#IT EVEN HAS THE SKULL EMOJI

[psychearrows]

ajhenrbehshegmwk I saw this at a book store and I COULD NOT stop laughing

The Heart Forgor 💀

[blazkotiddies]

Raiden doodles because he's the prettiest man I've ever laid my eyes on (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

[shikai-the-storyteller]

FRICK I was thinking "Oh I can catch Bagi's stream later– I need to make food" BUT NO I didn't realize they were watching a show, there's no way this VOD is gonna save

[marciliedonato]

was anyone gonna tell me brad taste in music reviewed hesitant alien and gave it the most absolute dogshit rating like. living up to the name i see like jesus christ, man......

[bionic-penis]

FINALS WEEK NEXT WEEK LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOO SUMMER BREAK HERE I COMEEEEEEE

based off a back-to-school doodle from 2018, og below cutttttt

[porcelana-r0ta]

let the mourners come

Title: let the mourners come

Ao3 Link: Only available to Ao3 users

Word Count: 3045

Summary:

It started, as most things do with Danny Fenton, as a joke.

It ended, as most things do with Jazz Fenton, with things better than they were before.

xxXxx

When Danny finally gets a Twitter, it’s during Elon Musk’s shit show takeover. He’s able to secure a good Twitter handle thanks to people leaving en masse and fleeing to Tumblr. He knows about things that happen outside of Amity Park (he is terminally online rather than chronically, after all), but he still doesn’t think anything of using @TheJoker as his handle, even knowing about Gotham City’s clown troubles. It’s just going to be a shitpost account, anyway, one that dances in the chaos of Elon’s electronic graveyard. Nothing will come about him using @TheJoker when he’s merely posting things like, “Just grew a new row of teeth!!! very pointy but can’t go to the dentist anymore bc they might turn me in to the giw.”

So Danny honestly never foresaw The Actual Real Joker breaking out of Arkham Asylum all the way in Gotham City, New Jersey, and deciding to get a Twitter account to terrorize people online as well as offline. And he definitely never foresaw The Joker @’ing him on Twitter, demanding that Danny change his Twitter handle. But, well. Here he was. 

[Image Description: A screenshot of a Twitter reply chain, starting with the real Joker @'ing Danny's Twitter account, which uses TheJoker as his Twitter handle. The Joker, who has a verified account, demands that Danny "change your handle", and Danny replies with a simple "no" followed by red heart emoji. The Joker Tweets, "Kid you don't know who you're fucking with," to which Danny replies, "Ye I do ur some dude w/ poor fashion sense and lame jokes. Maybe try badjokesbyjeff bc originality is ugly on u" followed by a shrugging emoticon. The Joker responds, "Check your DMs." Danny then responds, "Perf [happy emoji surrounded by hearts] I've sent you a time and place. Can't wait to beat the shit out of another disgrace of a clown." Someone with the username "Gregg rulz ok" responds to Danny's last Tweet, "Bro is absolutely RATIOING the joker but the clown keeps responding [three skull emojis] embarrassing frfr too bad he's gonna die for realsies".

End ID]

Danny is quick to respond and then makes even quicker work of roasting The Joker. This soon results in The Joker DMing him his IP Address and a creative threat. Still, Danny isn’t about to cow to a clown with no respect for the art of clowning. He replies to the DM: 

Cool, meet me at the Nasty Burger parking lot in Amity Park IL on tuesday at 2am

The response from The Joker is quick:

Fourteen year olds are too confident these days

Danny rolls his eyes and ignores the influx of notifications from Twitter, and instead makes another Tweet.

Imagine beefing with someone over a Twitter handle lol acc so embarrassing for him

He blackens his screen and stretches in bed, letting his spine pop more than what is humanly possible. He runs his tongue over that second row of teeth, his lips curling into a grin. 

xxXxx

Gothamite Twitter is blowing up over The Joker’s social media beef with a faceless shitposting account. Jason, upon finding out about it, has a series of reactions: first, he looks up the shitposter and follows them. Then, he finds the actual chain between the poster and The Joker, and his vision goes vibrant green when he sees that The Joker’s profile picture is of the second Robin, beaten and swollen in an abandoned building in Ethiopia. 

When his vision clears and he can breathe without wanting to kill, he likes the shitposter’s replies, and he calls the Replacement to see if the other Bats know already.

“We know,” Tim says in lieu of a hello when the ringing cuts out. “We’re working on it.”

“What, you think anything’s gonna come of it?” But even as Jason asks, he already knows the answer. The Joker is unhinged and once he’s threatened something, he’ll follow up unless he comes up with a “funnier” option. 

Tim’s breath hitches, and he says, “I’ve hacked their DMs. Joker knows the kid’s IP address and sent it to him. He knows everything from that address alone.”

He pauses in the middle of suiting up, “Kid?”

He hears Tim swallow, “Yes, kid. He’s fifteen. And he gave The Joker a specific time and place to meet up to fight. In his own hometown.”

“Are— are you fucking kidding me?” 

“No. B is already calling Nightwing. We’re taking the Batwing to Illinois.”

“Jesus fuck. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Hood, I—”

“Shut up, I’m already in my gear.” He hangs up without waiting for a response. 

He refreshes the Twitter feed and barks a laugh at the newest Tweet:

Jason Todd votes, and the Red Hood leaves his safe house. 

xxXxx

A commercial flight to Illinois takes around two and a half hours. In the Batwing, they get there in an hour, and don’t even have to worry about the drive from Chicago to a small speck of a town like Amity Park. They spend the quick flight learning everything they can about Daniel James Fenton, the owner of the Twitter account, and they can all sense the growing tension from (and between) Bruce and Jason.

But, well. Jason doesn’t care. Let them be uncomfortable. It doesn’t compare to being ripped back into life and finding out his dad didn’t even get justice for his death. 

When they reach town, it doesn’t take long to find the Fentons’ home. This is in part because Amity Park is a very navigable town, and because of the giant neon sign proclaiming FentonWorks on the side of the building. 

“Is that a blimp?” Dick asks. “Why don’t we have a blimp?” 

“Where would we keep it?” the Demon Brat counters practically. “Goliath takes up all of the Cave’s extra space.” 

Jason rolls his eyes and knows veins would be popping out of Bruce’s forehead if it weren’t for the cowl. 

“Let’s go,” Bruce says instead, and they all make their way to the house. 

Nightwing, predictably, goes for the front door approach. Jason rolls his eyes as he takes one of the second-story windows and finds his way downstairs.

He gets down at the same time that a redheaded girl answers the door and nearly slams it in Dick’s face. Jason has to suppress snickers at the sight. 

“Wait, wait, wait, are you Jazz Fenton? We need to talk to your brother!” 

“...We?” she asks, then tenses and turns around to see the rest of the Bats in the hall behind her. Dick takes the opportunity to step in completely, closing the door behind him. “Wha— what’s going on?”

“Where are your parents, Jazz?” Bruce makes every question sound like a demand. Jason rolls his eyes from behind his mask—way to put the teenager at ease, B.

“Why do you need to know?” Her voice has a defensive edge to it. “What do you want with Danny?” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nightwing comforts. “He didn’t do anything too bad, just said some dumb things online. It’s not his fault.” 

This relaxes her, and her shoulders begin un-hunching. “Oh, s-so what’d he do?”

“He foolishly challenged The Joker to a battle in a ‘Nasty Burger’ parking lot tonight.” 

“You could’ve had some more tact, Robin,” Nightwing scolds. But the Demon Spawn just crosses his arms. 

“He did what?” Jazz shrieks. “Like, The Joker from Gotham? That Joker?”

“Are there others?” Red Hood comments dryly. 

Her face goes through several different emotions—disbelief, rage, fear, and then rage again, “DANIEL JAMES FENTON! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!” 

There’s a thumping noise, and then frantic footsteps down the stairs. 

“Wha? Who died?” asks the figure of a tiny fifteen-year-old, smaller than even Jason had been when he was alone with The Joker. He’s tiny and lanky. Zero muscle definition. Eye bags to rival the Replacement’s. Something ripples in the Pit, deep and distinct, but he can’t name what causes it.

Oh, this kid is so dead. 

“Danny,” says Jazz calmly while Danny blinks uncomprehendingly at the heroes in their hallway. She is solemn when she says, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you now.” 

“What did I do?” 

She stares at him, “Why have you scheduled a fight with The Joker?” 

“Oh, that.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Is he taking that seriously?”

“Of course he is, Danny! It’s The Joker! That’s what he does! He can’t differentiate between a joke and reality! He would tear off his own face for the bit!” 

“Oof,” is all Danny can muster. He digs his phone out and starts typing before Jazz yanks it out his hand. 

“You’re fucking TWEETING about this?” Jazz asks incredulously, and Hood’s hackles rise. She even reads the Tweet aloud, “‘Just found out @TheJ0ker is being fr about fighting me. Sad but i can take a clown.’”

“I was gonna add ‘i’ve done it b4,’ but like the letter and the number four. But yeah.” 

“You’re grounded forever.” Danny opens his mouth to protest, but the look Jazz cuts at him is so scathing that he shuts his mouth. Hood is reluctantly impressed—she had what could be cultivated into a fantastic Batglare. She pockets the phone, “You’re never getting this phone back. Taunting The Joker to Amity? Have you any brain cells? What if he brings Joker gas with him, huh? Or any of his goons? What if he starts hurting other people? Have you thought any of this through?” 

Danny’s face goes from tired to chastised, his lips drawing into a frown, especially at the mention of other people. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think that he’d take it so seriously.”

“He sent you your IP Address.”

“I thought that was just a random string of numbers?”

“Oh my god,” Jazz despairs. “Oh my god. Grounded forever. See, I know you're lying to me. I know you're lying because Tucker, the nerdiest tech nerd to have ever been born, is your best friend.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “I tune him out?”

“You’re still lying to me?” Jazz scoffs and turns to Batman, “Do whatever you want with him. I’m not going to defend him from this.” 

“Hey!” complained her brother, but Batman just continued on, “Where are your parents?”

“They’re in Sweden for a science convention,” Jazz answers. “They left this morning.” 

Damn, Jason curses to himself. 

“Jazz, seriously. You’re not gonna let Batman kill me, right?” 

“Do you want to be cremated or buried, Danny?” Jazz asks blasély, and Danny gulps, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. 

“It’s my Twitter handle,” he mutters petulantly, and Jason can’t believe the gall of this kid. Or maybe stupidity. Audacity’s a good one, too. “If he wanted it, he should’ve gotten it first. And he gives clowns a bad name.” 

“Not the clown thing again.” Jazz digs her palms into her eyes, sighs, then turns to the heroes. “He has a whole clown thing ever since Circus Gothica came to town and robbed a bunch of jewelry stores.” 

Danny gestures wildly with his hands, as if demonizing clowns was the real problem and not the egomaniacal mass murderer who wanted to murder him for his Twitter handle, “Clowning is an art form, Jazz, and people like Freakshow and The Joker make a mockery of the very serious societal statements that clowns make!” 

All of the Bats very carefully Did Not look at Nightwing, who has made very similar rants on quiet patrols.

“You are never leaving this house again,” she says serenely. “And I’m unplugging the wifi router.”

“You would punish even yourself?”

“Oh, little brother. I would watch the world burn if it meant knocking sense into your thick skull.” 

“Okay, Christ,” Red Hood finally interrupted the siblings’ melodrama. An unyielding redheaded girl and a mouthy black-haired, blue-eyed boy? They’d fit in a little too well back at the Manor, so Jason needs to cut this shit out before Bruce’s bat-doption instincts start tingling. “Stop. Just… Christ. Stop. Is this how you always interact with each other?”

“Sometimes there’s explosions,” Danny pipes up, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Jazz doesn’t dispute it. 

Fucking hell. God damn it. I can’t. I just can’t. 

Batman doesn’t give anything away, “Robin and Red Robin will be staying here with you until Nightwing, Hood, and I apprehend The Joker. First, we’re going to check the perimeter.” 

“Oooh, I get to give the lab tour!” 

Lab?

“No lab. You’re grounded. You’ll only be in there for cleaning duty now.”

“Wh– hey! No fair!” 

“What’s this lab you two are talking about?” Red Robin asks before Jazz can rip into her brother again. 

She sighs, “Our parents’ lab. I’ll show you, but someone needs to stay with Danny.” 

“You act like I’m gonna run off and start World War III….”

“I wonder why,” she says sarcastically.

Batman nods to Robin, who nods back, and the rest of them follow Jazz out of the living room to a metal reinforced door. She types in a code—Jason catches the numbers 03-14-99. There’s an assenting beep, and she opens the door, flicking on the lights and leading them down into what is apparently a basement lab. 

A stone settles in Red Hood’s stomach, cold and heavy. 

The basement is large, likely the floor size of the entire building. There are several work tables, filled with miscellaneous blueprints and spare parts and weapons and tools. Against the farthest wall is another armored door, but what draws Hood’s—and the entire Batclan’s—attention is the south wall, where a circular hole in the wall was glowing a toxic Pit green. 

The stone shattered in his stomach, splintering into his body. Is it harder or easier to breathe? Jason can’t tell. 

“Wow,” says Nightwing. His voice is cheerful, but Jason can feel the stress beneath it. “Do I even want to know?” 

Wasn’t this supposed to just be typical Joker bullshit?

“Our parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz explains nonchalantly, walking further into the lab. “As in, ghost biologists.” She pauses at one of the work tables, picking up a green and white thermos. Pretty boring, considering the rest of their surroundings. 

“Ghosts.” Red Robin’s voice is carefully neutral. 

“Ghosts,” Jazz reaffirms. “I know. I thought they were crazy at first, too. But I can prove it, if you like.” Then, without waiting for a yes or no, she untwists the thermos, and there’s a bright flash of white, and a whole entire body sprouting out of it. 

“WHOO! I’M FREE!” cries the…being, pale and floating and lanky and entirely too big to have fit into a fucking thermos, of all the fucking things. “....And not in the Realms? Wait.” He stops stretching, descending to rest closer to the ground, but still hovering a few inches from the floor. He’s got green eyes and lifeless (ha) blond hair. He’s wearing a trenchcoat and a green skull necklace. Overall, he looks like the type of thug he’d arrest in the Bowery. 

“Hello, Johnny.” The man’s—ghost’s?—eyes flicker around each person in the room, his gaze becoming more and more confused and panicked as he takes in each Bat, before settling on Jazz Fenton. 

“Why are the fucking Bats here?” 

“The Joker’s coming to Amity,” she says. The ghost’s eyes widen. Jazz tilts her head, “How many ghosts would you say passed away in Gotham, Johnny?” 

As Jason and the Bats tense, this Johnny guy lets out a wicked laugh, “Oh, Doll, you have the best surprises. Why did we break up?” 

“You did try to have my body possessed. That ruins any good relationship.” 

“Man, but Kitty’ll love this. Thanks for letting me out of Soup Time, Doll.” He floats higher, “Any advice?” 

She throws him the phone she’d confiscated from Danny and he catches it easily, “Everything’s on here. Have fun.”

“What exactly are you planning?” Batman scowls. 

Johnny laughs, “Aww, don’t worry, Bats. Peace and love on Planet Earth, or whatever. We’ll make it quick.” Then, as the Bats leap into action as one, Johnny turns invisible, the Batarangs passing harmlessly through where he’d once been floating. 

“Where did he go?” Batman turns his scowl, angrier than ever, to Jazmin Fenton, who stares back unflinchingly. “He’s going to solve the problem.”

“You mean he’s going to kill The Joker.”

She shakes her head, “Oh, no. That’d just be asking for him to come back as a ghost. Could you imagine a Joker with powers like invisibility, intangibility, flight, and more? Johnny can be impulsive, but he’s smart. None of them will kill The Joker.” 

“Then what are they going to do?” Red Robin asks. 

“My parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz repeats from earlier. “But I am more of an anthro-ectopologist. I am concerned with the study of ectoplasmic beings’ societies and cultures. And while it is very ancient, there is protocol in the Infinite Realms—that is, where you go when you die, should you remain after death—to prosecute living criminals who have killed a certain number of Realms citizens. So you don’t have to worry about your moral code, Batman. The Joker will be tried by a much fairer court than Gotham can ever hope to have. No offense.” 

Jason stares at Jazz Fenton, who he’d pegged as the sane sibling. He’s not so sure now, but he can’t say he hates it.

“And how do we know it’s a fair trial?” Nightwing asks. 

She waves her hand, “Oh, as Gotham’s Knights, you’re key witnesses. I’m sure you’ll be summoned to testify. You will see then. And don’t worry about your secret identities—the dead don’t care much for that sort of thing.” 

“So if this is a ‘fair’ trial or whatever, The Joker’s going to be locked up forever?” Jason asks. “I mean, that’s the only option for shit like him.” 

Batman sends him a look, but he ignores it. 

“Well, there are several different punishments that could be deemed appropriate, but he’ll never be able to set foot in the mortal world again, yes.” 

Jason Todd grins, “Oh, I’m glad your brother’s stupid, kid.” 

She sighs, long-suffering, “Well, that makes one of us. Still, there’s more important things we should discuss now that you’re here.”

“More important than The Joker trying to kill your brother over a Twitter handle?” Red Robin asks doubtfully. 

Jazz smiles, sharp and dangerous, and asks, ”Have you ever heard of the Anti-Ecto Acts?” 

xxXxx

Several months later when Danny is finally un-grounded, he Tweets his last three Tweets before Twitter can become the foolishly named X: 

Imagine bullying the Joker so hard that it not only lands the Joker in ghost prison BUT it also leads to major law reform in the US lmao someone make the domino effect meme about this pls

Y’allre replying to me with thanks like i did anything other than be an internet troll. My sister literally manipulated local, federal, and interdimensional law so you should be thanking her. 

i just a babie 🥺🥺🥺

xxXxx

Thanks for reading! This is the whole fic, so pls do not ask for tags! Thank you :)

[xob1tchs]

idk if you taking requests, but can you do a smut where reader and stiles are in a secret relationship cause reader is scott’s brother, n like one day stiles is so pussy drunk that he’s a whimpering moaning mess. and then scott just so happens to walk in. THEN reader starts to try and get up to follow her brother once he storms out the room, but stiles holds her back and continues until they both cum? just a thought..🫶🏽.

(btw idk if you do anon emojis but if so can i be ‘🧟‍♀️’)

. • °🍼✧༺ 17+ smut below the cut !

stiles has always joked about how he’s a lesser man when it comes to you, crude comments about how he’d give anything to spend all day between your legs, making you squirm just cause he likes it.

but it’s times like this when you actually think stiles might be a feign for pussy – your pussy.

the bed creaks with every rapid thrust of his hips, sheet sheilding where your bodies connect but it doesn’t matter because you can hear the squelching from your sopping folds, and feel the wetness seep down your ass crack splashing across the backs of your thigs when his sack hits your skin. and even if you could see the sight of his cock sliding in and out of you, it wouldn’t matter because – well stiles looks like that.

pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, bitten lips parted enough to let whines and groans slip free every couple of seconds, incoherent praises causing your sweaty skin to flush even more. he’s sweating too, fluffy hair matted to his forhead, sticking up in places from your gripping it.

“jesus fuck baby, love this cunt so much” he mutters, eyebrows frowning as he stares down st you with a determined pout “gonna fucking cum right in this tight pussy, feels too fucking good” you clench around him, gummy walls molding to every ridge and vein along his girthy length, arching your back off the back in hopes to feel him even deeper – whining and crying out when he does.

he drops his face to the crook of your neck, hips becoming slightly sloppy, movements less smooth and more desperate — cock twitching inside of you now, his release definitely nearing.

“oh’baby fuck me so good, feels so amazing” he’s practically crying into your shoulder, thrusting so forcefully your body begins to scoot up the bed, headboard nocking against the bed rhythmically “ — never gonna leave your cunt babe, might cry’feels so good”

your about to moan his name out, eyes rolling to the back of your skull when a creak sounds followed by a glass hitting the floor amd small whispered curse “oh shit!” he murmurs, and when you peak over stiles shoulder to lock eyes with ones that mirror your own, your breath completely leaves your lungs and sudden your trying to scramble away from stiles.

scott makes a face of disgust, throwing his hands up in the air as he spins on his heel, the sound of sneakers hitting the stairs loud as he stomps away “shit, shit, shit! stiles stop!” you cry, gasping when stiles shifts to his knees, pulling out to just the tip as he stares down at you with pleading eyes.

“gotta cum baby”

he slams back into you to punctuate his sentence, your jaw going slack in a silent moan, pussy clenching around his cock in a violent manner. your toes curl against the mattress, tears welling at your lash line – an overwhelming mix of embarrassment and pleasure taking over as he pounds into you so hard you’re worried he might actually hurt you.

you can feel the pulse and twitch of his cock against your straining walls, struggling to take him the deeper he goes, pressing your body so harshly into the bed you swear you hear the crackle of wooden planks beneathe your matress.

“s-stiles, it’s to-to much” you plead, mascara running streaks down your cheeks now, sweat and tears matting your hair to your face and neck, the sight making stiles go cross eyed, gripping the underneaths of your thighs as he leans back just enough to fold you in half, biceps rippling beneath his taut skin – prominent veins trailing up his fingers to his forearms, its enough to have your eyes rolling back into your skull, biting down on your bottom lip so hard blood fills your jaw, making you cry out in pain — but mostly because you’re cumming so hard that it drains the air from your lungs, stiles suffocating you with a wet and lazy kiss as his own orgasm creeps closer.

it’s not much longer before he’s becoming erratic in his thrusts, rhytm thrown a bump as he pumps his seed deep in your cunt, filling you so much it begins to spill put around the base of cock, and down his balls, making obscene noises as he pulls out with a weak hiss, dark eyebrows furrowing from the lack of warmth.

“maybe we’ll close the door next time?” he smirks down at your spent expression, brown eyes full of trouble.

. • °🍼✧༺ extremely unedited!

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 4

previous part

tw: none, definitely more on the softer side :)

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Waking up on day seven was not as chirpy as day six.

Being hungover was a bitch. The headache that rattled your brain caused your ears to pound in a way that you feared would have them implode into deafness.

You laid in bed for so long, the sun began to shift its position in the window of your bedroom. It filled the room with a comforting light, soft rays shining through the transparent curtains and saturating the air with a pleasant warmth that nipped at your toes that poked out from the end of your blanket.

Somehow, you managed to roll out of bed, forcing yourself onto bare feet. The wooden floor was cold to the touch compared to the sunlight that had embraced your feet with tepid coziness, and it sent a frigid chill up your spine.

You don’t remember stripping yourself of your clothes last night, but you certainly remembered Ghost taking you home and guiding you into the house with such a careful, thoughtful touch. You recalled the heartfelt one-on-one you ensued, your frazzled mind slowly beginning to piece itself together and completing the puzzle of uncertainty.

Simon was his name, and he had made sure to scribble it down in grubby, black ink on a piece of kitchen napkin where you found it resting. A number was joined below his name, and you had the stark realization that it was his number – not one he gave you from a burner phone before your initial first meeting, but his personal one.

You stared at the crisp napkin from where you were mounted in the kitchen, eyes a bit fuzzy that it made you reread it a few times just for good measure.

Right next to his name, he had drawn a poorly sketched skull. The act was so childish for a man of his title that it had you laughing to yourself in disbelief.

Hitman had jokes, you thought.

No, not hitman. Not Ghost.

Simon had jokes.

His name felt unfamiliar on your tongue when you tested it outloud. The two syllables filled the air like an elegant symphony, as if a lovely mix of chords chorused from your mouth when repeated again, then once more.

The more you repeated it to yourself, the more it began to stick. It was as if his name being rolled off of your tongue was meant to be there, encasing your mouth with a rich sweetness that had you salivating for more.

You made sure to add Simon’s number in your phone, logging his name with a skull emoji to match the cute artwork he’d scribbled in on the napkin.

Despite your raging headache that didn’t want to vanish, even with an overmedicating amount of painkillers, and your horrible start to the morning, you found yourself in a lighter mood than ever before. There was a pep in your step when you walked to work for the evening, all teeth and smiles when the door chimed as you entered the establishment. It was certainly not because of a mysterious, masked man.

You had never gone to work beaming as if the entire world had encased you in a warm hug and told you you’re gonna do great today! In fact, most days spent at work were mind rotting, slowly killing you from the inside until all that remained was a sad, decaying corpse in its wake.

Today was different, though, and even your coworkers took note of it as you clocked yourself in after greeting them with a cheerful hello. You paid no mind to their curious stares and whispers and immediately busied yourself with the task of tugging out prepped ingredients and lining them up neatly at your station.

Baking used to be your passion, up until the man of your past had ruined it. You used to adore the creations you had free reign to make – cookies, breads, cakes, anything you could possibly craft with your hands. Your job was a hobby and not a chore like it was now. Over time, that spark had died, replaced with a hollowness that was waiting so patiently to be filled once again.

He made you hate baking the way he made you hate yourself.

At least if you couldn’t love yourself just yet, you could relearn to love baking.

You were quick to work dough between your hands, rolling it out on the table like a place mat and carefully carving out shapely designs that would puff up into perfect, little treats once in the oven. As you performed, your face was lifted up into a promising smile, eyes brightened with that past passion that sparked in reminiscence.

You hadn’t even realized you were openly expressing joy in your design until your cheeks began to cramp from how much you were grinning to yourself. The soreness was far from unwelcome, and it was your moment of recognition that this was what smiling was like. Oh, how you had forgotten what it felt like to do it with such genuineness.

When you placed all your neatly carved pastries on trays to be baked, you slipped them in the oven with purpose, watching the glow of the orange light of the heat rods illuminate over the pale dough.

As you watched them slowly begin to form in their desired states, you found yourself thinking about Simon again.

You wondered if he liked sweets. Or perhaps if not sweets, then maybe bread. It didn’t hurt to throw the offer his way, right?

Pulling your phone from the pocket of your apron, you swiped your finger to unlock it and pressed on his contact name. You stared at the screen for moments too long, silently contemplating, gnawing on the nail of your thumb.

A doubtful voice prodded you in the back of your head like an unwanted pest, buzzing in disapproval. Another voice gleamed with delight, encouraging you to send him a text, desperate to make his acquaintance once again. After all, his presence was a newly welcomed one in your life, and your body gravitated towards him like a magnet in search of their other half.

Fuck it, you thought. 

Fingers tapping against the screen, you willed yourself to send the text message before you had the mind to back out and erase it, and the moment your phone quietly pinged once the text had gone through, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Hey, Simon! If you have time, I have some pastries for you to try at my job, and I’d love it if you stopped by!

Pocketing your phone, you returned back to work, busying yourself with the freshly baked goodies that were out of the oven.

Hours passed, and nighttime fell like a weighted blanket over the expanse of your workplace. It was your night to close, and seeing as you were feeling rather joyful today, you allowed the other workers to head home early for the night, leaving you to do closing tasks by yourself.

Really, you were waiting for Simon to show up, leaving yourself open for company until the very last moment. You piled up the chairs, swept the floors, wiped every station down, and counted all the money from the sales for the day.

The sign on the door was shut down, neon lights dimmed to display CLOSED for any stray passersby who may have been craving a late night sweet.

Just like the telltale sign of emptiness in the store, there was an emptiness in Simon’s presence.

He hadn’t shown up. You tried not to beat yourself up about it, thinking perhaps he didn’t see the text. Maybe he got wrapped up in his own life – after all, the two of you were only friendly with one another, if you could even call it that.

Maybe to him, you weren’t even friends like you had labeled it. You were a charity case of a broken girl he simply wanted to help keep living.

No. You shouldn’t think that way. You had a great day. You finally had some sort of remembrance of the woman you once were long before the anguish and the agony, and you accomplished the day with a smile on your own.

Though, when you closed up the store and checked your phone in silent hopefulness, you felt a sense of foreboding disappointment wash over you like crashing waves attempting to drown out all of the achievements you’d made today.

Read at 6:47PM.

Walking home felt like a treacherous drag of your feet. It was like your shoes were filled with cement, scraping along the pavement of the sidewalk with every step towards your apartment with a piercing sound of gravel on gravel. The stairs had your legs feeling weighed down and solid, anchoring you to the floor and forcing you to use every fabric of muscle in your body in order to make it to the top step.

In fact, everything felt heavy.

You had made progress today, such amazing progress, and now the pressure of misreading the signs from Simon had made you tentative.

Maybe you really did misinterpret what Simon wanted with you.

You thought that after he’d broken into your house numerous times, aided you back to the security of your bed after a drunken night, had given you his number, and told you his real name instead of continuing the persona of Ghost, things may have been escalating into the desired friendship you fiercely needed.

You liked being around him so much that it was possible you had created a bond in your mind that he didn’t seem to reciprocate.

The torture of your sorrowful mind was feeding into the woefulness of a clear reality, so much so, you hadn’t noticed the large figure standing at your door, patiently waiting for your return.

A soft rumbling of your name lured you out of the prison of your own consciousness, and it took you only seconds to recognize the voice as the very one that was tangling your thoughts in webs, capturing you and keeping you hostage.

“Simon!” you exclaimed in relieved surprise, examining the way he was leaned up against the wall beside your door, his frequent mask obscuring the view of his face as always. His arms crossed over his chest, and if you didn’t know him, you would’ve thought he was a bodyguard with the way he presented with such masculine storminess that clouded the air with warning and danger.

“There you are,” he greeted kindly, and the warmth in his tone had any lingering doubt fade away like a gas dissolving into an abyss. “Was waitin’ up for you.”

Your face broke out into a genuine smile, that slight soreness from your cheeks twinging at the sudden tug of skin.

“I was closing up my work. Waited around just in case you showed, so I took a bit longer than normal,” you explained sheepishly.

He let out a soft hum, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Got caught up with some things. Wasn’t able to make it, so I figured I’d wait outside your apartment instead of breakin’ in like I always do. Didn’t want to scare you, love.”

Your heart soared at the nickname, unable to contain its joyful leaps of pleasure. All disappointment you felt from before was forgotten and forgiven, and you wanted to revel in the time spent with your newfound companion.

“You seem awfully chirpy today. What’s got the pretty girl in such a good mood, hm?” Simon raised his eyebrow from beneath his balaclava, and you shifted awkwardly on your feet.

“Just woke up in a good mood today. Is that a crime?” you asked with a teasing smile.

Simon snorted out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in retaliation.

“S’not a crime, sweetheart. Just a pretty sight s’all,” he offered, filling your chest with pride. “What’s this about pastries?”

It dawned on you that you should’ve brought some home with you, even if you had no idea he would’ve been waiting outside your door. You silently cursed yourself for not snagging a few from the selection. You weren’t sure what kind of pastries he liked, and now that he made his appearance, albeit late, you were boiling over with curiosity on finding out.

“Ah, I didn’t bring any home,” you explained apologetically, and you couldn’t bear to hear the disappointed hum from him. “But I can make some in my apartment if you’d like. May not be as good, but I can give that piece of shit oven a try.”

That roused a laugh from him and he straightened himself off of the wall, gesturing with a hand to your door.

“S’alright with me. Lead the way, pretty girl.”

Simon’s eyes never strayed far from you as you worked your magic in the cramped space of the kitchen. Flour covered the countertops, painting them in a gritty beige as you kneaded the heels of your palms into the forming dough, tongue poked out in concentration.

You could feel the weight of his gaze piercing through you, and you tried not to let it affect your limbo. This time around, the nervousness felt different. It wasn’t an intimidated furl in your lungs that threatened to restrict your airflow, or a choked up lump in your throat that you could never quite swallow down.

No. This was shyness.

It felt like his eyes were interrogating you, digesting your embodiment and creating an outlook of you in his mind. You had no idea what he was thinking as he stared at your powdery hands that shaped out dough, or the sprinkle of flour that pestered your cheek, or even the way your hair repeatedly fell in your eyes and you’d be forced to blow it away with a puff of air.

It was prying, it was focused, it was immersed.

He didn’t dare say a word, but he didn’t need to in order for you to grow flustered in his presence. His gaze was enough to cause a rupture in your chest, tickling you with the fluttering wings of butterflies that soared freely from their entrapment.

The feeling was strange, foreign, and dare you say it, appreciated.

Eyes had never studied you like a work of art before, taking in every brush and stroke on the canvas and perceiving it in their own perspective. What that perspective was, though, remained a mystery.

“Baking’s your thing, eh?” He spoke once your treats were securely placed in the oven, mitts covering the plains of your hands.

“It was,” you admitted with a nod, tugging the mitts off and placing them on a clean space of the counter. Your mess still needed to be tended to, so you made quick work of it, focusing your attention on the grains of flour that plastered themselves like annoying bits of sand that seemed to spread no matter where you cleaned.

“Looks like it still is,” he corrected you, and you glanced up to see a glimmer of a smile behind his eyes.

“Alright,” you sighed, smiling. “It is. Now, anyway. It wasn’t for a long time, though.”

He hummed, leaning his arms on the counter and watching as you swept the stubborn bits of flour into your trashcan. His eyes followed every movement of your nimble fingers, sticky dough caked under your fingernails.

“I’d say you’re startin’ to get a piece of your old self back, don’t you think so, love?”

“You didn’t even know my old self, Simon. In fact, you barely know me at all.”

“I’d like to.”

You froze in place, hands in the midst of wetting a towel to wipe up the remnants of the sheen of powder that tinted your dark countertops. You lifted your gaze to find him already staring at you, like he had been during the entire process of your home baking, and you felt weak under it. There was a slight falter in your knees that threatened to buckle, and a racing in your heart that caused your breath to get caught.

His words could go one of two ways, and the little pest in your mind was telling you it wasn’t the one you found yourself secretly hoping for.

That pest had festered so deep inside your brain, it laid its vile eggs there to harvest feelings of doubt, feelings of being unlovable. There wasn’t a world where Simon could grow to love you, nor was there a world where you could love yourself.

But that wasn’t all that true, was it? All it was was doubt. Not fact, far from truth.

“You shouldn’t say things like that to a woman,” you muttered, dipping your head back down to pry yourself from his gaze.

“I’m saying them to you,” he claimed, so shameless in the way he voiced it.

“It’s only day seven. Get back to me when it’s day fourteen.”

You could tell he smiled under his mask from the way his eyes lit up, and he gave you an amused snort, allowing you to bask in silence and gather your mind together.

You welcomed it, needing your inner voice to run astray rather than fill you with the probability of letting Simon in deeper than a friendship. You had a long way to go, and you had a pressing feeling that Simon wouldn’t be going anywhere all that soon.

The dinging of your timer had you regaining concentration on the original task at hand, taking your pastries out of the oven and decorating them with assortments of frosting and glazes.

Baking was what permitted yourself to calm, brain floating peacefully down a trickling river and sunbathe in a pool of warmth. Thinking could come later.

When Simon snatched up one of the pastries from the tray, he lifted the lower half of his mask to greedily shove a bite in his mouth. He chewed, digesting the delightful flavors that melted on his tongue, before giving you a soft smile.

“Is it good?” you asked wearily, and he finished off the treat as an answer to your question. Pride swelled in your bones, and you let yourself smile back at him.

“Damn good baker, you are. Reckon you’ll get even better after our deal’s up.”

Simon and his damn deal.

The mention of it would normally make you cower to the inner part of yourself that was unhealed, but this time, you laughed brightly, agreeing to tuning up your recipes in an unforeseeable future.

softer chapter before more angst to come 🤝 i also have a profession as a baker so this was fun for me to write + simon with a sweet tooth is cute

[saturnsorbits]

Thirst Trap: Caught Desperate

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Smut, Prone Bone, Spanking, Pictures - Consensual. Word Count: 4k.

Summary: Read the Intro -> Here.

A/N: Idek what the fuck this is. I've genuinely forgotten how to write - smut especially apparently.

-> Part of the 'Thirst Trap' Collab.

Make sure to check out the other incredibly talented authors through the link above and don’t forget to leave a nice comment and reblog if you liked their work!

The first thing he feels is panic.

His phone won't stop. It vibrates against his palm, stirring up a numbness that radiates through his callouses as the screen flickers. The near constant updates create a blur he can't follow, the dull flashes summoning a sharp edge to the headache that has already started to press at the sides of his skull.

Fuck. He sighs, digs a knuckle into the corner of his eye and brackets his hand across his forehead. His PR team might actually murder him for this one.

Prodding at his screen, he manages to slow the endless roll of his feed. The replies are positive, mostly. His fanbase isn't exactly small and, according to the last PR meeting he was forced to attend, they were also predominately women. Although, looking at his phone now, he'd say the divide was probably about 50:50.

Curiosity getting the best of him, he scrolls...

The first few replies he sees are simple enough: suggestive emoji's, notes of amusement, the odd heckle about the size of his cock. Then, there are the more fun ones: the ones calling him a slut, asking to give him more than just head or being up front with their solicitations.

Huffing out a breath, he unfurls, spreading out on the bed and stretching an arm up behind his head. His pants are still unbuckled and pulled to the broadest point of his hips, a casualty of his drunken state. Underneath, his cock presses against the denim – twitching with every mention of the things his fans plead to do to him.

He shouldn't.

He knows its wrong.

Knows that he shouldn't indulge himself.

He shouldn't be thinking about fucking his fist to the thought of an anonymous stranger drooling down his balls, his cock bulging from their cheek, holes stretched out around him as he rolls his hips searching for the thing inside of them that'll make them scream.

His hand cups his pec, broad palm circling gently until he can catch his nipple with each slow pass. It's surprising how quickly his cock catches on. He can feel it leaking, soaking through patches of his underwear as it begs to be released. Letting his hand slip down his body, he feels the tension shake in his abdomen. He's wound tight, muscles shivering even under his own touch as he sinks his hand into his jeans and finally, squeezes his cotton-clothed cock.

He should stop.

Fuck, he should just delete the tweet and get a glass of water.

… And maybe a cold shower.

Licking over his teeth, he's reluctant when he slips his hand back out of his jeans and slams it, somewhat sticky, against his sheets. His cock protests, throbbing with the new lack of friction after being granted so little. It makes it hard to focus, the rolling pit in his stomach, the pulsing of his body – even without his alcohol impairing his judgement, his desire pleads a strong case for him to simply submit.

Bakugo swallows and moves to swipe away from the possibly career-changing tweet on his screen, but the feed is faster than he is.

It isn't the message that catches his eye, not at first anyway. No. It's the username. Your username.

He clenches his jaw.

Immediately, you fill his senses. It had barely been a few hours since you'd had your arms wrapped around his neck, your bodies pressed together as you swayed on the dance floor. If he tried, he swears he'd still be able to feel the soft skin of your thigh grazing against his fingertips as his hand had found its way under the edge of your dress. Your perfume had been intoxicating. A subtle mix of vanilla bean, sandalwood and your sweat had drifted from your collarbones and infested his senses, luring him right to the edge of what he'd known would get him into a whole heap of shit.

That was before he'd made that fucking post, of course.

Now, he was starting to wonder if taking you home would have been the right move all along.

His promises be damned.

Chewing at his lip, he lifts his thumb, revealing the message attached to your name. 'Thought you said you weren't that desperate, huh.' His stomach lurches.

The memories come quick then, fighting through the fog of too many whiskey's and regret.

He'd meant it as a joke, he really had, something to give him some pace, to make you think twice, think of the consequences – but he's never been good at managing his tone and at almost midnight even his belligerence had felt semi-formal. You'd been too close, too pretty, with the promise of a night he wouldn't be able to forget laced between your teeth and he'd... Well, he'd done what he does best.

He'd pushed you away.

Your eyes shine in the dull lights outside of the club, the yellowing tinge spilling from the surrounding lamps doing nothing to diminish how stunning you look. The alcohol has blown out your eyes, swallowing your iris' almost whole – although, he'd like to think he had a hand in how truly taken you look right now. His hand is on your waist, equal amounts keeping you close and at bay as you bat your eyelashes prettily at him and pout.

'C'mon...' You press close, hand searching the expanse of his chest. His heart thunders underneath, picking up whenever you near his pecs, so you slip a had over his shoulder and use his height to ease yourself up onto your tip-toes. 'You've practically had your hand up my skirt all night, what's stopping you now?' You chuckle, clicking your tongue against your back teeth.

Bakugo's snarl twists his features before he can stop it. He can feel the barb, feel the world curl on the back of his tongue before he can do anything to stop it. It tumbles from his mouth, but even despite his attempt to spit it out softly – hoping it won't hurt too much, your nose wrinkles.

'You really think I'm that desperate?'

It's like you've been slapped.

Your hands tense on his shoulders, feet falling back flat to the floor. Part of you knows he's just trying to get a rise out of you, but you're beyond sick of the back and forth. It's been months of this, of you getting close enough to taste him only for him to retreat at the last moment, usually with a snarled comment he doesn't mean, or some silly excuse to protect that softly-beating heart everyone swears he doesn't have. Sighing, you step back – the tap of your heels like gunshots on the pavement as you raise your bag from the crook of your arm and back onto your shoulder. 'Obviously not.'

Your distance reads like rejection, burns a hole in his pride and makes him prickle. He shakes his head and slips his phone from his pocket intent on ordering his own taxi, despite the fact he can barely make out the squiggles he hopes are words. 'Fuckin' knew I shouldn't have let Red bring you-.'

After that the memories grow hazy.

He remembers how you'd somehow smoothed over the hiccup in the conversation, laughing it off in all probability, but even then, you'd never quite come as close to him as before. He remembers your laugh. Remembers how the melody of it had ricocheted around his brain in the taxi ride home. He remembers missing your warmth. He remembers the flash of guilt, his half-hard cock and drunken brain at war. He remembers his phone, the screen a pale blue, glowing. He remembers, he remembers his thumb hovering over your name.

He remembers chickening out...

Fuck.

Evidently, he hadn't chickened out hard enough.

Clicking onto your page, he checks your replies to make sure he hasn't hallucinated your response, but before he can even begin to obsess over it – his phone pings in his hand.

It's a message. A real one. Not something filtered in through his socials. With shaking hands, he opens it and pauses.

He has your number saved under your first name.

Just your first name.

Not 'Sidekick''. Not your full title. Or what department you work in. You don't even have a stupid moniker. For fucks sake, he's called Kirishima 'Shitty Hair' in every single phone he's had since high school, and Todoroki has remained solely Todoroki – even despite the fact, both him and his father share the title.

He doesn't dwell on the reasoning.

Instead, he opens the message and is immediately confronted with a screenshot of his tweet. He cringes. Your reply is underneath it, racking up too many likes for his taste, and underneath that is your text.

You: 'You really are fucking desperate, aren't you?'

He waits, palms sweating, watching as three little dot appear and disappear and then, reappear again.

You: 'Can't even reply to me?'

You: 'You could at least turn your read receipts off. I can see you reading the messages.'

You: 'For fucks sake, Bakugo?'

His pulse quickens, thrumming strong and rhythmic under his skin as if to remind him what it is to be near you. The joints in his fingers have frozen, despite the energy rushing through his body demanding movement. Through the haze of his vision he sees you typing again.

You: 'Can we stop doing this now?'

Yes. Bakugo thinks. God, yes. The room spins as he cranes his neck down at his phone, eyes unfocused... His heart and cock war on, but now, the alcohol makes it far too easy for the tide to sway. Flexing his thumbs, he taps back a message before he can think better of it, before the noise of his life and expectation and the world outside can eat away at him again.

Bakugo: 'Please.'

Your reply takes a second this time, forcing the air in his lungs to crystallize; but before he can drum up too many doubts, there's your name again lighting up his screen.

You: Is that the great Dynamight saying please?

Bakugo: Fuck off.

You: Fuck off, or fuck you?

Bakugo's cock twitches in his jeans. He's so hard it's almost painful now, causing an ache to spread up the deep lines of his hips and radiating through his pelvis. Reaching down, he palms at himself again feeling the heft of his desire in his palm. He types back, one handed, the other already occupied.

Bakugo: Don't play with me. You know he'll kill the both of us.

You: I never did get to give you your birthday present.

Furrowing his brow, Bakugo is taps out a series of question marks – unimpressed with the idea of birthday cake when he had come to expect something a whole lot different, but before the thought can fully depress him – another message comes through.

It's a screenshot. The one this entire conversation began with – his own message glowing from his screen. Except this time, underneath is a message that makes his breath catch in a whole new way.

You: 'This offer for everyone, or just everyone who isn't me?'

Bakugo: You.

Bakugo: It was just for you.

Bakugo stills, his breath jammed in the back of his throat as his brain catches up with his fingers.

Fuck.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He should of just had a wank to all of the filth being sent from his fans. Even that would get him in less trouble than this. Part of him wants to back out, wants to claim a hack or come up with some other equally unbelievable and shitty lie so he can turn tail and run, but there's no way back now. He knows that much. His cock is hard and heavy between his thighs, his drunken mind too far from sober for him to see reason.

He types back.

You don't bother changing. You'd dressed to impress after all. Instead, you snatch a condom from your brothers stash tuck it into your bra and order a taxi, checking the address Bakugo had sent you three times before finally confirming the ride.

The journey is short and sweet, filled with anticipation and the soft jazz that trickles through the radio of the car. You've been waiting for this, grown tired of the will they won't they that had lead to this moment, but now it's here, you find yourself: nervous.

The car mounts the curb, almost sending you sprawling, then a tenner and a lift ride later, you're at his door.

He opens it before you knock looking a little more together, but still drunk. You can feel it too, the alcohol still flooding your system and making everything just a little easier. Still, nothing is as easy as coming together. You mouth drops open, an unspoken question lingering on your tongue and then, Bakugo is on you.

'C'mere.' Using one hand, he hooks it around your waist and tugs at you to him. Your bodies collide, palms coming up to rest against his chest as you peer up at him. He doesn't know how he's resisted you for so long, how he's kept true and stopped this. After all, looking at you now cradled in his arms, it is obvious this was nothing, but inevitable.

Your lips come together easily. The kiss is harsh, full of pent up tension and a longing that has broken you both. He nips at your bottom lip before you flick your tongue against his teeth, tasting him properly as he lets you in.

'Holy shit.' Panting, you claw at him – your hands are everywhere: at his buttons, his chest, wrapped in the chain circling his neck. He pays you back in kind grabbing at your hips, taking handfuls of you with an eagerness that radiates through his entire body.

With an unceremonious grunt, he bends at the knees, slipping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up against his waist. He pulls back a slither, blinking at you, his shoulders straining at he takes your entire weight with ease and presses you into the wall of his hallway. A wicked grin takes his lips as you squeak, arms and legs wrapping around him to cling on. 'Hang on.'

He kisses you again then, pressed to the wall, but before you can catch you're breath he's off. You make a stop at a small counter where he presses his clothed cock to your cunt, letting you feel just what you're getting yourself into and again at the wall outside of his bedroom. There he almost leaves your neck raw, biting and sucking, but never enough to leave too much of a mark.

You stumble into his bedroom still cradled in Bakugo's arms. There's sure to be bruises on your elbows, a symptom of attempting to peel him from his shirt while he careened through the doorway, but as your back hitting the bed and Bakugo hovering over you, you find it hard to care. Reaching into your bra, you slip out the condom with two fingers and present it to him by waving it under his nose.

Taking it with his teeth, he grins as you let out a sigh that settles in his bones. Beneath him, you look insatiable. Your eyes have blown out, the black of your iris' banishing whatever colour had once been there. The dress he'd been so anxious to get under all night is rumpled, the slit cast aside exposing the thickness of your thighs and a slither of cunt covered by a pair of soft-looking red lace. The bodice is low, the heaving of your chest apparent – your tits held high, pressed together and begging for his hands. Slipping a hand up your thigh, he brushes his fingers across the flesh and earns himself the most pretty of moans.

'I knew you'd break.' Lifting your leg, you kick out at him softly – the ball of your heel connecting with his shoulder. You perch on your elbows, eyes swollen, the pulse of your cunt matching the beating of your heart. It's been rough until now, a clash of teeth and nails, but its hard not to notice the bare desire you see splayed out in his eyes. It's mixed with carmine, a colour that barely covers what, if nurtured, could become love. 'Knew I'd have you.'

He grabs your ankle and pulls on reflex, yanking you down the bed. 'Did you?' Under his skin he feels feral. Something that's only made worse when you lick your lips and nod.

His restraint snaps. Grabbing at your hips, he kneads the fat there before flipping you over. You bounce, a scream escaping your throat, but he quickly transforms the sound into a moan with a harsh slap against your ass.

'Thought you wanted head?' You laugh, feeling your skin prickle under him. There's a rustle behind you, the tell tale sound of him shucking down his jeans and then, his fingers are pulling your underwear away from your cunt and exposing you to the air.

'You always this much of a brat?'

You wriggle and lift up your hips. 'You always this hard for me? Oh wait...' You chuckle. 'You are.'

A growl rumbles in his throat, but it's not anger he's feeling. Taking his cock in his hand, he gives himself a cursory pass – the stickiness of his own pre cum making it easy. His head rocks back on his shoulders. With a bottle of whiskey still coursing through his vein's he's more than sensitive, the simple passes of his hand having him ready to blow – God only knows what the feel of your cunt will do to him.

'C'mon... Fuck me, forget the condom – just -.' Reaching behind you, you attempt to grab at him – to pull him close, get him to touch, to taste.

Chuckling to himself, he bats your hand away easily. 'Nah-ah-ah. Don't think you deserve me raw, sweetheart. Only good girls get that.' He squeezes the base of his cock, stopping a premature end as he tears through the tinfoil of the condom and slips it on.

You go to whine, to kick your feet and protest him not giving into you, but you're not even given the chance.

The first thing you feel is impossibly full. The next is overwhelming pleasure. Bakugo hadn't wasted time prepping you and to be honest, you hadn't needed it. You're soaking, cunt dribbling greedily onto his mattress – like you haven't been waiting forever for this moment. You arc your back, one hand fisting his bed sheets as the other curls around the wrist he plants beside your head. The pace he's set is brutal, each thrust pushing deeper inside of you, taking you as he pleases as you cling on and submit to it.

'Where's the cheek now, huh?' He pants. Honestly, he's surprised he's not cum already. Your cunt milks him, squeezing him so deliciously that he doesn't think he'll ever find anyone better.

Then again, he know what they say about forbidden fruit.

''m sorry.' You moan, back curling as he fucks you harder. It's pathetic how he's barely given you anything and yet, you're already creaming around him. Your body begs for release, teetering you on the precipice of ecstasy as he uses you relentlessly.

'No your not...' Bakugo chokes out, teeth bared as he clings to the last threads of his control. Your tight now, too tight to not be close and if the way you're moaning and almost drooling onto his bed is anything to go by – he's not wrong. Leaning over you, he licks a thick stripe up between your shoulder blades before resting his lips by your ear. When he speaks is a growl, a command that comes from deep within his chest. 'Touch yourself... C'mon, show me how pretty you cum.'

You don't need telling twice. Forcing your arm beneath you, you draw quick, awkward circles on your clit and have to remind yourself to breathe. Your orgasm hits you like a train. Every muscle in your body tenses, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the high continues to roll through your body. It feels like a millennia until you come back again, until your limbs begin to feel under your own control and you become aware of Bakugo still frantically prolonging your high.

'Shit, shit, shit...' Pulling out, he ignores your protests before quickly rolling off the condom. It takes a singular pass of his fist before he cums, a grunt thrown from his chest as he releases himself over your ass. His mess is sticky, a pearlescent sheen that drips between your cheeks and onto your raw cunt – your clit still twitching.

In a moment of madness, he retrieves his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of the scene. In it, only the edge of your dress can be seen, coupled with the most distant droplets of his spend as it decorates the skin of your thighs.

'Post it.' Craning over your shoulder, you hiss at the new soreness in your limbs as you roll onto your back. You tilt your head, signature mischief returning to your cheeks. 'Got to let those fan girls know you've already being taken care of...' You flash a smile. 'And I'd really hate to see your DM's right now.'

Against his better judgement, he tosses you his phone. 'Knock yourself out.'

It's almost six in the morning when you finally settle for bed. You'd gone another three rounds. Once in shower, over the vanity in the hallway and then, again in his bed and each time had seen both of you aching and sore and more than pleased with yourselves. You'd posted the picture and Bakugo's phone hadn't been quiet since – not that you minded. It wasn't like anyone could really tell what it was. The lighting was awful, the image blurred and you'd cropped it so there was no chance of anyone figuring out who you were.

Still, the idea of it stirs up something hot and heavy in your stomach.

You'd laid your claim now.

'I will never know how you're such a demon when you're brother's a God damn golden boy.' Bakugo's breathing has just about leveled out, you hand rising and falling in a more subtle rhythm where it lays on the center of his chest.

You wrinkle your nose. 'Can we not talk about my brother while I can still feel your cum dripping down my ass, please.'

Bakugo chufs, but relents. His thumb rubs soft circles in the skin of your shoulder, a gentle beckoning to sleep as both of you watch the sun rise and fill his bedroom window with a brilliant orange. 'Stay?' He kisses your forehead. 'I'll make you breakfast.'

Nuzzling into him, you're about to agree – mind already reeling at the possibilities of Bakugo's cooking and another round at a more respectable hour – but, all thoughts cease when Bakugo's phone pings with a message.

'If this is my fucking publicist you can explain yourself.' Bakugo tuts, but there's still a warmth in his smile that betrays his annoyance.

You giggle. 'Happy to.'

Flipping over his phone in his hand, Bakugo's mouth drops open when the screen glows to light his face.

There's only one message on the screen.

And it isn't from his publicist.

Shitty Hair: 'Really dude, my fucking sister?'

[eddiernunson]

Really Drives Me Mad | Bfs Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader | 18+

Master List | Next Part

My best friend tells me that he's a keeper

I really like Dylan a lot But Dylan's dad He really drives me mad With his faded tats Sings in a cover band Yeah he's super hot with his ripped dad bod Oh my, oh my god I like Dylan a lot But oh god I love Dylan's dad

I know y'all weren't expecting this... Well neither was I. It like invaded my mind and begged me to write it. (this is the dirtiest thing ive ever written.)

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: You've been dating Dylan Munson for a little bit, and it's going well, or at least you feel like it is. Despite everything right with Dylan you can't help but feel uneasy...then you meet Eddie Munson, his dad... and find yourself wet at the sight of him. (reader is in her 20s, Eddie probably in his 40s or so)

Warnings: masturbation (both), voyeurism (both), lot of perv!Eddie, reader ends up cheating, just some dirty stuff. MINORS DNI.

As you sit cross legged on your best friend’s garage couch mindlessly watching some Netflix while she took another hit, your phone dings, a text message you’ve been waiting on.

“Ooh, speak of the devil.” She teases you, putting the bong aside to peek at what Dylan texted you. You roll your eyes at her, answering him to pick you up in the morning. “What did he say?”

Her eyebrows were wagging over-exaggeratingly, and you narrow your eyes. “Just asked when I wanted to get picked up for our trip to the beach tomorrow.”

“Are you excited?” She asks, her voice suggestive and you can hear more excitement in her voice alone than you felt about the trip.

“Yes.” You lie to her, because if you told the truth, you knew you’d hear about it.

Dylan was a good guy. You met him through a singles mixer you went to for shits and giggles and ended up meeting him. He had no business being there, his league was not the type of girl to go to a Fajita style mixer even for laughs. He was so overwhelmingly better looking than every other guy in that mixer that scooping him up before anyone dug their claws in was the logical thing to do.

It wasn’t that you didn’t find him hot.

Dylan ended up being almost everything you said you were looking for. Stable. Ready for commitment. Willing to go the extra mile.

He was stable in every way it takes most men into their 30s to figure out.

You knew he was a rare find as someone dating in your 20s. Yet, there was just something missing.

It wasn’t anything you could describe, and each time you had expressed the feeling people seem to dismiss it, claiming it stemmed from every failed relationship you’ve had. Logically, you should be head over heels over this man who is so sweet and willing to do the most.

But the feeling just nagged at your skull.

For the sake of not feeling guilty and seeing that same bug-eyed expression on your best friend you lie. It felt weird to have to lie to her just to seem grateful for what life has provided to you on a silver platter. So, until an actual reason for this hesitancy presents itself, the dates and the heavy make out sessions and whatnot will continue.

The ego boost he provides when he sends you drooling emojis when you send a bikini selfie for what you’re wearing the next day certainly doesn’t help your case.

“I’m so glad you found him, he’s so sweet.” She mentions off-hand.

You nod, gritting your teeth.

-

Dylan is on time, as always, prompt and proper to pick you up from your apartment. He texts to let you know he was outside, and you grab your beach bag of snacks and your towel and do a final assessment in the mirror.

Cute pink bikini that hung by a string sitting high on your hips, barely hidden by the long cut out dress you wore. Your bag matched the bikini, and you wore some tiny sunnies to put the whole look together. If you’re gonna date someone as good looking might as well look the part.

As you approached his chevy truck he was animatedly bug eyed while looking at you, his brown eyes popping out of their socket while he drummed his steering wheel. His zest and energy for life was always so contagious. You smiled at him, your cheeks burning as you climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hi baby.” He greets you, kissing you softly. You find yourself grinning into it.

He pulls out onto the main road for the forty-five-minute trip to the lake most people go for a weekend getaway. About five minutes down the road, Dylan pats his cargo shorts down real quick and grunts in disappointment.

“What?”

“Forgot the parking pass for the beach lot. I literally got that for fifteen dollars so I wouldn’t have to pay twenty at the till.” He explains, making a sudden left turn.

You’ve been to his house before, and he usually takes you there when his dad is either at work or just not home. You weren’t sure why, his dad seemed like a decent dude.

(From what you’ve heard anyway)

Maybe, like you, he wasn’t ready for meeting the parents yet.

“Oh, I think my dad will be home around now. Hope that’s okay.” He says, as if you had just spoken aloud. “I think it was time for you to meet him, anyways.”

Shit. Nope. He was ready. You were no where ready for him to meet your mom, who already loved him just from your best friend’s descriptions.

“Oh. Sure.” You glance down to your outfit, something worn not knowing you were about to meet parents. “Are you sure I’m dressed for that though?”

“My dad has met girlfriends in worse positions.” Dylan laughs. “Trust me. This is a better meeting.”

This helps you very little.

Five minutes down the road he pulls into the starter home he and his dad have been living in his whole life, a sweet little bungalow with three rooms and two bathrooms. It was by no means anything to cough at, certainly impressive for a mechanic, but Dylan seemed to behave incredibly sheepishly every time.

Dylan pulls in, and your heart races as you see his dad’s truck in the driveway. As Dylan gets out to open your door, he can feel your nervousness. “Can I just stay here?” You ask him, unsure why he needed you to go in for a pass in the first place.

“Oh I promise he doesn’t bite.” He jokes.

You give him a weak smile, holding his hand as you walked to the front door. The door doesn’t need a key, swinging open and the bright sunlight giving you both a shadow against the hardwood flooring. Dylan walks in, calling for his dad’s name. You squeeze his hand tighter out of nervousness. Eventually the sounds of his creaky steps are heard from the kitchen where Dylan is scanning for his pass, signalling his father coming down the steps.

You were facing towards the stove across the island counter, watching Dylan go through the drawers for it.

“Woah, thought you’d be halfway to the beach by now, you were so damn excited.” You hear his dad’s voice, and there’s something about it, his tone leaning towards a tease that enticed you to turn your head towards him.

Your jaw dropped. Or it didn’t. Certainly felt like a moment for your mouth to open in amazement. In a split second you knew where Dylan got his good looks, and it was only a fraction of how mouth watering his dad was.

He wonders in with sweatpants low on his hips wearing a band t-shirt and his long curly hair was wet from a shower. As he shuffled by to the fridge, the scent of aftershave invaded your nose and somehow it just went straight to your core. He was certainly fit even for a dad, slight dad bod but nothing to poke at, you could tell he worked with his hands.

“Forgot my pass.” He mutters, looking through another drawer.

“I saw it this morning, so I put it in your bag as you were heading out.” His dad mentions off hand, getting the ingredients for a bowl of cereal out. As he lifted his hands over his head revealing a tattoo on his tummy and the treasure trail saliva entered your mouth like water bursting through a man-made dam.

“Seriously?” Dylan dead pans. He turns to you, and you switch your glance to seem innocent like you haven’t been eye-fucking his dad. “I’m gonna go double check it’s in there. Just stay here be right back.” He kisses you on the forehead and leaves without giving you a chance to protest.

“Nice, to meet you, by the way.” He says in a gruff voice as he pours the sugary cereal into the bowl.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Munson.” Your voice sounded strained; you were hoping you were just imagining it.

He lets out a noise in disgust, his face scrunching up comically. “Oh god. Don’t call me that. Call me Eddie. Never Mr. Munson. Gross.”

You smile closed mouthed at his genuine disgust for it, and Eddie presents a smile as if your laughter was the long-term goal. “Nice to meet you, Eddie.”

“Much better.” He praises you, and it might be the closest thing you’ll ever get to the kind of praise you wanted from him, the kind where you find yourself on your knees in the kitchen, but you happily accepted it. Any crumbs you would happily take.

He could spit on you, and you would thank him.

Oh. That’s…new.

That wasn’t something you felt with Dylan at all. If Dylan had decided to spit on your face during sex, you would call the police. It would turn you off so fast you would kick him off you.

“Going to Lake Maureen?” He asks you, supposedly making small talk.

“Nope.” You tell him. “Museum.”

Eddie tilted his head, and from his shoulder’s shaking and the slow smile you could tell he was laughing.

“Yes.” You affirm.

“Where did you meet again?” Eddie asks as he puts away the milk, his voice seeming to extend from a thought he doesn’t share.

“Oh, a mixer.”

“Not the church mixer.” Eddie tilts his head, seeming genuinely fearful it was the truth.

You confirm that yes, it was the church mixer.

Eddie grabs a mug to pour the coffee you hadn’t noticed had he put on. As his hands cup a graphic mug you couldn’t see the comic for, you see the silver rings on his fingers and if your core wasn’t heated up before, it certainly was now.  He leans forward, taking a sip of straight black coffee for a minute. “Sweetheart. You’re far too pretty to be going to a goddamn mixer. No wonder he was so fucking enthralled when he got home that day.”

You feel your face heat up at the nickname followed by him calling you pretty. Your thighs squeeze together as you attempt to force your heart back into your chest where it belonged. Somehow your extremities were freezing, and all the heat was centered in your pussy, just soaked from his presence alone.

He could tell you weren’t taking the compliment seriously. “Seriously. If he fucks it up and you end up single again no more fucking mixers for you.”

“Not like I had any more choices.” You defend yourself, not knowing why his insistence turned you on so much.

Eddie rolls his eyes as if he didn’t believe you. His mouth opens to tell you something, and the sound of Dylan bursting through the front door seems to cut him off. “Oh, you should’ve told me, we could’ve been almost there by now. Come on, baby! See you dad!”

The door slams, and you guessed you were supposed to follow him. “Um, you were gonna say something?” and the mystery is just too much for you.

“Oh. Was I? Totally forgot.” Eddie shrugs, putting his coffee mug down, having chugged that entire cup within the conversation. “Have fun.”

He scoops another spoonful of sugary cereal in his mouth, the dimples on his face prominent but the smile devious.

That smile would haunt you for the next twelve hours.

-

The trip with Dylan was alright, he swore up and down it was the best trip and it just brought you both closer as a couple. You probably would’ve agreed. A trip to the beach with Dylan Munson sounded enticing and sexy and adventurous for the most part until you met his dad.

Now thoughts of his flexed forearms has he gripped the counter while talking to you, wet hair smelling beautifully of the musk shampoo he used invaded your mind. Dylan fingering you on the beach under your skirt was yes, smoking hot, but as you imagined a certain someone else doing the same it brought you to your orgasm much quicker and much harder. Dylan figured he must be doing something right.

Guilt evaded you as you knew what the hell you were doing was wrong. You now had an excuse to get rid of him, you were far more into his dad than you ever were into him, and it should’ve been a sign.

But if you broke up with him now, you wouldn’t be able to see his dad. Yet as you took a walk down the shoreline into a cave and your eyes close picturing certain ringed fingers gripping your hips as Dylan did it made the sneaking off and the public sex that much hotter.

Seems you were sluttier than your initial sex life led you to believe. Turns out, you just haven’t met a man you wanted to be slutty for. Public sex seemed fun in theory, always so nerve wrecking in practice.

Public sex with Eddie felt like you wanted to get caught with him, fully enjoying his cock and letting people see. Voyeurism mixed with public embarrassment was suddenly hot and you got so into it that Dylan expressed how excited he was to fuck you on the next hike you took together, something he has expressed much interest in, but you denied bashfully every time.  

Because with Dylan sex wasn’t all encaptivating. Sure he could make you cum, but you were never ready to rip off his clothes in a heartbeat. The moment you saw Eddie your fingers started to itch for that damn low sitting sweatpants for them to droop just a little…bit…more.

Dylan drops you off with a romantic wet kiss, and you walk into the door of your apartment in a daze. Before you can even think about it, you find yourself on your bed, your skirt around your ankles and two of your fingers down your bikini bottoms.

You start to take them off but there’s a voice you picture saying, “No, no. Keep them on like the whore you are.” It was not Dylan’s.

You listened to it, pretending to rub your clit in front of him watching. You could see a wild eye on his face, picturing him not being able to touch you driving him mad. The heat that expands into your pussy from that thought alone drives your hips for more friction. “Oh so fucking needy, yeah?” You imagine him saying to you, and fuck, you couldn’t not think of him being good at dirty talk. “Need this cock, don’t ya?”

The image of him slowly working the elastic waist-band of his sweatpants made you moan aloud, needily grinding on your own fingers.

“Too damn bad. You’re just gonna have to make yourself cum, like the slut you are.”

The slight foreplay you were accidentally given all day through your own imagination mixed with how fucking wet you were brought you to a quick orgasm, fluttering in your extremities as you continued imagining the wild eyes on Eddie’s face or the firm voice as he didn’t give you a choice on your dating pool.

This was the first truly earth-shattering orgasm you’ve ever felt in your life. One that you truly had to recover from…and it was from just picturing this man.

Something in you wanted the real thing, and you were terrified of how willing you were to go through with it, and equally as terrified of going through life wondering what it could’ve been like

If sex with Eddie Munson was as good as the orgasm you gave yourself, you might have to be Dylan’s stepmom, because you just found what was missing.

-

“Hey baby.” Dylan says, welcoming you as he opens the door.

You hold your pillow and a duffle bag sits on your shoulder for a sleepover, and the shorter shorts with a tank top you wear signalling you were ready for a night in. As you pass by him, Dylan gives out a low whistle to how well your ass is shown off in the pair of shorts you wore. They were so well fitting he could see you were either wearing a thong or nothing, but you could tell it turned him on. While this gave you a confidence boost, he wasn’t the target audience.

When you requested the sleepover Dylan warned you his dad would be there. Good. You assured him that would be fine. That was the goal.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Eddie calls down to you, and the smile invades your face before you could stop it.

“Hi, Mr. Munson!” You call out, and the sound of gagging is heard. “I meant Eddie!”

“Oh, I forgot he gets everyone to call him by his first name, like a lame youth pastor.” Dylan rolls his eyes, tugging on your hand to bring you to the couch in the living room. “Movie?”

You nod jerkily. Dylan works around you, getting a blanket, popcorn, and the movie all set up. He turns down the lights, winking at you suggestively as he does so.

Less than five minutes into the movie, the beginning credits still lingering on to the actors he leans in with an open mouth, his hand making its way to your hip. With the smell of him still fresh, being able to smell him on the couch you were on, it was easy to get eagerly into the kissing. This encouraged Dylan, of course confusing your eagerness for him. He reaches down, placing two of his fingers over your clothed pussy.

You moan lightly, and he shushes you softly. Mentally you roll your eyes, because he was telling you to be quiet because his dad was home.

You were hooking up with him on his couch because his dad was home. You listen to him anyway, and he starts to rub in small circles, you moan even higher, imagining he could hear you and getting off to it. “Shh, baby.” Dylan whispers. “Oh, you’re wet. Fuck.”

He slips his hands into your shorts, leaning you down to rub your pussy and attack your neck at the same time. “Pussy feels…mazing.” Dylan mutters between the slobbery neck kisses he gives you. It was enough for you to picture him, but suddenly Eddie coming downstairs right now without knowing what you were doing got you off even more.

“Eat me out?” You ask him, and ever the gentleman he smiles devilishly at you as he crawls down. He goes to place the blanket over his head, and you stop him. “Wanna see your face.”

Okay, you wanted to see Eddie see your pussy as his son went down on you, but it made Dylan eager enough to dig in in a way you haven’t seen from him yet.

You whine from the hot pleasure it gave you, you grind on his face, the heat focused on your pussy in a way that has never happened before. The idea of Eddie accidentally walking in on you but watching instead of saying anything gets you off so easily Dylan is feeling your juices wet his chin and your ass like it never has before.

“Greedy baby.” He mumbles, placing two fingers into you and giving kisses to your thighs as he pumps them.

“Gonna cum soon, Dyl.” You warn him.

Luckily, Dylan knows it means to keep doing what he’s doing. You were close, but the sound of footsteps upstairs followed by a door closing pushed you over the edge, knowing he could very well be going to his room from elsewhere, but hoping he was at the top of the stairs.

Just the possibility of him being at the top pushed you over. “Holy shit.” Dylan mutters, crawling up to you. “Must’ve been riled up, huh.”

“Yeah.” You tell him, suddenly feeling Dylan’s boner poking the inside of your knee. “Mere, I wanna help you.”

“No, I wanna fuck you, let’s go to my room.”

His room…down the hall…where there’s a better chance he could hear you. “Sure!”

-

Eddie Munson was sure there was something out to get him. The moment your pretty fucking face greeted him in his kitchen when he wondered down fresh from a shower he was sure there was something laughing at this pure misery.

The smile on your face, the smell of your sweet perfume, the way your skirt hugged your hips all melted him into one pot. When you told him you met Dylan at a fucking mixer, he wanted to shoot the person who made you feel like you were worthy of being ogled at by a bunch of singles at an awkward church mixer.

A church mixer.

He hated that Dylan liked them, always said only weirdos go there and was sure Dylan as exaggerating when he expressed how gorgeous and out of his league you were.

His heart freezing at the sight of you sit perched on one of his stools, shyly watching your boyfriend, even only from the back made him wonder if angels were real. Fuck, he didn’t ask for any proof of your beauty when offered to show your Instagram, but he wouldn’t have believed it.

He spent that entire first conversation doing everything he could to be a fucking father figure and remind himself you were dating his son. He was not hitting on you at a bar, he was your boyfriend’s dad.

Somehow that just made the forbidden part about it that much hotter.

He felt like a pervert as the scent of your shampoo jumped out at him when he passed by you for the milk, and he had wanted to stop in place and take a big inhale. Felt like an even bigger pervert as he saw the string of your bikini bottom sitting high on your hip peaking out of your skirt and he just wanted to get a shot of that underskirt.

Every thought he had about you as your wit came through the conversation, he wondered what the hell you were doing with Dylan. He loved his kid, but you deserved better than what he knew his kid would provide.

He knew about Dylan that he’d be a great husband one day. Someone reliable and trustworthy enough to build a life with.

He didn’t want that for you. He wanted you to have something mind-blowing and earth shattering, something intoxicating. Something that made you feel the way he felt just by smelling your goddamn shampoo. Your teeny tiny bikini with your hair up in a messy bun with cute little sunglasses all somehow went to his cock, and he was glad you were called over before he said something even more stupid.

Eddie rolled his eyes at your claim there wasn’t a bigger dating pool, opening his mouth to retort--“Oh, you should’ve told me, we could’ve been almost there by now. Come on, baby! See you dad!”

The door slams, and that concluded the end of that conversation. “Um, you were gonna say something?” you ask him, and he wondered if the intrigue on your face was something he just imagined.

“Oh. Was I? Totally forgot.” Eddie lies. I was gonna say I am proof there is a bigger dating pool than you would believe, sweetheart… but he knew it would’ve said something he couldn’t unsay.

Dylan told him you were coming over for a sleepover, and he and Dylan’s room were only separated by the bathroom. Eddie might use the basement for the night because he didn’t trust his perverted mind not to seek you out and look at what little pjs you have chosen to wear. He gave you space out of respect when you arrived, wondering if it was flirting when you called him Mr. Munson.

Suddenly a noise that Eddie could only describe as the doorbell to heaven (or hell with what his mind was thinking) reached the door he had kept open for this very reason.

He kept his tv playing and sneaked off to the top of the stairs, hoping to catch his kid getting you off while you moaned under the covers. The treat he was given was far better, the hand over your tight ass shorts feeling you up as you leaned back and whined all high pitched. Eddie’s cock was so hard at the moment not touching it would be like self-neglect.

He backed up against the wall by the stairs, listening to your moans as he got you off, desperately wishing it was his fingers in your wet heat. He imagined your scrunched up face as you made those stunning noises, starting to stroke himself. A pause occurs, your blissed out voice asking him to eat you out. He bites back a moan at wanting to taste you, wanting to get all up in those juices and to show him how much you turned him on. He leans over the wall into the stair entry, expecting the blanket to be covering you but instead being met with your pussy on full display.

A low guttural moan escapes his throat, fucking into his fist and pretending it was you bent over for him instead, whining the same exact way. He knew you would have a pretty pussy, but this was just un-fucking fair.

You warn Dylan you were about to cum, and that pushes him over his own edge, and he suddenly has a mess he needs to clean up all over his fist. God he wanted you to clean it, to suck it all up. He was making himself hard again and he had to flee to his fucking bedroom to wash up.

Suddenly the creak of the stairs erupts as he is cleaning himself up, and Dylan’s door closes. Oh. They’re…continuing.

Your moans are suddenly loud, and Eddie finds himself hard again as he realizes he’s hearing you being fucked. Oh, he knew you were a fucking dirty slut.

Just fucking knew it. Something that hasn’t happened since he was in his 20s, but he’s ready to jerk himself off within minutes of just cumming. “Yeah, my whore being fucked open, letting everyone hear how good she feels, oh shit.” Eddie mutters to himself, right next to his door.

He ends up finishing at the same time you did, which didn’t take either one of you very long.

-

The next morning you wake next to Dylan sleeping with a big smile on his face. To him, that was the best sex you’ve ever had together. Mixed with your adventure at the beach last week, you guys were doing better than ever.

 To you, it was only amazing because you kept thinking of Eddie fucking you and it did everything for your core. You get up in the tiny pair of pajamas you had packed, something that barely covered your ass and headed downstairs for some breakfast.

As you were leant down to assess the cereals, you heard the stride of someone come in behind you.

Eddie walks in behind you, holding back a swear as he sees your pussy peaking out of your pajama bottoms. A gentleman, and not knowing you fully reciprocated every horny thought, he ignores it and hopes you sit up.

You don’t, leaning even more forward and making a show of wondering what to eat. Eddie inhales, allowing himself to watch you. You turn around to him jerking his head away, and you felt some pride in getting his attention. “Morning.” You greet him, offering a bowl for him.

He rejects it. “Not hungry.”

“Oh.” You pour cereal, and Eddie focuses on not staring at your beaded nipples peaking through the tiny silk top you wore.

“Fuck.” He whispered, the boner growing.

“Something wrong?” You ask him innocently, and knowing this was working to your benefit made you nervous but eager.

“Lots to do today.” Like jerk off another three times.

“Like what?” You asked, taking a spoonful of cereal even though you had no appetite from the butterflies in your stomach.

“Oh not much.” Eddie wonders to you, and by reaching over you to grab the cereal he wonder if he could sneak a smell from your shampoo.

You sit up as he leans away, and you are so close you can see just how gorgeous he is. God, those brown eyes. “Do you have any…one to do?” You ask, glancing back and forth between his pretty lips and his even prettier eyes. You didn’t even know which ones to focus on.

Eddie leans in a bit to you, just ghosting over your lips. “Are you sure…that you want this?”

You nod, your eyes glazing over in want as the arousal in your gut suddenly exploded into a need.

“Cause…cause if we do this there is no going back. If your pussy…” he inhales sharply, taking a breath of your hair. “is as good as I imagine, there’s no way I’m giving you back.”

This sentence turns you into gelatin, and you lean forward to finally kiss him, his lips rough as he seemingly forgets how to act for a moment.

His brain finally catches up and he grabs onto you, inhaling and messy kisses, and grabby hands all at once as he tries to do everything he’s wanted to. Your hands make their way into his hair, and it was as soft as you pictured it. His lips messily kiss down your jaw onto your neck and you let out a whine. He smiles widely at that. “Good. One I made. Needed that.”

“You heard me…yesterday?” You asked, wetter from the idea of it.

“Heard you? Fucking came to it.” He swears, as he continues an assault on your neck. You moan in response, your hips involuntarily grinding up. “Come on, upstairs.”

You almost wanted to get caught by Dylan, but to keep it going longer you follow Eddie giddily upstairs as he trips over himself and you felt like a goddamn teenager. You follow him into his room, and the curtains were blackout curtains, the lights turned off giving the illusion of everything being dark. “Can we turn on the lights?” You ask, delicately. “I wanna see you.”

Eddie turns on his dimmer switch light so it was low, and the look in his eye as he approaches you sat on his bed had a level of lust in them that drove you wild. He leans in to give you a kiss after sitting right by you, and it wasn’t enough touching for you. You crawl forward as you eagerly kissed him back, straddling his lap. “Fuck, sweetheart, you are fucking gorgeous.” He mutters, the silk pajamas you wore bunching up in his hands as he grabbed at it. “The little strap that peaked out of your skirt tied together was just tempting me to unwrap you like a present.” He huffs, still kissing your neck. You find yourself impatient, wanting his lips back on yours.

“Fuck, been thinkin’ about you on my cock ever…” he inhales your perfume with a deep grunting sigh of content. “ever since.”

You mewl to his confessions, and he’s a much better talker than you could’ve imagined. Your hips start to grind on their own accord and with the little fabric they have between your silk shorts and his thin pajama pants you felt his hard cock fairly easily. You let out a high moan of contentment, and Eddie watches as you grind on his cock and get yourself off so easily. “Oh shit, she’s a dirty slut, hey.” Eddie comments leaning back and watching you grind yourself. “Doesn’t even need a cock inside her, will just take anything I give her with a smile on her face.”

“I would—” you gasp, the material scratching your clit in the best way, “I would take any crumbs, fuck.”

You start to moan higher and grind faster, and Eddie wanted to make you cum by his hands or his mouth the first time but you making yourself cum against his pants meant he was now using this as a fucking cum rag to smell you when you weren’t near. “Take off those shorts, doll. Wanna see your pussy.”

“Ok.” They are yanked off without a second thought.

“Oh, good listener. What a good girl.” He comments petting your hair gently as you continued to grind again with your heat now directly against his pj pants, he could feel it against his cock. “Oh, fuck, you are soaked. My fucking horny slut.”

“Horny for you.” You whimper the edge just right there.

“Whoring herself out for the Munsons.” He comments, sort of bitter he had to hear you fuck his son before he could claim you.

“Pictured it was you.” You admit, your voice in a whisper as you confessed but the high you wanted almost there.

“Fuck, did you?” He asks, the idea you only enjoying it so much because you pictured him.

“Mmhmm. Pictured you watching me, too.”

“Fucking little voyeur.” He whispers, and you nodded. He rewarded you by grabbing your hips and rutting against you and hitting your clit even harder and your orgasm snuck up on you, and the extra attention Eddie pays you as he watches it wash through you only helps the high take longer to recover from.

“Oh my god.” You whisper, a last of the intense orgasm still running through you.

“Not done.” Eddie whispers, a big smirk on his face. He lightly pushes you down and grabs your legs and puts them over his shoulder. You watch him carefully, his face looking at your pussy at a way that would usually resolve in embarrassment. Instead, it only turned you on more because it meant he wanted you just as much.

He dives into your pussy with a level of expertise that only came from years of pleasuring women. You don’t know why but you knew he got off to pleasuring others from the moment you saw him and every moan you let out he absorbed it, getting better and better as your verbal ques direct him. The heat in your pussy intensifies as he continues, fucking two of his fingers into you.

You place your hands in his hair, grinding up when the feeling of wanting to be fucked takes over you. “No, patience baby. I need to see what you look like when you squirt.”

“I-I can’t—”

“Every woman can, sweetheart. Just means you’ve had no one show you yet. Feel that?” He asks you, the heat in your pussy expanding as he continued to attack your clit and finger fuck you.

You nod, the feeling in your gut like a tidal wave of pleasure.

“Focus on it.” You do, and as you do you look up at his eyes, already staring into yours as he assesses your reactions. The heat intensifies by a thousand, and the feeling of wanting to…pee…takes over.

“Fuck—” you start to protest.

“Let it happen. Let go. It’ll feel so fucking good…baby let go. Gonna feel so fucking good.” You trust him so you let go and a gush invades your ear as a red-hot pleasure makes home in your pussy. “One more?” Eddie asks you, his thumb now messaging your clit.

You twitch under him, your bud being so sensitive. “Oh fuck, Ed. Too much.”

“No, I think you can cum again. Wanna see that beautiful face all scrunched up. Wanna take a photo.” He holds out his phone casually, and your face heats up. “Not feeling all the sudden shy, are ya? You whored your little pussy for me how is this different?”

“Its…” you manage out, already close again. “Its hot.”

“She gonna cum again, all over my fingers?”

“All over your fingers.”

“You gonna lick em clean?”

“Can we share?”

Eddie groans audibly, titling his head back. “Of course, doll. Of fucking course, now cum all over them, please.”

The third orgasm takes over your body, and it’s so goddamn good you stop responding for a minute which causes Eddie to panic. “Oh shit, you okay?”

Giggles burst out of you, the kind of post orgasm giggles you’ve only read about in spicy novels. You thought they were fake. “Can I suck you off now?”

Eddie’s eyes bulge, and he realizes his hand is still on your pussy. He taps it lightly, causing you to whine. He lifts the finger first, inserting it into your mouth. “Suck this first.” You wrap your tongue around it, keeping eye contact as you taste yourself, and this is the only time it’s ever been truly hot to be able to taste yourself. Other times it was just perplexing.

Eddie takes the other finger when you let go and starts sucking on it, he closes his eye, enjoying the taste of your pussy on his tongue. Eddie crawls onto his bed and you basically pounce him, yanking his pj pants down as fast as they go, wanting to see his cock. His eyes watch you, blown and enwrapped in lust as he watches your eagerness.

As his cock pops out of his pants, an involuntary smile spreads across your face. The head to his cock was so pink, he must’ve been horny. “Oh, pretty cock.” You mutter, and he wasn’t even sure if you were saying to him or just saying it out loud. “Oh my god, look how pink your head is. Mmm..sure seem like you need some attention.”

You take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking on it alone but getting used to his girth. Holy he was gonna hurt even with how wet you were. You start sucking on it, taking bit by bit more into your mouth each time, eagerly making sloppy spit sounds as you did so. It wasn’t hard to generate the spit you needed, the sight of his dick made your mouth water.

Your head bobbed up and down on it, illicit sounds being drawn out of him, only encouraging you more as the feeling of his rings harsh against your scalp making you wet. You pop off him, spit connected from your mouth to his dick. You lean forward to his treasure trail, licking the hair and biting at it, something you’ve wanted to do since you saw him. You find your way back down and passed his cock and he’s about to ask when take one of his balls into your mouth, sucking loudly.

“Oh fuck, do you know how to use that pretty little mouth. Holy shit.” You roam over it with your tongue, sucking it in and out repeatedly. Then you move on to the next one, giving it its own show as well. Your mouth moves back to suck on his cock but he tugs on your hair to bring him up to you.

“Want you to face fuck me.” You say to him, still not done sucking on his cock.

“Nother time. Lemme fuck you.” He mutters, tugging on the shirt you still wore. You crawl back up to straddle him, nothing between his cock and your pussy now, but he places his cock on it so the shaft slides in-between your folds, teasing you, and causing you to whine. “Oh shit.” He works on the buttons holding your silky pink shirt, the skilled hands working fast through each one. As each one reveals another inch of skin, he feels more intoxicated by you, especially how you’re begging him to put his cock in. Your tits fall out of the shirt, and he rips the back off you, and you let it fall to the floor. You grab onto his band shirt, attempting to move it off him. You barely do it, the feeling of his cock so close inside you causing your focus to fall apart in seconds. He laughs, nearly cruel, yanking the shirt off, revealing more tattoos you’ve never seen. Your hands flutter to his chest, moving to each tattoo and touching every inch you can.

Your mission to focus and analyze each tattoo is interrupted by him maneuvering you onto your back. You lay there, open and ready for him. “Holy shit, fucking smoking hot.” He mutters, like he couldn’t believe you were here with him.

It was you who was the lucky one, he was crazy.

“You’re hotter.” You mutter, as he starts to align his cock with your entrance. “Thought of you last night, made myself cum so hard.”

“Oh fuck. What was I doing?” He asks, still teasing you with it.

“Just watching me finger myself. Talking me through it. Calling me a whore.” He groans, tapping his cock on it. “Please, Ed need your cock.”

“Beg for it, you fucking slut.” He whispers, something taking over him.

“Please, daddy. Want your cock. Want you to fuck me like a ragdoll. Please, pretty please fuck me until I’m a puddle. I just want your cock in me, so fucking bad.”

“Gonna be a good slut for me?”

“Yes..I will I promise.”

He chuckles darkly and finally…finally moves into you. Your eyes cross and a moan so erotic leaves your body and you had barely a single ounce of control over that left your mouth at that point.

Eddie puts his head into your neck, feeling your head tighten around him in pleasure as you got used to his girth and length.

“Move…please?”

“Thought you were gonna take the crumbs I gave you, slut.” He mutters.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

He smiles and your fingers fidgeting at your sides were a dead giveaway you were just needy for him to move. It made him feel fucking powerful just his cock could make you feel like this. He starts rocking, slowly and you whine from this resolve alone. “Oh what a fucking whore, just needed a good fucking.” He mutters into your ear, his hand finding its way to your neck. “Putting her pussy on display for me, showing she just needed someone to know how to fuck her.”

You say nothing in response, and his hips are starting to rock against yours harder. Your eyes reach the back of your head as you lose air, but you revel in the feeling of nearly passing out as he takes his hand off. “Holy shit, you really are just a whore.”

You nod, eyes half lidded as you looked up at his pussy drunk eyes. “Little…cockdrunk…slut…” he inhales sharply and a wad of spit hits your face and you find yourself opening your mouth for more. “Fuck—” his hips stutter at the sight of your smile when his saliva hits your mouth. He spits right into it as you open for more and you act like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted, cause it was.

Your tongue pokes out, gasping in more need. His hips are against yours so harshly you would’ve been afraid of bruising if it didn’t fucking turn you on so bad.

“Fucking slut, you want me to cum in you? Wanna be filled with my fucking cum?” You nod, too cocked out to speak, you’ve never felt this good from penetration alone before. “Cum with me, doll.” He mutters using his two fingers against your clit as he leans in to kiss you. Within moments you flutter around him, moaning into his mouth and he lets go of your kiss, stuttering his hips and letting out a loud moan as you feel him fill you up.

His body weight collapses ontop of you, and his hands are suddenly gentle as they sweep at your bangs sticking to your sweaty forehead. “Fuck.” He mutters, giving you a dazed-out look of pure adoration. “That was much better than anything I came up with.”

You nod in agreement, words still not coming to your mouth.

“You were such a good girl, yeah?” You smile, a heat coming up to your cheeks. “You listened to me so well. C’mere.” He wraps your lips in a kiss, his cock still in you, still hard and keeping all his cum in you.

“C-can we stay like this?” You ask timidly, not wanting his cock to leave yet.

“Ooh, baby wants to cock-warm? Sure. Wanna turn on a movie until 9, when Dylan usually wakes?” Eddie asks, already leaning towards the channel changer on his beside table.

Having to tell Dylan it was pretty much over the moment Eddie kissed you hadn’t even crossed your mind, and it would eventually twenty minutes into the movie when you got back to earth. Eddie knew the realization would kick in eventually so he let you watch a movie of your choice, sitting up on his bed with you straddled on his lap after a bit of maneuvering so you could both see the movie on his screen adjacent to his bed.

Eventually, Dylan was gonna wake.

Eventually, a storm would hit.

But for now, Eddie stayed inside you to pretend like it wasn’t over yet.

-

As always i Love reading comments, replies, reblogs <3 remember reblogging is the best way to support on Tumblr

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you

[asmodeus-682]

Hazbin Hotel trio friend group headcanons

The trios shown will have 4 heacanons for each character in the group

The 3 Vees

Valentino Velvette and Vox

1. Valentino sometimes needs help cleaning his room due to his poor eyesight

2. He accidentally ate glue before and had to be rushed to the doctors

3. After seeing the footage of Nifty killing Adam, Valentino became scared of short women

4. Secretly prefers Vox over Velvette

1. Velvette uses a lot of emojis when texting Vox and Val, just to piss them off

2. All her models that work for her are people who are in contract with her

3. Genuinely likes anime but hates manga (she hates it because she hates reading too much)

4. She somewhat sees Vox as an annoying older brother

1. Vox has a shark tail but uses some form of magic to hide it after hitting Val with it one time

2. He doesn't like cartoons all that much

3. Most of the time he'll wake up with Velvette measuring his arms or legs to make him outfits

4. Has attachment issues and is clingy towards the other Vees

Zestial Rosie and Alastor

1. Zestial has a painting of Alastor and Rosie in his home as a sign of theor friendship

2. Prefers tea but will drink coffee if he's stressed out enough

3. Zestial will sometimes drop by at the hotel just to check on Alastor and reports back to Rosie afterwards

4. Rabbits are his favourite animal

1. Rosie has a customised teaset she brings out whenever Zestial and Alastor are over for drinks

2. She bites as a sign of affection

3. Rosie has bitten both Alastor and Zestial, in her opinion they both taste terrible

4. Loves reading horror stories that are bloody and gory before bed

1. Alastor hates tea but will drink it if Risie made it

2. Had to teach Zestial how to work a radio

3. Is a very clingy guy when blackout drunk, he will always cling to Zestial and Rosie

4. Secretly enjoys when Zestial holds him as it reminds him of his mother holding him as a child

Nifty Husk and Angel Dust

1. Nifty collects dead bugs after killing them

2. Has VERY good eyesight and can read very fast

3. It is unsure what really scares her, not even Nifty herself knows

4. She sees Husk as a brother figure in a way

1. Husk sometimes purrs when hugging Angel Dust

2. He has a collection of funky animal skulls in a glass casing

3. Prefers sleeping in Angel's room as the bed is far comfier

4. Sometimes Husk will invite Alastor to drink with him just to see if Alastor will free him while drunk. It always fails

1. Angel adores seeing Fat Nuggets playing chase with KeeKee

2. Sometimes he plays with Husk's wings to fluster him

3. He has an entire diary where he rants about Valentino to get out frustrations, it was a recommendation from Sir Pentious and genuinely helps him

4. Angel will freak out if someone refers to him as Anthony as currently only Val knows that's his real name

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I somehow didn't catch this during all the chaos from that day but I'm rewatching Forever's conversation with Vegetta, and Vegetta told him: "You're a good person, and a good person knows what their mistakes are. You're a good boy. It's not going to happen again."

[neuvistar]

Ass, tits or thighs for loucha and welt

You can choose other hsr men

Fluff of nsfw you pick

ASS, TITS OR THIGHS?

— featuring ┊ luocha, welt, jing yuan, blade, gepard x fem!reader (all separate)

— warnings / content warnings ┊ a lil short i think?? uh not proofread, tiny bit of titplay, mentions of thigh fucking??, slight body worship me thinks, mentions of face sitting, use of nicknames, nothing extreme just suggestive of implied suggestive themes! || 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

— a/n ┊good question, let’s decide this once n for all ! hope u enjoyed this i had fun sm fun writing it tbh ++ i loved writing jing yuan’s part its so cute 2 me

LUOCHA lowkey seems like a thigh man, blud doesn’t care how big or how small he just wants you to crush him with your thighs. i mean come on i’m sure he probably likes the feeling of his hands trailing down your hips then to your thighs, giving them a nice squeeze while he’s at it. he seems like he’d enjoy times where you would thigh highs, thanking the aeons above for this lovely gift and beautiful sight. ++ when you do wear it jesus fuck his hands r always on your thighs, gently sliding two fingers in your black thigh highs you wore that day, pretty eyes gazing at yours to see your reaction.

maybe if he’s feeling a lil silly he’d slide his fingers inside you too, bonus points for that skull emoji idk man this goof just seems and LOOKS like a thigh man, i’m sure he’s a big fan of face sitting too since he’d love how your thighs cage around his head, holding them firmly as he eats you out like there’s no tomorrow. he just wants to get crushed by your thighs, i’m sure he’s someone that stays true to his word as well, “death by thighs is the way of a warrior” is what he believes. luocha just wants to savour the feeling of your thighs around his head, oh yeah his favourite place to kiss you is probably your thighs, surprise surprise!! that man has a huge thing for your thighs you don’t even know why, always complimenting you how beautiful they look too, you don’t mind though. but anyways, he loves kissing your thighs, such a sweetheart isn’t he?

WELT is expiring bruh one thrust n that fucker is already fading into thin air but itz ok cuz i like em expired (NAHH IM SO SORRY) but anyways he’s an ass man, i’m sure of it. that brunette loves ass more than you think, he’s a sucker for that fatty i know it, look me in the eyes n tell me he isn’t an ass man cuz he is n no one’s gonna convince me he’s not i don’t wanna hear it /j but back to business yeah he seems like an ass man, i think bro’s vv cool with it too like if you asked him “ass tits or thighs” he would give you a full description on why he prefers ass out of everyone of them, whenever you two make love i like to think that he prefers it if you take it from the back. why? well lemme tell you

he likes it whenever you take it from the back cuz he gets full view of your back and most importantly your ass, the way his hips snap against yours, hypnotized by the way your ass looks, giving it a lil squeeze too. oh yeah he’s probably the type to give ur ass little taps, like gentle ones but it isn’t perverted in anyway it’s just to get you moving, and maybe to also get a reaction out of you but yes no more explanation this manz is crazy for ass he would get hard at the sight of you in some tight clothing that makes your ass look nice wink wink. this goof probably snuck a lil glance at your ass when you were bending over one time, grabbing a pencil. let’s jus say, he got hard! cmon he just loves ass, he loves it sm bros probably fascinated over the jiggle physics of your ass or sumn cause gahhh dahum

JING YUAN i think he’d be vv sweet about these sort of things, he wouldn’t rlly separate things into things he liked or didn’t like, he loved everything about you. jing yuan would find you perfect in his eyes, he found you rather beautiful in every aspect, an alluring attraction he could not simply look away from, but he cared not for your body, for your beauty was the least of your features n it was everything else about you that he found the most attractive. beyond compare and without fault. but in all truthfulness, he loves titties stfu i’m not gonna argue with anyone else he’s a tit man and that’s final, it’s true it’s confirmed by me he’s apart of the tittie lover committee. but honestly, like i said he’d find every aspect of you beautiful (he’s a tit man trust he’s just in denial)

he would be so so sweet :( if u ever asked him what he liked abt u (ass tits n thighs yk) he would simply let out a deep sigh and kiss your forehead,

“why do you care so deeply about my opinion on your body?" jing yuan asked softly with a soft shake of his head. "does my opinion mean that much to you? i think you are a rather beautiful woman. that’s all, nothing more, nothing less. i do not look at you like a prize or a toy, my dove, for you mean more to me than your appearance. but since you are so concerned, i will say it. you are extremely beautiful in my eyes, i love everything about you. every part of your body, your facial features, your personality, everything. there’s nothing i can pin point, because i love everything about you, beautiful.” (he still loves ur tits though)

BLADE is indecisive with this sort of thing me thinks.. he’d choose all three but if you ask him why he did, honestly he’d pull up some shit like “because i desire them all and i get what i desire” or sum shit like that, he’s just a lil indecisive guys. but jokes aside, he would prefer your tits. he’s probably a tit man in my eyes! there’s just something about your titties that makes him stop and think about the decisions he made in life. the first time you guys got busy (if you know what i mean) blud would get all red for the first time asking if he could touch your breasts, and that special day.. he fell in love with the feeling of his hands engulfing your tits, the softness of your flesh was intoxicating to him almost.

he probably doesn’t care about size either, he just loves how his large hands engulf your tits as a whole, he loves the little whimpers you let out when he plays with your hardened nipples, twisting it gently as he feels your body jolt against his, pressing himself even closer against you. blade loves you and your body, he just can’t get enough of you because you’re so beautiful to him, he’s one lucky man to have someone like you. he’s probably into titfucking too, the thought of it makes me curl my toes tbh. he probably slides his dick in between the softness of your breasts, a moaning mess as he threw his head back, enjoying the feeling of your boobs around his cock. bonus points if he came on your tits afterwards, he fell more and more in love with you and your titties. he would probably cum on your tits like 99% of the time whenever you guys would have sex, you would scold him sometimes but cmon he can’t help it. he loves how pretty your tits look covered with his cum.

GEPARD last but not least the babygirl ever, most the babygirl of the babygirls, he would probably prefer ass ++ thighs over anything else. he tries to push these kind of thoughts away but he knows he can’t escape them when you’re right there all dolled up and pretty for him. gepard would blush seeing you in a short skirt, bonus points if you wore thigh highs or black tights along with it. i like to think tgat he would feel ashamed of himself for thinking such things about you, taking a quick glance of your thighs whenever you both use the stairs, seeing how your skirt would move a bit. jesus he didn’t even know you had allat back there, but you did. bless your parents. but honestly i don’t think he’d care about the size either, he just loves how soft they feel against his palm, huge fan of you taking it from the back too.

gepard is probably into thigh fucking too, grabbing your thighs and ripping your black tights, positioning himself in between them as he slides himself between the heat of your inner thighs, his dick also rubbing against your pussy too more bonus points for that. he would savour and take in the feeling of your thighs against his cock, loving how warm you felt around him. he’s such a huge sucker for that fattie n huge sucker for them neck crushers, if you sat on his face and broke his neck he would probably blame himself for being too weak to handle you like he should, speaking of that he loves it whenever you sat on his face, like i said no matter the side he’s diving into that pussy like it’s the pacific ocean, he doesn’t give two fucks if you’re too heavy your pussy is the ocean he’s gonna dive in 2nite (he’s practically asking u to break his neck atp skull emoji)

[whyse7vn]

PARK JIMIN & JUNG HOSEOK

FRI(END) ZONE:

“Jimin come on it’s been like a week”

“What, the group chat has been that boring without me?”

“You’ve been ignoring everyone”

“I’m talking to you now aren’t i?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes at the younger man. Whe he watches from the kitchen doorway as Jimin aggressively scrubs at his counter tops.

“Barely i had to force my way in here”

“Which i can still call the police for by the way” Jimin turns his back on Hoseok to now scrub the counter top closest to his sink.

“You’re upset”

“No i’m not”

“You’re aggressively cleaning right now”

“I am so no-“ Jimin pauses and looks down at the sponge that’s is practically being chocked out by his right hand he loosens his grip, lets out a sigh then lightly continues scrubbing his counter top “I’m normally cleaning, like any normal unupset person would maybe you’re-“

“Jimin”

“Go away”

“You like her”

Jimin sharply inhales.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“It’s okay if you like her you k-“

Jimin quickly turns to face Hoseok “OKAY?!” He throws the wet sponge he had been using to ‘lightly’ clean his countertops in Hoseok’s direction.

“What the fuc-“

“YOU like her, Jungkook likes her, Tae likes her, Jin likes her, Yoongi likes her and fucking Namjoon likes her what part of that is OKAY?!”

“Woah first of all calm down-“

“Me and her are freinds” Jimin’s eyes are stern and his body tense.

Hoseok shoots him a look of confusion “…okay?”

“That’s it”

“Well that’s not it because you like her”

Jimin stares at Hoseok for an awkward amount of time before promptly turning away from him once more.

“You know what i have other things and people to worry about right now”

“What like Taemin?”

“Yeah. like Taemin”

“Taemin is a distraction”

“I-” He pauses “like Taemin”

“Yeah? You can’t even say that shit confidentiality get real Jimin”

“You—”

“He messages you back every other month at most”

“You know nothing”

“I know that he’s a pretty shit distraction and that you feel left out”

“Left out?” Jimin can feel the anger build in him “Stop talking like you know what i’m thinking and feeling because-“

“You feel left out, they argue less about her flirt more openly and comfortably subconsciously they’re forming a dynamic. a dynamic you’re not apart of”

“And you are?”

“Just ‘cuz i don’t flirt like the others do doesn’t mean i’m not apart of anything. i’ve talked to her that’s something you should do too”

“Wait when did you—” Curiosity finally allowing Jimin to face Hoseok again.

“You’re scared of being left behind but actively do nothing to prevent that worry about yourself right now Jimin you feel like you’re running out of time fix that”

“That’s easier said than done you know that”

“Not really the way i see it is that you’ve put yourself in the friendzone no one is holding you back except you Jimin”

“You can’t jus—”

“Anyways i’m gonna go now this was….yeah also please call Namjoon back before he goes insane and tell Jungkook you’re alive so he can stop crying good talk bro”

With that Hoseok turns on his heels and leaves a dumb founded Jimin standing in his kitchen.

“Good..” The front door slams “…talk?”

—

don’t ask me how i got yellow just know i had to kill some people heart emoji skull emoji praying emoji

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @earth2ela @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @seokmyballs @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @meowgiz @jmnscutie @threeopossumsinacoat @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @iammeandmeisiam @socksfirstalways @knjlvr06 @lailaisarmy @thvkives @xstfudaisyx @xxxanimangxxx @solstice34 @ml8dy @hoeforseoks @futuristicenemychaos @featjunranghae @jksgirlfrl

[tomieafterdark]

begging for a dilf! toji or neighbour! toji drabble / fic

pairing: dilf!toji x babysitter!fem!reader

18+ mndi

You were laying down on Mr.Fushiguro’s new plush couch, the cold fabric pressing against your bare lower back, aching for the clock to strike midnight so you could finally go home. The boredom was practically killing you, babysitting on a school night turned out to suck more than you had anticipated. It was only 9pm and his kid was sound asleep, meaning you had around 3 hours of nothing to do. You nearly fell asleep too but the way your phone started buzzing in your back pocket woke you up. You were caught in a trance for a second, you had not had any action for so long, even simple vibrations from your phone made you feel something. 

The buzzing eventually stops and you are out of your trance, back to reality. You arch your back, fishing your phone out of the back pocket of your bell bottom jeans to see what all the fuss is about. It is just the group chat freaking out about something, you decide to check it out. 

You are practically blasted with messages once they see that you are online, nearly making your phone freeze. 

“Did someone die, what the hell is going on..” you think to yourself, trying to scroll up. The constant spamming makes it hard and eventually you give up, waiting for everyone to shut up so that someone can explain what is going on. 

THE GC

Y/n: Now that you guys finally stfu, can someone please tell me what happened??

Friend number one: Okay okay everyone be quiet, I will tell Y/n what’s up. 

Y/n: Go on, I am dying to know. 

Friend number two: sends meme JDSHJDK SORRY I misclicked- 

Friend number one: LMFAO stop it before Y/n kicks you out of the gc. 

Y/n: … 

Friend number one: My bad, okay so Y/n long story short I was stalking the sexy dilf you keep babysitting for and I found some very sexy pictures of him from when he was 22. I kind of understand why you keep babysitting for him now. *skull emoji*. 

Friend number two: Y/n, you are not slick. 

Y/n: I do not go there because of his appearance, but whatever. Go on. 

. 

Friend number one: Yeah keep telling yourself that, anyways I won't keep you waiting here are the pictures. You can thank me for them, because they were the results of my stalking skills.. *spams pictures of a shirtless young Toji partying in Okinawa Island*

You cannot believe your eyes, this man aged like fine wine. You have never appreciated Friend number one as much as you do right now, there are several pictures of a shirtless Mr.Fushiguro on vacation. You quickly save every single one and leave the group chat faster than you can blink, somehow being there made you feel flustered and staring at them alone in your camera roll felt better. 

You feel like a creep but you cannot stop staring and zooming in on body parts, he had this killer body since age 22 if not sooner...One year younger than you are now. You cannot stop imagining what could have been if you had been born sooner, how early 20s Mr.Fushiguro’s chemistry would have been like with you. He seems so reckless and wild in these pictures, you can see the chaotic glimmer in his eyes. 

You had never been able to admit this to yourself, but something about those pictures made you let loose and accept reality, which is that you find him very attractive. You had never seen him shirtless but his shirts were always tight and did not leave enough to the imagination. Though whatever you had seen of Mr.Fushiguro was nothing compared to those shirtless island pictures, they made you feel things you didn't know you could feel. 

The groupchat is very active again, pulling you out of your fantasies about the dilf. You give the group chat one last look to see if you missed any pictures and it seems you did not miss anything, the topic has changed from Toji to something else, and it does not interest you one bit. However, thanks to them, you get a very creative idea on what to do and finally kill some time…

You dim the lights and turn your phone notifications on, unzipping your pants as you slowly slide your phone down there. You keep it on top of your underwear, the vibrations from it are strong enough anyways. You shudder from how cold it is, even though it is not touching your skin directly the cold was enough to send shivers down your core. As the notifications start piling up, you adore the group chat more and more. Their notifications create a symphony and you catch yourself lost in it, buckling your hips to it and letting out small moans here and there. 

Your imaginations become so vivid as you get lost in the ecstasy, so much so that you can faintly hear his voice. It sounds like he is on the phone again, makes sense your brain would imagine him like that since he is always on the phone talking to someone. He does not even talk to you most of the time you get paid, he just hands you the money while giving you a nod and you leave. A sick little part of your mind wonders if he ever checks out your ass while you walk away, and if his imaginations stop there or if they go even further..does he ever imagine abusing those tight little holes of yours? You can not stop your mind, it keeps going further down the gutter, you imagine him using your holes for his pleasure and his pleasure only and it makes you feral. The thought of him filling you up with cum, not stopping after that but simply moving on to your next hole and brutalizing that one instead is pushing you over the edge. You are so close to cumming, completely lost in your own world but just as you are about to climax you feel a big cold hand push your stomach down. 

“I don't think I am paying you to be a whore, now am I?” His cold tone drags you down to earth very quickly, reality starts to kick in and all you can think of is how to avoid getting fired. Your mind is on fire trying to come up with an excuse but nothing comes out. You are so shocked you have not even taken your phone out or anything, like a deer in headlights you stay the way he caught you. 

He takes a seat next to you on the couch, staring at you intensely. He is so tall and huge compared to you, it fills you with butterflies but they are quickly overshadowed with fear and shame yet the lust does not seem to fully leave. Him catching you has made you more wet, you are doing your best at avoiding his eyes as you try to blurt out some excuse but he quickly abrupts you. 

“Don't bother using your empty head to come up with an excuse, just tell me the truth.” Toji reaches over you, fishing your phone out of your pants and you still have not moved. Though your internal dialogue is going insane, you are not saying anything. 

“Hmph..a phone.” He says while fishing it out, the notifications still have not stopped as your group chat is notorious for yapping. He tries to not laugh at the situation, because it was kind of creative of you to use your phone in such a way, he imagines what other things your dirty little mind could come up with. 

“I will take care of that, you will not be getting it back until I hear some explanations for what is going on here, understand??” He says as he turns the notifications off and sets it aside on the coffee table in front of you. 

You give him a nod. 

“So, the sooner you tell me why you thought this was a good idea the sooner we can both be done with this.” 

You eventually catch your breath, and the first thing that comes out is an apology followed by tears from the embarrassment. “I am so sorry Mr.Fushigiro, I know this excuse won’t do but I was extremely bored..one thing led to another and..” You start crying before you can finish what you were saying. Toji just looks at you, not with any understanding or even sympathy but rather like he also has a creative idea on how you will make up for what you have done. 

He gets closer to you and caresses your face. “Hey, it's okay. You are not the only creative one here, I know a way to fix this.” 

He was right earlier when he called your head empty, because you have to be brainless to not understand what he was insinuating. Instead, you were assuming he would cut your pay a few times and have you work for free. “I understand Mr.Fushiguro, I agree with your suggestion.” 

He was almost surprised at you being so open minded, almost but he had seen enough of the world to know when a brainless bimbo was talking to him. He decided he would not clarify what he meant, this would be another lesson on the side, which was: “do not forget to read the room before you agree to things.” He chuckled and said “call me Toji for now, okay y/n?”

You nodded. You were much calmer now, agreeing to everything he said, promising you would take your punishment without complaining, saying you would let him decide the rules and how much pay he would cut off..letting him control everything basically. You were so desperate to keep this job so you were determined to give it your all. 

You glance at the clock just as he is finished talking, it is midnight now so he should let you off the hook. “I guess I'll be going now..” You look at him expecting to give you your phone back. 

Toji just smirks. “Do you not remember anything we just talked about?”

You give him a confused look. “Yeah but it is midnight now, and I have a group project to work on tomorrow…Do you want me to babysit overnight or something?” 

Toji is almost getting impatient, you don't notice of course because he keeps a poker face and hides his boner with a cushion. He pulls up your phone, telling you to unlock it, and as you do he grabs it before you can even gauge what happened. “I will be telling your friends that you are feeling a bit sore and tired, so you will not be able to make it to the group project. Take a seat dear.” 

You do not know what to expect but you listen to him, the desperation to keep this job is overpowering your anxiety which is telling you to run the fuck away. He puts your phone down and gets closer, too close, invading your personal space. 

He stares at you in the eyes coldly. “I don't think you understand what is going on here, I took serious offense to what you were doing on my couch during working hours. I am not the type of guy that lets someone off the hook so easily.” He starts pulling on your jeans as he unzips them, taking them off effortlessly. His reflexes are fast, before you even let a sound out his big hand is covering your mouth. “Shh, little Megumi has school tomorrow. You do not want to wake him up now would you? I will have to prolong your punishment if you do that, so be quiet for me. Got it??” 

You nod frantically, what the fuck was this situation and how did you even get yourself in to it. You stare at your jeans now on the black carpet, that same carpet you sat on with Megumi earlier today while playing video games. You close your eyes, hoping this will be over soon. 

Toji is not in the mood to prep you, the little whore who decided to masturbate during working hours does not deserve that luxury. Instead, he flips you on your stomach rather quickly and holds you in place with an iron grip on your waist. Toji is hypnotized by your curves and back dimples, his gaze taking it all in hungrily as he is teasing both your holes with his tip making it hard for you to guess which one he will use. If only you had seen how big his cock is compared to your waist area because it would have made your stomach drop. You try to gauge his size while he teases your holes, just to kind of prepare yourself and know what you are in for..also you are praying to whoever is out there that he does not fuck you in the ass. It was so hot to imagine it, but now that he has you under him all vulnerable and mildly scared it feels different. 

He spreads you apart, his tip resting at the entrance of your cunt. He teases it slowly by barely inserting it instead of just rubbing like he did before, getting much more of your slick on it and making you quiver in the process. He keeps doing this until he has enough of your wetness, and then moves on to your other hole. You may be an airhead, but it ends here. You know exactly why he did what he did now, you can feel him pushing the tip in, your own wetness is working pretty well as a lubricant because a good bit of his tip actually goes in and it feels kind of good even though it hurts. You have never been this stretched before anally, and it's making you tear up a little. You shut your eyes hoping he won’t go there, the tip may feel good but you know he would not go easy and it would quickly go from anal to painal.  

God was a little kind to you today because Toji decided to punish your tight little cunt instead of your even tighter ass, however nothing could have prepared you for his size. You try your hardest to not let out a sound as he made it clear he could prolong your punishment, but you want to scream and cry so bad. What is worse of all is how a part of you was enjoying this situation, a sick part of you loved how he was conquering your body with or without your consent, how he was stretching you out so bad no one could fill the void after him. How he was leaving his mark in every single way. You could not help but arch a little, if anyone were to take you by sheer force it would be him, he was made for it. 

Toji has no mercy, he is slamming your hole with brute force. The friction from the couch is getting to the exposed parts of your body and the couch does not feel so cold anymore. The more he continues mercilessly punishing you, the more that sick little side of you takes over. You are starting to slightly enjoy the pain, so much that you become noticeably wetter. The squelching sounds were getting louder, and he heard it which prompted him to say “there is the whore I caught spread out on my couch earlier, I knew you were in there somewhere, just had to dig real deep for you.” in a husky voice, that tone and those words he said made you shudder. All you replied with was incoherent cries, met with him shushing you. 

As if your body isn't struggling to keep up with his pace and intensity, he decides to switch positions. He picks you up like you weigh nothing, like you are just his little doll, and slams you down onto his cock.He is so focused on chasing his own high, he does not give you even a second to adjust causing you to hold on to his shoulders, digging your nails into his flesh. You do not seem to get the memo, so he grabs your jaw making you look directly at him. “I don’t remember asking for a dead slut, start bouncing.” 

You start bouncing, struggling to keep a pace as your legs tremble and your wetness is leaking down your inner thighs and all over his veiny thick cock. Toji is not impressed with you at all, prompting him to grab your asscheeks, lifting you up and down his cock with the pace he actually wants, leaving you so speechless all you can do is put your head on his shoulder and cry. Your nails are scratching his back and shoulders so much, he has several deep cuts and you can see it is getting quite bloody. Not that he cares, this is nothing to him. Scratch away for all he cares, you are like a kitten to him. 

You are really starting to feel it in your stomach, it is filling you up and hitting every spot inside of you, including your sweet ones. “T-tojii- it’s too much p-please slow down..” 

“Can’t do slut, remember how you promised you won’t complain? It is very rude to not keep your promise, do I need to teach you some more manners now?? At your age??” Toji growls, giving you a hard slap on your ass causing you to cry out quite loudly. 

“Keep it down, don’t make me repeat this.” You just nod in response, biting your cheek so no more sounds come out..Bad timing though. You are starting to feel the tingles even more in your core and it is getting extremely hard to keep quiet. You are kind of lost in the build up, you are whispering/crying into his ear but it is mostly incoherent, he knows you are close though by the way you are clenching so hard around him and how loud the squelching sounds are. The little fire in your core is growing stronger every second.

He slows down his pace suddenly, and it is torture. He switches to deep slow strokes, causing you to get impatient. You try to move around and bounce but he is strong and keeps you in your place, stuck and unable to move. After what feels like forever of deep strokes, he decides to stop edging your cunt. He pulls out completely, leaving you in shock, he is still rock hard so why is he doing this. Just when you were liking it, he decides to pull this move. 

Toji thinks about using your mouth to get himself off and leave you there as he gathers his clothes, but he wonders how much more dominant and forceful he can be if he edges himself too. He knows you will be much more desperate and much more willing to let him use you if you don’t get what you want, hence leaving you like this. Maybe, with enough edging and coercion he could turn this little punishment into a permanent thing between you two. You have no idea but he had been waiting for this ever since you started babysitting, he could not give any fucks about the babysitter masturbating as long as she did her job.  

“I am gonna hit the shower, clean this mess and sleep over tonight, you know where the guest room is. It is not safe for you to go home at this age.” Is the last you hear from him before he leaves the living room, you guess your punishment will continue tomorrow but a sick little part of you is looking forward to it. You grin as you start to clean up.

© 2024 tomieafterdark | All rights reserved.

[hazbinshusk]

Your tags now have me thinking about Reader walking in on Husk masturbating, VERY obviously to them, maybe he's moaning their name or maybe he's huffing a piece of their clothing... gross old man~

Can he stop himself, or is he too close to climax to give up now, despite knowing his crush is staring right at him...?

I've finally finished this piece born of my obsessing over this piece by @irkimatsu, so please show it some love too. I definitely didn't do it justice, but hey, here's some husk love anyway :)

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Your phone buzzes in your hand as you reach the door to Husk’s room, and you open a text from Angel. He’s responding to a question you swore you’d sent him less than thirty seconds ago – you swear, that man has had his phone surgically grafted to his hand.

tf would I have ur pillow for?

You roll your eyes at the little laughing emoji he’s punctuated the message with. You’d left one of your pillows in the newly built hotel’s media room during Charlie’s last movie night. The event had been painfully heavy on insipid musical numbers and pastel unicorns, but thanks to the drinks you’d shared with Husk and the spider you’d managed to last through the entire event. Your number one suspect for the missing pillow had been Niffty on a cleaning spree, but when that had come up as a negative, you’d decided to widen the search.

You were still looking at your phone when you opened the door in front of you and stepped into the room. “Hey, Husk, have you seen my—”

You come to a standstill as your eyes lift from your phone, heat flooding through your entire body.

Husk is on all fours on his bed, fur mussed more than you’ve ever seen and his wings quivering so much that a few feathers fall free even as you stand there. One of his suspenders are falling from his shoulder to hang pointlessly against his arm and his eyes… his eyes are half-lidded and glazed over even as they register his surprise at your sudden appearance.

But what males you freeze in place is the way his hips are rocking forward needily into the pillow squeezed between his thighs.

Your pillow.

“Husk…”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes the words out, his voice rough and hoarse and broken. His face is flushing a deep red under his fur, his ears tucked back against his skull even as you watch his hips still snap forwards against the soft cotton. You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue and he groans, his head falling forward.

Husk’s pants are unfastened, the one suspender still in place the only thing stopping them from slipping down off of his hips to bunch around his thighs. Even still, you can see the firm, thick base of his cock each time his hips pull back before he buries it in the pillow again, and even as he apologizes again you can see his claws tighten in the sheets so hard that the threads pop. His breath leaves him a shuddering exhale, his eyes rising to watch you from under his brows, his vision glazed and almost… hungry.

The heat inside you flares in your face and in your gut, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him any more than he can look away from you. Husk’s eyes are glued to your face, his lips parted as every other breath leaves him what could be moan, a desperate murmur of your name.

“Fuck,” he groans the word, the rhythm of his hips quickening helplessly. His breathing is labored, his mouth hanging open in an almost punch-drunk grimace as he whines, “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You swallow, trying to ignore the way you’re pressing your thighs together, the way your hands squeeze at your sides against the urges you can’t even acknowledge right now because Husk is desperate and you realize suddenly what he needs.

“It’s okay, Husk.” you tell him, your voice shaking ever so slightly on his name. “You can cum for me.”

He curses again, his whole body rutting forward before he shudders, his body quaking as his orgasm finally peaks. He moans what you think is a ‘thank you’ as he does, his forehead pressing into the mattress as his shoulders shake with the sensations rolling through him.

He’s beautiful.