#I really like the dynamic that they could have

[beigebeignett]

I do love angst but I'm also a sucker for happy endings and re-incarnation, so here's my take on what happens (decades/centuries) after:

The sphinx and her lover: reimagined

Imagine that the sphinx ends up dying, as all living creatures do, and ends up reincarnated as a very smart yet terrifying young scientist. 

Her passion in her fields equals her distaste for other people; especially men who try to undermine her knowledge and talent at dates. So, she sets up a strategy to determine who is worthy of her time.

If you want to get a date with me, solve my riddles, wrong answers will get you blocked. 

There, done, she thinks. If that doesn't make men stop bombarding her with messages, she doesn't know what will (well, she can think of a few others, but she'd rather not spend more time and energy than she's already spending on such a silly matter). 

And so, she starts getting less messages, with only some men and women being brave (or foolish) enough to try and chat with her. 

The ones that try to answer her riddles don't usually last long; getting the second or third wrong. Some don't even last the first one; those are usually the most bothersome, acting as if she has no right to choose her partner, as if she's being too ruthless (when she'd been honest since the beginning). 

Weeks pass before she gets another message. And so, she does as she always does. This time though, something's different. He keeps getting her riddles right, over, and over, and over. 

How curious, she thinks. How curious indeed, when he asks her if he could try asking her a riddle. She scoffs at her phone, partially amused, and agrees. 

She gets the answer right, of course, so he keeps asking riddle after riddle and she does the same, as if they were playing a game of pass the ball. The riddles get increasingly difficult, and the time those three dots stay floating on the chat grows longer as well; but she doesn't mind. She can wait a bit more for this one. Plus, while she waits, she can get lab reports done instead of worrying about finding new questions to ask that man. 

Sometimes days go by without her seeing any new riddles for him; sometimes a week passes before he gets asked another one. 

She must be busy, he thinks. He must have other things to do, she assumes. 

Between riddles, they start to talk about more mundane things: his job, her career, his essay on ancient Greek marriage practices; her paper on nuclear magnetic resonance in chemical engineering… He sends her pictures of his cat napping on top of his dictionaries and encyclopaedias, basking in the sun; and in turn she sends him pictures of boards filled with equations and pictures of filled excel tables.

Soon, they start chatting more, asking riddles occasionally when they’re both tired of talking about themselves. 

She learns that he’s an Archaeology major, and he finds out that she’s already getting her doctorate; something about chemical engineering, she explains. He’s fascinated by the topic, asking her a million questions about what it’s like, her doctorate subject, how did she choose her career path… And in turn she asks him about archaeology; why did he choose to spend his life studying the past, what is it that he enjoys the most about his field of work… 

They agree to meet up at the local library two days later. 

Almost a foot taller than him; that’s how tall she is. She’s waiting for him sitting near the entrance, browsing through architecture magazines when he finds her. He smiles and warmly waves at her, formally introducing himself, and extends his hand for her to shake; so she stands up as well to take it and introduce herself as well. That’s when they notice.

Even though he’s not short himself (considering the standards) at 5'9", at almost 7 feet tall she towers over him. Their aesthetics seem to clash a bit as well: his outfit is quite simple: some basic jeans and a nice cream wool jumper paired up with some sneakers, and hers consists of a pleated red skirt and a shirt paired with black knee-high boots to combat the cold. Out of the chat, and now face to face, their conversation flows easily; they exchange book recommendations, and of course they ask each other some riddles to pass the time. 

Overall, their first date goes well. Better than she expected, honestly, which is why when he asks her for a second date, she agrees.

To be continued...?

[nanamiskentos]

SCORCHED EARTH ✤ (五条 悟, gojo satoru)

── NO GOD, THE ONLY MAN IN THE SKY IS ME. Gojo Satoru is the nation's treasure, and its most dangerous asset. In a world where Supes are lauded as celebrities and heroes, there's only a select few that sees superheroes for what they really are ─ cogs in the propaganda machine, corrupt and lecherous. You're determined to hunt down the golden boy that leads them, to find Gojo Satoru and bring him down. But he's just as obsessed with you, and he gets to you first.

➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊, gojo satoru & afab!reader, wc ─ 5k

cw ─ MDNI. enemies to lovers, THE BOYS AU, love/hate sex, HOMELANDER GOJO 😁, superhero au, cat & mouse dynamics, vigilante!reader, evil!gojo to some extent, mentions of a plane crash to be safe, kitchen sèx, breaking n' entering but they're into that, súb!gojo if u squint, fíngèring, òral (f), usage of powers, 3x01 homelander/butcher inspired, BIG DÍCK GOJO!!

呪術廻戦 : 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ( author says ) s/o to the evil man who inspired the gojo in this fic. and these scenes: 1/2 ofc (i'd rec watching to understand who reader/gojo is also inspired by). art, gojouify.

A ballpoint cap balances between your teeth as you scribble furiously, blue ink streaking across a spare napkin. The address is way too far out, a shipping container, two hours away and tucked into the skeletal maze of the port.

"This is a long drive for a maybe." You press the phone tighter against your ear, frowning at the scrawled numbers and letters, "You're sure I'll find something?"

On the other end, Nanami exhales sharply, the sound of a clock ticking faintly over the static. He's still in the office, no doubt hunched over a desk lit by the sickly glow of a desk lamp.

"Well," he hedges, ever the careful one, "I wouldn't go alone."

You tip your chair back, gaze drifting to the chaotic sprawl of files pinned to the red-string board by the wall. Photographs, names, offshore accounts that all lead back to the same festering rot. Lawmakers, politicians and billionaires.

The smiling, all-powerful titans who owned the system that was supposed to hold them accountable.

At the centre of it all? Gojo Satoru. The strongest superhero that the world had ever seen, barely held in check by Vought and international courts.

You chew at the soft inside of your cheek, "And you're sure this is the best lead we have?"

"After that shitshow at Congress?" Nanami sounds tired, stretched far too thin, "This is the only lead we have, or the only thing that I can find right now."

Ah, yes. The hearing.

The day you almost had them — Gojo, Vought and every polished, pre-packaged lie they peddled. A smoking gun to set the set the system ablaze.

And then, you could only watch the live television stream as every key witness's head popped like a balloon. Blood spraying against mahagony desks, gray matter splattered across the Capitol.

And not many had managed to escape that room unscathed. Save for a select few politicians and reporters, dealing out breathless, shaken interviews alongside an unshaken Gojo Satoru and Congressmen Geto.

You exhale through your nose, fingers tightening around the napkin, "Yeah, I'll check it out. See if I can find somethin' to nail that cunt."

"Let me know what you find," Nanami intones, a pause. And then, in a far more cautious tone, like he already knows you won't take heed, "Stay safe. And if you do come across Gojo, do not engage with him. In any way."

The line clicks dead.

You toss the streaky pen aside, reaching instead for the amber bottle on the cluttered table, the burn of whisky that's begging to be made familiar once more.

Regardless, it's far too late now to head out and check the address, for night has fallen and you doubt you'll manage to get far.

Beyond the murky glass of your balcony doors, the city pulses with sleepless energy. Neon signs flickering like dying embers, billboards — no doubt plastered with the airbrushed faces of the Supes who run this nation.

Sirens wail in the distance, and somewhere, far beyond the skyline you swear you see it.

A streak of white and blue, fast as lightning, splitting the sky for a fraction of a second. You blink, gummy and dry, nothing. Just the tired hallucinations of an exhausted, paranoid mind.

Pretending that there isn't a ghost in the sky watching you right back.

Your apartment is dying.

The walls peel like old skin, flaking onto the floors that were never properly finished. The overhead light's flickering, buzzing with a weak and dying hum. And the power outlets sputter like they resent being used. It's not a home, it never really was. Just another hideout, another temporary grave you haven't had to lie down in yet.

You press your knuckles into your eyes, willing the exhaustion away, but it sits heavy in your bones. Haven't you been running long enough? But even now, even here, you know it's not enough.

Because he knows. Gojo Satoru must have caught onto your trail months ago, and you can feel it in the way that the law often seems to let you go, and nation-wide manhunts culminate in no harm done. Like Gojo's toying with you.

Your fingers skim over the mess of papers on the table, stopping beneath a stack of unpaid bills and flyers. A small USB drive, wrapped in blue and silver.

Ah. Flight 37, a transatlantic flight carrying 123 passangers that never managed to land safely. But a goldmine had been fished out the torn wreckage, a shaky video clip that held proof of what Gojo Satoru truly was.

Not a saviour, not a hero. Not the golden boy that was worshipped on screens, talk shows and the international stage of diplomacy.

There's a prickling sensation under your skin, a slow burn that crawls up your arms. Then, it sinks deeper, heat. Your stomach clenches, cramping up as nausea slams into you like a freight train, your head spinning, your vision pulsing black at the edges.

You stumble, dropping the USB on the table as desparate fingers gripping the kitchen counter to stay upright. But you recognise the blisters blooming on the pads of your fingers, slow and ugly welts that bloom like flowers of rot.

This is no wayward sickness, for you would recognise the familiar decay of radioactive exposure. Something that's not quite human, or mortal.

Your blood turns to ice. Hold tightening around the edge of the counter, nails digging into the cheap laminate. Slowly, carefully, you approach the balcony.

The terracotta curtains are coarse under your fingers as you pull them aside. The city beyond is still alive, cars streaking through wet pavements and lights beaming in the smog. But it all feels muted.

Standing on the ledge, hands folded neatly behind his back, Gojo Satoru.

Your breath stutters as you force yourself to inhale, exhale. Slow and steady, through your nose. Whatever sick ploy he's radiating, you know it's simply meant to shake you. A twisted power play on his end.

So you hold your ground, and after a moment, the nausea ebbs. The blisters on your fingertips sealing over, cells stitching the edges of your frayed flesh back together.

You've never seen Gojo out of that deep blue suit, never without the brass eagles that pin the ridiculous cape over his broad back. Most heroes at least pretend to be human, some charade that they cling to for the chance of a secret life, away from the eyes of the press and the authorities. Supes often put on disguises, and casual clothes, something to blend in with the mortals that they claim to protect.

But Gojo?

There's no separation, no mask nor pretense. He doesn't walk among mortal men, he hovers above them. There's no separating him from the brutal power he wields — capable of striking a laser through a man's skull, or razing a city to rubble. Just a god with a PR-approved script, and the power to carve regimes into ribbons.

And yet, aren't you still standing?

If the strongest wanted you dead, he would have made a spectacle of it. Blood and fireworks for the evening news, another death used as collateral propaganda so the masses can thank him. That's the only mercy that Gojo knows.

You school your features, masking the instinct to flee. Or toss a plastic chair at his face. Gojo is akin to a hungry shark, and fear is blood in the water. You know that the safest way to deal with him is sheer indifference. If you give him nothing, he has nothing to bite or feast on.

You tilt your head, resting your weight against the large window as you pry it open. Letting the night air seep in, cold pricking at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the chill that Gojo's already dragged in with him.

He's staring. The blindfold is gone, and those impossible blue eyes fix on you, as though they're trying carve a jagged cut straight your ribcage — his handsome features stilled to stone.

You arch a brow, "If you're here to watch me get off, it'll cost you a tenner."

A beat of silence. And then, the smallest flicker of something that isn't amusement, but not quite irritation. Gojo doesn't rise to the bait, but his brow ticks up. The barest movement, as though he's debating whether or not to indulge you.

Jaw twitching as though Gojo seems to chew his words, slow and measured, "May I come in?"

You stare at him, gaze sweeping up and down, almost against your will. The way his suit hugs his body, emphasising the unfair curve of his chest, the sharp lines of Gojo's muscles, the tensions in the fabric as it stretches taut over skin. Eyes falling to the strand of white hair that flutters across his face, swaying in the night's breeze. Absurdly perfect, as if he's crafted from some celestial ideal.

But you refuse to indulge him, pressing your lips together tightly, not even a flicker of acknowledgement to the fact that he's standing on your balcony like he owns the damn place. Slowly, you step aside from the window, taking the invitation. Gojo doesn't need permission, but you give it anyway.

As Gojo sweeps past, your eyes linger on the sharp strands of his undercut, the delicate sweep of his hair, so pale it almost looks unreal. But you can see his nose wrinkle, disgust painted across his fine features as electric eyes skim the clutter of your apartment. The peeling walls, the cracked appliances, the mess of papers strewn across your table.

Gojo stops at the red string board, his gaze lingering on the photos and notes that have been painstakingly pinned up, and you see his mouth twitch. As though he's amused by your conspiracy, your obsession, your silent war.

"It's really always about me, isn't it?" Gojo's tone carries the faintest edge of mockery, that damn entertained smile curling the corners of his petal-pink lips.

Your jaw tightens, a flash of anger rearing up inside you. You tear your gaze away from him, "Why are you here? Got no-one to fuckin' torture over at Vought?"

Gojo sighs, almost theatrically, and he's puffing his cheeks out. As though he's bored, like this is a mild inconvenience for him, "So, you're going on a trip tomorrow, huh?"

You track his gaze to the napkin still resting on the table, the address scribbled carelessly across its surface, "What's it to you?" Hoping that your voice is level, and as neutral as it can get.

Gojo Satoru doesn't quite answer immediately. Instead, he pulls off those thick blue gloves, one finger at a time. His hands are oddly elegant, but you know just how capable they are of ending a life in a second, how capable they are of tearing a throat out without breaking a sweat. The very same hands now tuck the gloves into the bronze-metal band of his belt with an almost unsettling level of care.

"Well, I'm just hurt you're going somewhere without me," Gojo quips slyly, "We could have had ourselves a little road trip, sweetheart. Thelma and Louise on the open road, eh?"

You don't say anything, although you're dying to mention how Thelma & Louise ends. Gojo just rolls his searing-blue eyes skywards dramatically, as though he's used to your stubborn attitude.

"Y'know, I could jus' pull you apart, limb by limb," Gojo tacks on casually, "Make you tell me where you're going."

You can feel the tension in your gut tighten, but you refuse to let the Supe catch onto it, although you have no doubt that his superhuman senses can hear the beat of your heart pumping, every hitch in your breath.

"Nah," you bite back, "That'd be worthless. Victim always goes into shock. You gotta' start small. Fingers, nails, ears..." Your voice trails off, calling Gojo's bluff, forcing your words out as if the prospect doesn't shake you.

Gojo's vibrant, jewel-tone stare doesn't break, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens like iron against a whetstone. "It could be a matter of national security, you know," he murmurs, "I have a duty to protect his nation, to weed out any enemies of the state."

You huff in weary, mock exasperation, dragging a hand over your chin in faux-contemplation, "Look, uh, I don't mean to be rude, but can we just skip to the part where you laser my fuckin' brains out?"

Gojo just swears under his breath, "Oh, for fuck's sake," he's muttering, side-stepping around your rickety table, stepping closer as an almost fond smile tugs at his lips, "Where's the fun in that? Come on, look at ya'. It'd be like putting down a wounded dog?"

You don't flinch, you refuse the possibility. But there's that pulse of heat, low in your spine, when Gojo leans into your space. An electric storm about to crack wide as he studies you, eyes falling to the table where your cards are laid out blatantly, and you jolt. Remembering the innocuous little thing, that USB. The one that could very well be his undoing.

"What do you have on me, doll?" Gojo drawls, his voice smooth and untempered, towering over you like an impossibly magnetic force. You hold your ground as his eyes widen, "You do have something, I presume?"

With slow precision (and trembling fingers), you lift the USB, dangling it between your nails as Gojo's eyes flicker for a split second. Amused smile slipping just enough to show something that's less calculated. As though he knows what you grasp, what you're capable of.

Gojo's expression hardens for a split moment, blush-pink lips parted as he watches you, drinks in the sight of you gredily. All before cold steels locks into place once more, his demeanour laced with something far more callous, like a man cornered who knows exactly how to strike back.

"Go ahead. Release it," Gojo steps closer, until you can feel his breath against your skin, and you catch the tang of iron and clean, expensive leather. "Let's light this candle, huh? I mean, sure, I'll lose everything, doll. But then, I'll have nothin' to lose." His voice is quiet, but there's unmistakable malice beneath it.

"First, I'll take out the nerve centres. The seat of the government, the High Courts. Then, any domestic defense capabilities. Critical infrastructure, cellular, Internet, all of it. And then?" Gojo pauses, teeth catching onto the plush flesh of his lower lip.

"Then, I'll just wipe this city right off the fuckin' map, for fun," Gojo adds, a dark smile curling at the edges of his lips, "Hell, I'll throw in that little town your friend's from. Kento, right? Nanami, from the office? Because, why not?"

Gojo's lips brush the shell of your ear, and you resist the urge to shiver, locking your eyes with his own defiantly, venomously as he continues, "See, sweetheart, I'd prefer to be loved. Y'know, as the strongest, I really would. But if you take that away from me? Well, being feared is A-one, okey-doke by me."

Gojo wants you to challenge him, to hear you break the silence with something other than terror, "So, doll," he murmurs, practically cooing, "Go ahead. Do it." His lips curl, sharp fangs poking out from his glossy, red mouth, "No? You don't wanna? Well, then, I'd say you have absolutely no fuckin' leverage. Because I am the strongest, and I can really do whatever the fuck I want."

You blink angrily, breath catching as Gojo watches you with an almost affection gleam in his eyes. As though he's enjoying this, this sparring match where he's got you pinned. So you swallow thickly, and deep down, you know he's right.

Gojo Satoru is unstoppable. He could easily turn on the world that worships him, props him up, and there's nothing anyone could do about it. No nuclear treaty, no tank nor fighter jet could stand a chance against Unlimited Void or Hollow Purple.

There's no undoing the seams and stitches that hold Gojo together. None, apart from...

Your eyes flicker downwards, instinctively, to the thick curve that bulges through the tight suit he dons. That mouth-watering, delicious bulge that's packed, and if Gojo steps any closer, it would jostle against your thigh.

You inch closer, smoothly, grasping at the stray strand of ice-white hair to tuck it behind Gojo's ears. His expression widening, raw and open for a split second as he shivers, purrs.

"Say I call your bluff, Gojo," you say coolly, "What are you gonna' do, right here, right now?" Your hand trails away from his ear, brushing the high, stiff collar of his suit. Fingers gently pressing into the warm flesh of his neck. You feel his pulse jump under your touch, staccato beats that hiccup along.

And you could have sworn that Gojo breathes out a gentle sigh, lips parting around the words, "Finally."

But his cerulean eyes are narrowed, jaw still clenched, as though he's trying to figure out your angle. Now, he truly does push closer to you so that packed curve brushes against your thigh. And it's big, larger-than-life, like everything about Gojo Satoru is.

Fuck this, you shake your head, as though you're tossing away your rationality. Reaching up to thread your fingers through soft, white hair. Pulling Gojo closer as he groans, closing the distance. Lips crashing against your own, forceful and desperate.

You can feel Gojo freeze, stutter as he seems to work through his shock. But then, something irrevocably shifts in him. Ocean-blue eyes fluttering close, so white lashes kiss his creamy skin. A large hand gripping at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

It's rough, and messy — and your tongue lingers on the taste of something like espresso, and sweet, sugar syrup to boot. The creamy taste of Gojo Satoru that lingers on your tongue and makes your mouth water.

"Tch', you –" Gojo murmurs, as though all the air in the world has been stolen from his lungs, "You jus' don't k-know how long I've wanted this. Ever since you, heh, fired that bullet at me when we first met."

His tone is erratic, large hands splayed against the small of your back, pushing you further against the kitchen counter.

"That shit went right through ya' head," you breathe, struggling to stay steady against the hard plane of Gojo's form, the muscles curling into you, "Didn't do a fuckin' thing."

Gojo's giggling, giggling as though he's already drunk on your touch, so utterly dangerous. Tugging at your top, fingers spread wide over the curve of your chest. Flicking at the sharp peaks of your nipples, "Waste of a perfectly good round, eh, doll?"

The tips of Gojo's ears are a searing shade of crimson, as he's pulling and toying with your clothes. You have never, ever in your wildest and most illicit fantasies imagined Gojo Satoru like this.

You've never pictured him so obedient, so desperate to meld into your hold. Bright blue eyes glazed over, filmy and hazy as his cheeks are mottled pink.

The most dangerous man in the entire world (or so you'd wager) has you firm against the cracking plastic of your counter, with his lips finding home on whatever skin he can find. Kissing, bruising, sucking at the tender flesh in a way that you know will leave blooming marks.

"C-can I?" Gojo pleads, as though he hasn't spent a lifetime whispering quiet threats into your ear, but now his large hand is softly pressed against the back of your neck.

Slick-strands falling from his lips as he sips at your taste, sucking gently on your tongue.

He kisses you firmly with such force that it leaves you dizzy, and the way he strokes at your cheek with a bruised knuckle is far too tender for a man who's practically a walking, ticking bomb.

He's roughly cupping your tits, kneading at the soft fat and flesh, "Hah, pretty, aren'tcha?" Strands of snow-white hair tickling at your neck as Gojo leans his head down, wrapping his lips around your nipple, lickin' and sucking wherever he can reach.

You arch your spine, pulling Gojo even closer. Grinding your clothed core right up against the hard length taut in that damned suit. Feeling every inch brush up against you.

"F-fuck," Gojo murmurs, slurring out babble and praise out through his kiss-swollen lips. You're slowly rocking your hips back and forth, unintentionally honestly, but you're desperate for some friction to relieve the ache that's blooming within your searing groin.

The pads of his fingers are tilting your jaw at the perfect angle, swollen lips sticky against yours, "Just like that," Gojo grunts, running his pink tongue over the kiss-bitten flesh of your own mouth, "N-not so mouthy now, are we?"

But then, because you think Gojo Satoru is unable to go even a second without antagonising you, the white-haired man is lifting his head. Glossy eyes tearing over your apartment as he pulls an unimpressed face, "Damn, this place is kinda' a dump. You really live like this?"

Your fingers latch onto the stray strands on his head, bucking your hips into his bulge harsher, "Says the cunt who made me a fugitive."

Gojo shakes his head, making a faint pshh, dismissive sound as he scoops you up, biceps not even curling to strain as he roughly stomps towards your meagre, thin bed. Laying you flat on the flat mattress as he rumples the waistband of your pants, hooking his thumb underneath the fabric.

You don't even realise it at first, but you're admiring those razor-sharp, strikingly handsome features. Watching as Gojo tugs at his cape, rough and coarse until the fabric tears away from his shoulder plates — until the azure stars and stripes end up on the wooden floor discarded.

"So, doll, how exactly do ya' want me? " Gojo titters, gently pulling a finger into the flimsy cotton of your panties. You can see his nose twitch, eyes flutter shut for a split second as he visibly reels from the messy, filthy slick pooling under his nails. You can only groan, arching at the sudden stimulation as he begins to crook his fingers faster against your folds.

You suddenly pull your thighs taut together, clenching the flesh to trap his hand, "Taste me, Gojo." Breath shuddering as Gojo's fingers suddenly still, ice-blue eyes blown wide at your gall to give him a command.

But he's always been an excellent soldier, hasn't he? Because he seems to be moving on autopilot, pulling his dripping fingers away and gently lolling his tongue on your translucent sheen, "Hah, I can't believe you're g-giving me orders." Gojo almost whimpers at your sweet tang, desperate to have your pussy drool into his waiting mouth.

"M-more, can you – oh, fuck," You inhale sharply, feeling Gojo's fingers imprint on your thighs, firmly spreading your legs apart so he can shuffle further back, his breath moist against your wet cunt, "Heh, never thought you'd ever be like this."

Gojo gives you a flat look, the underside of his eyes crinkling as he stares at you, "Don't get used to t-this." He's grumbling, but his eyes are blown wide, tongue darting out of his mouth to catch a stray drop of your precious arousal dribbling down your inner thigh, "It's just 'cause –"

You don't give his smart-alec mouth time to formulate any words, groaning as you pull at the thick, soft and tousled strands of white hair. Letting the tip of his sharp nose nudge against your clit as Gojo suddenly muffles a desparate, thirst-laden whine, "Mhm, mhm, fuck!"

"Yeah, y-yeah," You breathe, sighing in relief as he presses his tongue flat against your pussy, laving thickly at the glossy folds that he's desperate to munch at, "That's what I thought."

Stifled sounds prick at your ears, a mantra of words falling from Gojo's mouth, something that sounds suspiciously like "Thank you, t-thank you, thank —." The strongest man in the entire world losing his mind, so grateful to wrap his lips against your swollen bud, your throbbing clit as he sucks. Hard.

Your walls clench suddenly, and you can feel the tip of Gojo's tongue prod at your entrance. That length somehow managing to render you gummy, dazed and speechless as he pushes the wet muscle into your cunt, "Ah, ahh, 'Toru, please."

Nothing prepares you for how Gojo's long, slender fingers come to slap at your pussy. Lengthy digits pistoning right into your tender, sensitive walls as he's eager to curve and search for that sweet spot that will make you scream, "What'dya call me, sweets? 'Toru?"

Gojo's looking up at you, and if you didn't know better, you'd say his expression was almost shy. Those eyes, blue like the core of a searing star, like something inhuman was barely contained and desperate to break free. There's something eerie about how bright they are, how they seem to glow even in the dim, murky light of your apartment.

There's glossy, snapping strands of Gojo's new favourite thirst-quencher falling from his lips as he laps at you. Long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones as there's a slight sheen of exertion beading at his temple, "If, if I had known that all I had to do to shut ya' up was eat you out, then —" Gojo whistles low, the vibrations echoing through your cunt, "Woulda' drank this pussy a longgg time ago."

You buck your hips against his nose, canting against his shapely nose bridge, "Don't get c-cocky." Seems that Gojo's just that desperate for you to boss him around, because he's already turning his attention and bratty mouth back to your cunt, licking you right up until he's certain you're seeing stars.

He's still got his suit on, broad-shoulders snugly wrapped in the textured fabric. Sculpting over his bicep even as he draws you even closer, until he's face to face with his new, second favourite girl. With you being his number #1, of course, Gojo isn't afraid to admit that you plotting to kill him has turned him on immensely over the years.

The idea of you planting your thighs around his head 'til he's devoid of air has had him pulling and jerking at his cock, whimpering until he was shooting blanks.

"Come on," and Gojo's snickering at his own play on words, "Or s-should I say c-cum on." Smacking his lips filthily against your folds, fingers pushing at your clit and rubbing furious circles over and over again until you feel the world go blank, and you're star-struck.

Gojo's whispering sweet nothings, adoring praise into your cunt as you ride out your high against his face, "Pretty girl, s-so good for me, heh. Think 'm fuckin' addicted."

You're already lazily pulling yourself up, propping yourself back on your elbows as you take in the sight of a teary-eyed Gojo Satoru. You watch as he pulls himself up, frame towering over you in the flimsy bed as he tugs and paws at the thick, firm bulge in his suit. Now darkened with a translucent patch of his release.

Gojo's fisting his hand over his cock in some ineffective form of relief, "Wanna' show you, g-gorgeous, wanna' show you how the strongest fucks."

But then, his eyes are looking up, wide and superhuman. Searing blue that lights up the dim room like a torch, and it's only then you notice that the lightbulb that once precariously teetered from your ceiling has shattered, and there's a crack in the large window that you swore you've never seen before.

And clutched within Gojo Satoru's fingers, shards of silver metal and blue chips. Fuck, that hag, that doped-up cunt must have had that USB clenched between his fingers the entire time, swiping it off the table when you pulled him in.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," Gojo scoffs, pulling out a cock that beams with an angry, red mushroom tip. Thick spurts of cum already clinging to the slit as he hisses, and your thighs clench in anticipation of the delicious split, "I got something b-better for you right here."

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [3] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, rafe is HUGE, pain with sex, fingering, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

In which you're not sure you truly have what it takes to "accommodate" your new fiancé.

word count: 4.2k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

“Why do you insist on stealing my fiance?” 

Wheezie looked up at her brother from her place on the carpet. You were placing the last hair roller around her freshly curled hair, pinning it place. The two of you had spent the last two hours giving each other spa treatments, evidenced by the face mask on Wheezie’s face, and the under eye patches on yours. It seemed obvious to you what you were up to but Rafe’s face scrunched in confusion, maybe even annoyance, at the sight before him. 

“We’re having a girls night!” Wheezie protested, “Get out!” 

You blinked, glancing between the two siblings, trying to gauge whether this was actual tension or just their usual back-and-forth. Navigating the Cameron family dynamic was a constant puzzle, and you hated feeling caught in the middle of it. You genuinely liked all of them in different ways.

Well, almost all of them.

You weren’t sure what it was that you felt for Rafe. He seemed to force all the feelings out of you, prying his way into your brain and into your heart. 

“You can’t hold her hostage, Wheeze,” Her brother raised his voice back, “I need to talk to her, you know, about adult things. Shit you wouldn’t get.”

“Adult things, gross,” You could practically hear Wheezie’s smirk, “I’m sure Y/N would rather hang out with me than do adult things with you.” 

The meaning initially passed over your head. You looked at Rafe innocently, “Y/N?” His shift in focus to you made you panic for a moment. 

“Oh, well … we were going to do some meditation before bed too.” 

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile that couldn’t possibly be genuine, “Fine, just come get me when you’re done.” 

The way he slammed Wheezie’s door shut also gave you the impression that he wasn’t happy. 

“Ignore him,” Wheezie said quickly. You admired her defiance sometimes. Rafe didn’t ever to seem to really rattle her the way he did to you. 

Over the past few weeks, she had become your guide to surviving life in this house. Out of everyone, she understood Rafe best. Sarah barely came around, and when she did, the way she looked at you—pitying, almost regretful—made you uncomfortable. You hated it. You’d rather spend time with Rose, who had taken you wedding dress shopping just the day before, only to scold you for picking something too “revealing.” She’d given you a long-winded speech about modesty and the importance of upholding the Cameron image. You were marrying into an exceptionally wealthy family, after all. You had to act like it.

But Wheezie? Wheezie was simply happy to have you there, to welcome you into her world. And slowly, you were beginning to imagine this as your new life. The thought didn’t seem so terrible when you pictured Wheezie as your sister.

It all came crashing down on you a few days after the incident with Rafe in the barn. You weren’t allowed to sleep in the same bed until you were officially married, Rose’s rule, but that didn’t keep Rafe from your bedroom in the middle of the night.

And when you woke, sore and spent, the weight of something unfamiliar pressed against your left hand.

A diamond.

Wheezie was fast asleep when you finally slipped out of her bedroom. In pink, fuzzy socks, you padded across the hallway towards Rafe’s room. You only knocked once before the door was opened and you were stepping inside. 

In contrast to yours, Rafe’s room was dark and brooding with darker woods and deep navy walls. A sturdy mahogony desk perched in the corner next to a leather armchair. There were no dainty florals or soft touches. His bed, much larger than yours, had the sheets strewn about, a possible indication of sleepless nights or …other activities. A few forgotten whiskey glasses sat on in nightstand. The only source of light in the room was from the soft, yellow glow of his desk lamp. 

It always felt intimate being in Rafe’s room, like you were completely in his world. Your gaze lifted, drawn to him as if by instinct. Shirtless, his toned chest and broad shoulders were carved in the dim light, his presence overwhelming in a way that sent a shiver through you.

“Turn around, darlin’.” 

Innocently, you obeyed his command. You were only confused for a moment. You yelped, feeling the cool air against the back of your legs as Rafe slipped down your long, silk pajamas. 

You should’ve known Rafe didn’t actually need to talk to you. 

Lifting you by your waist, Rafe carried you over to the bed swiftly, leaving your bottoms behind. He always laid you down gently but the firmness of his grip left no room for discussion. He knew exactly where he wanted your body, what position he desired to have you in. You were starting to get used to his routine. He undressed you, placed you where he wanted, and it wasn’t long before he was inside of you. 

Tonight, he wanted you on your stomach, your head resting at the edge of the bed. You didn’t dare look back at him, it always unsettled you more when you caught a glimpse of just how imposing he was. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, fixated on the shadows and darkness in the window. You felt the weight of his legs straddling yours, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your bottom before delivering a few sharp, deliberate slaps. A shiver ran through you as his fingers hooked into your panties, dragging them aside with ease, exposing you to him entirely.

He spit into his hand and you jumped again when you felt his fingers teasing your warm center. For an excruciatinly long time, he placed a strong hand on your upper back, keeping you pinned as he sunk his fingers inside of you. He had called it 'warming you up' the last time. His pace was slow, deliberate. You were biting down onto the comforter by the time his third digit pushed inside. Now, you could happily take two of his fingers. You’d like sex with Rafe much more if it simply involved two of his fingers pushing in an out of you. When he added that circling motion on your sensitive bud, you could reach that beautiful peak quickly. But the third finger was the closest thing he could use to prepare you for his size. 

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet firm, a response to your soft whimpers, “Relax. You make it worse when you’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” You rushed out before you bit down on your lip hard, “Rafe, um, can you…” 

He pushed deeper and you reached out to grab the wooden bed frame in front of you, ��Can I what, darlin’?”

“T-Touch me?” You asked, unsure, wincing as the feeling of being stretched, “Please.” 

In response, he adjusted your hips, pulling them up from the bed, still three fingers deep inside of you, before he started to circle your clit with the thumb of his other hand. You took in rapid breaths as you adjusted to the sensation, the pleasure now beginning to mix in with the discomfort. 

“Think you can come like this, baby?” 

“Uh,” You pressed your face into the mattress, your words failing you, and soon all that was left were sobs. 

“Try, baby,” You heard him say, “Squeeze my fingers.”

You had never considered that "down there" was a muscle—until Rafe. Obeying his command, you imagined yourself squeezing his fingers, and the response was immediate. Your body reacted instinctively, heightening your pleasure and pushing you toward release. It was overwhelming. Almost painful. But an orgasm nonetheless. Your first one with Rafe had taken you so much by surprise that Rafe had to cover your face with a pillow to keep you from waking up the entire house. 

Tonight, you muffled your own screaming, pressing your face further into the blankets. He left you no time to recover. As soon as your body was more … accepting, he started to push himself inside of you. Panicked, you reached back to push at his hip, an attempt at requesting for him to slow his pace. He felt even larger in this position, and it didn’t take long to realize he was pressing against a barrier deep inside you.

You had to accommodate him. He was your future husband and you had be able to lie with him. He deserved pleasure too and how else would you be able to have kids one day? You wanted a family again, right? 

One day, it would get easier. Rafe would make sure of it. He would help you, guide you, until your body learned to take him without resistance.

By the time Rafe reached his climax, you were a sweaty, tear-streaked mess. He had promised it would get easier, yet once again, you were left aching and sore. When he finally lifted his weight off you, your body remained frozen in place.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting to the other end of the bed. You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled in, his head hitting the pillow.

“Y/N?”

“Y-Yes?” you replied, your voice shaky.

“Go pee,” he ordered, his tone firm yet drowsy.

“Why?”

“Just go,” he repeated, exhaling sharply. “I’m fucking tired.”

It took every ounce of strength, but you pushed yourself up from the bed. You felt his eyes on you as you waddled to his bathroom door, still able to feel him inside of you, white stuff dripping down your thighs. 

Inside, you flipped on the bathroom light, squinting as your eyes attempted to adjust. Your legs trembled as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You heard Rafe shifting in bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable. He was already drifting off, unbothered, while you sat there, trying to collect yourself. 

After a moment, you reached for some toilet paper, dabbing at the mess between your thighs. Your body still felt raw, stretched beyond what you thought possible. Flushing the toilet, you moved to the sink, cupping cold water in your hands and splashing it on your face. 

You turned off the light and stepped back into the bedroom. Still glistening with a layer of sweat, he laid down with an arm over his face as he breathed steadily and quietly. You found your pajama bottoms sitting by the door and carefully put them back over your legs. 

“Y/N?” You were reaching for the handle of his bedroom door and paused. 

“Yeah?”

“Stay in here with me.”

“We’re not supposed to–”

“I’m a grown man and you’re my fucking fiance.”

He always spoke so sharply and in a way that left no room for arguing. Sometimes, that anger and frustration wasn’t directed at you but that didn’t make you immune from feeling it. The last thing you wanted was to cause any problem’s with his parents. They’d made it very clear that they expected the two of you to sleep separately until the wedding. 

Slowly, you turned to face him. He was still sprawled across the bed, the sheets tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling. 

“Stay,” he repeated, softer this time, the demand still there.

Silently, you padded over to his bed again. He lifted the sheets and carefully, you climbed into the bed, beside him. 

“There you go, darlin’” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he tucked you beneath him, his weight pinning you into place. “Right where you belong.”

Seeing how much happier Juliet was at the Cameron ranch made you question why you didn’t feel the same as her. 

Late afternoon sun bathed the Cameron state in warm gold as you rode beside Sarah Cameron. Juliet moved beneath you with ease, but every step sent a dull ache through your thighs. You winced, shifting slightly in the saddle in an attempt to ease the soreness.

Sarah, riding beside you on her white mare, caught it immediately, “You good?” She asked, concern on her face. 

You nodded quickly, “Oh, I’m fine. I just haven’t rode in awhile.” 

It hurt to even slide on your tight jeans that morning thanks to the bruising on your inner thighs and the soreness in your middle. You turned your head, watching as the barn got farther from your view. You and Sarah had left John B. and Rafe hunched over a work bench, repairing worn bridles and saddles. 

Rafe had let you tag along for the day, surprising you both when you found Sarah already there with John B., leaning against a stall with her arms crossed. The moment she saw you, she swung effortlessly onto her horse, flashing you a grin. “Come on. Juliet is yours, right?,” she urged, nudging her mare forward. “Let’s leave the boys to their busy work."

You looked to Rafe for permission, of course, and took his rolled eyes and quick dismissal as a yes. 

Now, she caught your quick glances back towards the barn, “My brother isn’t hurting you, is he?” 

Her words took you by complete surprise. Your fingers tensed on Juliet’s reins, pulling too sharply, and for a moment, the mare tossed her head in protest, “Sorry, Julie,” You said, “Uhm, what? N-no. Why … why would you think that?” 

She gave you a look that was hard to read and your horses continued alongside each other, “I’m sure you’ve gotten to know what he’s like,” She said, “Do you … think he’s a nice guy?”

“He’s…” You rushed to answer, wanting to reassure her, but the words got tangled in your head. “He’s nice to me,” you finally said, nodding like that would make it more true. “Sometimes he, like, talks really directly? In a way that… I don’t know, kinda hurts my feelings? But I know he doesn’t mean to be mean.”

“Huh,” Sarah took in your words, and you smiled, trying to ease the tension in the conversation, “He’s a lot for most people. To be honest, I don’t know if you’re what I pictured for the girl he’d finally settle down with.”

“Oh,” You said, trying to not to let the way your heart panged with hurt show on your face, “Yeah, maybe. I guess I’m not very strong… or the smartest person.” 

Sarah’s eyes softened, her expression shifting from the guarded look she’d worn before. “Hey, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, pulling her horse a little closer to yours. “I just... I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I know how confusing and lonely it is. And it might make you feel better to get wrapped up with Rafe but it’s also good to have your own life. Maybe your own friends?”

She searched your gaze and you felt your throat tighten and tears threatening to escape, “Wheezie’s my friend, at least.”

“Wheezie’s great,” Sarah said which made you smile sadly, “I have some friends. John B and I do. They live on the otherside of Kildare but I always try to meet up with them. They’re cool and they’re actually our age. I’d love to introduce you to them.”

Your heart gave a small, hesitant flutter. “That would be fun,” you said quietly, and for the first time in a while, you entertained the thought of something else, something new. 

“Do you drink?” She asked after a moment of just enjoying the breeze and watching the tall, swaying grass. 

“I have before,” You said feeling a little sheepish, “Just not enough to say I like it, I guess. Why?”

“When I go over there, we usually drink, watch a movie, play games, that kind of thing. It’s really fun. You don’t have to drink but I think you’ll like it.” 

“Does Rafe know your friends?”

Sarah snorted, “Uh, yeah. He wouldn’t want to come with us. Don’t mention it to him yet, though, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” You agreed, “Sarah, do you think you could come next time I go dress shopping? Rose is a little…”

“Uptight,” She finished, “Yeah, sure. That would be fun.”

Your opinion of Sarah Cameron had shifted quickly and for the better. 

“Like I said before, you’re moving too fast with her, Rafe.” 

Rafe should’ve known that his father didn’t invite him to breakfast at the diner in town for father-son bonding time. Nor was it a business meeting. He would’ve preferred either over a lecture. He was stuck, unable to really raise his voice, due to the public setting which Ward knew undoubtedly. The diner was a small place, the kind of spot where everyone knew each other’s names and half the town seemed to gather before heading off to the fields or pastures. 

It was when they got back into Ward’s SUV that Rafe could finally say what he felt. “This is micromanagement. You’re fucking micromanaging me, Dad! I did what you wanted and you’re upset because I’m not doing it exactly the way you want.”

Ward’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight Rafe thought it might break. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that you don’t know everything, Rafe.”

“This is just Rose and her bullshit–”

“It’s disrespectful and you know that. We’re being woken up at all times of the night. Not to mention the girl is walking around with hickies and bruising. What’s that gonna look like to people in town? We took in that girl! People will think we’re using her. It’s not a good look.” 

Ward started up the car and pulled away quickly, the tires kicking up dust as they left the quiet, small-town streets behind. Kildare was a ranching community, where everyone’s business was their business. Rafe couldn’t do anything without people noticing. 

“None of this will matter after the wedding. I don’t know, Dad, I guess I just don’t give a shit anymore what other people think.”

“You won’t take over the business if that’s how you see things.”

“Dad–”

“And you won’t get the Ironwood house. We’ve talked about this endlessly,” Rafe’s fist hit the paneling of the car door and he squeezed his eyes tightly as the anger passed through him, radiating through him, warming his skin, “You get the house under the conditions that Rose and I set.” 

“That house is mine. You know that Mom wanted it that way,” Rafe argued with clenched fists, “You don’t get to control that, Dad.” Rafe’s voice was sharp, raw, but there was a tremor beneath the surface. The Ironwood house had been promised to him, but Ward had always been the one to hold the strings, dangling that future in front of him like a carrot on a stick. “I earned that house. I’ve worked for it. You can’t just take it away.”

About twenty miles from the Cameron estate, nestled along a winding dirt road that cut through the sprawling countryside, sat the Ironwood house. The house wasn’t as grand as the Cameron estate it had a quiet but rugged charm. It had once belonged to a competitor before the Cameron family had purchased the land after his passing.

Ward’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles pale in the dim light. “I’m not taking anything from you, Rafe. But if you want to go off and make mistakes, you know, like getting that girl pregnant just a few weeks after you met her or embarrassing our family, then there will be consequences.”

Rafe nodded his head though inside he was seething, “I got it, Dad,” Rafe rubbed his face in his hands, his jaw clenched tightly, “You win.” 

You fucking win, Rafe thought, for now. 

Oh, you were perfect for him. Rafe kept quiet throughout dinner that night but that was because he was intently watching you. The way you confidently wore that pink, gingham dress that was cut way too low, to the point that your breasts were practically spilling from it. When you caught Rafe glancing at you, you’d flash him a shy smile. Lips shining with gloss and sparkles, Rafe imagined smudging all your makeup. 

He’d been working on training your hole to take him, he hadn’t considered training your mouth yet. You seemed more comfortable, making conversation with both Wheezie and Sarah. The way you carried yourself, effortlessly making them laugh, was different, more natural.

It would be good if you liked this family but Rafe couldn’t help that his mind wandered to the family he would make. His father's attempts to control him, especially in the bedroom, only made things worse. It triggered something deep within him. It was his god-given right as a man to fuck you in all the ways he wanted, with or without protection. You were his. That had been true ever since he put a ring on your left hand. 

After dinner, Rafe pulled you upstairs into Ward’s office. It was reckless, he knew that, but he was clinging onto that sense of control. 

“What are we doing in here?”

“I’m going to fuck you,” Rafe replied, his eyes tracking the shift in your expression as the realization hit. The fear in your face made him harder than he already was, and he had to undo his belt. “Go sit on the desk,” he instructed, gesturing to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room.

“But that’s your dad’s desk,” you hesitated, a frown tugging at your lips. “Isn’t that, like, weird?”

Rafe shot you a warning look, and without another word, you scrambled across the room toward his desk. He followed closely, closing the distance between you. “It’s your fault,” he muttered, his voice rough as he crossed the room too. “Look at what you're wearing. You’re practically begging to get fucked.”

“I wasn’t—” you started to protest.

“You were,” Rafe cut you off, his tone final. “You wore that dress for me, didn’t you? Or were you looking for attention from someone else?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Rafe loved the panic he saw in your eyes, the way the few thoughts you could hold in your head seemed to swirl, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

“I …I didn’t wear it for anyone else.”

“You wore it for me, then.”

“It was for you,” You spoke in a hesitant whisper. Your head tilted, and Rafe could see the uncertainty in your eyes. Still, the words sent a rush of heat through him. Rafe lifted you up by your hips, placing you on the desk, right on top of manila folders and Ward’s important paperwork. 

"Good girl, baby," he murmured, his hand finding the hem of your dress, lifting it. "Now, don’t act like you don’t want this." 

“Rafe, I’m still sore,” You said as Rafe slid your panties down your thigh.

“I’ll be quick,” Rafe assured you, “I’ve been halfway there since you walked in the dining room earlier.”

It wasn’t that Rafe didn’t understand the toll that he took on your body. He cared, he certainly didn’t want to break you, but he also knew that you could handle more than you could wrap your mind around. Maybe, he was a bit selfish and enjoyed the sight of him slowly fucking you, his huge girth sliding in and out of you, stretching you to the point of sobbing. 

He wanted you to feel empty without him. He wanted you to become so used to him that another man or even your own tiny fingers couldn’t satisfy your needs. 

“Relax,” Rafe said, watching the ways your eyes darted between his blue ones and then back down to his length, “You’re okay, darlin’.”

Rafe pushed your shoulders down until your elbows were propped up against the desk before he grabbed your legs, tilting your hips up. He spit directly against your hole before spitting into his palm, coating his hard length with his own saliva. 

He watched the way your face scrunched in pain as he started to push inside of you. Like he taught you before, you started to take deep breaths in and out, “Good girl, just like I taught you. You’re okay,” Rafe cooed as you squeezed him tight. 

Those deep breaths quickly became shallow ones as he stretched you. “I can’t, I can’t, it’s too big–” You spoke suddenly, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, please. Please, Rafe.” 

“Baby, it’s okay-”

“Please, please, please. Please. Please. Not okay. Not okay. I can’t, I can’t.”

Rafe surprised even himself when he paused. The look on your face reminded him of the time in the car, the first day you met. It was hard to watch. He’d pushed you too far, you were starting to have a panic attack. His chest tightened as he pulled back, his mind scrambling. He tucked himself back into his briefs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Slowly, he reached for your shoulder, lifting it carefully to help you sit up. 

“Shit, we can stop, okay?” Rafe said in a voice he didn’t recognize, “Fuck, you need to breathe, Y/N.” 

He pulled you closer, letting your head rest on his chest, as you tried to control your hiccups and heavy breathing. Listening to it made his own breath feel tight in his lungs. Stroking your back, he tried to quell the storm inside of you. Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest as he held you close, the guilt gnawing at him, “Jesus …I’m sorry, baby.”

reblog WITH a comment about the chapter to be added to the taglist :)

[kxtsukixoxo]

i am curious at to what you think bakugou would do if his parents didnt directly approve of his gf, i mean everyone always says that mitsuki would LOVE his gf directly but i dont think it's always that easy imo

˚.🎀༘⋆ a mothers heart. ft ; katsuki bakugou

i love love love the dynamic that mitsuki would welcome his gf with open arms, but i also believe that mitsuki is protective over her baby boy. (*´˘`*)

katsuki would have to really LOVE you in order to fight for you, he seems really reserved when it comes to his parents, it’d take him awhile to finally budge and bring you home. despite his hasty comments about mitsuki, and the frequent name calling, i’d like to think katsuki really values her opinions and takes it into account, no matter the situation. after all, mitsuki is his mother.  

you were excited, of course, but also anxious. you’re finally meeting your boyfriends parents after nine whole months of dating, katsuki wasn’t a soft lover, he radiated tough love, he didn’t love like a puppy, rather like a tiger with her pups, rough but somehow gently balanced, you figured he’d have to take after one of his parents, this would be a trip to hell. he didn’t like the idea of his parents meeting you, he hated getting them involved in his own business, but he came to the decision that you had to meet them, if things were getting this serious, and he needed his parents approval. 

after dropping you off and making sure you were safe, katsuki stopped by his parents house once again, tension filled the air as they resided in the living room. pin drop silence remained in the room, as mitsuki crossed her arms and tapped her manicured nails against her elbow, her words echoed in the room as katsuki looked at her with shock, “we need time to think”, masaru’s eyebrows furrowed, as he looked at katsuki with nothing but guilt, “what the fuck is there t’think about it! don’t give me that fuckn’ look” he grunted out as he got up, stuffing his hands in his pockets. he headed towards the door, just before he could turn the knob,

“you need to understand kats…we can’t just give you away to anybody.” masaru spoke, “we took care of you and made you the man you are today” he squeezed his wife’s shoulder as she took a seat next to him, mitsuki’s lips parted as she readied herself to speak, there was no denying she was protective over her son, who wouldn’t be? especially after all he’s been through. “we respect that you seeked our approval, and all we’re asking for is time to think about her, she’s sweet kats…but can she handle you?” 

katsuki’s arms dropped to his side, his mothers words echoed like live wire, 

this entire time, this wasn’t about you. 

this was about him, his outbursts, his rough nature. his aggressiveness. 

mitsuki worried that no woman would ever be able to love katsuki, but she was entirely wrong. you accepted katsuki, scars and all. 

“you don’t know her…take your time to think or fuckn’ whatever. but please…don’t take this away from me” he clenched his fists as he turned around to twist the knob, “i..love her.” 

©️ 2025 kxtsukixoxo  all rights reserved. do not modify, repost or claim my work as yours if you wish to use my png please credit. me.

[artemisiasmuse]

always known | CH.4

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem! kook reader

CW: 18+ mdni, smut eventually, angst, mean rafe, jealousy, possessive rafe, kook typical classism (not from y/n tho), abusive family dynamics, not really canon/au, swearing, drinking, no coke tho, ward cameron

SUMMARY: rafe’s childhood best friend y/n returns to figure eight by herself and finds rafe hates her for some reason, their friendship has gone down the drain and they can hardly remain cordial, and there’s one thing causing all of it: why can’t rafe just move on?

TROPE: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

< previous next >

there was no ignoring your festering affection to rafe cameron when a girl is in his face, very obviously flirting. you’d stepped away for a few moments to greet your college friends when she took your place, well much more than just your place. jealousy flares in you hot and omnipresent and you can’t pretend you don’t recognize it so instead you try to dull it. you drink more than you should and none of the boys at the party look anywhere near attractive compared to him. even at school you had staved off the advances of anyone approaching you because no one seemed to cut it. not when your best friend was becoming your ideal man, he always had been if you were honest. if anyone looked at your ex’s next to him they would’ve realized it before you did. You hated how easy it was for her to make her intentions known, how he seemed to be enjoying the attention, when you couldn't even own up to your own feelings. topper noticed your continued return to the kitchen and eventually cut you off in your warpath.

“hey easy there, ‘can’t have you drinking us all under the table.” you stumbled into him, not really watching your steps and his hands steadied your shoulders, retreating like it burned him, in case rafe saw of course. the thought made your frown grow deeper, even if rafe shared an inkling of your feelings you couldn't make him jealous, you’d been off limits for as long as you or anyone else in figure 8 could remember.

“move topper, i flunked an exam okay?” it was a lame excuse, one that would’ve worked had you not known topper for the majority of your life. you’d never failed an exam, that still hadn’t changed. clearly your excuse didn’t work because rafe found you in the kitchen moments later, you relished slightly in the absence of the girl on his arm.

“hey kid, how much ‘you drink?” it was a nickname from your childhood, that and “baby” which now was also tarnished by your desire. you had constantly reminded him he was only five months older but in elementary school that meant a world of difference. you stopped correcting him, you would never admit it but the nicknames rolling off his tongue in that earth-shattering deep voice of his made your brain a bit foggy. he would never admit that he had long since learned the implications of calling you “baby” in public and it only spurred him on more. standing across the island from him, you took a few seconds to respond, walking yourself down from the jolt of need in your core. at least you could blame your slow reaction on the alcohol.

“i lost count.” rafe made his way around to you, an eyebrow raised at your response. by the looks of it you were already drunk. unfortunately you weren’t drunk enough to black out and ignore the eventuality of him leaving with the pretty blonde, not yet at least.

“let’s stop hmm? i know you’ll be mad at me tomorrow otherwise.” he took the cup from your small hands, fingers grazing against yours and it jolted you. his voice was low and smooth against your senses, lulling you into submission, you were sure you’d do anything he asked if he said it like that. you looked up at him with crossed arms, rafe did his absolute best to ignore how your breasts propped up from the action, but really he couldn’t. you were too drunk to notice. you hoped you weren’t obvious when you looked at how his fingers wrapped around the plastic effortlessly, so much bigger and thicker than yours. he was too distracted to notice.

“it’s fine, go back to blondie.” your words slurred off at the end, you shouldn’t have said that out loud. again you could blame it on the alcohol.

“you jealous?” rafe found himself smiling at the notion, despite the glare you were fixing him with, he couldn’t pretend to be even slightly upset with you drinking yourself into a stupor if it was over him. he was sure that was unhealthy, whatever, you could lecture him later. you were always so good at telling him off, and he’d listen.

“what? no.” your immediate denial gave you away easily and rafe smiled wider, he felt too close all of a sudden and you stepped back, your back hitting a counter. rafe watched you try to make a distance between you two, adorably failing. he scanned your body for any sign that it actually hurt but from the way you were still trying to avoid his eyes he could see you were too preoccupied.

“it’s okay baby, i was jealous when you were hanging with top and kelc without me.” he practically purred the nickname, your hand clenching by your side. rafe wouldn’t tell you that he had purposefully been stringing along ‘blondie’ to make you jealous. your glares weren’t exactly subtle after a certain point. your heartbeat picks up at the pet name, at his honeyed voice lowering just for you. your fingers twitch at the urge to pull him close, as close as she had him, maybe even closer.

“okay yeah i am, but it’s not the same.” you huffed out, proud of yourself for sounding coherent. you really should be better at holding your tongue but rafe looked too good today and you burned with jealousy that another girl had been able to ogle him all night. not to mention he was wearing the cologne he knew was your favorite, you’d even said so when he hugged you goodbye before class. the scent alone was making your frown deepen.

“what?” rafe couldn’t believe how transparent you were, he hoped you’d remember this tomorrow or at the very least you’d feel the same tomorrow. there was no way you were being serious though, you were just fucking with him. either way he really hoped he was understanding you right because he couldn’t let this go.

“forget i said that i’m drunk.” you looked away, embarrassed by how little rafe was reciprocating.

“no no, what do you mean?” he stepped closer, an inch away from you, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. you had to look at him, your expression cracking, you couldn’t pretend much longer, your eyebrows pinched and rafe recognized that you might be about to cry.

“rafe please-“ a plea whispered into the space between you two and rafe’s heart skipped a beat. the sound of you so desperately calling his name would haunt him forever but despite his mind fracturing into a million pieces, he still had to know.

“it is the same, it’s the exact fucking same, baby.” he leaned down to your height, his palms flat on the counter on either side of you, blue eyes bore into yours, commanding you to listen. he wasn’t teasing you. he was being sincere and you couldn’t believe it.

“are you sure?” there was barely any space between you two and the way he was looking at you should’ve been your answer but your vision was hazy.

“of course i’m fucking sure, did you think i cut contact with you cause i was tired of you? i did it cause you got a boyfriend.” he looked upset, you almost cupped his face with your hands, your fingers itched to press down the crease forming on his forehead from frowning. he watches the words sink into your pretty little head, how can you be so insanely adorable even now? he didn't plan for them to come out like this, in fact he had rather assumed it would be better if you didn't know the reason but it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“that’s fucking stupid rafe,” you say without any malice, your lip is jutted out in a pout and your eyebrows pinch together, god he wants to kiss you so badly. he’s a bit tipsy but not enough to think your first kiss should be at a party where anywhere can walk in while you’re struggling to stand.

“i know sweetheart, just-let’s do this when you’re sober yeah?” rafe worries you might not even remember this tomorrow.

“yeah…can you take me home?” he knows you mean tannyhill, you’d been staying there ever since your place flooded and he wonders sometimes why you don’t just move in. one time out of sheer curiosity, and maybe the fact that you were passed out on his bed, he looked up how much rent you’d get for your place.

“sure.” you lean into his side, his arm curling protectively around you as he moves you through the party, your eyes flutter closed cause as stupid as it is you trust him to get you out safely. the room spins around you but even if you stumble he holds you upright. you must have fallen asleep at some point cause the next thing you remember is being coaxed out of rafe’s car to get inside. the next twenty minutes or so are a blur as the sequence of shots hit you at once, you remember relaxing into rafe’s bed, the scent of him and his cologne lingering on the sheets and it soothes you enough to sleep.

your headache is the first thing that you feel before you can even open your eyes, you groan as you shoot up and see that you’re for some reason in rafe’s room, with him nowhere to be seen, in his shirt with no pants on. you’re greeted by the framed picture of you two in middle school, pimply and greasy but somehow still adorable.

you pray to god that you didn’t embarrass yourself too much with him as you pull on a pair of sweats you find in his closet. there’s a glass of water and a bottle of pills next to you and you know who left it there for you. you text him asking if he’s awake, you can’t wait to see him, can’t wait to confirm if you dreamt your conversation in the kitchen. rafe knocks at his door before entering and you’re still sat up on his bed, he still can't get used to the sight. he’s wearing a plain white shirt and sweats, his chain peeking under the collar and you think he might be the hottest man alive. he sits down across you on his desk chair swiveling it to face you, adjusting his hips as he does it. you might just pass out.

“i didn’t do anything too embarrassing right?” you ask while trying to ignore how good he looks. rafe looks up at you with a grimace and you groan.

“you really wanna know?” he asks with a glimmer in his eyes and you massage your temples in anticipation for the oncoming headache.

“oh god…kill me now.” rafe laughs at your expression, your eyes are closed and he can’t help but appreciate how you drown in his clothes. that coupled with you sleeping in his bed makes his hands itch to take a picture. he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be this fortunate again.

“i’m messing with you, you were pretty sweet actually, makes me kinda miss it now.” your pretty eyes snap open to meet his and you grown at the vague comment. sweet could mean a lot of things and most of them would be embarrassing.

“fuck off, you gotta give me more than that rafey, im going crazy.”

“how much do you remember?” he’s giving you an out, one that you won’t take. rafe holds his breath, there’s no going back from your answer.

“i remember getting out of the car after we left the party and then it’s kinda fuzzy.” he breathes out in relief, nodding at your words and blushing at the realization that you were actually owning up to the conversation. he can’t meet your eyes for a few seconds as he responds.

“okay so you insisted on sleeping in my room, you actually kicked me out.” he said and you winced, forcing his gaze to yours.

“sorry-“ you start but he waves you off.

“something about you always sleep better there, but i made sure you washed your face and stuff before sleeping.” you already feel hot from embarrassment but this can’t be the worst of it, you’d told this to rafe sober.

“i can tell you’re holding back.” rafe should realize that you know him as well as he knows you. you’re too observant for your own good.

“fine okay, you may have been repeatedly telling me i’m pretty.”

“yeah okay so i’ll see you in a week.” he couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction. you got off his bed to leave, far too embarrassed to hear the rest, but he caught your wrist from where he sat near the door. he looked good looking up at you, you could get used to the angle.

“hey come on, i didn’t finish, i'm the one who started it for what it’s worth.” the hand around your wrist smoothly drifted to your hand, fingers intertwined with yours. you start to think crazy things like why was he was smooth? how many girls had he-rafe short circuits your brain as he brings your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your ring finger. you like to think it’s an accident for your sanity, it’s not.

“really?” your voice comes out small, nearly a squeak. you hardly notice it because you’re so entranced with his actions, by how small your hand feels and looks in his, how large his fingers are and the cold press of his signet ring against you. all the embarrassment flushed out of your system by a thrumming of need, of adoration, of-

“uh huh you look pretty right now too.” your gaze snaps to his, narrowing at his words, rafe hasn’t stopped smiling since he’s seen you today. how can he? he’s finally getting everything he’s ever wanted. you look so stunned by his words, mouth slightly agape and he’s relishing in the fact that for the first time in your lives he has the upper hand. he lightly tugs you closer by your hands and there’s zero resistance in your steps, you think you might be under a spell. it’s a miracle you can even respond.

“i definitely do not, i'm a hungover hot mess.” you know you look bad, you’re not fishing for compliments. you’re pretty sure you still have mascara smudged under your eyes and your hair is a whole other entity. but rafe doesn’t see any of that, he sees the girl he fell in love.

“nah you’re the prettiest girl i know.” he’s practically grinning up at you and the blue in his eyes is just right. he’s not lying to you and there’s a thick haze of feelings and unspoken words between you two. you know it’ll take a few words to change everything forever, the thought scares you, and you can’t handle the label you know you’re avoiding. the word that perfectly encapsulates what you already should’ve known for twenty years.

“can i shower and then maybe i’ll agree with you?” rafe lets you pull back, he knows he has you, and you know you have him. you just need a bit of space to catch your breath. he imagines these feelings sprouting up after so long can be overwhelming, they’re still overwhelming for him but he’s gotten used to relinquishing any rational thought when it comes to you. you just need time to get used to it too. you return to the guest room and hop in the shower. rafe put a set of his clothes next to yours and you don't even hesitate, they feel comfier on your skin and they smell like him, you wear his clothes and dry your hair before seeking him out. you feel more like a human, the sins of last night washed off you, and now you can finally give in.

you lean against his doorframe, his eyes already on you, as you say, “you’re gonna make me say it first aren’t you?”

a/n: i was geeking writing this (don’t hate me for the cliffhanger)

taglist: @clar2aa @ggraycelynn @rafestoothbrush @woweewoowa @mattyskies @always4tuesdayss @ashy-kit @chalahyung01 @rafeysslut @beabogsims @someoneisreading @rlalliehayes @artbymin @pogueprincesa @crvcified-kinx @ltristessedureratoujours @lilithblackkk @pluviophilis

[earlgreylatte]

Nicknames and Pet Names

Peter Parker: ‘Bug’! I can you two calling each other ‘bug’ and ‘bug boy’ respectively. Definitely has a roster of petnames depending on the mood; ‘sweetie’ to comfort you, ‘champ’ to make you laugh, ‘pipsqueak’ to tease you, etc. Definitely has squished your cheeks and called you ‘chipmunk’ before. Of course, nothing beats your name for him.

Johnny Storm: Don’t let him see you do something embarrassing because he won’t let you live it down. Trip in front of him once, and he’ll be calling you ‘stumbles’ for the next year. Also likes using loveydovey names like ‘firefly’ and ‘good lookin’. ‘Hotstuff’ and ‘boo’ are also some of his favourites, and probably what he refers to you as on his Instagram posts.

Matt Murdock: No one, and I mean no one, says ‘sweetheart’ like he does, whether he says it when he’s comforting you or when he’s about to go down on you, it is so insanely attractive. Definitely a ‘yes dear’ guy. He definitely has a nickname to reflect your nature/dynamic to him, like ‘sunshine’, ‘angel’, etc.

Wade Wilson: Revoke his right to use pet names!! It’s like he wants to give everyone diabetes with the names he comes up with. Hit him so he never calls you ‘pussy cat’ again. ‘Sugar plum’, ‘Carebear’, and ‘Angel face’ are his more tolerable ones. Probably stacks pet names on top of each other, creating an actual Frankenstein of mushiness.

Clint Barton: ‘Birdie’ or ‘dove’ definitely. Less into pet names, and more into making nicknames, I think, but definitely throws around ‘babe’ or ‘angelface’. Definitely makes up a teasing nickname based on your alias if you have one.

Scott Summers: ‘Honey’ or ‘dear’ because he is literally a wife guy. I can see him call you ‘peanut’ somewhat awkwardly when you two first get together. But ‘honey’ really does suit me, the type to rub your arms comfortingly while sweetly whispering sweet nothings.

Kurt Wagner: Mein gott, German time! ‘Engel’, ‘Schatz’, ‘liebling’, etc, are his go to. Also refers to you as his heart, his light, and the like because he wants you to always know how much you mean to him and all the ways you’ve changed his life for the better.

Logan Howlett: We all know ‘bub’ is his go to, but he definitely calls you ‘doll’, ‘bunny’, and ‘lovely’. Anything that points out the juxtaposition between how…pretty you are and how…Logan he is. Could also see him going for someone mousy, which of course would come with its own array of nicknames.

Masterlist

[acknowledge-reigns]

Filthy Little Freaks | Roman Reigns x Black Reader | SMUT! 18+

A/N: I wrote ts so fast 😭 it's gotta be a record. He left me no choice!! Roman, My beloved tribal chief, if you run into this online somewhere.. No you didn't! ☝🏾

Description: Roman teaches Y/N what happens when you tease YTC.

Warnings: Degradation, spanking, honorifics, daddy kink, very rough sex, praise, Dom/sub dynamic, teasing, LOTS of dirty talk, petnames, p in v, what could be considered cnc if ya squint and really look for it, unprotected sex, creampie, love bites.

Taglist: @lov3rla03 @reignseclipse @acute-crashout-jeyuso

18+!! MDNI!!

My masterlist can be found here.

✩.･*:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•*:｡✩

You and Roman had been in a passionate relationship for a while now, but tonight was different. The tension between you had been building all day, and it had finally reached its boiling point.

You had met up at his place after work, and as soon as the door closed behind you, he had pounced. He had pushed you against the wall, his body pressed tightly against yours, and kissed you with a fierce hunger.

You had teased him all day, sending him scandalous photos while he was out doing various interviews for 2k25.

He had been growing increasingly frustrated and aroused throughout the day, his mind constantly wandering back to the provocative pictures you had sent him. He knew you were doing it on purpose, trying to rile him up and make him lose control. And it had worked. He had tried to focus on his work, but your teasing had distracted him completely. He couldn't stop thinking about you, about how he wanted to have you all to himself. And now he does.

He pulls you away from the wall and leads you to the bedroom, his hand on the small of your back. He shuts the door behind you and turns to face you, a bit of a gleam in his eye.

"Strip," he commands, his voice low and authoritative.

You comply without hesitation, slowly undressing in front of him. You can feel his gaze burning into you as he watches, his eyes raking over your body hungrily.

"That's it, baby," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Let me see you."

Roman watches as you reveal yourself to him, his eyes narrowing slightly. He steps closer to you, his hands on your hips once again.

"You think you can tease your tribal chief all day and get away with it?" he asks, his voice dripping with a mixture of annoyance and arousal. "Dirty girl. Such a filthy little freak.. but I love it." He smirks followed by a sharp smack to your ass.

You gasp as his large hand connects with your skin, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. He chuckles darkly, enjoying the reaction he's getting from you.

"You like that, don't you?" he says, his grip on your hips tightening. "You like being punished, like being put in your place. Such a submissive little slut for daddy."

He pushes you onto the bed, climbing on top of you and pinning you down with his weight. He straddles your waist, his eyes locked onto yours as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"I'm gon fuck you so hard you can't do anything but acknowledge me, babygirl."

He begins to kiss and bite your neck, leaving a trail of marks along your skin. His hands roam over your body, groping and squeezing as he claims you as his own.

He sits back and looks at you, his expression serious. "Get on your hands and knees," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You obey, rolling over onto your stomach and pushing yourself up onto your hands and knees, presenting yourself to him. You can feel the heat of his gaze, making you shiver with anticipation.

Roman takes a moment to admire the view, running his hands over your ass and thighs. "Good girl," he praises, his voice husky with lust. "Now, you're going to be a good little slut and take whatever I give you, understood?"

You nod, biting your lip in anticipation. He moves behind you, his large hands gripping your hips firmly. You can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and it sends a jolt of excitement through you. "Use your words" he scolds.

"Yes, My tribal chief." You responded

With that, having already shed his sweats, red boxers and "ytc" T-shirt, he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes into you slowly, his thick cock stretching you out as he fills you completely.

You moan loudly as he bottoms out inside you, his size overwhelming your senses. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, but quickly picking up speed. He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back, forcing you to arch your back even more.

"You feel so good, baby," he growls, his breath hot against your neck. "So tight and wet for me."

As he continues to pound into you, your body instinctively tries to pull away from him, but his grip on your hair keeps you in place. He notices this and chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying the struggle.

"Oh no you don't," he says, his voice dripping with amusement. "No running. You gon acknowledge me. You gon take this dick. This is what you wanted right? You were home just aching to be used like a good little cocksleeve for your tribal chief."

He pulls out almost completely before slamming back into you with a powerful thrust, causing you to cry out in pleasure. He leans down and whispers in your ear again.

"Such pretty fucking sounds"

He starts to spank you again, each slap punctuated by a deep thrust of his hips. The pain mixes with the pleasure, driving you further into a state of ecstasy. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your orgasm building rapidly.

Roman can sense that you're about to cum, and he speeds up his pace even more, determined to make you scream his name. He grabs your wrists and pulls your arms behind your back, using them as leverage to pull you back onto his cock.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he asks, his voice strained with his own impending release. "You gonna cum on your tribal chief's dick?"

You can only nod and whimper in response, too lost in the pleasure to form coherent words. He continues to spank you, the stinging pain sending you over the edge. You let out a loud cry as you finally cum, your body shaking uncontrollably as he rides out your orgasm.

He follows closely behind you, his own orgasm crashing over him like a wave. He buries himself deep inside you and groans, his body tensing as he fills you with his hot seed.

He collapses on top of you, both of you panting heavily. He releases your wrists and rolls over onto his back, pulling you with him so that you're lying on his chest.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly return to normal. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he catches his breath.

"You did so good for me, princess," he praises, kissing the top of your head. "So good"

[zepskies]

Omg first of all, thanks so much for shouting out As Tradition Dictates, my lovely!! I have more Eomer coming in the near future. 😘

But first *rubs hands together* time to dig into this delectable love triangle...

Dear LORD you didn't have to do me like this from the onset with that opening scene of Butcher. 🥵

No man his age should look that good. 

Correct. 👆🏽 Why is it that rugged men in their 40s attract me more than men my own age. 🫠🫠

Your mind starts to slip into a fantasy of a shirtless Butcher riding horseback across a desolate plain, his dark hair long, and a sword strapped to his saddle commanding a group of riders behind him to his every whim. Before scooping you up onto his saddle to ride with him, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his face buried in the soft skin of your neck, his rough whisper in your ear a grating caress as he-

lmfao Eomer, is that you? ("romantasy" ftw! 😏❤️‍🔥)

The specifics weren’t important, let’s just say that there was a miscommunication and what the four of you thought was a supe who could turn into a single locust, was actually able to turn into a swarm of locust so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of your face. 

lol this is one of my favorite aspects of reading/writing in The Boys fandom - everyone's creativity on creating our own fictional supes that cause mayhem for the boys. 😆😆 (Not "a reenactment of the eighth plague" 💀💀💀)

Outside the cabin there was a small patch of wildflowers that fluttered in the strong wind that blew from the East, an overgrown garden where tomato plants, potatoes, and herbs grew without care, and a small front yard that was more of a grassy clearing.

Can always trust you to give beautiful descriptions of flora and fauna. 🪴💚

Well… a lot inexperienced. You’d never been in a relationship before, never really done anything before because there wasn’t time when you were in school getting your degree, not to mention you had spent the last two years imagining yourself in a relationship with a man who didn’t know you existed.

Sigh. I can deeply relate to that first part, as you know lol.

Ben chuckles under his breath where he sits beside you in the other rocking chair, leaning back with one of his hands behind his head. His muscles tense in the black t-shirt as he adjusts his arm. 

Girl stop torturing me lmfao. (But actually don't stop though) "Big hands" indeed. 🥵

Ben saw straight through her though and I'm living for their dynamic! lol

“He could catch an earful of us tonight. I’d be happy to fuck you. It’d give me something to do.” Ben takes another hit of his joint, the smoke making you scrunch your nose in distaste, while he gives you an appreciative once over. “Fuck knows the only entertainment I’ve had for three fucking days is my hand and it would be good to have a nice tight-“

Oh how magnanimous of him. 🙄 Like yes, let's all jump (literally) on that opportunity to debase ourselves for his entertainment.

...But of course, there's also that whole ridiculously attractive factor that makes Ben difficult to resist, even though he's a complete asshole loll.

You’d tried the usual things… Leaving the room as soon as he walked in to avoid a conversation. Gone completely mute when he asked you a question. Pretended you didn’t see him whenever he walked into a room. Tried to bring him coffee, but then chickened out and drank his and yours and then immediately had to go to the bathroom to avoid shitting your pants while having heart palpitations.

OMFg. That last one is so real! 🤣🤣🤣 I feel for her for real. I wonder how Ben's actually going to help her self-confidence. 💗

“I don’t think you’re a monster Ben.” You sigh. “I just- I don’t have powers and you’re kinda strong and I-.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice. “I don’t think that you’d hurt me on purpose. But-” Ben’s hand comes out to touch your chin, tilting your gaze up to him and stopping the bicycle of babbling you were about to ride around the block. Your eyes widen slightly with the contact, you weren’t used to people touching you, certainly not like this. 

Awww this melted me so much! She's not in love with him yet, but I think he's gonna bring it out of her on accident with stuff like this loll. Also big surprise on how he said she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to do. 💚💚 I half-expected him to suggest exactly what she could do for him if she was so inclined. 😆

“Sweetheart, you’re about to find out just how smooth I am.”  What have I gotten myself into?

Oh my God, YESSS. She's in so deep already and I can only imagine where you'll take this next if you choose! I can say for sure that I'd love to see how this little scheme unfolds lol.

Promise Not To Fall In Love With Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader and a little bit of Billy Butcher x f!reader

Prompt: "I find him very attractive." /"I'm standing right here"/ "I know."

Requested by: @angrydragon90

Tropes: Fake Dating, Pining.

Summary:  When you first joined Butcher's team the last thing you expected was to develop a crush on him, but after two years of pining, you get a proposition from the last person you'd expect to care.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just in case (I don't really think it is). Some cursing, Sexual innuendo, References to sex, Over glorification of a man's shirtless body (I'm not complaining) Reader is a little anxious/anxiety/socially awkward? Drug use/Drinking (Soldier Boy), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (He's a warning, we all know it and somehow still love him for it).

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Prompt Celebration Masterlist

A/N: This is the third fic for my prompt celebration! This one was requested the incredible @angrydragon90 💗 Had to do something with a little bit of Valentine's Day spirit, but I'm going to be honest, this one turned into something that I didn't expect... let me know what y'all think. I also was thinking about @zepskies fic As Tradition Dictates for the more *ahem* gratuitous descriptions of Butcher 😉

Butcher’s muscles rippled over his bare chest and broad shoulders with every swing of the mighty axe down to the earth. Each strike of the axe against wood sent chips of bark flickering in the air around him like sparks. Sweat rolled down his sun kissed skin curving in the dips of his muscular torso, along the tensing muscles of his back, and through the dusting of hair on his torso, before disappearing into the waistband of the dark jeans hung low on his hips. 

Heat kisses your cheeks and darkens the skin the longer you watch him and you bite your lip hard to keep the appreciative sigh of the scene in front of you at bay. But it does little to stop your eyes which rove over the rugged man chopping wood. 

No man his age should look that good. 

Butcher props one of his feet up on the tree stump he’s been using as a table oblivious to your attention, shouldering the axe for a moment to glance at the stack of firewood he’d chopped, looking like a mighty warrior surveying his lands. 

Your mind starts to slip into a fantasy of a shirtless Butcher riding horseback across a desolate plain, his dark hair long, and a sword strapped to his saddle commanding a group of riders behind him to his every whim. Before scooping you up onto his saddle to ride with him, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his face buried in the soft skin of your neck, his rough whisper in your ear a grating caress as he-

You clear your throat, cheeks darkening crimson, and take in a shaky breath to dissipate the daydream that usually starred in several of your fantasies. The same ones that probably came from the romantasy book that you’d brought along on this trip and were too embarrassed to read when anyone else was awake.

He raises a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, shuffling it back through his hair that turns a chestnut brown in the light of the setting sun that flickered through the thick forest surrounding the small cabin you were all staying in.

Oh to be a drop of sweat.

You think mournfully, taking a long sip of your lemonade out of a brightly colored bendy straw, the same lemonade that you’d made in hopes of enticing Butcher over for a break.

It had worked, but only for twenty seconds.

Twenty glorious seconds that you got to bask in Butcher’s presence so close that you could smell the familiar cologne and the scent of sweat clinging to his skin while he drank the lemonade and you tried not to stare at his bare chest for too long. You hoped that Butcher thought the flush on your cheeks had everything to do with the heat and nothing to do with all the things you were imagining him doing to you. 

And then there had been an additional two seconds when Butcher smiled at you and said “Thanks poppet” in the swoon worthy accent of his that made your knees weak before he sauntered back over to the woodpile and you watched him go shamelessly. 

Hughie says something to Butcher you can’t hear, but it makes Butcher laugh. He throws his head back with a wide grin that makes you sigh to yourself again, hands tensing where they sit poised over the tangle of wires in your lap. 

You were supposed to be working on a new gadget to help grapple up buildings, one that you and Frenchie had designed together, but you were distracted by Butcher. 

You were always distracted by him. 

It had been three days since Butcher, Soldier Boy, Hughie, and you arrived at the cabin in the middle of nowhere after a mission went wrong. The specifics weren’t important, let’s just say that there was a miscommunication and what the four of you thought was a supe who could turn into a single locust, was actually able to turn into a swarm of locust so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of your face. 

You had a sneaking suspicion that MM and Frenchie had something to do with the miscommunication, given how eager they had been to stay behind at headquarters and do paperwork, and the secretive smiles they had shared at the briefing before your team left.

But needless to say, none of you had been eager to live through a reenactment of the eighth plague and all decided to lay low to consider your options, while hoping the locust supe didn’t decimate all of the corn in the midwest.

You shudder remembering the crawl of the scratchy legs along your skin, the flapping of millions of wings like the beat of a drum, the crunch of locusts underfoot, and the low pitched hum of the swarm that vibrated so loud it made you feel your body shaking from the inside out. 

At this point I would have taken a swarm of guinea pigs.

The cabin wasn’t the worst place you’d stayed at in all the time you’d worked with Butcher. There was running water and several rooms inside including two bedrooms with lumpy pillows and mattresses with creaking springs, a living room with a sagging floral couch, and a threadbare kitchen with dusty cabinets and doors that fell off whenever someone tried to open one. 

Outside the cabin there was a small patch of wildflowers that fluttered in the strong wind that blew from the East, an overgrown garden where tomato plants, potatoes, and herbs grew without care, and a small front yard that was more of a grassy clearing. 

Sure the cabin had it’s quirks, but the real problem was that the four of you were trapped here in the middle of summer with a generator that only did so much for electricity, but had no air conditioning whatsoever, which meant it was cooler to sit outside on the porch than inside the sweltering cabin. 

Overall, it had been three days of nothing, but listening to Soldier Boy bitch about the lack of extracurricular activities, three days of nothing but hearing the soft chuckle under Hughie’s breath when he texted Annie, and three days of nothing but you lusting after a man who was twice your age chopping wood.

Why was he chopping wood when it was so hot and none of you needed it… You had no idea, but you figured that the universe was finally throwing you a bone because you got to watch him do it.

The porch was cooler than sitting inside. There were two creaky rocking chairs that faced the overgrown “front yard” that was more of a clearing and the breeze did weave under the overhang of the roof to wick the sweat that gathered at the back of your neck, but the problem was, it was impossible for you to feel anything but warm, especially with what was unfolding in front of you. 

The weather isn’t the only thing heating up.

You think to yourself watching Butcher lean down to pick up another piece of wood, admiring the way his worn dark jeans cup his muscular ass.

Fuck, I’m just as bad as Soldier Boy. 

The truth was, you’d been crushing on Butcher for the better part of two years since the moment the two of you met on your first day when you’d tripped and dropped the giant pile of blueprints you were carrying to your desk and he was the only one who stopped to help you pick them up. 

After Homelander had been stripped of his powers and exposed for the narcissistic psychotic freak he was, you’d started working at Supe Affairs, thinking that it was the perfect way for you to make a difference in a world reeling from the revelation. It had shaken quite a few people to know that the so-called heroes they looked up to were in fact just as crooked as a line drawn by an elephant on a tricycle. 

But you liked your job… sometimes. 

Sure, the pay sucked, the benefits were dismal and the hours were long, but you didn’t care about any of that. You felt like you were making a difference, using the engineering degree that your dad had insisted on for something other than trying to figure out how to build a bridge that withstood the force of a punch from someone as strong as Homelander. 

And you hadn’t meant to develop a crush on William Butcher of all people, you swore that each day to yourself, but it happened without warning. He was nice to you, he always had your back on missions, and sometimes when you were working on something after hours on a mission- like the gadget in your lap- Butcher would sit with you while everyone else slept, nursing a glass of whatever it was he had, and he always made you feel like a valued member of the team.

Yes, he might be a little rough around the edges, but you liked that about him, that he didn’t pull punches, rather he told it like it was. It was refreshing in the world you lived in when everyone else was so afraid of offending someone that they just kept their mouths shut. 

But the problem was that you were younger than him and a little inexperienced. 

Well… a lot inexperienced. You’d never been in a relationship before, never really done anything before because there wasn’t time when you were in school getting your degree, not to mention you had spent the last two years imagining yourself in a relationship with a man who didn’t know you existed.

That might be a little harsh, he knew you existed, obviously, but rather he didn’t see you as anything more than a teammate or at least like a little sister. The nicknames that he called you were all some form of “kiddo” or “poppet.” Nothing like the things you’d read about men calling the women they loved in books or heard in movies. 

The most experience you had in the realm of love and relationships was binge watching Sex and The City (you could quote it by heart), flipping through Cosmopolitan Magazine and other articles about love on the internet like they were opioids, and reading through romance novels reverently as if they held the secrets of the universe. 

Not to mention the draft of the romance novel on your computer… but you’d go to the grave before anyone ever saw that, and if they did see it you’d take them with you. 

Reading about relationships was easier than having one, at least that was what you told yourself to feel better. It also didn’t help that you’d seen two out of three sisters married with kids, with the third one getting married in a few weeks and you without even a shadow of a date for the wedding.

That meant you would be stuck at the awkward reject table again with your weird fourth cousin who always came on to you and tried to show you the rooster tattoo he had on his hip bone, your dad’s brother who cleaned his dentures in public after he ate and his wife who always asked you what you were “doing” with your life and curled her lip up in distaste no matter what you said, and the gaggle of their ungrateful children who were always sticky for some reason and chewed with their mouths open while spilling food all over the table like cavemen.

Sitting there with them made facing the locust supe more appealing.

But even with the pressure of trying to find someone, anyone to take, you couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Butcher how you felt about him. 

Butcher glances over as if he can sense you and you immediately drop your eyes to the bundle of gears and wires in your lap pretending to fiddle with something that doesn’t need to be fixed.

Yes, because that’s the way I’m going to win him over, by making absolutely no eye contact. Perfect, masterful. What can go wrong?

What the books, magazines, tv shows, and movies didn’t prepare you for was how to find the courage to talk to someone of the opposite sex without feeling like your tongue was going to drop out of your mouth or like you were going to throw up. 

You wait a few beats until you’re sure that he’s no longer looking at you before you raise your head to watch Butcher again. 

Ben chuckles under his breath where he sits beside you in the other rocking chair, leaning back with one of his hands behind his head. His muscles tense in the black t-shirt as he adjusts his arm. 

“What?” You ask him. 

He exhales a long and obnoxious cloud of foul smelling smoke from the joint he has in his hand. “I think you’re a hypocrite.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re out here eye-fucking that asshole and you yell at me for staring at you.” He chuckles with a wide smirk as he takes another hit from the blunt.

How can he smoke that? It’s like 100 degrees out here!

“I am not!” You reply as loudly as you dare, glancing over to Butcher to make sure that he didn’t hear Ben’s comment, anxiety prickling along the back of your neck, but he’s still talking to Hughie about something. “And you don’t just stare at me! You come up behind me like some gremlin out of hell, with your big hands and-”

“We both know how much you like the attention doll.”

“I do not!” Your cheeks flare bright red. 

The only downside to working on Butcher’s team was sitting directly next to you. When you found out that you’d be working with Soldier Boy, one of your dad’s favorite heroes, you were excited to meet him, and then you had and he turned into another giant disappointment. He was loud, brash, short-tempered, rude, and was always either ogling you, coming on to you, smoking something, or drinking. 

You supposed it could be worse. You didn’t hate him, and you got along with him, but he was always around. The plus side was that Ben was the one of the only people you didn’t have a hard time talking to.

Yes, he was attractive, but his particular lifestyle didn’t appeal to you and for that reason whatever nerves you had about talking to attractive men of the opposite sex evaporated when it came to Ben. 

It was unfortunate that such a skill was wasted on him of all people.

“I just-” You hesitate, eyes dropping back down to the grappling device in your lap, not sure why you’re about to admit this to Soldier Boy when you haven’t been able to admit it to anyone else. 

Probably because I’m sick of singing the line from Frozen “conceal don’t feel” over and over in my head.

“I find him extremely attractive.” You mumble on a shaky breath. 

“I’m sitting right here.” The frown in Ben’s voice is prominent, but it only makes you roll your eyes at him. 

“I know.” Your eyebrows furrow together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why are you looking at him when you could have my full attention.” He leans forward, dark hair falling forward into his eyes, mouth pulling up in a confident smirk. "I mean there's nothing else to fucking do, might as well do me."

Your cheeks flush with his words, but you tilt your head to the side to study him, eyes slipping over his rugged features. Tracing over the neatly trimmed beard on his cheeks, the brilliant green eyes that seemed to glow, the way his muscular body filled out his black t-shirt and blue jeans, the soft dusting of freckles that contrasted the hardness of the man he was flecked over his skin, and his full lips that are curved up in a sinful smirk that would make even the strongest woman crumble. 

But not you. Ben was… Ben. He was brash, obnoxious, handsy, impatient, and disrespectful. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

Sure you didn’t work with him often, but you believed you had a pretty good grasp on the kind of person he was. You did, right?

“You’re not my type Benny.” Your eyes flick back to the project in your lap, moving your fingers deftly through the wires of the internal mechanism.

Ben recoils at the use of his nickname, but he recovers with a low chuckle. “Don’t call me that and I’m everybody's type.”

“Not mine. I don’t like supes.”

You weren’t sure if that was 100% true. You liked Kimiko. What you meant to say was that you didn’t like supes like him. Supes that used his powers without care for the consequences, Supes like Homelander who didn’t give a shit who got hurt as long as the job was done. 

And you weren’t a supe, which meant that if you were with a supe there was always the possibility of you dying during sex or dying before you had sex in the first place. Your job also presented the possibility of you dying before you’d had sex, but you weren’t going to let that hold you back.

“But Butcher has-” Ben begins to say.

“Temporary powers. Not all the time.” You correct, unable to stop your eyes from drifting back over to where Butcher has begun to start swinging the axe again. “And look at him. Fuck, he’s over there like Paul Bunyan, rugged, chopping wood-” You sigh continuing to watch the man who probably has no idea you exist.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I could do that.”

You don’t pay Ben any attention, because Butcher is bending over again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard. 

Ben sits there for another few beats watching you watch Butcher. The wind chimes that hang above your heads jingle merrily as the breeze picks up once more bringing the smell of the wild flowers and wet earth from the forest surrounding the cabin. 

“You know I could help you.” Ben says slowly.

Your eyes flick back to Ben from Butcher in confusion. “Help me?”

What is he talking about? Does he think he can figure out how to fix the grapple gun? The other day he couldn’t figure out how to open the automatic trunk of a car and he just ripped the trunk door right off.

“Get him.” Ben nods his head in Butcher’s direction, but you’re still confused.

“How?”

And why? Why does Soldier Boy want to help me of all people?

“Well, I could help you make him jealous.” Ben leans towards you, his eyes sweeping once over you as he does, lingering too long on your chest and the edge of the jean shorts you were wearing.

“And how would you do that?”

“Well for starters you could come sit on my lap baby, see how you like it.” Ben winks. “Take me for a little ride.”

“Pass.” You roll your eyes. 

“Oh I see you want to have a more advanced lesson.” He smiles, scooting his chair towards yours, a dull scrape of wood on wood, so now his knee is touching yours. “He could catch an earful of us tonight. I’d be happy to fuck you. It’d give me something to do.” Ben takes another hit of his joint, the smoke making you scrunch your nose in distaste, while he gives you an appreciative once over. “Fuck knows the only entertainment I’ve had for three fucking days is my hand and it would be good to have a nice tight-“

“No thanks.” You interrupt, face flushing when you imagine what he was about to say.

Ben stiffens in surprise. “What?”

“I’m good.” You shrug. “I’m gonna get him the old fashioned way.”

The same old fashioned way that I’ve been using for the past two years and had absolutely no results.

“And what way is that? Pining after him and hoping that one day he’ll finally notice you?” Ben scoffs. “I can see how well that’s working for you doll-face. How long have you been working with him?”

“Two years-”

“Fuck, two years?” Ben sputters. “You should just tell him that you want him to fuck you.” 

“That won’t work.”

Ben’s face scrunches in confusion, the joint clasped in between his thumb and forefinger forgotten. “Why the hell not?”

“Because-” You glance down at your hands, thumb running along the jagged edge of the grappling hook slightly embarrassed. The last thing you wanted to tell Soldier Boy was that you were a virgin. The guy would mock you endlessly. “Because I’m younger than him and he’s-”

He’s experienced. 

“So? You think that he hasn’t thought about fucking you?” Ben takes a long sip from the whiskey sitting beside his chair. “He’d be lucky to have a little piece like you.”

You blink in surprise. It was the closest to a compliment that Ben had ever given you. He did tend to compliment your figure whenever you were around, but you usually ignored that because he did that to everyone. 

Truthfully, the thought of dating Ben didn’t appeal to you at all, but the thought of using him to make Butcher jealous was not a terrible one. And at this point, you didn’t have anything to lose. 

Well… except THAT, but you wanted it to be special, at least that’s what you’d always told yourself.

You sigh, a little frustrated, watching Butcher out of the corner of your eye swing the axe in a glorious arch to the earth. You weren’t sure how to get Butcher’s attention. You’d tried the usual things…

Leaving the room as soon as he walked in to avoid a conversation.

Gone completely mute when he asked you a question.

Pretended you didn’t see him whenever he walked into a room.

Tried to bring him coffee, but then chickened out and drank his and yours and then immediately had to go to the bathroom to avoid shitting your pants while having heart palpitations.

Basically the social anxiety was working wonders on the office romance you wanted so badly. 

“Ben?” You say tentatively, hands tightening on the contraption in your lap. At this rate you were never going to fix it and Butcher was going to have to figure out how to fly. 

“Yes, gorgeous?” Ben raises an eyebrow. The blunt is between his lips now and he’s looking at you curiously.

“If we did pretend to be…” You swallow nervously. 

“Fucking?” He leans forward eagerly, eyes twinkling with interest.

Well… I’ve never understood what it meant when someone wrote “his eyes darkened” until this very moment. 

“Dating” You correct holding up a finger.

Does his mind always go to the gutter?

You remember everything you think you know about Ben.

Yes. Yes it does.

Ben leans back with a frown. “I don’t date.”

“Well it wouldn’t be real! You’d just be helping me make him jealous and it would be nice to have a little practice maybe…”

“Practice?” He looks confused. It wasn’t the first time he had in this conversation or within the last five minutes, but like hell you were about to admit without at least one drink to Soldier Boy the extent of your dating life.

“Yeah. I’m not the best at talking to people or-”

“You’re talking just fine right now.”

“You’re different.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you annoy me and I don’t know you’re easier to talk to for some reason!” 

“Thanks.” Ben says dryly. 

By now all the anxious energy has begun to pop and crackle against your skin at the thought of what the two of you could be doing and at the thought of you two actually pulling this off and you having a shot with Butcher. Not just a shot in hell, a real shot.

“But if you’re serious about helping me get him-“ You continue.

“I was.”

It was odd that he was the one who had suggested this in the first place, and even weirder that he didn’t seem hesitant at all to be doing this. 

Maybe he thinks that we’re going to have sex. Your throat tightened at the thought, eyes widening, your nerve endings electrifying with anxiety. Oh holy fuck what if he thinks that if we do this he’ll get to do whatever he wants to me?

You clear your throat, heart beating just a little bit harder in your chest. The entire situation was making you regret the extra cup of coffee you had this morning. “What exactly would I have to do?” You don’t recognize your voice. It comes out a little more wobbly and just a little more tentative than it was. 

You didn’t know what Ben was expecting you to do and you didn’t want to say yes, only for him to force you into sleeping with him like he’d suggested earlier, the most you'd thought the two of you would do is just make out a little-

Oh holy fuck then we’d have to kiss and I don’t know if I’m a good kisser and he’s definitely kissed more than one person not to mention he’s-

The thought made you flush to the roots of your hair. 

Ben hesitates, eyeing you and you wonder if he can hear the deranged monologue inside your head or if he can hear just how hard your heart was beating. You hoped not. 

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, doll. I’m not going to force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” There’s something genuine in his eyes when he answers your question, something that you’d never noticed before. 

Your mouth drops open in surprise. 

It wasn’t that you believed that Ben was that kind of man, but rather that what he just said to you might have been the most caring thing that he’d ever uttered in front of you. He was the last person that you’d expect to care about someone being uncomfortable or care if someone else was okay with everything that was happening in the bedroom.

Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

In all honesty you only knew the way Ben acted, you didn’t know anything about his life. The man kept his cards closer to his chest than a well-seasoned card player and his poker face, forget it. You couldn’t crack that combination even if you wanted to. 

Everything else you'd heard about him was through the grapevine of gossip at work. None of it was first hand.

Ben sighs and shakes his head at you as if he’s a little annoyed with himself for saying that out loud. “But I still think it would be easier if you just told him that you wanted him to fuck you. Would’ve worked on me.”

“I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

And it was true. You could take down a target, diffuse a bomb in less than ten seconds with a thin mint and a bobby pin, but saying something out loud like that to something else made you feel nauseous.

Ben hesitates again and in his hesitation the anxiety and embarrassment starts to come soaring back into your chest.

You were asking Soldier Boy, Soldier Boy, to pretend to date you so Billy Butcher would fall in love with you. 

Well kids, this must be what rock bottom feels like. I might as well just pray that the locusts come back to take me away. 

“Fine.” Ben states. 

“Really?” Your eyes widen.

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer.

“We’d have to have rules.” You blurt, and Ben makes a face.

“Rules? Never been too good with those, Sweetheart.”

“And I’d need you to promise that you wouldn’t-” 

You lose your train of thought in the wind chimes that rattle over your head and the sound of Butcher’s laugh.

“Wouldn’t?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Lose control.”

Honestly, sometimes you were a little afraid of Ben. You’d never say that out loud or admit it, but he was stronger than Homelander.

You knew Ben's reputation around the office- heard the hushed whispers of the women in the break room who said he was the best fuck of their lives, heard the horror stories of what he did to his old team, and had seen first hand what his temper was like. You also knew about his powers and worried that Ben might have a little bit of a control problem or at the very least anger management issues.

“I’m not going to fucking hurt you if that’s what you think.” Ben growls, his eyes narrowing at your insinuation. “I’m not some fucking monster, doll.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster Ben.” You sigh. “I just- I don’t have powers and you’re kinda strong and I-.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice. “I don’t think that you’d hurt me on purpose. But-”

Ben’s hand comes out to touch your chin, tilting your gaze up to him and stopping the bicycle of babbling you were about to ride around the block. Your eyes widen slightly with the contact, you weren’t used to people touching you, certainly not like this. 

Keep it together… 

“I wouldn’t hurt you by accident either.” Ben’s green eyes are focused on yours, and you can see just a sliver of emotion behind them that you can’t identify. “But if we’re going to do this you gotta promise me one thing.”

“What?” Your voice comes out like a squeak.

“You’ve got to promise not to fall in love with me.” He sends you a saucy wink that makes you want to punch the strongest man on earth, instead you settle for pushing him back from you.

But you’re not prepared for the wave of disappointment you feel when he lets go of your chin. 

“I’m not in any danger of that Benny. You’re not half as smooth as you think you are.” You start to lean back in your chair, but Ben reaches out to grab your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle, the contact burning through your body, as he pulls you forward, so close you can smell his cologne. Somehow it's something that smells classic and modern at the same time, a hint of spice that tickles your nose and makes your throat tight. 

His voice lowers into a purr that vibrates through his chest, his next words expelled on a warm breath that weaves through the air between the two of you. 

“Sweetheart, you’re about to find out just how smooth I am.” 

What have I gotten myself into?

A/N: Again, not what I was expecting, but I really love this one y'all and I probably laughed way too hard at bits when I was writing it.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my taglist please let me know!

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@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @waynes-multiverse

@jollyhunter

[enzosbabyangel]

৻ꪆ Thinking about being a drunk mess ‘n all whiny ‘n needy at a party with Theo…

cw: if you don’t understand the position i’m explaining look at the image 😅, whiny!reader, blowjob, you have an oral fixation, praise, dynamic could be icky to some people

“Teddy pleasee,” You pout from your spot on the floor. Your legs bent and spread wide. Your hand tugging at the clothing that pressed tightly against your dripping cunt. You looked utterly pathetic, eyes all red from the alcohol in your system, hair spread out on the dirty bathroom floor and your outfit disheveled.

“Can’t even wait until we get home, mi amor?” Theo teased. Ignoring the way his cock strained against the fabric of his jeans at the sight of you on the bathroom floor, looking so utterly desperate for his cock.

“Nuh uh..” You pout, squeezing your legs together and wrapping your arm around his leg. “Need your cock too bad to wait, are you really gonna make me wait?” Your pout grows if possible, furrowing your brows upwards and giving him puppy dog eyes.

Theo sighs, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back against the back of the toilet, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he chuckled in amusement. You always got so cute and desperate when you were drunk, he loved it. It made him feel needed in a way.

“Now i suppose that would be too mean wouldn’t it?” He cocked his head to the side, raising a brow slightly. Another chuckle almost of bafflement and amusement escaped his lips as he watched you so quickly get up onto your knees, eyes sparkling with happiness as your pout disappeared and you frantically nodded.

“Then i guess i’ll let you. Can’t be mean to my girl.” He murmured, bringing a hand to gently brush hair out of your face. “Go on.”

You wasted no time, hands immediately moving to the zipper of his jeans and tugging. Within just a couple seconds his cock was free and in your mouth. Happy moans spilling from your lips while you desperately nodded your head up and down his length, cocking your head to the side slightly and looking up at Theo in awe and lust.

“Fuck.. look at you. All content now, hm?” Theo let out through a moan, looking at you with hazy, lazy eyes while his hand moved to entangle itself with your hair. Smirking to himself as you nod. “Yeah… keep doing that like the good girl you are and i’ll cum within seconds..”

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . written by enzosbabyangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

[elodieunderglass]

As long as we're talking about Killie's family, could you explain why Killie's father married a horrible English witch? I can't decide if it's something as simple as "they love each other" or some arcane horseworld political dynamic. Or both.

(In reference to Killie the jockey OC and his disastrous family)

Oh it’s BOTH. And what do you mean? arcane horse-based power games ARE love, aren’t they? Multidimensional politics involving the least well-adjusted humans and horses on the planet, in the context of a failing-but-still-absurdly-financially-powerful competitive sport, is how you get married. Most people construct a family unit to breed exquisitely tiny jockey babies to further their ambitions of a mad dynasty. Don’t they?

That Woman is a bit of a mystery. She shares a lot with my own mom. I think it’s genuinely surprising that their mother let their father have such a free hand with the children’s names - she agreed to go with the paternal trend of naming their generations all with the same letter, although this may have appealed to her grief at not being able to name them like racehorses Tory sense of orderliness, heritage and control. But then they do mostly have Irish names, apart from her favourite. Maybe she just didn’t care much. Or sensed the leverage it would give her over her husband. Or maybe they all have really absurd middle names that are an act of English colonial violence. Would getting inside her head to find out risk making us worse people? Isn’t that what Twitter people are afraid of?

Because I am brave, I can say (unpacking what my own parents left me with, and looking with fond bewilderment on my children) that most people do not marry with the intention of creating fucked-up children. And the generations that gave rise to us - doing their best, making mixed choices, full of greyness and complexity - fell to trauma and tragedy that is our gift to decline. To hold up a hand, name the worst bits, and stop them passing on - when it’s in your power - is the duty of every human (with/without biological kids of their own). And yet I do have a bit of compassion for the people who came before, whom i never willingly speak to, whom i process through little fictional characters that I shake in a jar. We can break many chains, and some remain unbroken, and in old photos we can see something of what we had in common.

Oh, and this poem is about the twins. But I don’t know which one.

[axolau]

I’m not the first person to say this, but mischaracterization of Bumblebee in the TFONE fandom is honestly kind of crazy.

The infantilization aspect of it is really problematic, because it treats a full-grown man like the “kid” of the group. Bumblebee’s been slotted into this role because he’s often depicted as playing a son-like role to Optimus, which I of course *love,* generally speaking, but that’s not the role they went with in this movie, and B is still getting slotted into this role.

But in TFONE, B is actually quite possibly older than Orion Pax and D-16. We don’t know, but he’s been in Sublevel 50 for so long, he very well could be, and there’s nothing at all suggesting he’s younger than them.

Unlike in other iterations, B isn’t an “apprentice” to Optimus, either. He’s been at his side since *before* the Autobots were founded, which, since the Autobots will no doubt continue for millions of years, establishes him as a senior Autobot, not the “new kid” role he usually plays, either.

Then there’s B’s personality. B is talkative and energetic and eager to make new friends. He’s the comic relief character, which casts him in a less serious tone, but certainly not that he’s a kid. Orion doesn’t play a mentoring role to him throughout the movie, nor do any of them try to manage or babysit him. He’s an equal part of the group, even if he feels less “mature” because of his talkative personality.

B can also be read as neurodivergent, which makes the infantilisation of him in the fandom more problematic, since it treats hyperactivity and other traits found in neurodivergent *adults* as “kid” traits.

Like, why is B interpreted as the kid of the dynamic? He’s the weird uncle they found in the basement, obviously.

Not to mention, B’s primary trait as the movie goes on is his violent tendencies. Based on the fandom, you’d guess he was the most innocent lil guy, when in the movie, he actively takes joy in creating chaos and going on violent outbursts.

While his violence is made out to be a joke in the movie, in a potential sequel I would *love* to see it taken seriously as a character flaw. B is unpredictable and chaotic, and this could make him hard to work with in the Autobot cause.

B’s violent tendencies are genuinely concerning; the amount of joy he gets from slicing drones in half and holding the security team at knife point is uncharacteristic of your usual Autobot hero, and I wish people would talk about that aspect of his character instead of downplaying it when he gets turned into a lil baby in the fandom.

It reminds me of the infantilization of Tailgate in the MTMTE fandom. He’s treated like a lil baby because he’s small and emotional. This sucks because

1) I’m short and I *hate* seeing physically small characters babified to an extent I know they never would be if they were the same height as the rest of the cast around them

2) it treats being emotionally vulnerable as “child-like,” when MTMTE literally makes a point about the fact that Tailgate is one of the only people who can healthily process his feelings, since he doesn’t have war PTSD, and crying and having other big shows of emotion aren’t childlike, it’s healthy.

3) not to mention that Tailgate was a victim of emotional manipulation. Infantilizing him treats him like he was “gullible” for being tricked when Getaway was literally painstakingly planning a longterm relationship to groom him. Don’t infantilize victims, it’s treats it was their fault for being manipulated and not the abuser… you know, manipulating them.

Tailgate also is powerful/violent like Bumblebee, and this similarity gets downplayed. I haven’t been in as much of the MTMTE fandom (I’m still reading Lost Light, and I’m trying to avoid spoilers) but I have seen the Tailgate infantilization to an extent, and the B infantilization is literally the only way I ever see B being treated by the fandom.

STOP TREATING GROWN MEN LIKE KIDS PLEEASSSEEE

[yunholic-jongholic]

Bound to the Bosses [Part 1] | C.JH x Reader x J.YH

SUMMARY | At the age of 20, you surrendered your freedom to a former mafia gang in exchange for a secure life and all your needs met. You pledged your existence to two of the members, Choi Jongho and Jeong Yunho, who managed the leading underground strip club and took you under his wing. They both permit you to perform on weekend nights, but once the lights go out and the workday ends, you belong solely to both of them.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader x Yunho

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | Mean Dom!Yunho, Mean Dom!Jongho, Strip Club Setting, NSFW, SMUT, Explicit Content, Alcohol Consumption, Cursing, Smoking, Mentions of Murder, Threats, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Threesome, Power Dynamics, Teasing, Foreplay, Hair Pulling, Fingering, Degrading, Praising, Dry Humping, Oral Sex (Reader Giving), Unprotected Sex (Don't do it...), Rough Sex, Marking, Bruises, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie, Cum-Eating, Size Kink, Overstimulation (THERE IS SO MUCH. IM CRYING. I DEFINETLY MISSED SOME. ILL COME BACK)

WORD COUNT | 5.3k

AUTHOR NOTE | 💋 Spicyyyyyy ;) Anyways, new 2HO Story. Tag List is now open to whoever wants to join (you can comment or message me!) This is a long LONG chapter series. (Most likely will be 8-10 chapters.) There will be more trigger warnings on each chapter since its very angsty. so please make sure to read warnings each chapter. Hope y'all enjoy this new story!

•

The distant wail of police sirens blended with the thumping bass of music booming from downstairs. Sitting in front of the mirror, you carefully applied your makeup, smoothing each line and adjusting your hair with practiced precision.

Yet, despite the familiar routine, a heavy sigh escaped your lips. Your stomach twisted in uneasy knots, the uncertainty creeping in—did you really want to step out there and perform tonight?

You stood up, slipping on your shoes and preparing yourself for another night of work. Stepping out of the room, you noticed someone standing silently in the hallway, eyes fixed on the world outside through the window. It was Seonghwa—the one who played the role of the gang’s unofficial caretaker, almost motherly in his demeanor.

You approached him, hesitating slightly before asking, “Have you seen Jongho anywhere?”

Without tearing his gaze from the window, Seonghwa replied, “He’s with Mr. Kim right now.” He exhaled a plume of smoke, the faint haze curling around his face before his eyes flicked toward you, sharp and piercing.

You swallowed, your voice wavering as you continued, “Could you... could you let him know I need to speak with him downstairs? It’s about my weekly allowance. Thank you.”

Seonghwa’s stare lingered a moment longer, his expression unreadable as he took another slow drag from his cigarette. “He’ll be informed,” he said flatly before turning his attention back to the view outside.

You murmured another thanks, his detached demeanor leaving an uneasy feeling in your chest. Shaking it off, you made your way downstairs, the muffled music growing louder with each step.

Descending the stairs, the dim lights cast a hazy glow over the room, shadows dancing to the rhythm of the pounding music. The bass vibrated through the floor, mingling with the murmur of voices and clinking glasses. You made your way to the bar, the cool surface grounding you as you leaned against it.

Before diving into the night’s performance, you needed a drink to steady your nerves. You signaled to the bartender, the familiar ritual bringing a brief sense of comfort amidst the chaos.

“Hey, I didn’t think you worked behind the bar,” you remarked, surprised to see who was serving drinks tonight.

Turning around with a playful grin, Wooyoung leaned casually against the counter, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yeah, well, I like to switch things up now and then,” he replied, effortlessly charismatic.

You couldn’t help but smirk. From what you knew about the gang, Wooyoung was the loud, energetic one, but beneath his playful exterior, he was one of the sharpest minds when it came to decision-making and planning. His unpredictable nature kept everyone on their toes—tonight was no exception.

He slid a glass across the bar toward you, his eyes flicking over you with curiosity. “Starting off the night with a drink, huh? Rough evening already?” He teased.

“Don’t make me tell you... I’m just exhausted from... stuff.” You sighed, your shoulders sagging as you lifted the glass to your lips, taking a long, deep gulp. The burn was familiar, grounding, and it was just what you needed to face the night ahead.

Wooyoung watched you, his playful demeanor softening for a moment, but he didn’t press further. He knew better than to pry.

Placing the empty glass back on the bar, you offered him a nod before turning away, the music growing louder as you approached the stage. The lights were low, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you stepped into the spotlight, ready to perform despite the exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

While you were performing, your eyes scanned the dimly lit room, drawn to a familiar figure standing in the corner. Jongho. His presence was unmistakable—calm, composed, yet intensely focused on you. He stood with his back against the wall, a glass in hand, the amber liquid swirling gently as he took measured sips. His expression was unreadable, stoic and serious, his eyes never leaving you.

As the music faded and the lights dimmed, you wrapped up your routine, the applause a distant hum as your attention stayed on him. Steeling yourself, you made your way over, weaving through the crowd until you were face-to-face.

Jongho’s gaze was cold, his features rigid, revealing nothing of his thoughts. His eyes flicked over you, analyzing, calculating, before finally meeting yours. The air between you felt heavy, the weight of his stare pressing down on you. You opened your mouth to speak but hesitated, the words caught in your throat as his expression remained unyielding.

“Jongho... Mr. Choi,” you began, your voice steady despite the tension in the air. “I need to discuss my weekly allowance.”

He took another slow sip from his glass, his eyes never leaving yours as he lowered it. “So, what do you need now?” His tone was even, almost indifferent, but the sharpness in his gaze was unmistakable.

You swallowed, feeling the knot tighten in your stomach, but you pressed on. “Well... I wanted to ask for a raise this month,” you admitted, your voice softening as you continued. “I need to buy some new clothes... mine are getting worn out.”

Jongho’s eyes flicked over you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before his expression returned to its usual cold demeanor. He leaned back against the bar, his posture relaxed but his gaze unrelenting.

Jongho’s lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Well, since you’re done with your dance session, you can come to my office. We’ll discuss it there.” His voice was calm, almost too casual, but his gaze was sharp, traveling slowly over your figure before meeting your eyes once more.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you maintained your composure, giving him a small nod. “Alright.”

Without another word, Jongho turned on his heel, making his way through the crowded room. You followed close behind, weaving through the sea of people as the music continued to pulse around you.

The journey felt longer than it should have, your mind racing with anticipation. You could feel his presence just ahead of you, calm and commanding, his pace steady and confident. Reaching his office, Jongho unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open just long enough for you to follow before closing it behind you.

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow from the city outside casting shadows along the walls. You stood there, your pulse quickening as you waited for him to speak, he locked the door behind you. Going to the desk, his back turned to you as he set his drink down on the desk.

"You know u are the one who ruins your own clothing." Jongho hums. Getting closer to you as he caresses your face with the back of his fingers. You look into his eyes and nod.

“Yes, sir. I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as his fingers lightly traced the curve of your bottom lip. His touch was gentle but commanding, sending a shiver down your spine. Your breath hitched, the tension in the room thickening—but before anything else could happen, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

Jongho’s expression shifted instantly, his jaw tightening as he pulled his hand away, irritation flickering in his eyes. He released a low, frustrated groan before turning on his heel and striding over to the door.

You stood frozen in place, nerves coiling tight as you watched him unlock and open it. Peeking over his shoulder, you recognized Seonghwa standing on the other side, his usual calm demeanor unchanged.

“Y/N was looking to talk to you,” Seonghwa said, his voice steady, his eyes flicking briefly to you before returning to Jongho.

Jongho sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m already talking to her,” he replied, his tone curt but controlled.

Seonghwa nodded, his expression unreadable as he took a step back. “Understood.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, his presence disappearing down the hallway.

Jongho shut the door with a click, his fingers lingering on the lock as he turned it firmly. His back remained to you for a moment, his shoulders tense, before he slowly turned around, his eyes locking onto yours once more. The air felt heavy again, the tension from before returning even stronger.

Jongho’s smirk returned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he crossed his arms, leaning casually against his desk. “So, here’s the deal,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I need you to get back to work. Once your shift is over, come back to my office, and we’ll sort out your weekly allowance.”

His gaze lingered on you, a teasing glint in his eyes, his smirk never fading. The implication behind his words was clear, but his tone remained composed and controlled.

You felt your heart skip, but you managed a nod, keeping your expression neutral. “Yes, sir,” you replied, your voice steady even as nerves buzzed under your skin.

Without another word, you turned and unlocked the door, your fingers trembling just slightly. You could feel his eyes on you as you stepped out, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself before heading back to the main floor, the music and lights pulling you back into the rhythm of the night.

The hours dragged on, the music pounding relentlessly as you moved through the motions, one performance after another. By the time the clock hit 5 a.m., exhaustion weighed heavy on you. You sighed, wiping the sweat from your brow as you counted the night’s earnings—over $500. Not bad, but all you wanted now was to collapse in your bed.

Your mind was foggy, and the promise to see Jongho after your shift slipped away as fatigue took over. You made your way upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last as you headed straight to your room.

But as you neared your door, the low murmur of voices caught your attention. It was coming from the room down the hall. The door was cracked open just enough for sound to seep through. You hesitated, curiosity stirring despite your exhaustion.

Quietly, you crept closer, careful to stay out of sight as you peered inside. Hongjoong stood in the center of the room, his back to you, his posture tense. Opposite him was Seonghwa, his arms crossed, face unusually serious. The air between them felt heavy, the conversation clearly intense.

You strained to listen, heart beating a little faster as you tried to make out their words, unsure of what you were about to overhear.

Your blood ran cold as the conversation became clearer.

“Well, we need to get rid of the body. Yunho said the guy tried threatening he would kidnap Y/N and kill her,” Hongjoong’s voice was low and sharp, barely contained anger seeping through his words.

Seonghwa’s glare was fierce, his jaw clenched as he responded, “I told the others that we’re not going back to a life of crime. We agreed to leave that behind. I say we punish Yunho for breaking our new rules.” His voice was cold, unyielding.

Hongjoong fell silent, his expression conflicted, but he didn’t argue.

Your heart plummeted, panic rising in your chest. Yunho... killed someone? And now the leaders were planning to punish him? But what did that even mean? You shuddered at the possibilities, dread coiling tight in your stomach.

You backed away from the door, feeling the world spin around you. It was suddenly hard to breathe, the air feeling heavy and suffocating. Without another thought, you turned and hurried back to your room, your mind racing with fear and confusion.

What were you supposed to do now? What would happen to Yunho? And if they found out you overheard, what would they do to you?

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your face pale, eyes wide with lingering shock. Your heart was still racing, but you forced yourself to breathe, pushing down the fear and anxiety that threatened to consume you. With practiced precision, you buried your emotions, slipping back into a composed façade.

Your hands moved mechanically as you began undressing, shedding the remnants of the night’s performance in favor of something more comfortable. Just as you reached for a shirt, a sudden knock echoed from your door.

Your heart jumped, panic momentarily flaring before you snapped into action, quickly pulling on the closest set of clothes. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to appear calm before opening the door.

Standing before you were Yunho. His expression was neutral, unreadable, his tall frame leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Oh! I thought you were Jongho... I completely forgot to see him after my shift,” you blurted out, your voice rushed as you tried to mask your nerves.

Yunho’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Unnecessary details,” he replied bluntly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you. There was no hint of warmth in his voice, just cold indifference.

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. Every word from his mouth echoed in your mind, mingling with what you had just overheard. You couldn’t help but wonder—did he know? Did he suspect you had heard everything?

“What... what brings you here?” you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady, hoping he couldn’t sense your fear.

“Did you make money tonight? I need to pay Hongjoong back,” Yunho asked, his voice calm but firm, his eyes coldly scanning the room.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Hongjoong, the memory of his conversation with Seonghwa flashing through your mind. You felt a lump form in your throat but forced yourself to stay composed.

“Y-Yeah... I made over $500 tonight,” you stammered, your voice barely steady. Not wanting to provoke his impatience, you quickly moved across the room to where you’d stashed your earnings.

Your fingers fumbled slightly as you retrieved the cash, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back. Turning around, you saw his eyes fixed on you, unblinking and expectant.

You took a few steps toward him, holding out the money. “Here. This is everything I made tonight.”

Yunho’s eyes flicked down to the cash before reaching out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the bills from your hand. His expression remained unreadable, his demeanor cool and detached as he began counting the money.

You watched him in silence, your heart racing as you waited for his reaction, unsure of what he would do next.

Yunho’s eyes lingered on the cash for a moment before he tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll be right back,” he said curtly, his voice giving nothing away as he turned and left the room.

Your chest tightened with worry, the memory of Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s conversation echoing in your mind. You couldn’t just sit back and wait.

Quietly, you slipped out of your room, trailing behind Yunho at a safe distance. You kept your footsteps light, your body pressed against the walls as you moved through the dimly lit hallway. The air felt colder, the silence unsettling as you watched him approach Hongjoong’s office.

He knocked once before entering, the door clicking shut behind him. You crept closer, your heart pounding as you leaned in, pressing your ear to the door.

Muffled voices filtered through, their tones low and serious. You could barely make out Hongjoong’s voice, cold and commanding, followed by Yunho’s calm but measured replies.

Your breath caught as the conversation grew more intense, the tension palpable even through the thick wood of the door. You pressed closer, desperately trying to hear more, hoping that Yunho would make it out unscathed.

Suddenly, the voices stopped. Your blood ran cold, panic flaring as you realized the room had gone completely silent. You held your breath, frozen in place, waiting to see what would happen next.

You pressed yourself closer to the door, heart pounding as the conversation grew clearer.

“Yunho,” Hongjoong’s voice was cold, his tone laced with disappointment. “Seonghwa and I know about your little incident earlier. You do realize we agreed—no more of this. We’re not allowed to get involved in these crimes again... not after what happened last time. It almost got Seonghwa killed.”

There was a heavy pause, the weight of Hongjoong’s words sinking in. Through the door, you could feel the tension radiating from the room.

Yunho let out a sigh, his voice quieter as he replied, “I... I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” There was a genuine remorse in his tone, but you could also hear the frustration buried beneath it.

The room went silent again before Hongjoong’s voice cut through, his words cold but calm. “Look, we’re not going to do anything drastic... but you could lose your title for this. We made rules for a reason. If you can’t follow them, you don’t deserve the position you have.”

You could almost picture the scene: Hongjoong’s eyes locked on Yunho, his presence imposing and unwavering. There was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and you realized Hongjoong had stood up.

The air grew heavy, your chest tightening as you heard his footsteps approach Yunho. “We can’t afford any more mistakes,” Hongjoong continued, his voice low. “Get your act together... or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Your blood ran cold, your hands trembling as you clung to the door. You knew Yunho was in trouble, and if Hongjoong was serious, things could get a lot worse. You held your breath, waiting to see how Yunho would respond.

“Yes, boss,” Yunho’s voice was subdued, obedient, his defiance seemingly extinguished. You heard footsteps approaching the door, and your heart leapt in panic.

Without wasting another second, you darted away from the door, hurrying back to your room as quietly as possible. You slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Sitting on your bed, you tried to catch your breath, your mind racing with everything you’d just heard. You couldn’t shake the coldness in Hongjoong’s voice, the threat lingering ominously. What would happen to Yunho now? And if they found out you were eavesdropping...

A sharp knock on your door snapped you out of your thoughts. Your heart jumped, panic briefly flashing through you. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and to your surprise, it was Jongho who stepped inside. He closed the door behind him, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they locked onto you.

“Oh!” you blurted out, guilt from spying on Yunho and Hongjoong still fresh in your mind. You quickly composed yourself, remembering why he was here. “Oh, right... my allowance...” you muttered under your breath, feeling slightly embarrassed for forgetting.

Jongho raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he approached you. “Did you have a good night at work?” he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes seemed to be searching for something, observing you closely.

You nodded, keeping your response brief, the tension from earlier still weighing heavily on you. Jongho stood over you, his presence imposing as his eyes lingered on you, his expression unreadable.

Before he could say anything, another knock interrupted the moment. You sighed, the fatigue and anxiety catching up to you as you turned your head toward the door. Jongho’s eyes narrowed, annoyance flickering across his face as he looked over, clearly displeased by the interruption.

The door creaked open, and Yunho stood there, his face void of emotion, his eyes flicking between you and Jongho. The tension in the room grew heavy, the air thickening as the two men stared each other down.

“It was my turn tonight,” Jongho snapped, his irritation evident as he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing at Yunho. His posture was firm, claiming his authority without hesitation.

Yunho’s jaw tightened, his eyes hardening as he stood his ground. “We both share her,” he retorted coldly, his voice laced with defiance. “And if anything, I was already about to fuck her... I just had to pay Hongjoong back first.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your face flushing a deep shade of red as their words sank in. Their bluntness left no room for misinterpretation, and the realization hit you hard—they were both in the mood, and they both wanted you tonight.

You swallowed, the tension between them palpable as they stood on either side of you, their eyes flicking to you before returning to each other. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your mind spinning as you processed the situation.

Jongho’s eyes narrowed, his irritation turning into something darker, his stance unwavering as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving Yunho. “You had her last time. Tonight, she’s mine.” His voice was firm, possessive, his authority undeniable.

Yunho’s lips curled into a mocking smirk; his demeanor calm but his eyes flashing with challenge. “That’s not how it works, Jongho. We agreed to share, remember?” His tone was taunting, his posture relaxed but his intent unmistakable.

Caught between them, you could feel the tension crackling in the air, their rivalry intensifying right in front of you. Your pulse quickened; your body frozen as you realized you were the center of their standoff.

"Fine. you are so damn greedy now." Jongho hisses. "You can go after me." He finished as he starts lifting your shirt up exposing your skin. You just sat there in shock flickering your eyes on both of them.

"I am not going after you." Yunho glares at Jongho. Jongho smirks pulling you onto his lap. "We are sharing her tonight." Yunho's voice got deeper. You look into Jongho's eyes nervously feeling your face heat up. You shifted on Jongho's lap trying to sit more comfortably until you felt Yunho's hands travel up your body, snaking over your neck caressing your cheeks. You soon started leaning towards Jongho to kiss him, Jongho's lips crashed into yours as you both started making out.

You felt Yunho removing the rest of your clothes off, exposing your entire body to both of them. Jongho was the first to pull away and reattach his lips onto your neck sucking and kissing the skin. You moaned and slowly started moving your hips on Jongho grinding on him. Jongho groaned at the feeling, gripping your waist to keep you moving on him.

"She is so fucking needy." Jongho teased looking up at Yunho. "She is already soaking." Jongho let go of your neck and waist pushing you off causing you to whine. Yunho smirked and immediately pulled you onto his lap.

"Is that so?" Yunho smirked whispering and nipping on your earlobe. You nod softly as Yunho re-adjusts his position underneath you and places both of his hands on your breasts, squeezing them as they were stress balls. You whimpered at the feeling, Yunho smirking at your reactions. Yunho resting his chin on your shoulder as he continues to play with your breasts, squeezing and rubbing them.

Jongho on the other hand was now unzipping his pants, pulling his cock out. Yunho groaned as you started shifting on his lap softly grinding on his crotch.

"Fuck, you are needy." Yunho hisses. You hum in response. "Okay stop teasing me Y/N." Yunho throws you off of him and pins you on the bed.

"So, who is taking what tonight?" Jongho asks. Yunho sighs, looking down at you.

"Actually, I will take her mouth. I want to see her pretty face as I fuck her." Jongho smirks. Yunho nods just accepting it. Yunho flips you over and forces you on your knees as he stands behind you. You watch Jongho go over you and kneel down in front of you.

Yunho slides his hand over in between your folds rubbing two fingers back and forth before doing anything else. You immediately start moaning trying to close your legs together but his other hand grips one thigh to keep them open.

"Yunho!" You moan trying to stay calm, but you can't. Soon Jongho grips your face and presses his tip against your lips forcing himself in. Your eyes started watering but kept moaning and now gagging.

"Fuck..." Jongho curses now gripping ahold of your hair holding it up. You felt Jongho's cock twitch inside your mouth and soon you felt Yunho's hand leave, being replaced with his cock. You felt your insides go into knots as Yunho shoved himself deep inside you.

"She is completely wet..." Yunho breathing got heavy as he slowly started thrusting in and out of you.

"She is enjoying this too much." Jongho groans. You feel Jongho's tip hit the back of your throat causing you to gag and cough out.

"Too much to handle?" Jongho looks down at you keeping himself deep inside your throat. You look up at him feeling completely dizzy, eyes tearing up and you moan louder sending vibrations against Jongho's cock as Yunho slams harder into you. You felt your legs going numb as you kept trying to hold yourself up.

"Stop shaking like a weak scared puppy." Yunho groans and grips your waist tightly, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. You moan out and immediately pull away from Jongho's cock. Drool and saliva stick to your bottom lip and the tip of his cock as you moan loudly from the pleasure Yunho is giving you.

"Fucking bitch." Jongho snaps pulling your hair back and slamming himself back into your mouth. You have no chance to breath or moan. You try to grab ahold of jongho's thighs trying to hold on. Jongho pushes your head deeper, soon you started swirling your tongue around his shaft.

"Fuck I am close..." Jongho curses. Yunho groans bucking his hips into you. Wasn't very long until Jongho came right inside your mouth. Yunho on the other hand was still fucking you and Jongho finally pulled his cock out as he looked down at you leaning towards you.

"Make sure you swallow it all." Jongho speaks as you try to. Your nose scrunches up, but you just obey his order and continue moaning. Yunho hisses as you feel his cock twitch inside you.

"Fuck..." He curses as he releases inside you. You heavily breath out, chest puffing in and out as you try to catch your breath. You whine as Yunho pulls out of you.

"She is completely fucked." Jongho’s smirk deepened as he reached out, his fingers gripping your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

His touch was firm, commanding, yet there was a certain level of control behind it. Your breath hitched, your body tense under his intense gaze. Your eyes were clouded with exhaustion, struggling to stay open after the long night. Everything felt hazy.

"Look at me," Jongho murmured, his voice low but demanding. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his smirk never fading. "I think I can do another round with her." Jongho hums looking into your eyes.

"We can swap places this time. I want to see her pretty face now." Yunho gets up switching sides with Jongho. You felt completely weak and didn't think you could handle a 2nd round with both of them.

You looked at Yunho completely tired. He leans down towards you sitting on his knees.

"You are doing a good job tonight..." Yunho hums caressing your face. You shifted on your knees looking into his eyes blushing as his compliment.

Very soon you felt Jongho slam deep into you causing you to cry out. Your arms gave up and immediately fell onto Yunho's lap feeling over stimulated inside.

"Get up." Yunho picks your face up harshly squeezing your face. You look up at him moaning once again as Jongho grips your waist, pounding into you.

"Jongho!" You moan loudly out gripping onto Yunho's thighs, digging your nails into them looking up at Yunho. Yunho smirked as he presses his cock against your lips. You leave a soft lick against the tip, moaning against it.

"Fuck." Yunho hisses at the feeling. You feel your insides completely melting.

"I don't even think you can fit me in your mouth..." Yunho hums as you continue licking and moaning against him.

"Hm? Got nothing to say?" Yunho smirks. You turn your head to the side but immediately get turned back towards Yunho. He grips your face harshly causing you to whine.

"I bet she is enjoying this." Jongho groans. Yunho nods in agreement as he sits up and pushes himself down your throat. You immediately cough at the feeling of it hitting the back of your throat. You try to swirl your tongue around the shaft as Yunho starts bucking his hips into your throat.

"Fuck. Y/N." Yunho groans throwing his head back as he continues. "She definitely is..." He grips ahold of your hair biting his lower lip.

"She is taking us very well... She deserves a great allowance this week." Jongho readjusts himself before slamming back into you. You were soaked and messy all over.

"I am close again..." Jongho moaned as his thrusts got sloppier, you soon felt another release inside you. Yunho was still fucking you and not very long until he came inside your mouth as well.

"Make sure you swallow it..." Yunho huffs out as he pulls himself out. You nod and try your best feeling completely wrecked and messy.

"I... Can't do anymore..." You whimper feeling your body tremble as you fell onto Yunho's lap after the sessions.

"You did amazing tonight..." Yunho caresses your face, and you can tell they were satisfied with you.

"You need to take a shower and get ready for bed. We will pay you later." Jongho helps you up from Yunho's lap and you nod slightly leaning against Jongho completely exhausted.

"We might need to help her take a shower." Jongho laughs at how weak you are now.

"N-No. I can do it." You huff out pushing yourself up and grabbing clothes to take a shower.

After your shower, you rushed straight to bed, exhaustion weighing down on you. The moment your head hit the pillow, your body relaxed, ready to finally drift into much-needed sleep. But before you could completely unwind, the door creaked open.

Jongho.

You groaned, pulling the blanket up slightly. “Please… I’m too tired. No more,” you whined, your voice muffled against the pillow.

To your surprise, Jongho chuckled. “No, I’m not here for that,” he reassured you, his tone unusually light. “I wanted to give you a gift… along with your allowance.”

That caught your attention. You peeked up at him curiously as he approached your bedside, his usual confident expression softening ever so slightly.

“I was going to do it earlier,” he continued, irritation flashing across his face, “but Yunho interrupted.” His annoyance was evident, but he quickly shook it off, reaching into a bag.

“Don’t tell or show the others I got you this,” he muttered, almost embarrassed as he pulled out a plush teddy bear. The sight of it was almost comical in his hands, so out of place for someone like him. He looked almost… defeated, as if giving it to you made him feel exposed in a way he wasn’t used to.

Your heart warmed at the gesture. A small, genuine smile formed on your lips as you reached for the plush, hugging it tightly against your chest. “It’s very cute. Thank you, Jongho…” you murmured, your voice soft as you nestled into the comfort of the gift.

Jongho cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the moment stretching on. “Anyways… goodnight, Y/N,” he said quickly before turning to leave, his usual composed self-cracking just slightly.

As the door shut behind him, you buried your face into the plush bear, a rare sense of comfort washing over you. With a deep breath, you finally allowed sleep to take over, the tension of the night fading away.

•

DIES.

(Nothing else. No Notes. Sorry y'all I am a true freak.)

[witchywithwhiskey]

For the sweethearts game I would love to see what you do with Crazy 4 U + Andy Barber 🩷❤️🩷❤️

your favorite sweet treat

pairing: boyfriend!andy barber x female reader

summary: after your valentine's day date in the city, you stop at a diner with your boyfriend, and when you don't share your milkshake, he decides to steal a taste of something else.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!); smut; vaginal fingering; fingerfucking; semi-public sex; come eating; orgasm control/denial; light bdsm; risk aware consensual kink; quiet sex; oral sex (m receiving); road head; brief mentions of piv sex, spanking, and more overt bdsm dynamics (including punishments); dirty talk; daddy kink; praise kink; some degradation kink; begging; pet names (babygirl, baby); established relationship

word count: 3.8k

a/n: ahh Cate, thank you for sending in this prompt!! i don't remember where i got the idea, but i wanted to do something with a diner and it just made sense to use Andy. plus i love the idea of straight-laced lawyer Andy being a little reckless on Valentine's Day 🤭 thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

“You look like you’re really enjoying that milkshake, babygirl.”

The neon lights of the diner shone brightly in the dark February night as you cut your eyes to Andy Barber, who sat beside you in the booth. The lawyer, dressed in a suit that was more than a little rumpled after your Valentine’s Day date in the city, was eying the milkshake in your hand with a hungry look. 

“Mhmm, it’s very good,” you agreed sweetly, knowing exactly what Andy was angling for and refusing to give in so easily. If he wanted a taste, he’d have to ask directly—or wrest the chilled glass from your determined fingers, especially since he was liable to drink half of it in one gulp. 

Andy chuckled at your seemingly innocent response, turning toward you in the booth in the back corner of the diner, where you’d stopped for a late dinner after seeing a show in Boston, and shifted closer to you. He lay his arm across the back of the bench seat, his big body curling around yours while he ducked his head close.

You watched him sharply, a ripple of heat curling in your belly as you noticed the way his eyes were fixed on your mouth. He stared at your lips as they wrapped around the straw and you took a sip of the sweet drink, seeing his gaze darken infinitesimally.

You let the straw fall away from your lips and darted your tongue out to savor the milkshake’s flavor, delighting in the quiet groan that rumbled in Andy’s chest. The satisfaction of teasing him made you smile.

“Why don’t you let me have a taste?” Andy murmured, his voice low and enticing. His words were barely louder than the 60s Motown music playing from the classic jukebox across the diner, but you could hear him well enough.

Andy was so close that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek and it almost made you want to give in, just so he could understand how good the milkshake truly was. He’d seemed satisfied with the burger he’d polished off, so surely he wouldn’t drink all of it before he gave it back…

But then you saw the glimmer of greediness in Andy’s gaze and you knew that if you let him have just one small taste, he was going to drink the milkshake in half a second—and it was just too good to share. It was rich and thick and creamy perfection. You couldn’t risk giving Andy any because he’d take too much.

“Get your own,” you said airily, tossing your head and turning so you were giving Andy your back as much as you could in the vinyl booth. You even curled protectively around your milkshake, taking furtive sips as you enjoyed its sweetness. 

Andy laughed lowly, but there was something a little dark in the pleasant sound that had your body going on delicious alert. Instead of making a play for your milkshake, though, he dropped a kiss to your shoulder, his lips pressing against the bare skin between the thin strap of your dress and where your cardigan had slipped down your arm.

He nuzzled into your shoulder, his hot mouth dragging over your skin an exquisite contrast to the rough rasp of his beard. It was so distracting, you nearly missed the moment when his hand fell on your thighs and began to skim higher. 

It wasn’t until Andy’s fingers pushed beneath the hem of your dress that you realized what he was doing. You had to bite back a gasp of surprised delight as heat bloomed, hot and insistent, in the core of your belly, settling heavily between your thighs, which spread instinctively for Andy’s hand.

“If you won’t give me a taste of your milkshake, babygirl,” Andy rumbled in your ear, his voice deep and warm and so rich, it sent shivers down your spine. “I’ll have to take a taste of something else.” His fingers pushed between your plush thighs and swiped at the already damp fabric of your panties. 

“Andy,” you said on a sharp exhale. You’d been aiming for a scolding tone, but your whisper was too fluttery, too drenched in needy lust, and there was no real recrimination in your tone.

Still, you remembered where you were, and your eyes flicked around the diner. 

It was late, nearly midnight, so the place was practically empty. The only people in the whole building were a lone man sitting at the counter on the opposite side of the diner, and the waitress and cook, who were talking to each other through the order window. 

“You’re crazy,” you murmured, keeping your voice low so as not to draw attention, even as your legs fell open in wordless invitation. 

Andy was quick to act on the invitation, his fingers curling around the edge of your silk panties and sweeping along your damp slit. He gathered your wetness on the pads of his fingertips, his touch sending sparks of pleasure dancing through your body and you had to silence a whimper by taking another sip of your milkshake. 

“Crazy for you.” Andy’s words were purred in your ear, and you could hear the smile on his handsome face without even turning to look. But you did turn, just in time to watch him pull his fingers from between your thighs and slide them into his mouth.

You turned toward Andy more fully, watching eagerly as he licked the taste of you from his fingers, his eyes sliding closed as he groaned in pleasure. The sight was so erotic, you could feel yourself drip even more wetness into your already very damp panties.

For a brief moment, you entertained the thought of Andy Barber, your serious lawyer, getting down on his knees right there in the diner and tasting you straight from the source. It was a delicious, deviant thought, one that would no doubt end up with Andy getting disbarred, but it was fun to think about.

Andy’s eyes opened and they caught your undivided attention. His gaze, darkened with lust and sparkling with hunger, roved over your face, taking in your expression—and that was enough for him to know you’d been thinking dirty thoughts about him.

An obscenely self-satisfied grin spread across his handsome face, making him look even more sinfully hot. Andy ducked closer, so his forehead was pressed against your temple, and spoke directly into your ear.

“Does my babygirl like it when daddy fingers her sweet little pussy while she’s drinking her milkshake and not sharing it with me?” he asked teasingly, his hand falling to your thigh again and letting his thumb draw small circles on your bare skin. 

A whine rose up in your throat, but you held it back. With another furtive glance around the diner to make sure no one was paying attention to you and Andy, and they couldn’t see what you were doing while you were sequestered in the back corner booth, you spread your legs even wider. 

“Yes, daddy,” you whispered, nodding for good measure as you looked up at him from under your lashes, your lips curving in a sweet smile. 

A moment later, you had to bite back a gasp when Andy curled his fingers around your knee and pulled your thigh over his leg, opening you up obscenely wide and forcing the skirt of your dress to ride up improperly high on your legs. The cool air of the diner brushed against your heated core and you couldn’t help but squirm on the vinyl seat.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, turning your face into Andy’s shoulder to muffle a helpless moan. The fabric of his suit jacket was soft and cool against your heated skin. When you breathed in, you could smell the familiar scent of his spicy cologne, and it filled your head with even more fluffy clouds of desire.

“Be a good girl and drink your milkshake, babygirl,” Andy said, his voice warm, but with the steel of a command. His fingers skimmed up your thigh, raising goosebumps in their wake, and dove beneath your panties to slip teasingly through your wetness. “Daddy’s going to play with your pretty little pussy, and if you can stay quiet, I’ll let you cum.”

“Daddy, you have to let me cum,” you whined, pouting up at Andy with your widest, most innocent eyes. But, though you saw the corner of his mouth flicker in a smirk, he gave you a stern look and nodded his head toward the cold glass still clutched in your hands. 

Obediently, you wrapped your lips around the straw and took a deep pull of the creamy treat. All the while, Andy’s fingers explored your pussy, sweeping teasingly along your slit, dipping shallowly into your hole and gathering your arousal to rub lazy little circles around your clit.

It felt so good that your mind drifted hazily in pleasure. The rest of the diner fell away until it was just you and Andy in your secluded vinyl booth, his hand doing filthy things with your pussy while you hypnotically sucked on the straw of your milkshake. 

All you could do was focus on the sweetness on your tongue and the pleasure building between your thighs—and staying quiet, which grew increasingly difficult the longer Andy played with your pussy. Thankfully, the straw in your mouth helped muffle your little huffs and quiet whimpers of need.

When Andy finally slid his finger into your aching, fluttering hole, it felt so good that you forgot yourself. Your entire being was reduced to your inner walls clenching greedily around his thick finger, wordlessly begging for another, begging to be stretched around as many of Andy’s fingers as he could fit in your tight cunt. 

Overwhelmed, you had to stop drinking your milkshake so you could let out a low moan, forgetting to bury your face in Andy’s jacket. The noise spilled into the diner, with only the music from the jukebox masking the sound of your debauched pleasure.

Thankfully, no one seemed to hear it except Andy, who froze immediately. A rumbling sound of recrimination came from his chest as he shifted in the booth, curling around you even more and crowding you into the wall so that you were hidden entirely from the view of the rest of the diner.

“Be quiet, babygirl,” he growled, more bite than warmth in his voice. The dominance in his tone made your pussy squeeze around his finger and you mewled quietly into his shoulder. “Unless you want everyone in this diner to know what a little slut you are, letting daddy finger you in public and getting so wet for me, you need to be quiet.”

Although Andy’s words had the desired effect of admonishing you about how important it was that you stay quiet—since a public indecency charge could lead to his disbarment—they also drove your need and desire higher. His warning reminded you of how dirty and filthy the two of you were being, him with his hand up your skirt and you getting off on it.

So you forced yourself to take a deep, calming breath, clearing some of the hazy pleasure from your mind and buried your face in Andy’s neck. The rasp of his beard against your temple and the smell of his cologne filling your senses calmed you enough to let out a sweet little sigh and find your words.

“It’s the milkshake, daddy,” you said in your most innocent voice, placing a kiss against the side of his neck and grinning when you were rewarded with Andy’s big body shuddering beneath your frosty lips. “It’s just so creamy and delicious.”

Your voice was thick with innuendo so Andy didn’t buy your guilelessness for a moment, but he chuckled indulgently and brushed a forgiving kiss to the apple of your cheek. 

“Then you should keep drinking, babygirl,” he urged, his hand beginning to move again as he withdrew his finger from your warm cunt and pushed it back inside. He quickly added a second finger, the slick of your arousal making it easy to push inside your tight hole. “Because you’re not gonna cum until you finish all of it.”

A petulant whine slipped from your mouth, but at Andy’s stern look, you wrapped your lips around the straw of your milkshake and prepared to drink the rest. 

Peering down into the glass, you were relieved to see there wasn’t much left at the bottom and nearly huffed a laugh. Wasn’t it only a little while ago that you were hoarding the milkshake all to yourself? 

In that moment, you nearly wished you’d given Andy a taste. But then he never would’ve subjected you to the delicious torture of his fingers between your thighs in the back of that diner, and it would’ve been a damn shame to miss out on the orgasm he was driving you toward.

You took a deep pull on the straw of your milkshake, reveling in the delicious sweetness of the creamy treat, and nearly spit it all over the table when Andy’s thumb brushed against your clit. You managed to swallow and hold in your desperate moan, but it was a near thing. 

Andy rubbed steady, leisurely circles on your clit as he fucked you with two fingers, pumping into your hole like he was barely trying to make you cum, which only made what he was doing so much hotter. Your head was tucked beneath his chin and he murmured soft praises, telling you how good you were, how well you were taking his fingers.

You fell back into your mesmeric daze of pleasure, sucking on the straw in your mouth while Andy fucked your pussy with his fingers. He thrust into you with rhythmic strokes that drove your pleasure higher and higher so gradually, you barely recognized it as you drifted in bliss. 

It wasn’t until the sharp sucking sound of your straw pulling in air that you roused from the depths of your pleasure. Still, out of habit, your lips pulled on the straw, trying to suck up every last drop of the delicious milkshake, enjoying the final remnants of sweetness as they trickled onto your tongue. 

“Good girl, such a good girl,” Andy cooed, his arm along the back of the booth curling around your shoulders to pluck the glass from your fingers and set it on the table. Then he pulled you deeper into his chest, your face pushing into the gap between the collar of his dress shirt and his warm skin. “Do you wanna cum now, babygirl?”

“Yes, please,” you whined softly, feeling achy and needy. “Make me cum, daddy, please,” you begged in a voice barely louder than a whisper. Your hips rocked into Andy’s hand, meeting the thrust of his fingers as he added a third, stretching you enough to make you whimper and bury your face more firmly into his neck. 

“Such a perfect girl, did such a good job drinking your milkshake and staying quiet while I fingerfucked your needy pussy, babygirl,” Andy purred in your ear, his hand working faster between your thighs, his fingers curling deep inside to press against the spot that made your whole body tremble. “You’re such a good girl, did so well for daddy, baby.”

Your fingers, still chilled from the milkshake glass, pressed beneath the lapels of Andy’s jacket, reveling in the warmth of his body through his dress shirt. You clung to the fabric, knowing you were wrinkling it with your desperate grip and not caring even a little bit. You couldn’t care about anything beyond Andy’s fingers fucking you, driving you straight to the edge of your release. 

“Please, daddy, please let me cum,” you begged on a silent sob of pleasure, opening your legs wider until your knee nudged against the bulge in Andy’s slacks. Knowing he was hard for you only made your body hotter, achier, needier, and you whined softly into the hollow of his throat, babbling, “Please, please, please, please.” 

“Cum for me, babygirl,” Andy ordered in that warm commanding voice you loved so much. “Be a good girl and cum all over daddy’s fingers, you can do it, make a mess of daddy’s hand.” His thumb pressed harder against your clit, fingers stroking the spot inside you, his words urging you on. “Good girl, baby, cum for daddy—cum for me, babygirl.”

All at once, the tension in your belly snapped and you shattered apart on Andy’s hand, burying your face deep into the fabric of his jacket and dress shirt to muffle your moans as you came. Your pussy clamped down on Andy’s fingers, sucking them in deeper while he fucked you lazily through your release, still rubbing soft circles on your clit to drag out your pleasure.

It went on like that for what felt like ages. Andy didn’t stop until you were whining at the overstimulation, your body trembling while you struggled to pull yourself up from where you’d slumped against him. 

You met his gaze, the small, self-satisfied smile nestled in his thick beard sending another tendril of heat curling in your belly. Then you grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss.

You kissed Andy hard, your tongue plunging into his mouth and letting him taste the sweetness of your milkshake on your lips. You could taste the faint traces of your own desire on his tongue and you moaned into the kiss, scooting nearer to him on the vinyl seat of the booth, practically climbing into his lap in an effort to get closer to him.

“Mm, your milkshake tastes very good,” Andy murmured when you separated to catch your breath. “But I think your pussy will always be my favorite sweet treat.”

He popped his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them lewdly and licking them clean with such unabashed zeal, you couldn’t help but pull him in for another all-consuming kiss, groaning at the delicious mixture of tastes as you licked the tartness of yourself from his mouth. 

For long moments, you savored each other, but Andy gently slowed the kiss and eventually pulled away. His cheeks were flushed a little pink above his beard as he rearranged his hard bulge in his slacks to be less obvious, and he had to take a few deep, calming breaths before he was ready to stand. 

Andy paid the bill for your dinner at the cash register near the door, then tugged you out to the parking lot of the diner. He opened the passenger side door of his sleek car for you and helped you inside before getting into the driver’s seat and pulling back onto the dark road that would take you home. 

Thankfully, since it was so late, there was no one else on the road—no one else to see you reach across the car’s console and greedily undo Andy’s belt and fly. You reached inside his pants to pull out his half-hard cock before he even had a chance to say anything.

“What’re you doing, babygirl?” Andy asked in a deep, gruff voice, glancing away from the dark road as it wound and curled through the Massachusetts countryside outside Boston.

“That milkshake hit the spot, but now I want my favorite sweet treat, daddy,” you said tartly, then you rearranged yourself in the passenger seat, leaving your seatbelt buckled over your lap while you leaned over the low console and pressed a kiss to the tip of Andy’s cock. “If you can keep us from crashing, I’ll let you cum,” you purred, echoing Andy’s earlier words.

The sound that came from Andy’s mouth was part groan, part breathless laugh. You half expected him to refuse your game, to pull you away and give you a stern warning about the importance of safe driving, but there must’ve been some kind of magic in the late night air, some kind of spell cast in time to make your Valentine’s Day perfectly debauched, because he didn’t. 

Instead, the car slowed, which you knew was Andy’s way of taking precautions to make sure you were as safe as you could be while gave him road head. But it made you smirk against his tip, because it meant it would take more time for the two of you to get home, and you could play with him for even longer.

“Enjoy your treat, babygirl,” Andy rumbled, his voice deliciously deep, with just a hint of the steel dominance that made your pussy wet. “Because when we get home, I’ll be teaching you a lesson about not distracting daddy while he’s driving.”

Your whole body clenched at the promise and you grinned against Andy’s cock, dragging your plump lips down the thick ridge on the underside of his dick. You lapped eagerly at his balls before murmuring, “I’m looking forward to it, daddy.” 

Then you licked up the length of his cock and wrapped your lips around the tip, tongue sweeping through the slit and moaning when you tasted his salty precum. One of Andy’s hands fell to the back of your head, petting your hair lovingly while the other held the steering wheel so tight, you could hear the leather creak.

For the rest of the drive home, you sucked Andy’s cock just as leisurely and reverently as he’d played with your pussy, savoring the taste of him and burying your face in his balls while you stroked him steadily. By the time you made it home, Andy’s cock was a throbbing, leaking mess covered in your spit, but he refused to let you make him cum. 

That, he said, would have to wait until after your punishment. 

Andy’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he dragged you into the home you shared, telling you he hoped you’d enjoyed your favorite sweet treat, because he was going to make you beg and cry on his cock until you’d repented for being bad and were his good girl again. 

Since Andy Barber was the type of man to follow through on his threats and promises, you endured your punishment—a spanking, over his knee, while your pussy dripped all over his thigh. Then he stretched you out on his thick cock, pounding into you relentlessly and withholding your release until you were crying and begging to cum, apologizing for distracting him while he was driving.

You enjoyed every moment of it, and it was all worth it because at the end of the night, Andy Barber gave you your favorite sweet treat—his cock shoved deep in your throat, filling your mouth with cum while you swallowed greedily with a smile on your face.

sweethearts game masterlist

[fuji09]

It really is interesting to watch this interaction because Peter literally never treats anyone else like this. Peter takes what he wants and yet when he offered, Stiles declined and you can see how much Peter wanted to turn Stiles. He's disappointed but he accepts it. He doesn't force it on Stiles like he did to Scott.

He can tell Stiles wants it but also doesn't want it. He can tell Stiles is either confused or lying to himself. Peter still respected Stiles choice. He never shows respect to anyone on the show except Stiles.

I wish they went into their dynamic more. Why was Peter so fond of Stiles? Did Stiles remind him of himself? Was he attracted to him? Was there just that bond that just had them instantly click? Was it because Stiles was the only one who could match his snark and sarcasm?

Peter asks multiple times, he moves slowly and watches Stiles face until he can't anymore and he feels confident Stiles is allowing it, and just as he's about to get his fangs in Stiles' wrist (which this is the only time we see an attempt to bite on someone's wrist. Is that a special spot? It definitely felt way more intimate) Stiles yanks his hand away. Peter kinda looks hurt, but he accepts and respects Stiles saying no.

Like how can they give us this and not go deeper into it?! Especially in season 3 or 6!! Like hello!! Perfect time to get into what made Stiles so precious to Peter.

Stiles was the only one that Peter never attacked, ever. Even in the season 4 finale. Peter physically fights his own daughter! But never Stiles. Stiles is special to him and I want so badly to know why.

He clearly told Stiles it could have been him instead of Scott. Would he have forced the bite on him then? Or would he have offered it the same way?

Peter looks at Stiles in awe. He helps him when Stiles asks for him. He's so much softer with Stiles, the only other person who comes close to being treated that way is Cora.

And the only time Peter was ever affected by something mean/hurtful that was said to him, was when Stiles yelled at him (when they were both stuck in that Wild Hunt limbo world) that no one would miss him. He visibly looks distraught by Stiles saying that.

He also saved Stiles from being trampled by the Wild Hunt riders. He always helps when it comes to Stiles.

My favorite part about GIF making is taking apart the interactions. Really getting to see moments that are over in the blink of an eye and overthinking them in my head.

I adore the parking garage scene, like probably every Steter shipper. There are so many good moments here, some big ones that have been rotating in my brain on repeat but also smaller ones that I had missed because they were over so quickly.

The following is a mix of both. Just everything about the parking garage that brings me joy, with running commentary that would be too much in the finished GIF set.

Why are you leaning against him, Stiles? Why is your arm on Peter? He just kidnapped you and is currently showing you the dead body of his nurse, why are you leaning against his shoulder?

Did you have to lean real close to whisper into his ear, Peter? Was that necessary? While you already had him bend over a car?

I'll never get over the sassy eyebrow and the exasperated eyeroll. What kind of exchange is this, in a hostage situation.

Yes, Peter, we know this and we love your for this.

The fact that Peter not only offers the bite, instead of forcing it, but that he goes out of his way to explain to Stiles that it could indeed kill him is something that has me in a vice grip.

Just the visual of them holding hands <3 Very important, needs to be included here <3

THREE TIMES. He asks for consent three times. He asks if Stiles wants the bite, when Stiles is too baffled to react, he asks again, and then when he has Stiles' wrist so close to his teeth, he asks a third time.

And when Stiles doesn't verbally reply, he keeps staring at him for multiple moments, making eye-contact with Stiles to check if he is declining, before he even just drops his fangs.

I just can't stress enough that this happens directly after we find his dead nurse in the trunk of his car, right after he had mauled Lydia and left her on the lacrosse field. He kills and maims and hurts uncaring, but he asks for consent, repeatedly, and when he is rejected, he allows it. Because he's a werewolf, he just bent Stiles' metal keys like they were made of paper; if he didn't allow it then Stiles wouldn't have been able to pull free from his grip.

And the face of disappointment and rejection after. Absolutely kills me.

But he accepts it and just... leaves Stiles, completely unharmed.

And this is Stiles' reaction to him leaving and it also kills me. Because Stiles audibly gasps, and he jerks forward, like he wants to stop Peter, opening his mouth to speak but closing it before saying a word.

How was I ever supposed to be normal about this ship...?

[lostinlovingrevery]

Cat-and-Mouse

Cowboy! Logan X F! Reader

You can run, but he'll always catch you

A/N: A lil hint of the dynamics between reader and Logan in the cowboy!Logan series that I will eventually (hopefully) write. This could be considered standalone tho! also this isn't going to be the only fic where you get lasso'd by Logan (im a lil obsessed w the idea)

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, CNC elements but not really?, unprotected PiV, you get Lasso'd and tied up lol, creampie, it's complicated style relationship, possessive logan, a little bit of mean!logan too, outdoor sex? kind of a plot

Your feet pounded against the dirt as you ran.

Your heartbeat flooded your ears. Adrenaline coursed through your body, pushing you faster than you ever have before. Your hair and dress were with the wind as you ran. You nearly tripped several times from your skirt tangling with your legs. 

Ahead all you saw was a dirt road, lined with trees, towering over you- silent watchers. It seemed endless but it was the only option you got. All roads lead to somewhere. 

The thundering of hoofprints was distant, but there.

Reason told you, you weren’t going to win this chase. Panic pushed you faster, beyond your limits.

You hear a sound of a rope, as you turn your head to see a lasso twirling through the air, before being tossed in your direction. The feeling of a rope wraps around you, tight, constricting your arms to your torso, and pulling you back with a harsh tug. You landed into the dirt, your body rolling backwards as it followed the tug of the rope, making your pretty white dress dirty, and your face smeared with dust. 

You pant, your lungs desperate for you, your head screaming at you to get up. You rolled to your side, but the wind had been knocked out of you so fiercely you couldn’t utter the strength to get up.

You heard the sound of a horse huffing nearby, before the sound of boots landing into the dirt. A steady, slow walk towards you, the jingle of spurs filling you with anticipation. 

“Well now. You enjoy that run, little rabbit?”

You open your eyes, squinting up at the sky where the sun blinded you until he came into view. His body shielded you from the sun's harsh light, but created a foreboding darkness as shadows covered him as he looked down at you with a smirk. 

He leaned down, a small grunt escaping him, as he picked you up with ease with one hand, grabbing your arm and bringing you to your feet. He turned you around roughly, binding you with the lasso, tying it- not uncomfortably, but reminded you that you were bound and helpless to him. He spun you back around, his hand coming up to clench your jaw.

“I thought we were done with that little cat-and-mouse game.” He mumbles. “Trying to break an old cowboy's heart?” 

You scowled at him and he forcefully tightened his grip on you. Pulling you closer, and forcing you to look into his eyes. “Do I need to remind you of a few things?” 

You yelped as he lifted you up, throwing you over his shoulder with ease like a bale of hay. He clicked his tongue, 

“C’mon Cinnamon.” He orders his horse, who then follows him at will, as he begins walking down the road. You attempted to wiggle from his grasp, but his hand came up, smacking you harshly on the ass, making you yelp- and cease your struggle. “Settle down there bunny.” He taunts, making your face hot in embarrassment. 

He didn’t carry you for long, just somewhere off-road. Cinnamon was left to graze while he put you somewhere more secluded. He dropped you onto the grass, gently but still made you gasp. You struggle a bit, pushing yourself to sit up, as he stands over you and watches with disappointment.

“Logan.” You looked up at him angrily. 

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. 

“Let me go.”

He clicked his tongue, baring his teeth as he sucked air through them. Look up and around at the nature that surrounds you both. A small clearing with a nearby pond. It would be a pretty place to relax in- if it weren’t for your current circumstances. He looked back down at you, and you saw a flash of anger on his face that sent chills down your spine. 

He kicked your legs open roughly, kneeling down between them as his hand went around your neck, pushing you back onto the grass, before hiking your dress up to your waist as his other hand cupped your clothed cunt. You let out a whine, turning your head away from him.

He chuckled. “I told you. You’re mine now.” He says lowering himself to your ear. His fingers pushed your panties aside, brushing through your folds, making your hips involuntarily thrust. “You still got me leaking out of ya, and you thought you could run?” He tsks. 

You turned your head to look up at him, a pout on your lips. 

“Should’ve kept you tied up but I thought you were smarter than that.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, his nose bumping into yours as his lips sit a mere inch away. 

You began to tip your head up to kiss him, but he pulled away. “Nice try.” He smirked, before his eyes flashed with possessiveness, and his voice turned low. “You’re going to pay for that lil escapade you just did.” 

He sat back up, undoing his belt and holster, dropping it to the side. He shoved his pants down to his thighs, and his thick cock popped out, hard already. He pushed your skirt father up, pulling your panties off you. 

In a swift movement, he grabbed the rope bounding you, pulling you onto his lap. You felt his cock brush over your folds and the chilling warmth of fear and arousal rushed over you. Taking his hat off, he placed it over your head firmly.

He leaned back onto the grass, gazing at you above him, as he goes and pushes you up, before angling his cock at your entrance. 

“Go on. You don’t got a choice.” 

Your lips parted, a gasp escaping you as your head fell back, the stretch as you began to lower yourself over him, pain and pleasure wrapped into a delicious combo that made your thighs tremble. You purse your lips together, before looking at him pleadingly.

“C’mon now. None of that. You took me so well last night darling.” He purred. “and I know you loved every goddamn second of it. Get moving.” 

You continued lowering yourself onto him, down to the hilt. Tears well in your eyes as you attempt to adjust to the size of him. Somehow, it felt harder lowering yourself over him- than it did when he fucked into you. He knew how to take care of you better than you did yourself.

“Goddamn sweetheart.” He let out a groan, tipping his head back for a moment as his grip tightened over the rope.

His hand caressed your thigh. He didn’t loosen his grip on the rope that bound you. A small tug of the rope, and an order. The sound of his voice dared you to disobey.

“Now, ride me cowgirl.” 

With a trembling body, you began to lift yourself up, and back down his cock. Without the use of your arms to support yourself, you find more strain in your legs as you attempt to move up and down his girth. 

Not wanting to disappoint- or anger him more, you pushed through it. Small whimpers escaped you, as pleasure began to erupt through your body. The ache melted into something honey-like. Your arms pressed into the rope as you arched your back, wishing to go faster but not having the strength to. 

His hand continued caressing your thigh, as he watched you with satisfaction at seeing you bound and struggling. Your cunt was squeezing so tight around him, despite how he had fucked you last night. It was cute, how you thought you could get away from him.

Maybe you did. Several times in fact.

He always found you. He always will.

You crawled under his skin. Become an itch he can’t scratch - only you could. 

Your thighs were beginning to give out. He could see the tears threatening to break through as your lips parted. Your previous cardio had already left you exhausted, and now you were at your breaking point, your vision becoming blurry, as the burn in your legs started to numb. 

Suddenly, your world shifts, and you feel the cool grass on your back. 

A hard thrust left you whining Logans name. A warm chuckle graced your ears. 

“Let this be a lesson, little bunny.” He says, his gloved hand softly brushing some hair out of your face, before gripping it and making you open your eyes and look at him. “You can run, much as you want, but I’m always going to find you.” 

You let out a soft gasp. “Logan.” 

“Hm?”

“I just want to keep you safe.” 

The hardness on his face softens. He leans forward and captures your lips in a possessive kiss. Slowly he began moving his hips against yours, thrusting in and out, small hiccups escaping you as you attempted to kiss him back. 

His arm wrapped around your back, adjusting you by lifting your hips higher, the angle sent you careening, as his cock continues to bury himself inside you over and over. He moved down to your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin. You heard small grunts escaping him with every hard thrust inside you. 

You wanted to grab him, hold onto him as he claimed you. The lasso he had caught you with, tied you, kept you restricted from him. His own barrier he’s made between you- yet doesn’t acknowledge. 

His thrusts become erratic, his grasp around your waist becoming tighter as he buries himself into your neck. His hand braced into the grass next to your head digging into the dirt. You let out a cry tilting your head towards, as you felt your own overwhelming finish approach. A tight sensation in your lower belly that finally snaps at his next words,

“You’re mine-” He growls. “No ones fucking taking you from me. Got that?”

You moaned, tipping your head back as relief washed over you. Pleasure rolled through in waves as you squeezed him over and over, now merely rutting into you until he came to his own finish, burying himself inside you as he let out a guttural moan. He takes a moment to catch his breath, before pulling out of you. 

He sat up, pulling his pants up over himself, setting the buckle back in place as he looked down at you. Seemingly hypnotized by your ruined form. Your legs spread wide still, as you shook, and his cum beaded out of you slowly. Dirt covered your dress and skin. Your hair was a mess. 

“Think ya got the message now?” He says in a low grumble. You opened your eyes and looked at him. You didn’t respond. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t consider yourself his. At this point, you were utterly devoted. Your lives though were complicated. 

You couldn’t risk losing him.

He smirked. “No? Guess I’ll just have to keep ya tied up darling.”

[broidobe]

𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔧𝔲𝔡𝔤𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱

requested!

☾when a playful argument between nikki sixx and tommy lee over who’s better in bed spirals out of control, you offer to settle it the only way that makes sense—by taking both of them at once☽

☾warnings: smut, threesome (mfm), degradation, praise, dirty talk, overstimulation, mild dom/sub dynamics, competition kink, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, size kink, spit play, slight restraint, teasing, aftercare☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚motley crue masterlist

the argument had started out as playful banter, the way it always did when nikki and tommy got a little too deep into their egos. you were perched on the couch between them, sipping on a drink, half-listening while they went back and forth.

"oh, come on, dude. there’s no way she prefers you over me," tommy scoffed, stretching his long legs out as he leaned back. "have you seen these fingers?"

nikki rolled his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette. "please, t-bone. we both know i know how to fuck properly. you just get in there and hope for the best."

you chuckled, swirling the ice in your glass. "you two sound like teenage boys measuring their dicks in the locker room."

"we could measure dicks," tommy joked, waggling his brows. "but i already know i win."

nikki groaned. "fuck off. you wish."

you leaned forward, looking between them, lips curling into a slow smirk. "or… i could be the judge of that."

the room went still.

nikki’s cigarette froze halfway to his lips. tommy blinked, then looked at you like you had just rewritten the laws of physics.

"what?" you teased, leaning in closer. "scared?"

tommy recovered first, grinning like a madman. "shit, babe, don’t threaten me with a good time."

nikki exhaled sharply, grinding his cigarette out in the ashtray. "alright, fuck it. let’s see who’s really the best."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

the moment the three of you tumbled into the hotel room, it was chaos.

tommy had you pressed against the door in seconds, lips crashing into yours, all tongue and teeth, his hands gripping your waist like he wanted to leave bruises. nikki was right behind him, fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat.

"gonna see how much you can fucking take," nikki muttered against your skin before biting down, hard enough to make you gasp.

tommy growled. "nah, i’m gonna ruin her first."

your clothes hit the floor in record time. you barely had time to breathe before tommy had you bent over the bed, ass in the air, his big hands kneading the flesh. "fuck, look at this," he muttered, dragging a palm across your skin before landing a sharp slap that made you yelp.

behind you, nikki scoffed. "oh, you think that’s impressive? watch this." he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back as he kissed you deep, groaning into your mouth while tommy’s fingers trailed between your legs.

"she’s already so fucking wet," tommy mused, his breath hot against your spine. "think she likes us fighting over her."

"of course she does," nikki muttered, fingers trailing down your chest, pinching and teasing. "she loves the attention."

you whined, pushing back against them. "less talking. more fucking."

tommy chuckled darkly. "demanding, huh? gotta teach you some patience, baby."

the two of them worked in perfect sync, overwhelming you, pushing and pulling your body between them. nikki’s grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your breath hitch while tommy’s fingers moved with devastating precision, teasing you open until your thighs trembled.

"you gonna take both of us, baby?" tommy taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "think you can handle it?"

you whimpered, nodding frantically. "y-yeah."

nikki smirked, fingers gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "that’s my fucking girl."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

by the time they were done with you, you were a wreck.

tommy was sprawled out beside you, chest heaving, a satisfied grin on his face. nikki had collapsed on the other side, fingers idly tracing shapes against your thigh. you were limp between them, body still trembling from the overstimulation, every nerve fried.

"so?" tommy finally asked, his voice hoarse. "who won?"

you let out a breathless laugh, rolling onto your side, meeting both their gazes with a lazy smirk. "mm. might have to go for another round to be sure."

nikki groaned. "jesus fucking christ, you’re insatiable."

tommy grinned. "i love this chick."

you closed your eyes, feeling their warmth on either side of you. fuck, you were sore. but goddamn, it was worth it.