they are with their bodies.

A little dubious, but it’s honestly doing it for you. You wonder what he saw when you danced up to him, if the sway of your body was free, liberated.

Doesn’t take long at all for him to invite you out either way. John puts his hand on your knee and squeezes, gets real close, gruffs that his place is nearby.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” and of course the only answer is yes, please.

Boney M. soars around you as you follow him out, your hand holding his, your fingers stroking the hairs on his knuckles. 

She’s crazy for her daddy!

On the drive over, he keeps that big paw on your thigh, squeezing almost subconsciously. Just the flex of his fingers.

You widen your knees, hoping for that rough palm to slide upwards, glancing at John as he drives one-handed. Not your first rodeo going home with a man from the disco, but it sure is the first time you’ve felt so keyed up about it.

He’s huge, takes up an absurd amount of room in the car, knee knocking into yours. He even drives sexy, so sure and in control.

“You think I could be in one of your movies?” you say, impish, looking to provoke.

John glances at you for just a second too long, too intense. You can tell he’s picturing you in front of the cameras.

“That what you want?”

“Just picturing it,” you simper, shifting your knee to deliberately touch him again. His fingers flex against your thigh again, jaw moving.

The air is warm, breezy, lights passing by like twinkling firebugs. You roll your window down, smiling at the feeling.

“Oh you're picturing it, are you? Is that making you wet, sweetheart?”

Fuck. It certainly is now.

“Only if you can be my co-star.”

“Is that right?” he laughs, low and deep. His hand climbs higher, “‘fraid I’m just the recruiter, but I’ll have to do a quality test.”

“Quality test?”

“Mm,” he hums, “need to make sure you’re ready for the camera, don’t I? You think you’ve got star quality, then prove it.”

Your panties are sticky.

“I can do that,” you breathe.

“Yeah? Can you prove you can show off your star quality for me, sweetheart?” his fingers slide, achingly slow, to the gusset of your pants, “that you can look into that camera and show the world you’re a good girl?”

They press against you, right up against your clit through the fabric. You fight to stay still, to not come across like you’re desperate, but god it’s hard. You ache.

“Mhm,” you breathe, subtly tilting your hips forward as he idly pets your pussy.

“Not an answer,” he says firmly. Butterflies dance in your stomach, the air slowly being siphoned out, leaving you hot and bothered. John is barely affected, it seems, driving still, gliding through the night.

“Sorry,” you swallow, “I can do that, daddy.”

“Much better.”

“Still want to prove it to me, love?” he moves to a glass cabinet, pulling out a little box. It opens with a click, revealing a neat row of thick cigars.

“Yes,” you stand in the middle of his living room, appreciating the atmosphere he’s made; low lighting, oranges, reds everywhere. Brown leather and the heady smell of cigar smoke, of leather polish and an incense-y kind of musk.

He walks back towards you, brand new cigar between his fingers, steps heavy on the carpet. You’re made aware of the height difference when he stands right in front of you, looking down not unkindly.

Your skin prickles at his gaze, the same one from the club; that assessment. Like he’s measuring you, testing you, scanning you.

John leans forward, breath puffing lightly across your face. He smells like his house does, only there’s a bit of whiskey mixed in.

You can’t help but squirm just a little, thighs rubbing together, both to relieve the pulsing ache of your pussy and that it’s impossible to stay composed under that gaze.

“Drop down,” he says finally, “to your knees, sweetheart.”

From your knees, you get a good fucking look at those tight pants– at the bulge in them. The hair on his chest sticks out a little, too, peeking at you from above. Hot. So hot.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, daddy,” you bite your lip again.

“Keep those hands down, alright?” he leans to the side and picks up a cigar lighter, watching you as he lights up.

John stands over you, new cigar lit, plumes of smoke drifting from his fingers. His expression is neutral, though he hums in a pleased way as he strokes the softness of your cheek.

“Take me out,” he commands.

You lean forward with your mouth, unable to resist giving him a good long sniff before you pull at his zipper with your teeth. He smells good, musky and strong, a little cologne there but mostly it’s natural.

When your teeth gently take his briefs, pulling, he cups the back of your head with a big hand and strokes your hair.

“Are you going to take it all, sweetheart? Right down your throat?”

You let his cock flop out of his underwear, heavy. The bush surrounding it makes your mouth water. It looks so good, long and a little curved, bouncing as if it’s teasing you.

You nod finally, hands squeezed into fists in your lap just the way he asked, “yes, daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Are you going to give daddy’s cock a little kiss first?”

You lean forward, lips pursed, planting a little kiss on the mushroom head of his cock. Though you ache to lick your lips, to taste him, you wait.

“That’s a good little girl,” he murmurs, “open your mouth.”

You do, holding your tongue out.

He grips the base, holding his cock up, tapping your tongue with the head. You almost whine, before he grips your head firmer and holds you still so he can slide the entire length of that monster right to the back of your throat.

Your nose hits his pubic bone, buried in the coarse hairs there, overwhelmed, hands balling into fists.

“That’s right,” he grunts, “hold it right there, sweetheart, show me you’ve got what it takes.”

God, he’s all the way in, a perfect fit. You try to stay still, anchoring yourself to him, to his palm, to the possibility of hearing good girl.

You gag a little, coughing around him, tears burning at your eyes as drool plip plops onto your chest.

Finally, he pulls out, stroking your hair, “good girl, such a good girl. Ready?”

“Yes,” you garble around the heady of his cock, clit swollen and needy, hands pressing hard into your thighs, “please fuck my face, daddy.”

He does, his pistoning, fucking your mouth like it’s a cunt. His hand cradles the back of your head, pushing you, hips moving, grunting when he’s not taking the occasional puff of his cigar.

You throb in your panties, body scorching hot, gagging every so often around the thick meat of John’s cock. Drool falls in viscous strings, tears following, the world dropping away. 

Nothing else but the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth exists, matters.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he pants raggedly.

You have no idea how long he lasts, only that when he’s finished you're an absolute mess. Wet faced and panting.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his rough thumbs. You look up at him through your clumped lashes, mouth open, “did so well for me, hm?”

“Thank you, daddy,” your voice is a little gravelly, but not painful.

John pulls you up with a hand at your bicep, walking you down a hallway off his living room and towards an open door. 

It’s his bedroom– and it’s decorated exactly as you’d imagined it.

The bed is huge, kingsized with a radio inlay and a thick, padded headboard that extends all around the mattress in a kind of cradle. His sheets are silk, dark, and dark orange.

“Nice digs,” you laugh, “you sure you aren’t a pornstar?”

He laughs behind you, setting his lit cigar into the ashtray on the bedside table. He slowly strips out of his clothes, getting totally naked. Then he slides in, and leans back.

“Give me a show, sweetheart.”

You hum, swaying again. You aren’t a pro at this kind of stuff, but it’s fun regardless to pull your shirt up and over your head like you’re a dirty dancer.

“Like this, daddy?”

John hums.

You slowly slide your pants down, turning so he can watch your ass move, kicking them away. You hear the slick sounds of him jerking his cock as you do.

“Should I take my panties off?” you ask, thumbs slipping into the elastic.

“Yes, take them off,” he grunts, “turn around.”

You do, then slowly slip your panties off. He licks his bottom lip again, quick.

“Come here.”

You slide onto the bed, on your knees, then crawl forward until you’re beside him, where he pushes you to lay on your side.

His heavy palm finds the naked skin of your hip, squeezing, “still want to show me your star power, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” you’re back in it, eyes half lidded. Your pussy is making a wet spot on your thighs, “I wanna show you.”

He pushes you to your back, slaps your thighs until you open your legs and hold them out. Then he pauses, hand at the junction of your thigh and hip, thumb inching towards your pussy.

“Look how wet you are, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You clench, tilting your hips up. Your clit throbs.

“Ah ah, get back down,” he tuts.

Your ass touches the bed again, hips forced down by sheer willpower. His thumb finally reaches you, pulling aside your pussylip to gaze at your wetness.

It gushes out of you, and you’re sure he can see the way your hole clenches.

“Desperate little cunt, isn't she?” he uses his other hand, two two fingers coming to pull the hood of your clit up and just watch as it jumps needily, “awe, poor thing.”

“Please, daddy,” you could cry, “please, touch me.”

“Touch where, love? Touch this needy little clit?”

“Yes, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he abandons holding you open to bring his thumb to your exposed clit, rubbing in circles. You shout, a tremor immediately beginning. It’s too much and not enough at once, electric and icy-hot.

Then he slips those fingers inside you, slow and testing at first, but when he realizes just how wet and soft you are he curls them inside you deeply and oh, fuck, your eyes roll back into your head.

“That’s the spot, that’s it,” he grunts, shaking you, taking you apart.

John only fingers you long enough to let your wetness spill out of you, wetting your thighs, soaking his fingers– until you’re ready for his cock.

“You’re ready,” he lays the length of it against your pussy for a moment, letting your swollen lips hug his length, before he shifts back and nudges the head at your hole, “yeah, you’re ready for it.”

He stuffs you fucking full. You’ve never been so stuffed in your life, thankful for his diligent attention earlier or you might be really feeling the weight of him.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, back arching, nipples rubbing against his chest hair. It sparks pleasure from your tits right down your cunt, body aflame, hands scratching through the hair at his back.

It’s like fucking a bear, or a werewolf. He’s relentless, too, without mercy. Plows into you hard and long, thrusts measured, never faltering.

John fucks like a pornstar, there’s no doubt about it. He takes up so much space on top of you that without his arms holding him up you worry about being crushed– you crave it, too.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, lip curling, mustache going with it, “want to be on camera, do ya? Let me hear you.”

You let loose, mouth open in one long drawn out sound, interposed only by the gasps you let out each time he hits you deep.

You tilt your head back, bearing your throat, taking each heavy thrust and crying out with them, squeezing around him.

“I’m gonna give it all to you, sweetheart, fuck,” he snaps his hips faster now, “and you’re gonna take it all like a star.”

You nod desperately, feeling his pubes each time he thrusts to the hilt, wet with your juices. You’re so fucking close, one breath to your clit and you’d lose your mind.

He straightens, hands going to your hips, tightening, as he snaps one, two, three times and tenses–

His head snaps back, neck bulging with veins as he comes, teeth bared in a growl as he curses, “fuck, good girl, that’s right– good fucking pussy–”

Hot come shoots inside, heating you up further, making you whine with frustration and satisfaction both.

When the taut line of his body relaxes and he pulls out, a flood of come following him, he slides to his stomach and spreads you open with his thumbs.

“Let daddy make it up to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs to your pussy, “he’s not usually so selfish.”

John looks down first. Your pussy is swollen, well-fucked, and you can feel a slight gape.

“Poor little pussy,” he murmurs, then seals his mouth over your clit until you fall apart.

“You sure you aren’t a pornstar?” your cheek is pressed to his chest, basking in the furriness, arm and leg thrown over his body.

He laughs, “I’m sure, sweetheart. But I will say–” he pauses to lean down and kiss the corner of your mouth, mustache still damp, “you’ve definitely got star quality.”

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when an overworked magical girl from another anime franchise crashes into satoru gojo’s world?

a/n : consider this as a pilot or something so pleeeasee do tell if y’all see the vision hehe. i might write this either as oneshot or series, crack treated seriously, fluff and fix it :3 this is pre-hidden inventory arc.

the sky tears.

satoru doesn’t notice it at first. he’s too busy kicking the hell out of a training dummy, sweat clinging to the back of his neck as the sun swelters high above jujutsu tech’s back field. his shirt clings damply to his back, white hair tousled and sticking to his forehead in unruly, sweat-drenched clumps. every kick sends a dull echo through the otherwise quiet yard, and his brows are furrowed, teeth gritted—not out of effort, but boredom.

it’s supposed to be a solo mission—a recon exercise, or so yaga said, but more like a punishment for cutting class again. the kind that comes with no supervision, no curse threats, just him, a dummy, and the blistering heat. satoru checks his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. detention by any other name would still be just as tedious.

then the air goes still.

the cicadas stop screaming. the clouds part with unnatural precision, like curtains pulled by unseen hands. the temperature spikes—no, drops—and something surges through the atmosphere with a pulse so loud it rattles his bones. his body stiffens, spine prickling with instinct. midnight blue eyes narrow behind tinted lenses, sensing the shift in reality before his other senses can process it.

and then you crash into the earth.

not fall. not descend. crash. like a meteor. like a magical girl-shaped missile. light explodes in a pastel burst of ribbons, iridescent butterflies, and shattering sakura petals. the air rings with the high-pitched chime of otherworldly bells, the tinkle of crystal stars, and the unmistakable sugary pop of transformation magic gone sideways. the ground trembles beneath it.

the training field goes silent except for the sound of scorched grass and the faint, whimsical hum of residual transformation magic. a stray butterfly, translucent and shimmering with cosmic dust, flutters past satoru’s ear before dissolving into sparkles.

satoru blinks behind his sunglasses, now slightly askew on his nose. he adjusts them with a slow push of his index finger, head tilting, brows raised beneath snowy bangs that flutter faintly in the shifting breeze.

“…huh.”

in the crater, you groan.

you’re face-down in a shallow pit, skirt ruffled, hair scorched at the ends, and your transformation outfit—sky-pink bodice with cream lace trim, crystalline brooch shaped like a winking star, thigh-high boots with wing-shaped heels that somehow remain pristinely white despite your crash landing—is smoking gently at the edges. your star-shaped wand lies beside you like a fallen weapon of cosmic justice, occasionally sputtering pathetic little sparks as if trying to reboot itself.

above your head, a tiny, winged creature that looks like a deranged mix between a rabbit and a plushie on its fifth espresso flutters in frantic circles, trailing stardust and anxiety in equal measure.

“you’ve breached the astral veil! the interdimensional tether’s fried! we overshot by three star realms!” it shrieks, voice unnaturally high, paws clutching at its fuzzy cheeks in distress. “this is NOT how galactic school exchanges are supposed to go! we’re so off-schedule! the stellar alignment council is going to have my tail!”

satoru approaches cautiously, one hand in his pocket, the other hovering near his weapon just in case. his steps are deliberate, almost lazy, yet somehow soundless. the breeze tugs lightly at the hem of his uniform jacket, ruffling his collar and loosening the tension in his shoulders. cursed energy flows through him, ready but controlled, his limitless technique humming just beneath his skin.

“uh,” he says, peering over the crater’s edge. “you okay down there?”

“no,” you groan, rolling onto your back. your eyes are half-lidded, voice hoarse, lashes clumped with ash and what might be leftover mascara from yesterday. there are dark circles under your eyes that no amount of magical transformation can hide. “i have two essays due, i haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, i still have cram school, i fought six darklings at dawn, had to seal a nightmare portal during lunch break, my transformation pen is running on fumes, and now i’ve apparently crash-landed in a world with no ley lines.”

you pause.

“…and mipple won’t shut up.”

“you ripped a hole in space,” mipple screeches, buzzing frantically around your head, leaving a trail of panicked sparkles. “this is not sustainable hero behavior! you need rest! regulation mana! a snack! the magical girl handbook specifically states that cosmic defenders should maintain a balanced sleep schedule and nutrient intake! page forty-seven, paragraph three!”

satoru blinks, slowly crouching beside the crater. his weight settles on the balls of his feet, elbows resting loosely on his knees. his expression is unreadable behind the glare of his glasses, but there’s a hint of genuine curiosity in the tilt of his head. “you’re not from around here, huh.”

“gee, what gave it away?” you mutter, dragging your gloved hand down your face. a heart-shaped gem on your glove catches the light, flickering weakly. “was it the interdimensional wormhole or the talking plushie?”

satoru grins. his teeth flash white in the sun, a hint of mischief curling at the edge of his lips. “the sparkles.”

mipple flits a fast, nervous circle around him, sniffing the cursed energy. its tiny nose twitches, ears flattening against its head. “her readings are flat. nothing’s reacting. it’s like this whole place runs on… rot.” mipple’s eyes widen to comical proportions. “this isn’t a darkness realm, is it? please tell me we haven’t crashed into a darkness realm. the paperwork for that is a nightmare.”

“charming,” you deadpan.

“you’re leaking glitter,” satoru says helpfully, pointing to the trail of iridescent dust that seems to be following your every movement like dejected confetti.

you sit up with a scowl, brushing at your skirt with short, angry movements. flecks of glitter and ash catch the sunlight, making you shimmer like a very irate disco ball. the ribbon in your hair droops sadly to one side, and your magical girl tiara is slightly crooked. “great. fantastic. this is exactly what i needed today. another crisis. do you people have dimensional transit hubs or are you still in the dirt age?”

“dirt age?”

“never mind,” you sigh, pushing back a strand of hair that falls immediately back into your face. “point me to your nearest leyline stabilizer and maybe i can reverse the jump. preferably before i miss another math test. i’m barely passing as it is.”

“uh,” satoru squints, pushing his glasses higher with a knuckle, fingers smudged with sweat and dust. “we’ve got vending machines? and i think i saw a fortune teller at the corner store once.” he pauses, then adds with complete seriousness, “the milk bread is pretty good.”

mipple facepalms in mid-air with an audible poof, leaving a tiny puff of glitter.

“okay,” you say, standing slowly, wobbling. your knees wobble like a newborn deer’s. “okay. it’s fine. i just need a second. maybe ten. maybe an hour. or a nap. or the sweet release of death. or caffeine. ideally all of the above.”

you stumble.

there’s a flicker of light. your form glitches slightly—one ribbon vanishing, then another, your skirt shortening then lengthening, your magical aura flickering like a dying lightbulb—and with a tired sigh and the sad deflating sound of a party balloon, your transformation dissolves into a shimmer of pale light. your star-shaped wand vanishes with a chime, and the magical embellishments melt away like soap bubbles.

you’re left in a rumpled high school uniform: blazer, skirt, tie askew, one sock missing, the other scrunched around your ankle. your hair’s a mess, sticking to your cheeks. your face is streaked with dirt and interstellar ash. your school bag materializes with a sad plop beside you, spilling out a half-finished homework assignment, three empty energy drink cans, and what appears to be emergency chocolate.

satoru catches your elbow without thinking, touch light and instinctive. “whoa there, sparkles.”

you slap his hand away with the strength of a very tired moth batting at a streetlamp. “don’t touch me, i’m radioactive with stress. also, i shock people sometimes when i’m low on magic. it’s not pretty.”

he snorts—then, belatedly, catches a proper glimpse of your face.

he goes still.

there’s ash in your lashes, a scratch on your cheek, and you look like you’ve clawed your way out of a magical apocalypse—your hair is a mess, your uniform is wrinkled in ways that defy physics, and there’s a sparkly band-aid on your knee with little moons on it—but still, for some reason, all he can think is: she’s pretty.

heat prickles across his ears. he shoves his sunglasses back up his nose, suddenly very interested in a patch of grass beside his foot. he scratches the back of his neck, pretending to study a dandelion like it’s the most complex thing he’s ever seen. like he hasn’t faced down curses ten times more dangerous than a tired high school girl who occasionally sparkles.

and for a second, everything’s quiet again. awkward. your breathing slows, the wind picks up. somewhere, a cicada remembers how to scream.

“listen,” he says, voice a little lower, a little softer. “this isn’t a leyline whatever, but we’ve got a place to crash nearby. and sugar. and air conditioning. i mean, if you don’t mind hanging out with some weirdos.” he gestures vaguely in the direction of the school building. “though, from what i’m seeing, you’d probably fit right in.”

you glare at him, narrowing your eyes like you’re trying to set him on fire with sheer willpower. you cross your arms, wobble slightly, then uncross them when you realize it’s taking too much energy to maintain the posture. mipple lands on your shoulder, tiny paws patting at your cheek in a comforting gesture.

“mipple,” you say slowly. “scan him for monster corruption.”

“he’s clean,” mipple says, whiskers twitching as it sniffs the air around satoru. “just stupid. and full of something weird. but not evil-weird. more like… chaos-weird.” it pauses, then adds helpfully, “he smells like blue raspberry slushies and bad decisions.”

“fine,” you grumble, bending down to stuff your homework back into your bag. “lead the way, mister. but if you try anything funny, i still have enough magic to turn you into something small and amphibious.”

satoru flashes a grin that tugs crooked at the corner, brushing a hand through his damp hair. it fluffs back into place, soft and silver, catching the sun in a halo-bright sheen. “that’s what i thought.”

the glitter trails behind you as you limp off the field, exhausted, annoyed, and absolutely, cosmically done with today. a butterfly manifestation charm falls from your pocket, too depleted to even flutter. your magical girl compact beeps once, twice, then falls silent, the battery icon blinking sadly in the corner.

satoru watches you from the corner of his eye, still grinning, a faint pink on his cheeks. his hand drifts briefly to the spot where your elbow had been, fingers curling slightly. the residual warmth lingers, along with the faintest trace of stardust.

he’s never met anyone like you before.

and watching you now—dragging your feet but still holding your head high—he knows he never will again. behind him, the training dummy collapses with a defeated thud, like even it can’t keep up with the kind of day you’re having.

you don’t notice.

you’re already walking off, one hand adjusting your sleeve like you didn’t just nearly destroy the field. it’s the kind of tired that comes from trying too hard, too often. but you carry it like it’s nothing.

satoru watches you go, something warm and strange curling in his chest.

yeah.

he’s definitely in trouble.

[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 ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

────────────────────────

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."

[bullet-prooflove]

The Riding Crop: Charlie Reid x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging:@kmc1989 @littleesilvia @wrestlequeen @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @beebeechaos

Summary: Charlie and you roleplay for the first time.

Companion piece to:

Charlie - Charlie meets someone unexpected one night at his pool hall.

The Whole Damn Night (NSFW) - You aren't anything like Charlie expected.

Like God Needs The Devil (NSFW) - Charlie takes you to heaven in the hallway of his house.

Prequel to:

Risk Management - Charlie realises the two of you have been keeping secrets from one another.

Deals With The Devil - Charlie's fall from grace starts with an act of love.

The Ghost That Lingers In The Nighttime - Charlie's becoming accustomed to the late night visits.

Who The Fuck Is Charlie? - You wake up calling for Charlie but noone knows who the fuck Charlie is.

Blood For Blood - Charlie's wrath leads to his worst nightmare...

The riding crop is a game changer, it’s a naughty little tool you’re using to control Charlie right now and he loves every single second of it. Especially the sudden, abrupt sting on his hip when you chide him for trying to fuck your lace covered palm.

His tilts his head into the pillow, trying to stifle his moans as you hold him right there teetering on the edge, pre-cum leaking all over the translucent black fabric. It’s the perfect blend of roughness over his sensitive tip as you straddle his thighs, keeping pressed him into the mattress. The nylon from those seamed stockings create the most delicious friction against his sensitive skin as he tries his damnedest to keep from bucking up into your fist.

He had no fucking clue that his evening would end like this when he agreed to attend the Sherlock Holmes film festival. No idea he’d end up with this fingers threaded through the wrought iron headboard, the metal digging into his palm as he lies there at your mercy.

You’re clad in a plum plunge corset that accentuates your curves in a way that should be fucking illegal and delicate lace gloves that cover your wrists. There’s black fascinator woven into your hair, one that gives you a sexy, lethal edge, that got Charlie as hard as a rock the moment he laid eyes on it.

The riding crop swats against his cheek, a quick, sharp blossom of pain that ignites the masochist in him. The keeper trails along his jaw, tipping his chin back up towards you, his wild whiskey eyes meeting yours.

“No, no Mr Holmes.” You tut as his damp curls fall across his forehead. “You don’t get to look away. You have to keep your eyes on me until I decide what to do with you.”

The keeper trails over his lips and he snatches it between his teeth as you squeeze his cock hard enough to make him bite down on the leather. Your free hand slips down to the bow just beneath your cleavage, fingers plucking the pretty ribbon, pulling it loose. The fabric relaxes over your breasts and Charlie can see the barest peek of nipple as the binding falls away. You take your time unlacing the rest of it, the keeper of the riding crop stays fixed between his teeth until the corset falls away revealing those perfect tits of yours.

His restraint snaps and Charlie jerks his head, tearing the riding crop out of your hand and tossing it off the bed in one fluid movement. Before you can react he turns the tables, flipping you onto your back so you’re lying  underneath him like the world’s most beautiful little mischief maker.

“It’s my turn now Ms Adler and you are going to give me what I want.” His hand plunges down the front of your panties, seeking out the heat between your legs. Already you’re soaked for him, it drips down his fingers into his palm before he removes it and uses your wetness to coat his cock.

His fingers hook on your panties tugging them down over those pretty thigh highs before he notches his cock at your entrance, pushing in. You arch underneath him, your nails raking up his back as he buries himself deep, all the way up to the hilt, pinning your hips to the mattress.

“That’s it baby you need to tear up my back, tear it the fuck up because we’re not stopping until I’ve had you coming all over my cock.”                    

Oh you like that, he can tell from the way you clench around him as he hikes your thighs even higher up his hips getting that depth, the one that hits your sweet spot with every stroke.

“Fuck me like you mean it Holmes.” You whisper in his ear, your teeth grazing his earlobe. “I wanna feel you for fucking days.”

His forehead comes to rest upon yours, his thumb tracing over the pert shape of your lips as he looks into your eyes.  

“Let’s cool it with the Holmes stuff.” He murmurs, his mouth ghosting over yours. “The roleplay, it’s fun, but I just wanna be your Charlie for a minute.”

“Alright my Charlie…” You whisper, your fingers running through his unruly curls. “Why don’t you make love to your Em instead?”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[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.

[cyborg-franky]

This is my piece for the Girls, Girls, Girls zine!

Perona x Fem Reader SFW but mild yandere vibes Wordcount: 1,082

The last thing you could remember was a shrill laugh and the pain of something hard and heavy hitting the back of your head and your world fading into darkness. You gasped and opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling as you grabbed at your sides, confused as you felt plush fabric in your fists and eyes focused on the pink above you. Your heart was thundering as you tried to comprehend what was happening.

You’d been in the woods, avoiding shifting shadows and now you were on a soft comfy bed with nothing but pink in your vision. You sat up tentatively, blinking slowly as you looked around you. Thick old brick walls draped with so many garish bright decorations. You rubbed your head, feeling the lump and letting out a hiss.

You swung your legs off the side, the bed was huge with four posts, looking like something out of a fairytale Frilly pillows and an assortment of plushies had crowded you. You let your feet hit the floor and you sighed. The ticking of a clock was the only sound you could hear as you tried to urge yourself to your feet, looking at the old wooden door.

Confusion be damned, you just knew you needed to get out of this room before the owner came back. 

“It’s about time you got up! Lazy ass!” a high-pitched voice called and you saw a woman. Your blood ran cold and you tried not to scream as you watched the translucent pink-haired girl phase fully through the solid wall and hover above you.

She tilted her head to the side and puffed out her cheeks as you gawked at her with wide eyes and a hand slapped over your mouth so as not to let out a sound. She tsked at you and shook her head, floating in place with hands on her hips. “Don’t make such ugly faces idiot!” She hissed and floated over, her hands grabbing yours and pulling them away from your face.

“I didn’t want that moron to hit you as hard as he did, maybe he shook your brains too hard,” she said and hummed. You felt her hand, soft and warm and not at all like the ghoul she’d appeared popping out of the wall. A devil fruit user, was better than a real ghost… right?

“Where am I?”

Perona ignored the question as she floated over to her wardrobe, swinging the doors open and eyeing up the rows and rows of frilly clothes. Lacy blouses, flouncy skirts. You winced when she fixed her gaze on you. Her eyes narrowed in a scrutinizing fashion as she tapped her lip. “You're cute but your clothes? Ugly! And that won’t do! I need my girlfriend to be adorable!” she said loudly and you stared at her confused, again.

“Who said anything about girlfriends?” you asked and she folded her arms over her chest and huffed pink bangs from her face.

“I was told I got to keep you! Would you rather have your shadow stuffed into a zombie instead?” She snapped. “I don’t even know your name!” you were already tired of this bratty girl but she had a point, you didn’t want to be one of those shambling messes out there in the dark and fog.

“Perona! I’m Perona! The ghost princess!” Perona’s voice got even higher, if that was possible as two ghosts started to circle her with a dumb expression on their faces. You vaguely remember seeing someone getting hit with that, and the effect wasn’t good… You didn’t want to experience that.

“Perona,” you repeated and she squealed with delight as she floated around you. Grabbing your cheeks and pulling. “So cute!” she cooed and you wanted to slap her hands off of you but the ghosts remained at her side and you thought better of it, she let go and you rubbed your now aching cheeks as she dug into the pink frilly wall that was her wardrobe. 

“This one will suit you perfectly!” Perona grinned ear to ear as she held up the lace monster. You clenched your teeth in a grimace, trying not to displease her. Nodding your head slowly you kept your real opinion inside your head.

Your silence betrayed you as the smile on her face faltered, her lip twitched as she gripped the the dress before you quickly nodded before the mask of the smile broke and you’d be in trouble. “Y-yeah, it’s so cute!” you replied, seeing the light in her eyes and warmth in her smile return as she thrust the dress into your arms.

“Get into it then!” she demanded and you watched her, not leaving the room as she floated casually, leaning back and watching you with such admiration. “Some privacy?” you asked and she hummed, as if thinking it over before shrugging. Turning around but watching your movements in the full-length mirror. Even if you turned around she could still enjoy you taking off those ugly, filthy and gross clothes! It was just a bonus she got to see your form as you slid into the dress.

“Done?” she asked, turning around before you could reply. You yelped in surprise as she started to adjust the dress, fluffing the skirt and pulling the waist ties tight and putting it into a nice neat bow before she spun you around. 

“Look how pretty you are now!” She said with a happy sigh as she made you look at yourself. She floated off and came back with a large hairbow that she placed on your head. She clasped her hands together with a manic smile. “So perfect, so pretty,”

You felt her hands on your shoulders as she leaned in close, her breath fanning against your ear. “You are going to be such a pretty dolly for me, aren’t you? I can’t wait to have more fun with you…”

You felt frozen in place at her words, feeling her soft lips brush against your ear so softly as she made you walk toward her vanity. Pink and girly, just like everything else. She made you sit on the seat, standing in front of you now, she grabbed your chin as she made you look up at her. “I’m going to paint you so pretty dolly,” she purred and you sat rigid in your seat as the smile on her face turned into something more sinister, the shadow of a smirk and flash of something in her eyes.

“Adorable,”

[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.

[measureyourlifeincake]

a friend of mine is working on a novel and has invited me and some others to a "beta reader book club" wherein we read a few chapters at a time and discuss them over zoom so he can figure out what's working, what isn't, etc. Here are a selection of quotes from these very important, extremely erudite discussions:

"are you more of a tits guy or a translucent skin guy"

"my 'i never joke about vulvas; i'm a feminist' tattoo has people asking a lot of questions already answered by my tattoo"

"of course you have teeth-hair and pronouns"

"what those mandibles do tho"

"the slashfic writers can decide if there's an incest taboo" "you do NOT want the slashfic writers to decide that" "i won't have a choice"

"don't take this out of context, but radiation is something i wish i could play with more"

"drugs are a hell of a drug"

"this chapter fucks" "actually, the fucking happens in a later chapter"

"i can make a perfectly good table out of 15 boards, 17 nails, a hammer, and a table"

"There is something a little Bombadillian about [this chapter]"

"the world's most dangerous pool toy"

"monoliths forever!!!"

"by the end of this session we will have made a joke about every john green novel"

"as someone who has never lost a mandible,"

"you cant oedipalize your way out of The Refuse"

"everything is about sex, except sex, which is about trash"

"oedipalize, oedipal lies"

"oedipalize, edible thighs"

"cannibalism is one of the few things that doesn't come up in this book, i think"

"you should make one of the towns have funerary cannibalism. asking for a friend"

"you cannot plagiarize cats the musical, i won't allow it. starlight express, on the other hand..." (this turned into a digression into the plot of starlight express)

"no amount of money can fix how wet you feel"

[ramayantika]

Apsaras (Mystery Academia)

The gateway of the temple is built of stone, but the statues of dancing women, also built of stone feel alive. As if they are watching you.

You twirl in the courtyard. The other visitors move around you, their eyes enraptured by the magnificent pillars and sculptures of the temples. A tinkling feminine laughter rings in your ears. Your friends are near the abandoned empty shrine. They aren't laughing.

You imitate a pose of a nymph immortalized in stone. Giggling, you stand back normally when there is a slight tilt of her head, very slight. You swear you saw her stone head move.

Dozing in the passenger seat, the sun casts a warm glow over your face. A pleasant smile graces your lips as the car radio plays a soft tune. The soft romantic music changes to the first beats of Apsara aali. Your head reels. There is a flash of coloured patterns in the darkness: A court, infinitely beautiful damsels and instruments. It vanishes in a blink.

You find yourself standing against a mirror. It is a very normal day. You dangle a long shiny earring. The sparkle brightens and the room clouds in smoke except the silver mirror. The fog deepens and there is the fruity scent of ambrosia. Red and gold smoke dance around the foggy haze and the mirror reveals a different reflection. A beauty so killer, that the blessed viewers might choose death than to see something else less beautiful than the sight in the mirror.

The beauty keeps a finger on her lips while a surprised shriek catches in your throat. She winks at you and you hear a click. You are back in your little room and the mirror shows you your own reflection. Very normal.

A love song plays. There are damsels with translucent veils and scarves, all decked in jewels in every limb dancing, their gaze as sharp as a hunter's arrow. You clutch your heart. How else can you look at anything else in the world when the universe's beauty has graced you a vision for a minor second?

Back to the temple near the same statue, all alone. The twilight hour peaks and the birds go silent. Not a leaf moves. The stillness is heavy until a familiar scent of jasmine and roses permeate the air. Everything moves, and you see the dancing statues stretch their limbs lazily in a graceful way. Are they Art or is Art them?

"There, she is our hidden sister," says one, smiling, her stony teeth still appear mesmerizing than something eerily beautiful. "Poor you, the mortals dull our shine," says another as a stone hand makes you spin. Another holds you, her hold isn't tight nor do the stone surfaces bruise your skin. She says, "Your mother had left you too long here. You were to grow up amongst us!" A sharp headache ensues and all you can hear is chiming anklets and bangles. The stone bracelets don't break.

Life is a waking dream. The heavenly damsels follow you around, coaxing you to come home, to the heavens. Their stony faces wither away to shining skin, gorgeous hair and colourful priceless jewels. Their voices, husky and full of mystery as they narrate the sights of Indra's golden city, the best wine and musical festivities of the Gods.

When you play an instrument, you see a nymph sing the following raaga. When you dance, you see a nymph spin around you. Their eyes bore into yours and you see Indra's golden city, towering palaces, art galleries and courts. A world full of beauty, mystery and intrigue.

You recite a romantic couplet. Again a nymph brings it on a tune. So much beauty and art surrounds every waking moment. Their calls bring you closer to the edge. "A home strange but yours for all time or the home always known? Make your choice," The Queen of the Apsaras poses a question.

They live in art, and where art resides. They roam in the most beauteous places, and walk in secret groves. They swim in distant rivers and shores, and their reflections beautify a lake. An older nymph braids your air. A nymph of your age adorns your braid with sweet-smelling flowers. Someone fixes a ruby diadem atop your hear and you are dressed in hues of maroon and gold. The mirror shows you. They whisper: "Your true form."

Nothing really changes. Your beauty doesn't become illuminating nor do the eyes turn two shades lighter. The flesh is the same and the magic is the same. They adorn you in beauty and jewels, and though it all is the same as before, something has changed. Your gait smoother and bolder and your limbs move as graceful as a gentle river. As wise words and honeyed poetic verses escape your red coloured lips, you mesmerize the audience. The audience who? Another lesson for later, my nymph in the making.

You must make a choice now. Oh. You made it. You chose the home familiar to you since birth, but your ancestry doesn't change and the bonds of sisterhood are strong. Your paintings are vibrant and poetry unmatched, tugging at one's heart. When you dance, they stop to admire and curse their eyelashes for casting darkness for a second. When you sing they dance and when you touch a budding artist, inspiration strikes them.

Someone casts a statue in your name. You live like a mortal on your plane, your nymph sisters looking out for you. And then this statue finds itself in a temple. You find yourself amidst your sisters in the same temple where this tale started ages ago.

Another curious, bright-eyed girl arrives. She copies the way your body curves. She has noticed your stony lips smirk. You have found another one of your clan.

___***___

Tagging: @ahamasmiyodhah (will tag the others later as per taglist as i am late for practice. Spl mention to Khyati for this so dedicating this one to her. I thought I would do this later after coming back from the fest but again inspiration and the will strikes when a nymph touches you :)

Hehe enjoy

[stellarcat]

(not so) Fun Fact: Slasher’s soul has cracks which were mended with determination. You’ll have to keep reading to find out how he got ‘em ;)

previous

next

Chapter XX

“heh, didja really think you would be able-“

Frisk tightened their grip on the knife and lunged forward.

Sans was...not dead though? His eyes fluttered open, faintly glowing as he stood motionless. Through his blurred vision, he saw the kid frozen in place, their soul glowing a bright red, gripped by Chara’s ghostly power.

"NOW!"

Sans didn’t waste the opportunity. He summoned every ounce of strength he had left, slamming Frisk into the wall and pinning them with sharp bones. He staggered closer, glaring at the human as they gasped for breath, coughing up blood on the floor. But then—

Frisk struck out with the knife, piercing his side. They pushed themselves up, weak but still determined, a sinister grin spreading across their face. Bleeding heavily, they rummaged through their pack, pulling out the last slice of butterscotch-cinnamon pie. Shoving it into their mouth, their wounds began to heal.

They turned to Sans, who was struggling to keep standing, and let out a dark chuckle.

"Better luck next time, freak~"

With Sans out of the way, Frisk continued their march toward Asgoreks Throne Room.

The skeleton collapsed behind one of the columns in the Judgment Hall, clutching his wound as dust began to spill from him. He felt his form fading, his body deteriorating with every shallow breath. He leaned back against the cold stone, his eyelights dimming.

Chara’s voice shattered the silence.

"No... No no no nO NO NOO! It should’ve worked! I had control of their soul AND reset power! WHY DIDN’T IT WORK?!"

Sans gritted his teeth, trying to push through the pain, but it was too much.

"...it’s... it’s okay, kiddo... this...this was the closest we got to them... guess we’ll try... next time...”

Chara’s form flickered in and out, their panic mounting.

"No! There won’t be a next time! It has to be now or never!"

Despite Chara’s desperate words, Sans closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable. He was hopeless. Helpless. Dust was already starting to coat his gloves.

Then, through his eyelids, he saw it—a blinding red glow. His eyes snapped open, seeing Chara standing before him, their translucent form trembling like a dying flame, barely holding together. They were gently cupping his soul, the cracks slowly filling up with a red substance.

"c-chara...what are you doing?"

Chara’s voice was soft but steady, though they were visibly falling apart.

"What I should’ve done a long time ago."

Sans tried to reach for them, his voice strained.

"n-no, i-it’s pointless—"

"It’s not. That slice of pie? It was their last healing item... now’s the perfect time to strike."

“b-but didn’t you say i could melt?!”

Chara hesitated, their confidence faltering for the first time.

"I...I don’t know. Technically, too much determination melts monsters... but the thing is... I don’t have a lot. Just enough to stay alive. And maybe... maybe that applies to you too."

Sans shook his head, his voice breaking.

"Chara, don’t! we’ll find another way! i... i don’t wanna lose any more good people—"

Chara’s flickering form floated closer, their expression softening.

"I’m not good. This mess is my fault... since the day me and my brother have died. But now... this is my chance to make things right. To help you fix the trouble I caused."

They paused, their figure dimming until only a faint outline remained.

"H-Hey... Avenge the monsters for me, okay?"

Sans reached out weakly, but it was too late.

“...’course kid...”

With a final flicker of light, Chara disappeared, their remaining determination surging into Sans’s soul. He gasped as the heat burned through him, filling the cracks and coursing through every inch of his body. The pain was unbearable, but as the glow stabilized, he opened his eyes.

And for the first time, Sans was filled with DETERMINATION.

[lavender-tea-fling]

Six Song Soundtrack

Thanks @sunny374940! you already KNOW who it is

My dearest lad, hilariously also Rook Volkarin (neé Ingellvar).

Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following…

Event that defines your character's past:

The War of the Banners is probaby the first major tramatic event, and for that I have Pale White Horse by the Oh Hellos.

Down they fell like the children of Eden Down they fell like the tower As the land relinquished her ghost Heed the sirens, take shelter, my lover Flee the fire that devours But the sight held me fixed Like a bayonet against my throat Neither plague or famine tempered my courage Nor did raids make me cower But his translucent skin Made me shiver deep within my bones

How your character sees themselves:

Shadow by Livingston.

One foot in the ground, one foot in the grave Don't you dare make a sound (Shh) Hear you from a mile away Run from the town, all you need is your name And the sweat on your brow And the blood running through your veins Don't think twice, you'll be dead in a second Turn your eyes from your hands to the heavens Kill your pride, turn your fear to a weapon

How others view them:

Metaphor by the Crane Wives.

I've gotten good at leaning on metaphors I've gotten good at living on someone else's page I cut my teeth on secondhand sentiments You can't trust a single thing I say (Ooh, ooh, ooh) (Ooh, ooh, ooh) I keep my closet free of skeletons 'Cause I'm much better at digging graves But I always dig up bones in your sympathy I can't trust a single thing you say

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic):

With Emmrich Volkarin, Fair by the Amazing Devil.

"I've seen enough," he says, "I know exactly what I want And it's this life that we've created Inundated with the fated thought of you And if you asked me to, if you asked me, I would lose it all Like petals in a storm 'Cause darling I was born to press my head between your shoulder blades At night when light is fading Just to let you know I'm old, waylaid and feels like I am wading Into carpet burns and carousels Christ, you'll be the death of me" And calm throughout his melodrama, she will turn and say "Dear heart, it's me, it's me You don't need to pretend to be someone you're not 'Cause it's not like I've never heard you fart and snore And for some godforsaken reason I'm still here, love, like I've always been before"

A major fight scene:

Inkpot Gods by the Amazing Devil.

And I can hear him break And he doesn't understand And I wish that I could take his hand But where I'm going is for me and me alone And I can hear her sing If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along

End Credit Song:

I'm a sucker for angst. In a Week by Hozier.

We lay here for years or for hours Thrown here or found, to freeze or to thaw So long, we'd become the flowers Two corpses we were, two corpses I saw And they'd find us in a week When the weather gets hot After the insects have made their claim I'd be home with you, I'd be home with you

That was fun. Your turn, @the-font-bandit @themontess @andthekitchensinkao3!