#Sue Booth

[seumyo]

will bakugou choose seoul, korea or your wedding anniversary?

Bakugou had turned the damn house upside down three times.

“Where the hell is it?��� He hissed under his breath, storming through the hallway closet for the third time in two days. He’d torn apart the shoe rack, the document folders, and even flipped through the cookbooks in the kitchen, just in case he’d used it as a bookmark. No dice. The damn passport was still missing.

His hair was sticking up more than usual—half from stress, half from the static of the hoodie he’d thrown on that morning in frustration. They were supposed to leave for Korea in three days. Three. It was the biggest pro-hero conference he’d ever been invited to—panel talks, interviews, awards. Best Jeanist, Lemillion, and even Halfie had their confirmations sent in already.

And what did he have?

An expired copy of his license (he got a new one; the expired one’s just in his drawer), a half-crushed protein bar, and a very pouty, very pregnant wife in the living room.

You had your feet up on the couch, ankles slightly swollen beneath the oversized hoodie you’d stolen from his wardrobe. You were scrolling on your phone with one hand, the other resting on your baby bump, lazily tracing circles. When Bakugou stomped past, you looked up with the slow blink of a cat.

“Still lost?” you asked, not bothering to hide your amusement. Even laughed under your breath.

The audacity, he thinks, though it wasn’t frustration. He could never be mad at you.

Because he knows you’ll get mad at him, too.

Bakugou didn’t answer. He grunted instead, pulling out another drawer in the cabinet near the TV.

“Maybe it grew legs and walked off,” you teased. “Or maybe your big fat ego swallowed it.”

He shot you a look. “Not helping.”

You hummed. “Not trying to.”

Your pout had gotten more dramatic since hitting six months. Bakugou noticed it more these days, how you’d stare down your food like it personally offended you, or how you’d sigh theatrically every time the topic of even him leaving the house came up. At first, you’d been supportive—even joked that you’d video call him during the conference and heckle him from the screen. But once you found out the biggest day of the event landed on your wedding anniversary, the whole game changed.

Suddenly he feels like he’s on house arrest.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you murmured, taking a sip of the juice he made you this morning. “Maybe you’re meant to stay home this time.”

Bakugou scoffed. As if.

“Ain’t no damn sign. It’s just misplacin’ shit.”

“You don’t have to go,” you said again. “You could stay. Cuddle me. Eat cake. Listen to me cry about clouds.”

“You said I could go if I find my passport,” he pouts, brows furrowed, and his lips jutted slightly.

“I did, and don’t be mad,” you replied. “I want you to go. Really. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Then why do you look like you wanna punch me in the throat?”

You blinked at him. “Because it’s our anniversary and I’m hormonal. Sue me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I hope you don’t find it.”

That was the end of that conversation.

-

The night before their anniversary came sooner than expected.

Bakugou had made a reservation at one of the nicest rooftop restaurants in the city. Private booth, soft fairy lights, cityscape twinkling behind them. The host even laid a small bouquet of lavender on the table when he told them it was for a special occasion. He hadn’t told you where you were going, only grunted, “Wear that dress you like—that comfy one. You know the one.”

He hadn’t mentioned anything new about the passport ordeal. You, who figured he’d either given up or accepted fate, were mostly content to enjoy the evening.

You looked like a dream, so his focus was entirely on you. Someone who he somehow managed to have (maybe his bond with his guardian angels came in clutch and even contacted Cupid himself to arrange an arrow for you two).

You waddled into the restaurant, cheeks a little fuller, eyes glowing. He still looked at you like he couldn’t believe he got so lucky. He thinks it makes you shy, how intense his gaze got, even after everything—the morning sickness, the mood swings, the late-night hospital runs due to paranoia.

“You okay?” he asked, placing a hand on your lower back as you walked in.

“Mm,” you hummed, leaning into his touch. You could barely hide your smile at this point. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t even deny it. “I am? So what? Can’t a man just appreciate his wife?”

Dinner went well, for the most part.

You had one hand on your belly, the other wrapped around his fingers on the table. You were halfway through your chocolate mousse when Bakugou reached into his jacket pocket and slid something across the table.

“No,” you said slowly, setting your spoon down. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

He didn’t look smug at all, more like... hopeful.

Your brows furrowed. You reached for the passport, flipping it open.

There it was. His damn passport. Found. Intact. Stamped. His most recent picture was taken only a few months ago.

Yoh stared at it. Then at you. Then back at it again.

“…You found it?”

“Yup.”

“Where was it?”

He cleared his throat, gaze shifting to the side.

“…Behind the dresser in the guest room. Stuffed in that red envelope labeled ‘Important Shit,’ which you labeled in your handwriting, by the way.”

You paused. Your cheeks puffed again as your lips turned downward in the softest pout he’d ever seen. You looked down at your half-eaten dessert, spoon idle.

“You’re really gonna go?”

“I want to,” he admitted. “But I don’t wanna leave you pissed off and lonely, either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just poked at your mousse with your spoon. Your lashes were low, and he could tell you were struggling. Not angry, just…sad.

Finally, you said, “It’s just one. It’s just one anniversary. We’ll have dozens more, right?”

“We will. We’ll have centuries more.”

“…And you’ll video call me. Every day.”

“Morning and night.”

“And text me when you land. And when you eat. And when you leave the venue. And—”

Bakugou reached across the table and tugged gently at your hand. His hands are rough against yours, but they’re filled with sincerity and utmost love that a man could give to his wife.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

His voice softened.

“Seriously, d’ya think I’d leave you without a plan?”

You blinked.

“I’m leavin’ you flowers and your cake. I told Kirishima to drop off that spa basket thing you said you wanted last month. And your mom’s stayin’ over the night of. I made sure. I even stocked the fridge.”

Your mouth parted slightly, tilting your head to the side. “You…did all that?”

“Yeah.” He looked almost bashful now, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t want you to think I forgot. Even if I ain’t here physically. I’m still here.”

Your eyes shimmered just a bit. A good sign, Bakugou notes.

Then you smiled—soft and tired and affectionate.

“God, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Tch. Don’t cry. I’ll look like an asshole.”

You laughed then, nose crinkling. “You are an asshole. But a sweet one.”

“Yeah, you love me.”

“I do.”

You two didn’t talk about the passport again that night. Not after that.

Instead, you finished dessert. Slowly. Your hand stayed in his the whole time.

When you walked out of the restaurant, he kept his arm around your shoulders, guiding you carefully down the steps like you were made of glass. You leaned into him, soft and warm, your belly pressing into his side.

And when they got home, you told him, “Let’s open the anniversary cake early.”

He didn’t say no. Not when you looked that happy. It doesn’t matter that he’s already full from the chocolate mousse you two had earlier.

When night finally settled, and Bakugou’s wiping the excess frosting off the corners of your lips with a napkin, he hears you say, “Come home soon, okay?”

He nodded, then softly kissed the crown of your head.

“Always.”

Always come home to you.

-

The morning of Bakugou’s flight started earlier than usual.

He had been up before the alarm even went off, brushing his teeth with the kind of intensity that only came from years of military-grade discipline… or nerves (also because he wants all bad germs on his mouth to die). Not that he’d ever admit to the latter. He stood in front of the mirror, towel slung low on his hips, steam curling from the hot shower as he stared at his reflection.

This was it. The day he was supposed to fly out to Korea.

Except—he wasn’t going.

Not really.

He’d made his decision last night, somewhere between the weight of your hug and the feel of your heartbeat against his body when you fell asleep on his chest. The moment you started snoring softly, your nose slightly buried in his shirt, he realized there was no way in hell he was getting on that plane.

Not this time.

But you didn’t need to know that just yet.

Because if there was one thing Bakugou knew about his wife, it was that you’d throw a fit if he skipped a life-changing professional opportunity just to spend your anniversary folding baby laundry and rubbing your swollen ankles. Plus, he knew you’d never allow him to stay. And if you knew he was lying about leaving, you’d huff and puff until he actually made him go.

So, he planned ahead. Like a goddamn mastermind.

By the time you woke up—slightly groggy with pillow lines on your cheek—he had already “packed.” His suitcase was zipped shut and positioned neatly by the door. His travel duffle bag sat upright next to it. His travel documents were tucked inside an envelope labeled “Do Not Open Unless Emergency.” (Totally blank inside.)

You blinked at him sleepily, rubbing your eyes as you waddled into the living room in his oversized T-shirt. One of the many shirts he was sure was missing from his closet.

“You already packed?” you murmured, voice small and pouty.

He turned from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. Acting too nonchalant to not give anything away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t wanna rush.”

You crossed your arms over your bump. “It’s only a three-hour flight, Katsuki. Not an expedition to the Arctic.”

“Still gotta prep,” he said, biting back a grin.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the smell of something sweet distracted you. Bingo.

He stepped aside, revealing a neatly arranged dessert box sitting on the counter. Inside: four of your favorites—strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream, a slice of creamy Basque burnt cheesecake, a generous portion of tiramisu, and your current obsession: mango sticky rice.

“You bought me desserts?” you awed.

“I bought you a stack,” he corrected. “Don’t think I don’t know you get all sad and start craving sugar when I leave.”

You scoffed. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said, crossing his arms smugly. “You pouted so hard last time I left, I came back to find the fridge empty and you passed out with a half-eaten ice cream tub on the couch.”

“That was one time!”

“And I’m not takin’ chances.”

He bent forward, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then to your rounded belly. “Eat well. Don’t lift anything heavy. Text me when you’re sleepy. I’ll land by lunch. Kirishima’s already on the way, but it’ll take a while because of traffic since the bridge is getting repaired.”

“You’re acting suspicious,” you said, frowning as you clung to his shirt. “You never say goodbye this… nicely.”

“That’s rude,” he muttered. “I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re normally grumpy and say something like, ‘Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.’”

He smirked. You weren’t wrong entirely.

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna come back to find out you’ve cried over an empty dessert box.”

Your lip wobbled, and he kissed you again—softly this time, with an extra squeeze to your waist.

“I’ll be back before you know it. It’s just for two nights.”

-

He left around nine. Or at least, pretended to.

Instead of heading to the airport, he drove straight to his agency, parked in the underground garage, and holed up in his office. There was a bottle of juice in the mini fridge, emergency snacks in the bottom drawer, and an absurd number of congratulatory emails flooding his inbox that he ignored.

The hours ticked by slowly.

He checked his phone a dozen times. No calls. No texts. Just one blurry photo from you of the dessert box with the caption: You’re lucky I’m in a sugar coma right now. Or I’d be mad you left without triple kissing me goodbye.

He snorted.

Around lunchtime, he got restless. Then irritated.

Then, at exactly 1:00 P.M., he got in the car and drove home.

No warning.

No heads-up.

He half-expected you to be lounging in the living room, watching drama reruns and fanning yourself while complaining about heartburn. But when he pulled up the driveway and unlocked the front door—

The house was suspiciously quiet.

His brows pulled together.

“[Name]?” he called out, stepping in.

Nothing.

He frowned and shut the door behind him, stepping out of his boots. He heard a thud from the back hallway. Then a low grunt. A shuffle.

His eyes narrowed.

Then he heard you muttering.

“Come on, come on, I’m not that heavy—”

He rounded the corner—and stopped cold.

There you were.

Standing in the hallway. Sweaty. Red-faced. Holding a large box half your size with both hands, your bump barely giving you enough room to balance it. Your lip was caught between your teeth as you struggled to carry what was definitely one of the boxes he had explicitly labeled: Do Not Touch.

“…What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You screamed.

You literally screamed—jumping nearly out of your skin, eyes wide like you saw a ghost.

Or a burglar.

Or both, at this point.

“—Katsuki! I thought you were in Korea—what the hell—”

“Put the box down.”

“You can’t just walk in like that, I thought—I—”

“Put it down, [Name].”

You dropped it with a loud thunk, wobbling backward and grabbing your shoulders.

“Oh my god, I thought you were a home invader! I was ready to throw a candle at you—why are you back?!”

Bakugou marched toward you, still wide-eyed with a mixture of rage and pure panic. He can’t believe this at all. “More importantly, why the fuck are you lifting boxes?!”

“I was bored!”

“Bored? So you decided to tear a disc and pop a blood vessel?!”

“I didn’t tear anything! And it wasn’t heavy; it’s mostly baby blankets!”

He crouched down instantly to pick it up—still heavy, despite your excuses—and carried it to the nursery, grumbling the entire way. “Goddamn woman’s gonna give me a stroke,” he muttered, though there was never any heat in his words.

You waddled after him, still stunned.

“Wait. Why are you here?!”

“I never left.”

“You… what?”

“I stayed at the agency. Figured I’d come back after you thought I was gone. Catch you red-handed.”

“You liar!”

He turned toward you, his frustration subsiding.

“You’re not even a good liar! You went full fake goodbye mode this morning! You even left me mango sticky rice!”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I knew you’d snoop around and start being reckless the second you thought no one was watching.”

Your cheeks puffed up again. That damn pout.

“I was just nesting,” you mumbled.

“Nesting doesn’t involve deadlifting half a closet,” he shot back. “You promised you’d take it easy.”

“…I thought you were in Korea.”

“Yeah, well, again, surprise.”

You blinked up at him again, eyes soft now, overwhelmed. “…You really stayed just for me?”

When he sets the boxes down, he exhaled and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. “You really thought I’d leave you alone on our anniversary? Pregnant? Carrying boxes? Eating dessert by yourself? What do you take me for? A shitty husband?”

You hit his chest weakly.

“You’re so unfair,” you muttered.

“I know,” he grinned. “And I love you.”

You melted then. Completely.

Wrapping your arms around him, your bump pressing into his stomach, you buried your face in his chest and whispered: “I love you too, you dramatic maniac.”

That night, there was no flight. No press. No conference.

Just takeout on the couch, your feet in his lap, mango sticky rice on your plate, and his hand splayed across your belly like a homecoming gift.

Bakugou may have missed a headline.

But he made the right choice.

And that mattered more.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[wonderjanga]

Head to the Wall Over and Over Until There’s a Dent

Harvey didn’t know how they ended up in an alley in Iowa of all places, let alone the one city there that had multiple heroes that patrolled. Currently, he was hiding out in an alley when suddenly some kid came by.

Billy: *walks past before stopping and walking backwards so he could take a good look at him*

Billy and Two Face/Harvey: *staring at each other*

Billy: “Do I know you?”

Two Face: “No.”

Billy: “Yeah I do. You’re a lawyer, right?” *remembers Batman saying that about him but not remembering the part where he’s an actual villain*

Harvey: “Not anymore-”

Billy: “Great!”

Two Face: *peeved at him for interrupting them* “You little…”

Billy: “Can you sue someone for me?”

Harvey: “Who?”

Billy: “My uncle.”

Harvey: “What’d he do?”

Billy: “He stole all of my inheritance and then kicked me out so I became homeless.”

*silence*

Two Face: *looks over Billy* “You don’t look homeless.”

Billy: “Well, yeah. I have a job. I work at Whiz, a radio company here. That also means I can pay you!”

Two Face: *thinking about how he doesn’t want to do this*

Harvey: *thinking about how he does want to do this so they flip the coin and it lands on Harvey’s side* “Alright then. We’ll take the case.”

Billy:“Great! Let’s talk business in somewhere more discreet. Cmon.” *gestures for him to follow* “By the way, why do you mean ‘we’? Do you have a lawyer team?”

Two Face: “No, we’re two different people.”

Billy: “Oh. Cool.”

The two walked out of the alley and started walking on the sidewalk. Both Harvey and Two Face were a little surprised at the lack of stares and running away they received.

Two Face: “No one’s batting an eye at us.”

Billy: “Why would they?”

Two Face: *gives him a look that suggests it should be obvious*

Billy: *raises a brow with a confused expression*

Turns out, the “discreet” place they were going to talk business in was a diner. They went in and sat at a booth. Billy skimmed through the menu and ordered a milkshake before handing the menu to them.

Billy: “You gonna get a milkshake too?”

Harvey: *takes out their coin, flips it and it lands on Two Face’s side* “No.”

Billy: “Your loss. They’re pretty good.”

They soon started talking business and made a plan of how they would sue the pants off Ebenezer. When that was done, they got to work collecting evidence to help them win the case. In the end, they won and left the courthouse with Billy richer and with the widest smile in the world. Billy gave him a portion of the money and they went their separate ways.

Billy: “Bye Mr. Dent! Bye Mr. Two Face!” *runs off with a comically large money bag*

Geez, Harvey nearly forgot what it was like to be lawyer again. Anyways, back to crime. But not before one little thing.

Harvey/Two Face: *breaks in to Ebenezer’s house, does the little coin flip and it lands on Two Face’s side so he takes out his gun to kill Eben*

Batman: *appears from behind him* “Two Face. What are you doing in Fawcett?”

Harvey: “We were representing someone for a case.”

Batman: “How? Your license got revoked.”

Two Face: “We don’t even know. This towns crazy. In a good way.”

They unfortunately didn’t get to shoot Eben because Batman apprehended them and took them back to Gotham.

[writing-mlm]

I saw you say you wanted to write for Clark some more could I request a ftm reader who has like a lot of piercings and one day he surprises Clark with like getting Superman jewelry for some of them

Like a belly button piercing or or or nipple piercings like I just recently got mine did and like it hurts but they look so so so so pretty

Clark discovers a new kink (or three)

Summary: Your piercer has some new jewelry and you learn some things about your boyfriend. Pairing: Clark Kent x Ftm!Reader Word count: 1.9k Tags/Warnings: piercings, nipple play, smut, t-dick and hole used to describe sexual parts, implied top surgery, fingering, squirting, creampie, whimpering Clark Kent, a little after care, soft-dom Clark A/n: Saw this request and couldn’t get it out my mind

You had a decent amount of piercings, you guess. You had your septum, the array of ears, eyebrow, angel bites, navel, and nipples. Lately, you’ve been considering others; a tongue ring, bridge, other lip piercings but you weren’t sure. At least until your friend had suggested you come with her to get her tattoo at your typical studio. You figured, why not. You had some spare cash, enough for a piercing and if you felt like it, you’d get one. 

The studio, a little hidden place tucked above a barber shop and a hair salon, had a couple of services. They did tattoos, waxing, piercings, and sold items for all three in the front of the shop. While your friend was getting herself situated, checking in for the appointment and paying while you scanned the piercing shelves, hoping something spoke to you. 

And boy did it. 

Under the new section sat a wide selection of hero-themed jewelry. It had all the major ones, including Superman. He seemed to be the more prevalent one, considering you were in his city. But in the vast assortment, you couldn’t help but be drawn towards the nipple bars and belly rings. 

“Whatchu lookin’ at?” Your friend asks, leaning against the glass as she looks down at the piercings. “Oh, score! They got Wonder Woman, might get the septum one.” The cashier drifts over and you get the three goods been eyeing while she decides not right now. Her septum isn’t healed enough for her to change out the jewelry. It wasn’t a lot, all things considered, less than the spare change you had in your pocket. 

The two of you moved to the tattoo booth, her tattoo artist and she began talking while you eyed the jewelry. 

Clark was probably still at work, he’d get home around five if there wasn’t someone who needed saving. And fuck, you can almost picture his reaction to seeing you wearing his logo. 

While they were still talking about placements, you quickly excused yourself to the bathroom to put them on. Half sure that this is safe because why wouldn’t a tattoo and piercing bathroom be sterile and safe but also half driven by the idea of a pent-up Clark. Sue you. 

— 

As expected, Clark got home exactly ten minutes after he clocked out. The front door was opening as you were lounging, looking for something to watch. 

“Hi, I’m home, sweetheart!” He calls before he can even see you. 

“Hey, baby! How was work?” The door closes and locks, he’s working on his shoes at the door. Shifting on the couch, you get rid of your shirt and stand up to meet him in the hallway. 

“Uh, good. I started working on an article about the number of lead pipes in the city, it’s been approved. What about you? How did Gen’s tattoo go?” His black oxfords get placed neatly on the shoe rack as you wait at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall for him to look up. 

“Eh, good. She has another session tomorrow. It’s looking cool,” As he stands to his full height, his eyes fall on your face. He smiles at you, already getting his tie off. You’re a little upset he doesn’t look you over immediately but you’ll forgive him because he’s mid-step, about to say something when he finally notices. 

“Christ, is that—?” He’s in front of you faster than you can process, his hands on your hips as he looks at your nipples and then your navel. 

“Like them?” You ask, grinning. He looks at you through his eyelashes, licking his lips. 

“Like them?” He echoes, dragging his left hand up to your nipple and rolling his thumb over it. He’s breathing loudly, in through his nose and out through his mouth, his focus on the way your nipple hardens next to his symbol. Fuck, his symbol. “I love them,” He mutters while you hold his forearms, eyes half-lidded because he brings his right hand to do the same to your other nipple. It perks up just like the left one and soon enough, you moan a little at his actions. 

He groans before he picks you up, his hands now firmly planted on your ass. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you undo his tie, tossing it to the ground, hoping Krypto doesn’t destroy it if he ends up finding it. 

You’re on the bed soon after, the door shut and locked as if Krypton had grown thumbs and could open the door that way. Clark makes a point of turning the light on, slowly stalking to the bed as you lay there, your new jewelry shining in the light. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” He drags out, climbing onto the bed from the end. 

“Am I?” You tease, looking down at him, now propped up on your elbows. He groans a nod as he climbs on top of your legs, his hands planted firmly on either side of your thighs. Opening your legs, you watch as his eyes dart down, catching sight of your navel piercing again. It dangles, flipped over to the side without his symbol isn’t showing and that simply won’t do. 

He looks up at you as he flips it over, making sure you watch as his hand ghosts over the piercing and down to the waistband of your boxers. Clark ignores it completely, dragging his index and middle finger down until he reaches your slit. 

Once he does, he opens the flap on the boxers and grabs your t-dick, giving it slow strokes. “Fuck,” You whimper, your back arching a little as he does. Grabbing his head, you grip his hair and fall flat on your back. Carefully and without removing his hand, Clark climbs further up on you until he’s eye to eye with your nipples. You watch as he leans down, his tongue slowly dragging from his lips before they latch onto your nipple. 

His teeth graze over it, his canines catch in the metal bar enough that it tugs. The pain is that awfully good pain that you need to chase, pressing your chest closer to his face. His hand ghosts over your scars, reaching up to give your other nipple the same attention. 

“Clark,” You shudder. 

“Kal-El,” His voice is an almost whimper of a plea. “Fuck, call me Kal-El, please.” His eyes meet yours and you nod. You’ve heard his birth name countless times, it’s not typically something he wants you to call him. But you have, and usually always get the same reaction— save you’re not calling him while injured. 

“Kal-El,” You breathe as his lips return to your perky nipples. He groans, fisting the bed sheets, and humps the air aimlessly. “I need you, Kal-El,” 

“You have me,” He promises, detaching and going over to your other nipple. He gives it licks between his words. “My mind, my body, my soul, my future— my everything.” His eyes focus on his symbol, his family crest stuck on your body unless it was deliberately removed. His home and his hope, inside of you. 

“Fuck,” He groans and raises to his knees, his care for his shirt gone out the window as he literally rips it off, discarding the fabric to the floor. He does the same for his pants and boxers before he looks at you for approval. Chewing on your bottom lip, you nod and lift your hips, watching as he easily tears your boxers off as if they were paper. 

He leans down, slowly sliding his middle and ring finger inside of you, the rest of his palm covering your t-dick. Your thighs quiver at the feeling, clenching around his wrist as Clark keeps eye contact with you. 

“Kal—“ You gasp, feeling him work your insides. He nods, egging you on as he continues to finger you, his free hand working on pumping his already hard cock. As your chest heaves, his eyes switch back to your stomach, watching as the dangling charm bounces with each shaky breath you take. “Kal-el, please.” You manage.

He speeds up, his fingers quickly getting drenched and the room filling with wet, sloppy noises. “That feel good?” He asks and you nod wildly, your moans not letting you get a word out. 

“So good,” You clench around him, the same way you do when you’re about to cum and he slows down before pulling his fingers out from you. “No, please Kal-el,” Grabbing his wrist, you try to pull him back inside but he laughs, pulling his arms behind his back before leaning down and kissing you. Kissing him back, you grind down on him, trying to get that high back. 

Clark pulls away from the kiss, his lips dragging down your chin and neck while he keeps his eye contact. “Be patient, sweetheart,” He says while grabbing his dick, rubbing it up and down your slit before he slips the tip inside. With his free hand, he presses your stomach to the bed, keeping you in place as you whine. He has the audacity to laugh at you, slipping the tip in and out just to see you try and chase him. 

“You’re being so mean,” You frown. “Please, baby.” Deliberately, you run your hands up your chest, flicking the metal bar that makes the S symbols on the end bounce. When his eyes zero in on the bar, you know you’ve gotten him and grind down again. This time, he slips past the tip and you let out a low moan, your eyes fluttering closed. Slowly, Clark rolls his hips, watching as he disappears inside of you, watching how your legs move and twitch with each slow, hard thrust. 

It doesn’t last long though, as his eyes return to your face and he starts to pick up his pace. He leans down, kissing and sucking along your neck while you struggle to find a grip with the new pacing. Clark’s not faring any better, he’s a whimpering mess in your ear. Pathetic noises that leave him are like music to your ears. 

You’re holding onto the headboard with one hand, the other is scratching at his back as he pounds into you. “You feel so good,” He slurs into your neck. “Taking all of me, like a good boy.” Your back arches up in the air as you struggle to make coherent sentences, tears budding in the corner of your eyes. 

When you tighten around him, he looks at you, his wet eyelashes clumping together in a way that makes your toes curl and- for the first time- you squirt. He looks down, seeing his pelvis wet from it, and it rolls off of him and onto the bed. The feeling, the sounds, and the sight make Clark moan loudly, spilling into you. Despite it, he keeps himself inside of you, his dick slowly getting soft as his cum slowly seeps out. 

He pants, rising up to his knees. His dick pulls out from you with a small pop and you twitch, staring at the ceiling. “Are you okay, baby?” He hurriedly asks, scooping you up. Blinking, you lick your lips before looking at him. 

“Holy shit,” You chuckle, messing with his curls. “I should’ve gotten those sooner.” He snorts and picks you up properly, carrying you into the bathroom where he prepares a nice bath after cleaning you up. 

— Two days later, Clark doesn’t know how to react when you show off your new tongue piercing. His symbol lay flat on top of it. All he knows is that this is going to be a long, long, six weeks.

[rcmclachlan]

tease tidbit tuesday

Tagged by @firehose118, @devirnis, and @ambernotember. Thanks, y'all 😘

Here's some more from the s3 alternate meeting au I'm working on.

+

Buck squints, because, "Wait, don't I know you?"

The guy, who looks like he competes in Steinstossen on the weekends, gives Buck a familiar smile—the same one he gave Buck a few years ago.

A four-alarm grease fire had consumed half an apartment building after someone supposedly tried to put it out by throwing a pot of water on it, and at least four stations showed up to beat it into submission. This guy had been climbing down one of the ladders with what must have been twenty kids on his back, and as he passed the window of the room Buck was in the middle of clearing, he smiled and waved at Buck through the glass like it was just another day at the beach.

"Hey, Buckley! How's the leg treating you, man? We were gonna send you flowers, but your buddy Chimney said you were a real weirdo so we sent that big box of whack-ass candy instead."

Amongst the explosion of flowers and wreathes and cards he'd gotten from people whose names he didn't know, there'd been a big box full of the strangest candy he'd ever seen: lollipops with ants frozen in the center, mints that tasted like roadkill, Carolina Reaper cotton candy, mac and cheese gummies, and chocolates shaped like dicks. He, Chim, Eddie, and Hen had laughed themselves to tears trying all of them one afternoon. Even Bobby couldn't deny the cactus candy was interesting.

Tied to one of the chocolate dicks—"cocklates," Chim cackled—had been a short note.

The bacon and cheddar cricket crunchies will get you back on your feet in no time. Get well soon! — Station 217

Buck bursts out laughing. "'Whack-ass' is right. Hey, Meyers, it's been ages. I-I didn't realize all of you were LAFD."

"Oh shit," one of them—a woman with broad shoulders and the most incredible mop of spiral curls he's ever seen—gasps. "You're the bomb guy! The one the engine fell on! I heard you were caught down the pier when the tsunami hit, too. I can't believe you're even walking around after all that. Don't even tell me you're back to work already."

"Y-Yeah," Buck says, eyes glued to a patch of the table top where the sealant is chipping away. "It's been an, uh, interesting year."

Tommy nudges one of his teammates further down the booth and then steps back so Buck can slide in. It takes every ounce of energy to actually do it, because even though he knows this woman means well, it feels like she's standing before a jury of his peers and listing all the reasons why he shouldn't don his turnouts again.

In all honesty, he should just call Chase and tell him to withdraw the suit wholesale. If a complete stranger thinks Buck shouldn't be back, then Bobby's definitely never going to budge on it. Eddie's never going to return his calls. Hen's never going to look him in the eye again. The days of daring Chimney to try a bacon and cheddar cricket are over. The 118's bay doors will never open to let him in again.

Thankfully, the din of the bar is so loud that no one can hear him sniffle as he glances toward the bar. Maybe they're hiring.

"Dude," one of the others chimes in. "I heard you were suing the department. I didn't know you could even do that. Maybe I can sue Cap for banning Mittens from the station, because that's just cruel and unusual. She gets lonely when I'm on shift."

"You bring your fucking snake to the hangar one more time, Nico, and I'll garrote you with it," the curly-haired woman snaps, then turns interested eyes on Buck. "But, are you? Taking the department to court, I mean."

Before Buck can excuse himself to the bathroom where he can have a good cry and then drown himself in a toilet, Tommy slides into the booth next to him.

"Actually, Jacinda, I can answer that one: none of your damn business," Tommy says sunnily. Without missing a beat, he reaches across the table to smack the guy with the snake upside the head when he opens his mouth. "Besides, I've got a better question: what's the deal with your kid, Benowitz? Did he finally ask what's-her-name to prom or what?"

Benowitz sighs, takes a long-suffering sip of his beer, and begins what sounds like a new chapter in an ongoing saga of his son Steven, who's been working on the world's greatest-slash-worst promposal for the last two months with no end in sight. Apparently trained doves are involved, and so is spcaLA.

Swallowing hard around the burr in his throat, Buck nudges Tommy's foot in gratitude.

Tommy nods at whatever Benowitz is saying, then nudges back.

+

No pressure tags: everyone who tagged me, plus @screamlet, @setmeatopthepyre, @beanarie, @geddyqueer, @freneticfloetry, @apollabarnes, @station18908, and @leashybebes

[skzdust]

Worth It

Smut. MINORS DNI.

I haven't posted a fic in a bit but the Ateez concert announcement has me FERAL and I've been thinking about Yunho,,, those hands,,, augh

I hope to be posting more smut soon, I have a lot in the works!

This is in my band abo verse, which also includes the fics Rock Will Never Die and Whatever Will We Do! I'll make a masterpost soon teehee!

Summary: Y/n chats with a guy at a bar... and Yunho is a possessive man.

Pairing: Yunho x reader

Includes: omegaverse/abo, "slut" in a sexy way, fingering, vaginal sex, they really do a number on the hotel sheets lol

Word count: 1.3k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst

@jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

“Hey, pretty.” A voice said from behind you.

You turned around to see a moderately attractive man with a truly horrible hairstyle. He was smiling at you with a confidence that was probably unearned.

You decided to entertain it anyway, looking him up and down. “You’re not bad yourself.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Not bad? I aim for better than that, but I’ll take it. D’you want a drink?”

Well, at least you could get a free drink out of this guy. “Yeah.”

You followed him over to the bar, glancing over your shoulder to see where the band was. You could see Seonghwa and Hongjoong in a corner booth, all over each other, but no one else.

“So what do you do?” His smile was toothy as he handed you your drink.

“I’m a manager for a band.”

He laughed. “They any good?”

You frowned. “The best.”

“I’m sure with you at the lead they’re decent.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“A compliment, obviously.” He shook his head.

You weren’t entirely sure how to react to that. “What do you do?”

“Aside from pick up hot chicks?” You flinched, icked at the phrase, but he kept going. “I’m in investments. My portfolio is pretty extensive.” He leaned in. “And I’m an alpha.”

A finance bro alpha who picked up hotchicks. You had to get out of here now.

“Nice.” You nodded, setting your drink on the bar. “I think I’m gonna go find my friends.”

“Hold up, can I come with you?”

“Ah, no.” You smiled. “Sorry, I’m here with my band, and I’ve gotta make sure they’re doing okay.”

“They can take care of themselves for a few minutes, I’m sure.”

“Y/n?” You turned around at the familiar voice.

“Yunho.” You sighed, relieved.

 Yunho’s arm wrapped around your waist. “Who’s this?”

“Just some guy.” You said, waving your hand. “Unimportant.”

“I’m— I’m important!” The guy sputtered.

“Does unimportant want to have sex with you?” Yunho stared at him.

“I… I mean, you are hot.” He said, looking at you with hope in his eyes.

Yunho laughed, the sound mocking. “He wants to fuck you, y/n.” He leaned in by your ear. “Why don’t you tell him who gets to fuck you?”

You felt a thrill in your stomach, shooting between your legs. You looked at him. “Only my pack gets to fuck me.”

The man raised his hands in mock surrender. “Well sue a guy for trying! How was I supposed to know you had a pack?” He pointed at you, accusing. “And you let me talk!”

“I wanted a drink.” You rolled your eyes. “I was literally trying to walk away, because you creep me out.”

Yunho grabbed your hand. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah.”

Thankfully, the guy didn’t try anything or follow you as Yunho all but dragged you through the people in the bar to the door.

“Where are we going?”

“Hotel.” He growled. “Someplace with a bed.”

You got into the taxi in silence, and Yunho’s hand traced patterns on your inner thigh in the backseat. You closed your eyes, trying to keep your composure. You could feel yourself growing slick already.

You got out of the taxi, and Yunho held your hand in a vise grip as you got on the elevator. He tapped his keycard and opened the door. The second it clicked shut behind you, you were on your back on the bed, Yunho on top of you.

“Little slut.” He breathed in your ear. “Flirting with fucking strangers at the bar.”

“I really did just want the drink!” You protested.

“Somehow I doubt that.” Yunho pushed his hand under your waistband, and you moaned at his touch. “I could smell you in the taxi. You need me.”

“Need you, Yunho.” You sighed.

“You don’t need unimportant. He can’t fuck you like I can.”

“No, he can’t.”

“Actually, he can’t fuck you at all.” Yunho laughed. “He may have been an alpha, but he’s not your alpha. I’m your alpha, and you’re my omega.” He leaned in again. “Mine, got it?”

“Yours.” You whimpered as his hand found your clit. “Yours, Yunho.”

He drew small circles on it, his finger working faster and faster. You could feel yourself approaching climax just from the stimulation.

“I’m gonna come.”

“Thank you for telling me, sunshine.” He pulled his hand off, holding it out to you. You obediently licked yourself off his fingers. “Good girl. You better fucking be, after how you acted tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” You whined. “I’m sorry for being such a slut.”

“That’s a start.” He pulled your skirt and underwear down, throwing them somewhere on the floor. “You’d better show me, too.”

“Fuck me! Please, Yunho.”

“Beg better.” He sounded bored.

“Please.” You said. “Please, Yunho, I need you, I’m sorry I was talking to that guy, I did just want the drink, but I’m yours, I’m yours, I need you, I need you to fuck me.”

He laughed. “Now that’s a good girl. Begging so pretty.”

“Please.” You whispered, wriggling, your pussy aching at the thought of him fucking you.

“Alright, alright, fine, since you asked so nicely.”

You almost sobbed as he pushed two fingers inside you. “Yunho, I need your cock!”

“I know.” He crooned. “I know, sunshine, and you’ll get it, I just want to watch you get a little bit more desperate for me.”

“Yunho, fuck, please.” You groaned, your hips thrusting up into his hand as he fucked you with his fingers. “I’m so— I want you so bad, I need you.”

He didn’t say anything, continuing to move his fingers inside you until you. Your slick leaked all over the sheets, not as much as if you were in heat, but more than usual.

He seemed to read your mind, laughing. “We’re gonna need new sheets.”

“Please!” You whined. “Please fuck me.”

Yunho pulled his fingers out, shoving them in your mouth. You sucked on them.

“Good girl.” He unzipped his fly, taking his pants off.

Your mouth started to water looking at his cock through his underwear. He took that off, too, and you made a small, involuntary noise seeing his huge cock.

“Want it?” He teased.

“Yeah.”

“Alright, sunshine, you can have it.” He positioned himself over you, aligning himself with your dripping hole.

He pushed inside in one swift motion, and you moaned, your slick loud as it was forced out of you. “Yunho!”

“What, sunshine?” He said lightly. “What is it?”

“Move, please, please fuck me.” Your hips pushed up.

“Impatient slut.” He murmured, but he began to fuck you. “I suppose you’ve done a lot of begging today already.”

“Thank you, thank you.” You moaned. “Thank you, Yunho, it feels so good.”

“I know, baby.” He said. “I know. I know you love it.”

“I do, I love it.”

You were practically incoherent as he fucked you, mindlessly babbling about how good it was and how much you loved it and needed it. His cock always made you see stars. He was so big and so rough with it, and you loved it.

“Yunho, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, sunshine.”

You shook as you came, one of the best orgasms of your life surging through you. “Yunho!”

“That’s right, say my name, baby, it’s me who’s making you feel this good. It’s me. You’re mine.” He murmured.

You just lay there, breathing hard, as he continued to fuck you, chasing his own climax. “Wanna finish inside you.”

“Yes, please.” You moaned, the thought exciting even in your tired state.

“Fuck— fuck!” He pushed himself as far in as he could get, and you gasped as he filled you up.

He pulled out, and a mess of slick and cum pooled out onto the bed.

Yunho looked at it. “We’re definitely going to need new sheets.”

“Worth it.”

“Worth it.” He agreed.

[tomikashii]

Hi! I was hoping you were open to doing a head canon for all the ghouls from Tokyo Debunker on how they'd react if MC ran a kissing booth for a special event? Who's getting in line, who's jealous and scolding them for doing so? How quickly do you think the booth would get shut down? 💀

tokyo debunker : ghouls reacting to MC running a kissing booth 💋

to anon! : OMG THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA ??? i had so much fun writing it & i hope that you have so much fun reading it 💗💗💗

⚠️ : maybe there is slight suggestive content ? so just to be safe, MINORS DNI

↘️ context : our favourite professor hyde had a genius idea of opening up a kissing booth on campus for a day & expects you to run it ! (it was for a valentine special in darkwick)

how would the ghouls react ?

frostheim

jin kamurai

shuts down the entire booth 😓

would even consider sueing whoever's idea was it (rip professor hyde)

when he found out you did it willingly, he pauses and calls you to his room. (you were never to be seen until the next day)

tohma ishibashi

actually waited in line as a joke and recieved your kiss on the cheek willingly with a smug smile on his face

shuts the kissing booth afterwards (but in secret)

teases you the next day, asking who are you going to kiss next 🤌🏻

kaito fuji

FIRST ONE IN LINE ☝🏻

was sweating buckets when you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

never washed his face afterwards (only washed it when you begged him too)

lucas errant

asked if you were okay with kissing random strangers on the cheek. when you reassured him, he leaned in for a kiss too.

after the short peck, he smiled warmly THEN HE RETURNED IT TO YOU ? 😩😩😩

sits from a distance to ensure that you were safe running your kissing booth (supportive king)

vagastrom

alan mido

“why do you want to do that ?” bro doesn't understand the concept of a kissing booth.

feels that its unsafe for you and would suggest to take down the kissing booth

internally wants you to give him a kiss on the cheek but its too serious and shy to say it. 🧍🏻‍♀️

leo kurosagi

HE IS IN LINE but says its for tiktok content

“supporting my gf's kissing booth!” is his tiktok video caption 💀 (you got accused of cheating)

when you did peck him on the cheek, he said with a disgusted look that he would wash his face but stares in the mirror of his bathroom for a few hours, at the area you kissed.

sho haizono

lined up as a joke. he sighs when it was his turn just to tease you.

leans down so you can peck him on the cheek. LOL he got so embarrassed afterwards.

“its just a peck” he says, walking away with RED TINTED EARS

jabberwock

haru sagara

the moment he found out, he lined up too with peekaboo !

lets you peck peekaboo before he leans in to recieve his.

pecks you on the cheek back (think its platonic but he was blushing a little when he walked away)

towa otonashi

BURNS DOWN THE BOOTH

kidnaps you to jabberwock and asks you for a ton of kisses because WHY ARE YOU GIVING IT AWAY FOR FREE TO STRANGERS 😩

you were never seen again (he has you lock in his arms at jabberwock) 😭

ren shiranami

reports you for harassment (WHEN HE IS LITERALLY IN THE LINE ?) ✋🏻

when you question him, his ears turned red and makes an excuse saying that he was looking for you & got roped into the line.

he actually wants you to plant a kiss on the cheek but is too much of a TSUNDERE to admit it.

sinostra

taiga hoshibami

this can go both ways, he either kidnaps you to sinostra and asks you to give him pecks on the cheek for good luck

or he shoots everyone out of the way and asks for a kiss in a threatening manner, making you peck him so quickly

shoots down the entire booth because he thinks its stupid (theres a jealousy factor if you squint)

romeo scorpio lucci

“YOU DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS, YOU BB!” he yells at you.

actually wants a kiss but again, too PROUD to admit it. so he manually explodes the entire kissing booth.

wouldn't stop thinking about the kissing booth idea

ritsu shinjo

started stating some law about how its illegal to provide such unconsensual service.

but when you counter that its actually consensual, he falters and TRIES TO FIND ANOTHER REASON TO TAKE IT DOWN.

bro just wants a kiss and only he can receive it. (he will start debating with you if you bring it up)

hotarubi

subaru kagami

stands in line to support you and actually was really shy and nervous when it was his turn.

super wary about it too because of his stigma and you reassured him that it was okay ! he leans in for the kiss on the cheek after that !

shyly asks if he could return the same by kissing your hand instead. (AH I LOVE HIM)

haku kusanagi

“you missed my lips, princess.” THIS AUDACIOUS FLIRT

would actually line up multiple times which makes you want to throw your shoe at him for teasing you too much.

even after the kissing booth, he would tease you and ask for a peck on the cheek.

zenji kotodama

DOES. NOT. LIKE. THE. IDEA.

scare people away from your booth with his doll artifact that darkwick wanted to capture in because of its behaviour

took measures into his own hands and starts somehow malfunctioning the entire booth 😭

obscuary

edward hart

expects you to deliver a kiss to him so you ignored him.

thats when you heard a bat at your window at night, and would not leave until you give him a peck on the cheek.

would shamelessy ask for more. EVEN SUGGEST FURTHER THINGS 😭 (this man-)

rui mizuki

actually was in line too but doesn't expect a kiss because you guys know you can't touch each other. (he is just being supportive)

so you pulled out a plushtoy, gave it a kiss and use the plush to kiss rui on the cheek (he keeps the plush)

if his curse is broken however, he leans in and would not leave until you give him a peck despite repeatedly standing in line.

lyca colt

thinks its platonic and everyone is doing it.

actually wants it on his forehead and now wouldn't stop pestering you for one.

ASKS SUBARU IF HE CAN GET ONE FROM HIM TOO GOODBYE 😭😭😭

mortkranken

yuri isami

HATES. HATES. HATES. the idea

“WHY ARE YOU NORMALISING SOMETHING SO INDECENT ?!” its just a kiss on the cheek yuri, calm down. 💀

starts thinking about it for the next few days, making him FURIOUS (he is embarrassed) 🤭

jiro kirisaki

actually happened to be there by chance and wondered what kind of concept is this.

passed on the offer but would occasionally think about it (another who thinks its a platonic thing)

stares at you for the next few days (he actually wants that kiss but doesn't know how to bring it up)

[clarkeyscherry]

maybe some george clarkey angst/fluff?? like on a nightout, some fans catch you two being close and the reader freaks out but George reassures her? please and thank u!!! (i really like your writing! <3)

ACCIDENTAL SOFT-LAUNCH? // GEORGE CLARKE!

you and george had been seeing each other for the last month or so, both of you really liking how things were going between you. but you knew it was best to keep it on the low for a while. especially given george’s fan girls would definitely not be happy.

although they knew you and george were close friends, both of you doubted they’d suspect you were together. but you never know when there’s fans around.

tonight was your birthday party and the whole friend group were all going out for drinks. this would be your first birthday being with george and you were so excited to spend your day with him.

you were in your room with the girls — sabina, liv and flo. getting ready for your night out, but lowkey this was your favourite part, getting ready with your girls.

“so do you think he’ll ask you to be his girlfriend tonight?” sabina asks you from her place on the floor next to you.

you scrunch your face up in doubt, “i don’t think so to be honest, it would be nice. but i’m not too sure.”

“would you want him to?” she questions again, her eyebrows raised.

you nod silently, humming a small “yeah.”

the conversation between the four of you flows through the time spent getting ready, and before you know it you were in a club. music pounding through your body, the smell of alcohol filling the room.

you all get into a booth — sat in between chris and arthur tv, and directly in front of george. his eyes never leaving you, even when you were conversing with others.

your eyes meet as you finally look his way, “staring at me?” you mumble so only he could hear.

“sue me.” george raises his hands in surrender, “you look gorgeous.”

“thank you, don’t look too bad yourself.” you reply, eyes scanning him quickly.

he chuckles before raising a glass to his mouth, your eyes immediately landing in his big arms — practically salivating.

josh (chip) and sabina on the other side of the table, watches this interaction silently. sharing glances when either of you smiled at each other. “she said she wants him to ask her to be his girlfriend tonight.” sabina whispers to her fiancé.

“he wants to soon.” josh whispers back, “he just doesn’t know when it’s the right time.”

as your birthday night blissfully moves along, you finally ended up on the dance floor with george. moving in sync slowly with each other, the feeling as if it were just you two in an empty room.

“you having a good night so far?” he asks, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.

you nod with a smile, “yeah i am, thank you for coming.”

he shrugs casually, “wouldn’t miss it, would i?”

a cheeky grin appears on his face as he leans closer to you, lips brushing against each other.

“how could i forget to kiss the birthday girl?” he mumbles before pressing his lips completely against yours, moulding perfectly together.

what was a beautiful moment between the two of you — but you were both so unaware of what you’d be waking up to.

your head was pounding when you woke up, groaning when you open your eyes to your wide opened curtains. the sunlight blaring through the room.

you braced yourself for a few minutes before grabbing your phone, groaning once more seeing multiple notifications. much more than usual. which worried you of course.

scrolling through twitter first thing in the morning was a huge mistake, seeing that pictures of you and george had dropped. kissing.

“fuck sake.” you whisper to yourself, seeing a mix of comments.

“they’d be so cute.”

“i love when hot people date each other.”

“i hope they’re together!”

“idk i think he deserves better.”

“she’s way too pretty for him”

the comments didn’t help the spinning of your mind — you threw your phone to the side and sat up, eyes low from your head pounding.

a knock on the door breaks your trance, knowing the familiar knock you usher them in.

“hey..” george mumbles, peeking his head through the door — “alright for me to come in?” he asks.

“yeah of course.” you nod, speaking quietly.

he walked in with a glass of water and ibuprofen, sitting next to you, “how’s the headache?”

“absolutely pounding.” you breathe out, placing a palm on your head.

he hands you the medicine and water, “take these.”

you take them from him with a small “thank you” before downing it.

“so i take it you saw the tweet?” he breaks the silence, making you sigh.

“yeah i did, i’m sorry-” he cuts across before you can finish the apology.

“wow, you have no reason to be sorry. it’s not your fault.” george shakes his head, his brows furrowed. “please tell me you haven’t read the comments?” he questions.

you look away from his glance, knowing well enough that was the first thing you did.

george sighs, “y/n why did you look at them?” he asks, putting a hand on your thigh, “i promise you, whatever negative they said it’s not true.”

“i know that.” you sigh, putting your face in your hands. “i’m just embarrassed.”

“of me?” he questions, his face dropping slightly.

“what? no! of course not, just embarrassing that was our first ‘public appearance’, you know? i imagined a cute little soft launch.” you chuckle, before realising how stupid you thought you sound and threw yourself back on the bed.

he laughs, “y/n we can still do that, but i need to do something before.”

you quickly sat up, probably giving yourself whiplash, “what?”

“can i please be your boyfriend, it would make me the happiest man alive,” he smiles slightly, making you copy his facial expressions.

“of course you can.” you nod, bringing him in for a kiss — pecking his lips a few times.

“let’s do the soft launch then mrs.” he pats your leg, making you chuckle.

hope this was okay!! thank u anon!! 🥹🤎

[jjscrybaby]

first dates <3

jj maybank x fem!reader | fluff | (friends to lovers, just pure adorableness tbh, sexual jokes, kissing, smoking weed.)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“So, what does a date with JJ Maybank look like?” Your arm was linked through his, the two of you walking down the beach; the gentle breeze had goosebumps spreading over your bare skin. Sue you for wanting to look nice.

About 97% of the days you’d spent with JJ were in a bikini, pyjamas or just some old denim shorts and a crop top. You never tried to look nice for him, because you didn’t have to. He wasn’t your boyfriend, he was your friend. Ever since Sarah had started dating John B your circles had merged and the two of you had become particularly attached at the hip. Maybe you should have realised sooner you had feelings for him, but the line between friendship and romance is difficult to differentiate sometimes.

Surprisingly, you weren’t confused when he asked you out. It felt normal, felt right. You’d given him a sweet smile, kissed his cheek and told him to pick you up at seven.

“I can’t say I’ve been on many,” he admitted, shrugging his jacket off to put on you. “But, usually, I start with food.”

“You always do,” you tease, putting your arms through the hoodie with a grin. He linked his fingers through yours, throwing you a wink as he changed directions. You didn’t realise where you were headed until you were stood outside. “You want to have our first date at the Wreck? We eat here all the time.”

“You love the cheeseburgers,” he shrugged, holding the door open for you. The bell jingled above you, you looked back at him with a giddy smile.

Kiara, luckily, wasn’t working tonight so you didn’t have her eyeing the two of you like an overbearing mother. A waiter came over to your table and he ordered, knowing just what you wanted without you having to say a word. He’d decided to sit beside you instead of opposite, in a little booth in the back, you were pretty sure it was just so he could rest his hand on your thigh.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he complimented. You’d decided on a sundress, knowing he had a thing for them.

“You’ve told me several times,” you teased, tucking your hair behind your ears. “You look beautiful, too.”

“Aww, thanks,” he laughed, making you giggle.

First dates were usually awkward, you’d always need at least two glasses of wine to loosen up. You hadn’t even had a sip for this. You adored JJ, he already knew everything about you so there were no awkward conversations needed to be had. He’d held your hair back whilst you threw up in a bush after one too many tequila shots, so you couldn’t possibly embarrass yourself. You felt completely relaxed, it was the best you’d felt in a long time.

Your food and drinks arrived, his hand didn’t stray from your thigh the entire meal. He flirted with you nonstop, but you very quickly realised he’d been doing that since you met. The teasing comments, the unsubtle looks, it was nothing new; and yet you still blushed every time.

“What’s next?” You asked as the two of you left the restaurant, his wallet the only one feeling a little emptier.

“The nice meal wasn’t good enough for ya?” He joked, arm around your shoulders.

“It was exquisite, but I think you can do better,” you shrugged, reaching up to hold the hand he’d wrapped around you.

“We’ll see.”

The arcade was your favourite place on the island, not for the games, no, they were fun but they weren’t the reason you loved it so much. You went there purely to people watch. A variety of people came into the arcade, and you loved to make up fun stories about them. And, of course, JJ knew that.

“What ‘bout them?” The two of you were sat, sipping slushies and looking around the room. You’d played a few games, he let you win every time, and now it was time for the real fun.

“She’s pregnant but hasn’t told him yet, because it’s not his baby,” you replied. He gasped dramatically, making you snort into your cup.

“Who’s the daddy?” JJ asked, subtly pulling you closer to him so your back was leaning against his chest.

Your cheeks went pink, but you chose to ignore it and take another sip of your drink; even as he let out a chuckle. “That guy.” You pointed to an elderly man who was standing in the corner.

“Damn, he’s still got it,” JJ murmured. You giggled, turning to face him with an amused smile. Your faces were inches apart as he grinned back at you.

For a second, you thought he was going to kiss you; he cupped your cheek and gently stroked his thumb over your cheekbone, but just as you were about to lean in he brought his hand back, licked his thumb and then rubbed it over your top lip.

“Slushie juice,” he explained, licking his thumb before looking around the room again. “Ooo, what about her?”

You were on his back as you walked back across the beach, your feet were hurting because you decided to wear uncomfortable shoes that went with your dress and you’d refused to walk any further. He didn’t even flinch, just bent down in front of you and waited. He was carrying your shoes, babbling on about something John B had done.

“Where are we headed?” He asked, adjusting his hold on you. “The Chateau?”

“On the first date? Who do you take me for?” You smirked.

“Says the girl who slept with Brandon Gibbs after the first date. Am I not good enough for you?” He replied dramatically.

“Hey! You promised to never bring that up again,” you whined.

He laughed, suddenly stopping in his movements to drop you back down. Instead of giving you your shoes like you expected, he sat down on the sand and waited for you to join him. “There’s one part of a JJ Maybank date that we haven’t done yet.”

“On the beach? Dirty,” you smirked, sitting down next to him.

“Shuddup.” He pulled out a pre-rolled joint from his pocket, waving it in your face. “My speciality.”

“Did you grow it?”

“I’ve had enough of the smartass comments, baby.” You couldn’t come up with another one, not with the way the pet name left his lips. He’d called you baby plenty of times, but something about that moment just made it feel special.

You shared the joint, passing it back and forth as you talked softly to each other. By the time it was finished, you were sitting in his lap with your eyes half open and kisses being pressed to the side of your head.

“So, how’d I do?” JJ murmured, lips only inches away from your ear.

“10/10,” you replied, running your hand through his hair with a lazy smile. “Best date I’ve ever been on, hands down.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” he grinned. “You think I did good enough for a kiss?”

“Mhm, maybe,” you teased, turning your head so your lips brushed against his. He let out a shaky exhale, cupping your cheeks in his warm hands like he’d done earlier on; except this time, there was no juice.

His lips moved smoothly against yours, hands pulling you as close as humanly possible. His tongue licked over your bottom lip, causing a hum to leave yours.

“Do you want to go on a second date?” He murmured against your lips.

“And a third,” you grinned.

When you both finally pulled away, both your lips were puffy, your hair messy and cheeks flushed. Neither of you had ever looked happier.

“C’mon, you’re carrying me to the Chateau if you want that second date,” you stated, standing up.

“Am I gonna be the new Brandon Gibbs?”

“Not anymore, you’re not.”

[naeverse]

Lapdog

🐩staring: NerdMiguel x QueenBee Reader

💗 preview: “Damn, sounds like you want a lapdog.” Peter chuckled, returning to your conversation as MJ followed suit in his laughter, which only made your smile broaden.

“It does…doesn't it?

🌸Summary: You, Queen Bee, have been desiring a little assistant for a while—someone who can fetch you things, do your work, assist you in any way possible, and just make life much easier. However, after witnessing a surprising occurrence with one of the lamest students on campus, Miguel O'Hara, you believe you've found just that, and maybe something even better...

💗rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🐩tw/cw. Blackmail, Caught in the act, College AU,  Demeaning, Desperation, Dirty talk, Dominance, Handjob, Masturbation, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Ownership, Public Masturbation, Power Differences, Praising, Public, Sex toys, Vibrator, etc…

🌸Word count: 9k

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

Small, quiet whimpers escaped the lips of the burly man to your left. His head lowered in an attempt to hide as he diligently tackled your college work. His large, left hand trembled while he solved long math equations, expressions, logarithms, and whatever else the packet held. You shifted your gaze from the four-eyed male to two others seated at your booth.

Peter B. Parker, the captain of the football team and the golden boy of the school, sat across from you, alongside his girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson, or MJ, who was the editor of the college newspaper. They cuddled up against each other, with MJ on his chest and his arm wrapped around her.

The two were considered your "friends" at the university, forming the famous clique that instilled fear and envy in the entire student body. However, between the adored football jock and the news girl, you, on the other hand, were a much bigger deal. 

Everyone knew your name, and if they didn't, you were seen as an utter disgrace due to your cluelessness.

You were known as the university's queen bee.

Everyone loved or hated you; you didn't care. Any attention was welcome. You were the leader of the notorious sorority house of baddies, with a rich family that could drop and sue anyone with the drop of a hat. You could control the student body in masses with just a word, and had everyone, even the staff, wrapped around your pretty, manicured finger. 

Whatever you said went, and don't you fucking dare think otherwise; you'd be an idiot to challenge the queen. Having the ability to turn any person into a complete nobody, withering away in debts and charges, kept everyone in their place.

But you wouldn't exactly say Peter and MJ were your friends, just students at college who possessed a certain kind of power that was highly useful to have in your corner.

Peter and his kind, sweet persona solidified bonds with other universities and the dean themselves. He was the face of your campus and was hella popular.

MJ headed the media, and whatever she said or wrote in the newspaper or the college blog was believed by everyone on campus, even if it was false.

Not that anyone would know...

Peter, MJ, and you were at the top of the food chain at your university; no one else mattered and was worth the time.

So why the hell was this lowlife sitting at your booth?

Miguel O'Hara, known as the nerdiest of the nerds on your college campus, sat beside you at your usual booth in Mama's diner, your clique's hangout spot.

To be fair, you didn't classify Miguel as such; more of a loner because he didn't look like a nerd. His body was covered in bulging muscles that contrasted greatly with his quiet persona. He had a towering height that rose above most of the football team, and he got attention from girls.

Or, well...

Girls gave him attention, not like the guy minded them.

He kept to himself, always having his nose stuck in a book. To make him even more of a dork, he worked at the school library. Due to his elusive nature and  how hard he was to categorize, the loner had gained a distasteful reputation; many students on campus hated him as a result. 

Was he a jock due to his bulging muscles, a bad boy due to his mysteriousness and constant desire for solitude, or was he a nerd for always being found reading, and whenever he spoke, only intellectual things came out?

He was a tricky case.

And not one you cared about until today…

You never would have paid the introverted male any attention if it weren't for you, this morning, stumbling into the library in search of someone to do your homework. Instead of finding a lowlife in waiting, you found something much better…

You found Miguel in his office, located at the far back of the library, moaning and jerking off under his desk. To make matters worse, AirPods adorned his ears, blocking out any awareness of your presence. You even leaned over his shoulder to discover that he was clearly watching porn.

He was definitely an amateur...

But a needy little thing he was...

The sight before you was an honest gold mine, something that would be perfect for MJ to post on the school blog as you captured a video of the surprising occurrence.

It was hard to fathom how much his reputation, if he had one, would plummet once the entire school got a look at this. But then, being the cunning queen you were, you had a better idea for that video…

You decided to use it as a means to have an around-the-clock assistant that would come running at your every beck and call, at any given time. It was a great idea, especially with the lowlife not being unpleasant to the eyes. 

So now here he was, being a good little puppy for you and doing your homework, except...

It didn't seem like your associates were too pleased with your puppy’s presence.

You met Peter's gaze, his amber eyes furrowed in confusion as he glanced from you to the muscular loner and back again. "Okay, why the hell is he here?" he finally asked after a while of just staring at the two of you. A smirk spread across your lips at his question. "I believe you have eyes, Peter. He's doing my homework," you simply said with a sly grin, continuing your subtle movements under the table, which only made the geek clench his pencil even more.

Peter and MJ recognized that look on you, that sneaky smile you wore whenever you were up to no good. But this time, they couldn't quite put a finger on what it was and how it involved the four-eyed freak.

MJ looked between you and Miguel as well, her cherry lips pursing. "Why here, though?" she asked, her head still resting against Peter's chest. "Most of the time when we meet at Mama's diner, we gossip, we talk about deep stuff. We can't do that with him here," she acknowledged, motioning to Miguel in the corner, who seemed very focused on solving a long ass math problem.

You couldn't help but look over at him as well, taking in the sight of his heavy breathing and faintly red cheeks, before looking back at your associates, who still wore expressions of confusion and discomfort. You huffed, giving them a fake pout. “Come on, Miguel won't utter a single word to anyone...

Now, would you?”

You asked, turning to look at the large Latino, his amber orbs covered with a pair of black eyeglasses as he remained silent, adamantly trying to avoid eye contact. You scowled, giving him a tight squeeze, followed by a deep stroke making him jolt. His eyes briefly rolled, his mouth stammering, trying to find his words. “No… I won't.” He said so low and deep you had to lean in to hear him.

You could visibly see him struggling, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he tried painstakingly to control his breathing. You grinned, watching him return to work on your math packet like a good little puppy. “See? He can be trusted.” You explained with a smile, continuing your tantalizing play on the nerd, which only made the Latino male suck in a breath and grip his pencil tighter.

You swore you thought the wooden tool would snap in two any second now…

“Fine, but what made you want to bring him of all people?” Peter asked next, turning your gaze onto him. “He holds no power at our Uni. He’s useless to us.” He said with a chuckle, running his fingers through his girlfriend's red hair. You chuckled at his belief that the four-eyed male was ‘useless’; 

Currently, he was everything but…

“You know how much I wanted my own little assistant for some time.” You replied with a smirk, tracing Miguel under the table, feeling your fingers begin to become further coated in his essence. “As in someone who can fetch me things, do my work,

Satisfy my every need…”

You abruptly squeezed Miguel once more, a sudden audible groan passing his lips, gaining everyone's attention. Peter and MJ glanced over at Miguel with raised eyebrows before just brushing it off as the geek having one of his weird moments. 

Subtly, you shot the dweeb a glare, making his ears redden and clear his throat. He flicked his pencil around in his thick fingers, beginning to erase a mistake he made due to your harsh grip before you turned back to your associates with a nonchalant smile.

“Damn, sounds like you want a lapdog.” Peter chuckled, returning to your conversation as MJ followed suit in his laughter, which only made your smile broaden.

“It does…doesn't it?”

You whispered, glancing over at Miguel, who was trying not to acknowledge your gaze, seeming to be very interested in the ways of Calculus II. 

“Aww… Peter, you know me so well.” You thought with a small grin, continuing to stroke the trembling male. You could feel the dweeb strain underneath his black jeans, enjoying how greatly he was trying to hide his pleasure. With your thumb, you brushed over his sensitive tip, making him whimper loudly, despite his effort to suppress it by biting his lip.

You shot him another stern look, slightly relieved to hear a groan of annoyance from MJ at the same time. At her outburst, it drew your attention over to her to see she was looking over at the workers in Mama's diner who were diligently working in the kitchen area of the diner. “Gosh, we've been sitting here for 20 minutes, and our order still isn't here.” She whined, crossing her arms over her chest like a pouty child in the grocery store. 

“Come on, baby, it should be out in a little bit,” Peter whispered, trying to comfort her. You couldn’t help rolling your eyes at her dramatics. MJ always did this to get attention, Peter’s attention in particular, who you’ve noticed was staring at you a lot more than usual upon entering Mama’s diner today.

You met MJ’s blue eyes, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “Actually, why don't you two go check it out? See what's the hold-up?” You proposed, glancing over at Miguel to see his defined Adam's apple bob at your words, his nervousness only exciting you further.

Oblivious to your proposal and the fact that you, the queen, said it, Peter and MJ nodded and slid out of the booth. You watched in the corner of your eye as they walked away from your table and towards the front of the diner. 

‘Now the fun can begin…’

You thought, a wicked grin spreading across your glossy lips. With them gone, you wanted nothing more than to have some fun with your new puppy. You turned in your seat to finally make eye contact with the panting male, and you couldn’t help but snicker at the sight.

The dweeb’s coffee-brown curls were plastered to his sweaty forehead, his amber orbs hooded behind his glasses while his grip on his pencil was slowly loosening. Breathy moans escaped his parted lips as his hips thrust softly into your hand, his eyes rolling with each of his movements.

Upon the two leaving the table, it seemed the nerd had completely dropped his facade, showing just how needy he was.

You laughed, glancing down to see the mess he was making in his black jeans. A small wet patch gradually soaked the zipper and crotch of the denim. “I knew you didn't finish in the library.” You teased, continuing to stroke him. He grunted, shifting in the booth to better angle himself into your clenched palm. “I couldn't…You interrupted me.” He replied hoarsely, making you raise an eyebrow. You abruptly gripped his cock at his response, making him whine.

“I interrupted you?”

You scoffed, not believing the balls on this nerd. “You have more mouth than I thought, Miguel O'Hara.” You hissed, releasing him and drawing down his pants, exposing his huge member fully. His hooded eyes instantly snapped open, deep pants passing his lips. “What are you—what are you doing? Someone could see.” He exclaimed through stammers, his amber eyes blown in a mixture of lust and worry as they looked all around in fear of someone being near.

You rolled your eyes at the nerd’s empty concerns. Your clique's favorite booth was positioned in the back of the diner, completely secluded. Of course, you’ll take precautions; you wouldn’t want someone to capture the sight of you having fun with a loser like him, so the idiot was fine.

Not that you cared at the moment...

“I honestly don't know what you're so worried about. You didn't seem concerned about someone seeing you when you were jerking off this morning.” You taunted, earning an angry growl from him, his cock twitching a little at that recollection. “Mierda, I didn't know anyone was there. The library is always empty in the mornings.” He said in a low voice, his tone rough and holding so much spite in it.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his anger, as if he could do anything about it. His massive body was stuck on the inside of your booth, his well-endowed cock and balls out on display.

He was completely vulnerable to you…

Your eyes trailed him, taking him in slowly, and to your surprise, you found yourself licking your lips at the sight.

Even though the dork was a lowly peasant at your school, carrying his stupid little textbooks and allowing the jocks to beat on him when he had the muscles and height to beat their asses ten-fold.

He had an impressive cock…

It was fully erect, sticking straight up into the air with a small patch of dark brown, coarse hair sitting atop his dark shaft, trailing an irresistible line up under his beige sweater. His cock was long, girthy, and definitely above average, with a brown, angry tip dripping with precum, begging to be tasted and played with.

During your moment of ogling, his large, veiny hand hastily covered the oddly magnificent sight, snapping you from your trance. You glared up at him, taking in his flushed cheeks, coffee-brown curls that hung over his framed eyes, and his attempt to cover his enormity between his legs with his hand.

“Move.” You sternly said, your tone showing just how annoyed and furious you were. You crossed your arms over your white-clad chest, awaiting the loser to obey, but surprisingly, he did no such thing. Miguel simply clenched his jaw, averted his gaze from you, not at all listening to the order you’ve just given him.

Your glossy lips pulled into a snarl, not remembering the last time someone would dare be defiant towards you, but it seemed this nerd, loner, whatever the hell he classified as, was something different…

He knew who you were, yet he was disobeying you, talking back, and worst of all…

Not submitting.

You’ve met many infuriating individuals, but he had to take the cake.

Your jaw clenched, trying to keep your composure and remind yourself that you needed him around because you were a hair's breadth from reaching into your bag and grabbing your phone to do the unthinkable. You cleared your throat, sliding so close to him that you could feel the heat of his bare, thick thighs against yours under the short, expensive pink skirt you adorned.

You brushed a strand of his coffee-brown hair behind his ear, noticing how he flinched slightly before leaning in close.

 “Move your hand, or I'll make sure to send that little video of you jerking off to MJ. I think she’ll enjoy posting that onto her little blog for the whole college to see.”

You whispered into his ear, the threat striking the nerd greatly. A wave of satisfaction rushed through your being when he turned to face you, his amber eyes narrowed in rage, but a hint of fear evident in them as well. “You wouldn't,” he said, calling your bluff in a rough, breathless voice which only made you laugh.

“You must really be living under a rock on campus if you think I’m bluffing,” you chuckled darkly as the nerd gulped. “Now…” you began, glancing down at his shielded hand over what you desired. “Unless you want the entire college to know how much of a needy little puppy you are, you will move your damn hand and allow me to do whatever I please.” You sternly said, looking down at his trembling hand and then up at him.

You found it utterly adorable how he tried to keep your hardened gaze, but he would learn that when you want something, you’ll get it no matter what.

He cursed softly, running a frustrated hand through his messy coffee-brown curls. He captured his bottom lip in his teeth and reluctantly moved his hands, placing them on either side of him on the booth’s cushions. You smirked at his obedience. “Good boy,” you praised in a teasing voice, patting his head like the doggy he was; however, he yanked away. You scoffed at his defiance.

‘It seems my puppy needs more training. No worries; he’ll submit if he likes it or not.’

You thought, casting your eyes down to meet his painfully hard and erect cock. Biting your lip, you wrapped a hand around his base, feeling how brick and sticky it was in your palm.

But before granting your puppy the sweet release he desired, he had a lesson to learn…

You harshly gripped his shaft, earning a loud groan to escape his throat. “I'm very pissed at you. Want to know why?” You asked, squeezing his cock even more, making him hiss. He clutched the cushion of the booth in his large hands, clenching his jaw once more. “Why?” He said through gritted teeth.

"Why? You nearly got us caught with those outbursts, idiot," you spat, finding a rhythm and stroking him roughly under the table. His abundant precum allowed you to smoothly run your fist along him. He groaned, his head falling back against the booth.

"Maybe... you should f-fucking stop then," he said through pants, which only made you giggle. "Oh, I'm just finishing what you started in the library, puppy," you said with a fake pout.

"And here I thought you liked getting off in public places."

Miguel moaned softly at your words, his cock twitching in your hand in response. You raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh? Don't tell me that's the truth," you teased with a soft chuckle, knowing you'll surely have some fun with that hidden kink of his in the future.

However, no response was heard from him, defending nor agreeing with your proposal; only the occasional low moans and groans escaped his lips. You snarled, pressing your thumb into the crown of his tip, eliciting a rewarding jolt and a Spanish curse to fall from his lips.

"If you won't respond to that, then answer this," you hissed, nose scrunched up in disgust as you continued your stroking. "You act all big and tough when you're alone with me, yet you curl up into a little ball when others are around," you stated with a smirk. "Why is that?"

"Because you don't fucking scare me," he said angrily with a steady voice. You scoffed in amusement, your eyes roaming over his bulging muscles through the sleeves of his beige sweater—the fabric appearing strained. "And others do?" you retorted with a snicker, causing him to growl in annoyance and look away. "It's not like that."

"Oh yeah, then what is it?" you inquired, purposely quickening your pace on his shaft, stroking him faster and pressing your palm into his length, the desire to see him lose control driving you. He whined and whimpered uncontrollably, his large hand landing on your thigh, gripping it tightly through your skirt, urging you to slow down.

You sighed heavily; Miguel was so frustrating. The dweeb's mouth constantly spoke of defiance and disrespect, while his body contradicted him each time—his hips steadily moved in sync with your palm, and his member twitched in your hand. It seemed even he was confused about what he wanted, but being the sweet master you were, you'd assist him in discovering his true desires.

But first, he had to be taught to fix his attitude because he was really pissing you off.

You brushed the pad of your thumb over his tip, intensifying his pleasure with every jerk of your hand. "I don't like your attitude with me," you said angrily, smacking his hand off your thigh and grabbing his chin.

You roughly turned him to look at you, his eyes dazed behind his black glasses, and his lips parted. "I hold the power of your entire reputation in my hands. I can get your big ass kicked out of this damn college just by showing the dean that video of you," you warned, looking at his face in complete rage.

"Do you fucking understand me!?" you exclaimed, your nails piercing into the underside of his chin. Your eyes glared daggers at him as you continued to slide your hand up and down his trembling shaft.

He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as his hand landed on your wrist, deep groans continuing to pass his lips at your movement. "Y-yes, fuck," he moaned, biting his lip. "Yes to what?" you demanded, seeking clarity. With your thumb, you caressed in small circles around the crown of his tip, a smirk spreading across your glossy lips when his grip on your wrist tightened. "Yes, I-I... understand," he said, his deep voice sounding rather airy and breathless.

"Good boy," you whispered, tilting your head at him and glancing down to see more pre-cum sprouting from his tip, dripping down his shaft and coating your hand. Miguel growled. "What do you even want from me?" he asked through trembles of pleasure, his cock twitching in your fist. Your smirk broadened, turning your attention from his cock to the four-eyed male, his chin still resting between your manicured fingers.

"You heard that conversation between Peter, MJ, and me, did you not?" you inquired with a raised eyebrow, making him heave a trembling sigh. "Lapdog, right? That's what you want?" 

"Indeed," you chuckled, releasing him. He whimpered, his thighs quivering, as heavy pants passed his lips. He rubbed his chin, pressing his backside into the leather cushions and breathing heavily. You reached over him, grabbing a few napkins from its container to clean your hands, feeling Miguel's eyes on you all the while.

When you met his gaze, you weren't surprised to see the sight of anger and irritation, but what did surprise you was the hint of curiosity found in his intense gaze.

'Was the dork interested in being your puppy?'

"Why?" he finally asked after catching his breath. You laughed, turning to him with a wicked grin. "The better question is... 

Why not?"

You replied with a snicker. Miguel rolled his eyes and sighed once more. "And you want me to be your damn lapdog?" he asked, full of spite and rage, his amber eyes appeared redder than usual, but it didn't faze you. "Yes, or that video goes out to everyone," you said with a grin, your eyes lingering along his body. "And I think everyone would be rather shocked to see what you've been hiding under all that ugly clothing," you chuckled, motioning down at his massive and still very hard cock.

He snarled, looking away from you and out the window beside him. A silence fell upon the two of you as you simply took him in—his defined cheekbones, broad nose, thick neck, and massive body covered in a hideous beige sweater, black jeans, and white Converse.

'Goodness, this is going to be fun. The most fun I've probably had in years.'

You thought, faking a pout and leaning towards him to press your plush lips against his ear. He jumped slightly at your closeness, making you giggle as you ran a hand over his chest, tracing his defined pecs and abs through his sweater.

"Come on, puppy. Don't be so mad; you might even enjoy it."

You teased, and to your anticipation, his cock throbbed in response. He groaned lowly, your chest covered in a white crop top pressing into his arm. "It’s not like I have a damn choice," he retorted, his voice still resonating with fury. 

"Well… get used to it."

You uttered, licking a stripe across his sharp jawline and enjoying how he shuddered at the feeling. You then pulled away, his amber eyes following you like the needy puppy he was.

"Now, every doggy needs a collar," you uttered with a smile, causing him to scowl. "I’m not wearing a damn collar."

"So quick to assume, puppy," you laughed, only seeming to enrage the geek even more. "Stop calling me that," he growled, causing you to sigh, finding it rather annoying how he still believed he held some type of control here. 

He'll learn sooner or later.

"You’ll grow to love it, puppy," you emphasized, turning from his faltering glare to rummage in your $500 Prada bag, fishing out a toy you purchased just for your little doggy. When you acquired it, you turned to him, twirling the dark blue and red crystallized ring in your fingers. Miguel's eyes followed it, his chest heaving in confusion and disdain, but his cock pulsated in desire and curiosity.

He could scowl and glare at you all he wanted, but his body gave him away, every single time.

“What the fuck is that?” He snapped, once he regained his composure, his amber eyes looking from the ring to you through his black eyeglasses. You chuckled, running your fingers along the ring. “After our little run-in at the library this morning, I bought my new puppy something special.” You explained, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The geek looked perplexed for the first time.

 It was a cute look on him…

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll be fun. I promise...” You giggled, glancing down at his dark cock, still twitching in desire. You then held your hand out to him, the large ring resting in your palm.

“Now…show me how much of a good doggy you can be and put this on…”

“Ugh, they are saying it's another 20 minutes.” MJ groaned, climbing into the booth right after Peter. You heaved a sigh in irritation; Mama's diner was never this backed up. It was rather annoying to think you all would have to wait just for three measly milkshakes.

“So, what’s the two of you been doing? He looks like he’s about to fucking faint.” Peter joked, glancing over at Miguel, whose bronze face was covered in beads of sweat. His amber eyes trained on the packet of math work once more. You chuckled, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know. The math problem must be stressing him out.” You said with a smile, subtly glancing over at your phone that rested beside you on the booth, the vibrator app pulled up on the screen that was already at level 2.

The ring that you had bought for your new puppy was nestled around the base of his cock, right over his balls, stimulating both of his sensitive areas. You gave him the benefit of the doubt to cover himself; you weren’t a total meanie.

You just needed him to know his place, as it seemed he kept forgetting.

So you decided to seat him in front of two of the most popular students at your college with a pulsating vibrator around his cock. 

What better way for him to learn...?

"Okay…" MJ trailed off, brushing off the situation as nothing. "Umm, what even is his name?" She asked, talking about Miguel as if he wasn't even there. At her inquiry, you turned to your puppy, giving him a soft pat on the head. "Tell her your name," you said sweetly, noticing the subtle glare from him. "Miguel," he responded in a gruff voice without looking up from the packet.

"Your full name," you added with a smirk, wishing to further annoy him. The dweeb’s jaw clenched at your persistence. "Miguel O’Hara," he growled, hastily returning to solving question 24 of your math packet. MJ looked between the two of you, taking in the interaction before leaning across the table, her blue eyes set on you.

“Seriously, what are you up to with him?” 

She asked in a hushed tone like no one at the table could hear her as her red eyebrows furrowed in concern. You scoffed, not believing that she would dare to ask you such a thing.

“Why the hell are you questioning anything that I do?” You spat angrily. “The fucking dweeb is just doing my damn homework,” you said, your eyes glaring into hers.

Perhaps, the load of hair upon MJ's head was the cause of her forgetfulness. Regardless of the culprit, the redhead better keep in mind how much you love fixing her mistakes and kicking her back into line if she oversteps.

You've done it to so many others, she'll be no different…

“Hey, hey, settle down,” Peter said, trying to calm the situation between the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick, it could be sliced with a spoon, let alone a knife.

“There's nothing wrong with what Y/N is doing,” Peter said, placing a hand on MJ’s shoulder and pulling her back towards his chest. MJ sighed, giving you an apologetic look. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” You rolled your eyes, dismissing her as you met Peter’s eyes that also looked between Miguel and you. “Although, I must say…” He began, and to your surprise, settled his amber eyes onto Miguel.

You smirked, loving to see how the aroused geek would handle this, your eyes trained on him. Miguel, noticing the lack of conversation, hesitantly looked up to be met with six eyes staring back at him.

“How the hell are you so…massive?” Peter asked with a chuckle. “You don’t do shit except read, play chess, or whatever else you nerds do.” Peter jested, causing everyone, except Miguel, to laugh. Your eyes were trained on Miguel as he glanced over at you and back at Peter before clearing his throat. “Genetics.” He mumbled, returning back to writing out the parametric formula to solve the equations he was on.

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, the introverted male’s words not seeming to have reached his ears. “What did you say? Speak up, man.” He laughed, causing Miguel to clench his jaw once more. His pencil halted upon the paper as he casted his amber eyes up to the jock. “Genetics. That's all it is.” He repeated in a louder tone.

“So, you are telling me, you do not work out?” MJ asked in surprise and awe, her blue eyes roaming over his body. You were certain she was checking your new puppy out.

You growled, oddly, shooting a glare at her.

You didn’t know what was with her today, but MJ was working your last nerve.

MJ, thankfully, shut up after your look, but your puppy answered anyway. “A little,” he replied, twirling the pencil in his thick fingers nervously. You couldn’t help but gaze at him—his massive musculature snug under his beige sweater that seemed to hug him in all the right places.

His biceps bulging, his hardened pecs defined, and you could even sneak a peek at his abdominal muscles pressing against the warm fabric. You bit your lip, the desire to get him out of that ugly sweater filling your being until you shook off the thought.

The damn dweeb was making you forget your title and your reputation…

But you couldn’t lie. 

The geek was exceeding your expectations…

Not only was he impressive for being at the very bottom of the student hierarchy and having the ability to make you feel all hot and bothered, but despite his cock being heavily stimulated by the vibrating ring, his voice didn't waver or falter.

Your puppy was tougher than you thought…

‘We’ll see about that.’

With a click of your phone, you raised the vibrations from a mere 2 to a 5. Instantly at the change, Miguel jolted in his seat. You watched with a look of pure innocence on your face as Peter’s eyebrows furrowed.

He snickered, eyeing the glasses-wearing male across from him at the table. “Man, you are weird as heck, but I’ll let it slide,” he said with a smile, glancing over at you, his eyes full of admiration. “If the queen here can put up with your presence, which is rare,” Peter snickered, “I’ll be willing to open a spot on the team to see how you do,” he proposed, which shocked you.

It was hard to get on Peter’s football team, yet he was practically giving it to Miguel, the most disliked male at school, on a silver platter.

You couldn’t help but feel a little angry at that, slowly becoming a bit possessive over your new puppy.

But thankfully, Miguel said the words for you. “I-I’m not interested,” he uttered, clearing his throat and clenching the pencil tightly in his large hand. You smirked, watching Peter’s eyebrows rise in shock. He glanced over at MJ, who had become quiet after your glare.

“This dude is really turning down my offer, babe,” he said, nudging MJ, who snapped out of her trance to turn her blue eyes onto Miguel. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Actually…” you said, instantly drawing their eyes on you. “It’s better if he didn’t. I’ll lose my new lapdog, and we wouldn’t want that… Isn’t that right?” You asked, running your manicured fingers through Miguel’s coffee-brown hair. You watched his jaw clench and a subtle blush spread across his lips.

Seems as if he's starting to like the name or you claiming him…

Indeed, Miguel was a naughty one…

Peter’s stunned expression instantly changed at your words. He cleared his throat, giving you a nod. “Of course, but the offer still stands,” he offered once more, looking over at you as he said it.

You gave him a small smile before MJ sat up in her chair with a grin, the color restoring back into her being after you rightfully snuffed it out. “Since the workers are taking so long, let’s play a game. Never Have I Ever, anyone?!” she exclaimed, a smile adorning her cherry lips.

You grinned, liking the idea, before a thought came to your head, causing you to heave a sigh. “Normally drinks are involved. We don’t have any,” you commented, instantly MJ reached into the pocket of Peter’s red and blue varsity jacket, pulling out his metal flask. His eyes widened in shock before he laughed, shaking his head. “Damn, I thought you didn’t know about that.”

“I know everything, baby.” MJ giggled, placing the metal flask in the center of the table. You smirked, glancing over at Miguel, who had his arms crossed upon the table, his head lowered over the math packet. He was panting, and his thighs were trembling next to your own. He wasn’t writing anything as he seemed like he was just sitting there.

But you knew what your needy puppy was up to…

He was enjoying himself, relishing in the sensation from the vibrator ring you had bought him. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

While Peter and MJ discussed the rules of the game, you leaned in close to Miguel, pressing your glossy lips against his ear. “Are you enjoying your little toy, puppy?” you inquired, causing him to suck in a breath. “Ay cono, turn it off,” he panted, whispering to you in desperation. He turned his hooded eyes onto you, and you met his gaze with a sly grin. “Why? You like it,” you whispered back with a small giggle, watching his ears redden and a vein bulge from his forehead as he tried to suppress his anger.

“So no, it’s not coming off anytime soon,” you told him. “Now, you'll play this game with us and finish my work later.”

“I don’t want to fucking play,” he growled, making your forced smile falter. You subtly reached over to your phone, turning the vibrations up from level 5 to 7. Miguel's voice caught in his throat, his hand landing on your thigh once more. You could even faintly hear the buzzing in his jeans that was slowly making the geek lose his composure.

His large palm covered your smooth skin as he gripped it tightly while he quivered. He cursed under his breath, beginning to softly pat your thigh to call a truce. You watched him with a smirk, loving how he was writhing and squirming in his seat, knowing you were the sole cause of it. “I-I’ll play,” he whined, lowering his head to hide, his amber eyes on you over his arm. You smiled, lowering it back to a mere 5.

‘Don’t piss me off,’ you mouthed, turning back to Peter and MJ to find they were, thankfully, still talking. 

You didn’t want to hear what any of them had to say when it came to Miguel and you, especially from MJ.

“The dweeb is going to play too,” you said, hastily gaining everyone’s attention. “Awesome, do you want to go around as ages? Whoever is the youngest goes first?” MJ suggested. “I think the oldest should go first,” you said with a wicked grin, knowing everyone would choose the latter since you, the queen bee, said so.

If your intuition was correct, which it always was, you sensed Miguel was older than the rest of you. His demeanor and rough look showed his maturity, and you couldn’t help but become a little aroused at the assumption.

“Fine. I’m 23,” MJ said, glancing over at Peter next. “25,” he replied, soon looking at you. “24,” you smiled before finally setting your eyes on the trembling male. His amber eyes shifted from all of your eager gazes. He cleared his throat, tanned cheeks a soft red. “26.” His voice, like usual, was deep and rather low, but you heard his answer loud and clear.

You were right...

The muscular geek was not only a disobedient lowlife, but he was older than you. ‘How fun?’ you thought, looking him up and down beside you. It made everything even sweeter.

“Well, you go first,” Peter said, motioning to Miguel with his head, his dark brown hair swaying with his slight movement. The dweeb gulped, merely sitting there for a while. It was for so long that you pondered if he had even played the common game before until he finally spoke.

“Never have I ever fallen asleep during a movie,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the table.

'Of course, a boring one, like I thought.’ You groaned, nudging his arm. “Come on, that shit blows,” you said with an eye roll. “We want something steamy, hot…” You whispered, reaching over to caress his thigh under the table. He gulped, clenching his jaw and landing his large, calloused hand on yours to cease your movement. “Fine…” he said, turning to look at you in particular.

“Never have I ever walked in on someone without knocking.”

Miguel asked with a sly grin that surprised you greatly, and left you angry as hell. You growled, hearing Peter and MJ begin to discuss their answers. “Gosh, I walked in on one of the guys with their girlfriends in the locker room,” Peter sighed as MJ didn’t have an unfortunate occurrence happen to her, but not like you cared about either of them at the moment.

You glared at Miguel, his taunting smirk and stupid glasses adorning his face, the desire to slap them both off overwhelming your being.

You turned to see Peter already taking a swig of the metal flask, a grimace on his face after the drink. “Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have chosen the strong stuff,” he commented, glancing up at you. “Now, what about the Queen bee? Walked in on one of those baddies at your sorority house?” He inquired with a chuckle. You looked over at Miguel, his eyes narrowing as he watched you take the flask, gulping down a large mouthful of the liquor.

As Peter said, the shit was strong, and it took everything in you not to cough, suppressing the urge by clearing your throat. “No…” You replied, placing the flask back on the table and subtly looking over at Miguel before meeting your two associates' curious gazes. “Then what happened then?” MJ asked, deeply intrigued.

“Well, I walked in on someone jerking off.”

You noticed beside you, Miguel’s entire body became rigid on the booth; his hand squeezed yours under the table in a rather desperate way. He was begging you with the slight touch to cease any further words.

How cute…

You smirked at the feeling, loving how you had the dweeb filled with anxiety and nervousness about whether you'll spill his deep secret or not.

But you're only a bitch when you want to be…

“That’s all you get, though.” You laughed, causing cries of frustration to erupt, although you didn’t miss the sigh of relief that passed Miguel’s lips even though he was the one who called your bluff and dug his own grave.

“First round, and it seems Queen Bee and I are tied on who’s paying for our order.” Peter laughed, causing you to roll your eyes. “If it ever gets here,” MJ added with a groan.

“Even more of a reason to continue playing,” Peter said with a smirk. “But it seems as if it’s my turn, being 25 and all.” He said, sitting back against the cushions of the booth, humming in thought. “Ah, got one.” He commented with a grin.

“Never had I ever used a mirror during romantic intercourse.” He asked, his amber eyes looking around the table.

Of course, being the fun queen bee you were, you took the flask. “I mean, if you haven’t, you are missing out.” You grinned, taking another swig of the strong liquor, feeling the satisfying sting in the back of your throat when you placed the container back on the table. You could feel the heat radiating from Miguel’s body at the mention of you doing something so naughty.

You wouldn’t mind doing something like that with him only when he was ready…

A small blush spread across MJ’s cheeks at the erotic question. “I’ve always wanted to do it.” She said, bringing a smile to Peter's lips. He snaked an arm around her, caressing her arm as he spoke in a sultry and seductive voice. “Oh really? We can always try it after-

“Oh my gosh. Get a fucking room already.” You interrupted with a snicker, eyeing the two lovebirds. “Okay, okay,” MJ said with a giggle, eyes turning to Miguel who hastily dismissed it with a head shake.

Of course, the fucking dweeb doesn’t know how to have fun.

With you, he’ll know nothing else; you’ll make sure of it.

“Well, it’s your turn now,” MJ smiled. Finally, it was your turn, instantly thinking of a proposition that could really reveal some deep secrets about Miguel.

Something he's been hiding…

You sat back in your seat, pondering your answer when your eyes met Miguel. Just the sight of the massive male was making your brain sprout with ideas. Who knew how helpful he could be with just his mere presence?

Why not reward him for the assistance?

Subtly, you sat up, turning the vibrations up to a 7 while starting your round.

“Never have I ever had a sexual encounter in a public place and secretly liked it.”

You proposed, glancing over at Miguel, who was losing it. He gritted his teeth, lowering his head to try to hide his fluttering eyes and heavy pants, but your associates’ words surprised you. “Gosh, both of us,” you heard them say, drawing your attention from your puppy.

“Yeah, we did a vibrator challenge on each other, and we went to a mall,” Peter said with a smile and a head shake. “It wasn’t enjoyable with the many people around at the sudden bursts of pleasure, but overall…it was fun,” MJ added, snuggling into Peter’s chest.

You slowly nodded, retaining the idea for further use and glancing back at Miguel, who was shaking. You felt his hand on your thigh once more and soon his soft pats, as if he was a wrestler trying to tap out of the ring.

But you weren’t a merciful referee; he could endure it a little longer…

You leaned in close to him, pretending to reach down to pick up the pencil that had accidentally rolled off the table due to his squirming. “Lift your head and play the damn game,” you spat harshly into his ear as he frantically shook his head. “Fuck, I-I can’t,” he whined breathlessly. “Mierda, I’m close. I-I can’t,” he repeated, only making you smirk.

“Be a good puppy, hold it, and play the game, or I’ll raise it to the highest level,” you told him sternly, your fingers finding the pencil in the leather cushions. You soon rose, a smile on your lips as you placed the wooden tool onto the table. “Miguel, how about you?” you inquired in a sweet voice, the lovebirds finishing their swigs of the flask. “Done anything fun in public and secretly enjoyed it?” you asked, curious about how he'd answer and respond.

Like a good doggy, he lifted his head as you commanded. His dark, hazy eyes looked between the three of you before simply reaching over and taking a swig of the flask.

“Fucking hell!? The nerd knows fun!” Peter commented with a laugh, while the rest of you looked on in astonishment. Miguel placed the flask down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Explain,” you urged, nudging him with a kick under the table. He jolted, shooting you a subtle glare, causing you to raise an eyebrow, reaching over for your phone when Miguel gave you a gentle squeeze of desperation. “Okay…” he began, exhaling and trying to regain his composure while holding back his release and being heavily stimulated.

“I was getting a-a handjob under the table…i-in a diner similar to this,” he said, making you smile, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “T-The girl was fucking rude and mean, but h-had skilled hands. Very skilled hands.” He gulped, avoiding your eyes while he spoke. “But t-that’s pretty much it. I liked it...Who wouldn't," Miguel said, looking down at his lap and leaving the table speechless.

You didn’t know whether to be flattered, angry at his description of you, or apathetic. A burning desire in your gut to simply drag him to the bathroom of Mama’s diner and see just how good his cock would feel inside of you.

But overall, the geek had surprised you with his answer, this being the only time he had spoken his mind and said his true thoughts since he sat down at this fucking booth.

“Damn, sounds hot,” MJ said, making you turn your attention from your loyal puppy to her. “Wish I had the guts like that rude girl you described. I could never.” She said lowly, bringing a wave of pride over you. Her compliment only fueled your already replete ego.

After the steamy encounter that Miguel explained to the group, it was now MJ’s turn. However, just when she was about to speak, her phone pinged with a message. She glanced down at the glowing screen, her eyebrows instantly furrowing. “Oh my gosh, babe, we have to go. I’m needed at the university.” She quaked, turning her blue eyes upon you. “I’m so sorry to pause the game and leave so early.” She apologized, hastily standing up from the booth alongside her ride, and boyfriend, Peter.

“I can only assume it's for the newspaper, so I’ll let it slide,” you told her as she thanked you, swiftly scurrying past and exiting Mama’s diner. Peter watched with a chuckle, tucking his hands into his red varsity jacket, standing beside you at the table.

“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing you around, Queen Bee,” he smirked, suddenly taking your hand and placing a kiss on your knuckles. You raised an eyebrow, a smile forming upon your glossy lips. Prior to pulling away, he held his soft lips upon your skin for a moment longer and gave your knuckles an affectionate caress with his thumb, meeting your eyes. “Call me anytime.” He whispered, giving you his signature charming smile and wink that made every person on campus faint and die on the spot before leaving behind his girlfriend.

You couldn’t lie; you were a little shocked at Peter’s forwardness.

You’ve noticed his interest in the great Queen Bee—who isn’t—but he had a girlfriend, and unfortunately for him…

You don’t like to share…

Many whiny groans and the sound of loud buzzing brought you from your thoughts as you turned to look at Miguel in the corner to see something even more astonishing than Peter’s previous advances.

Miguel was panting, breathing heavily with his head pressed against the back of the leather booth. His black denims were drawn down, revealing his strained cock and the beautiful red and blue vibrator ring around his base. His eyes rolled uncontrollably behind his glasses, his mouth agape while he rambled in a blend of Spanish and English.

You could only make out the English phrases and words he uttered, which mostly were pleas and begs, all desiring one thing and one thing only.

“Please—ay cono. Let me cum. Please, let me cum."

He implored incessantly, his words so full of need and desperation. You could tell he was slowly losing it; the pleasure was blinding him, and he was only at level 7. You were hoping to try the highest level on him, but maybe another time…

You didn’t want to completely ruin your new puppy…

You leaned towards him, running a finger over his sticky tip, tracing patterns across it. He whined and squirmed in his seat at your touch. “Aww, you want to stop playing already? I wanted to try level 10.” You told him with a fake pout. He frantically shook his head, gasps of air passing his parted lips. “Goodness, no. Please, I-I can’t take any more.” He begged so perfectly that you almost allowed him to.

Well,

Almost…

“I’ll let you cum on one condition,” you proposed, taking his chin in your fingers and turning him to meet your eyes. His eyes fluttered, his hands found your wrist, grabbing on tightly to stabilize himself. His face was flushed, his defined cheeks a rosy red, and his forehead covered with beads of sweat. He looked adorable, practically begging you with his hooded doe eyes to allow him to cum. You smirked, caressing his chin.

“Tell me you are my little puppy and sweeten the deal with a cute little bark.”

You giggled, eliciting a growl that came out more like a groan. “A-Are you serious?” he panted, making your smile only broaden. “Very, and I’ll only raise the level of the vibrator if you don’t,” you said with a grin, loving the look of defeat that covered his face. “Shit,” he cursed, looking away.

“No, eyes on me.”

You sternly said, hastily yanking his chin back towards you. He clenched his jaw, making eye contact with you once more. His amber orbs were full of anger, but his desire to be relieved of the vibrator and finally be granted his satisfying release led him to speak what you wanted.

“I-I’m your… l-little… 

Puppy.”

He uttered reluctantly through shaky moans as you waited patiently for the best part of his whole confession. He growled, shaking his head. “I’m not barking.”

You huffed, giving him a stern look. “Do I have to threaten you again about that video? How about I take that little vibrator and give it to the dean instead?” you said with an evil grin. “It has your… essence all over it. Wouldn’t be hard to discover it’s yours.” You cackled. He scowled, gazing up at you through breathy moans. “You are s-such a bitch.”

“Are you sure? You are looking more like a bitch than me right now,” you spat with a laugh, piercing your nails into his chin. “Now be my good little puppy and bark.” You demanded once more, eyes trained on his furious and flushed face.

You watched Miguel resist you as hard as he could. He put up such a fight, remaining silent to disobey for a good while, but just like any wild dog, they break, they snap...

They submit.

So, it didn’t take long before the most satisfying sounds filled your ears.

“Woof…Woof.”

A wave of satisfaction overcame you, akin to taking a refreshing sip of a chocolate milkshake on a hot day. Your glossy lips pulled into a smile, feeling completely overjoyed as you stared at your official new lapdog. “Gosh, I’m going to have so much fun with you,” you promised, caressing his chin affectionately. Miguel’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and his entire face turned red; even his cock frantically throbbed around the pulsating ring.

Like a dog wagging his tail, he seemed to like that idea very much...

You wrapped a hand around his shaft, stroking him at a fast pace while the ring continued to buzz against him. “Be a good boy and cum for me,” you whispered. “Make me proud, puppy,” you told him, kissing along his jawline and earning a loud groan to erupt from his throat. His hips left the seat, meeting your fist with each thrust upwards. “Oh yes. Fuck,” he cried through closed eyes.

The leather booth began to creak loudly at his frenzied movement, his cock sliding in and out of your palm, completely slick with his precum. You could feel how powerful the vibrations were on his sensitive shaft whilst he continued to fuck your fist.

“Shit, shit, I’m cumming,” he groaned, before a loud guttural, deep moan erupted from deep within his chest, his thick, muscular thighs quivering. Veins bulge along the underside of his abdomen upon his climax, and with one final thrust into your hand, he shot his white, creamy load.

And the four-eyed male just kept impressing you over and over again.

His release seemed to be endless. More and more of his seed dripped from his slit, coating your hand and the buzzing toy. The vibrating ring and your fisting only seemed to milk him completely, causing him to whimper and whine uncontrollably, continuing to paint his shaft, your hand, his beige sweater, and the leather seats in his essence.

When he was finished, you took in the huge mess he’d made with a grin. “Look at what you’ve done,” you purred, grabbing a few napkins to clean your hands. Miguel didn’t respond, only babbling softly, his words unintelligible.

You laughed at his thoroughly satisfied expression, finding it utterly adorable how fucked-out he looked. You relieved him of the vibrator, turning it off and removing it from his swollen shaft, the toy completely coated with his sticky fluids. 

You smirked, eyeing the white-coated ring; it was so enticing that you couldn't help but bring the toy to your mouth to give it a taste. Like savoring the sweetness of honey on a wand, you ran your tongue along the vobrator, humming in ecstasy.

Your eyes fluttered at the taste. His seed was different—something you couldn't quite put into words, but an essence you'd definitely want more of in the future, something you had to taste straight from the source.

After sucking the ring clean, you placed it into your bag and slid closer to Miguel. His eyes were still closed, his chest heaving up and down while his body spasmed—small tremors spreading through his massive being.

You turned his face towards you, a finger resting under his chin. His eyes fluttered open to meet your satisfied gaze. “I’m happy you enjoyed yourself, puppy,” you whispered, an airy chuckle passing his lips at your words. “I had no choice… 

So I might as well enjoy it,” 

He muttered breathlessly, his response made you even prouder. Your little puppy was understanding the game—the fun. You couldn’t help but love the dork even more.

You leaned closer to him, your nose brushing against his. 

“Finally… you are starting to get it,” you uttered, pressing a rough and searing kiss to his mouth. Miguel, completely exhausted and shocked, instantly lost the fight, giving you control.

You devoured his mouth hungrily, his plush lips feeling just right and tasting even better as your tongue entered his parted lips. He groaned, kissing you back, but not enough to dominate nor challenge you, which you adored so much.

You kissed him until you were satisfied, sucking his lips until they were pink and swollen, and tasting his mouth with your tongue. You then pulled away from his enticing lips, both of you panting heavily. You looked him over with a smirk, patting his head and running your manicured fingers through his coffee-brown hair, and to your satisfaction, he didn’t pull away—either from weariness or pure enjoyment, it seemed your puppy had accepted his role. 

But you couldn’t be so sure…

You smiled, sliding out of the booth and picking up your $500 Prada bag from the seat. His amber eyes were full of confusion as he looked you over. You met your adorable lapdog’s gaze, standing before him in your lavish clothes—a white crop top, pink Gucci jacket, skirt, and heels.

You gave him a sly grin, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “Clean yourself up and have my homework done by 10. 

I want you at my sorority house tonight,” 

You smirked, watching his tanned cheeks turn a deep red. Your eyes took him in one last time, taking in his little mess, his flustered and stunned expression, softened cock, massive body, and those dorky glasses.

 All of that and so much more was yours now.

All yours…

“See you then,” you giggled, blowing him a kiss, and turning on your pink high heels, leaving the dork flabbergasted.

You swung open the door of Mama’s diner, stepping out onto the sidewalk and into the bustling streets of Nueva York. You put on your pink heart-shaped shades, the evening sun beaming upon your face, as an unshakeable smile adorned your glossy lips.

You were excited, no, delighted. 

You had discovered something better than a measly assistant that you had desired before. 

You had a permanent peasant, a puppy who was none other than the outcast of your college—the student at the bottom of the student hierarchy and hated by all was officially yours. 

And you couldn’t wait to have so much more fun with your little bitch boy, Miguel O’Hara.

Your new lapdog...

A/N: I enjoyed writing this soo much!! 😆

I hope u guys enjoyed it as well, I'm thinking of writing a Part 2 but...idk 🤔😏

But hope u guys liked!! 💗💗

P.S: Part 3 of 'A Fate Worse Than Death' would be up next week, my apologies, I just had to write this one. 😌

<3 Taglist:

~@oscarissac2099

~@powerful-niya

(Let me know in the comments if you'll like to become a part of the taglist! ❤️)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[chaaistained]

☕︎ my marauders dr; intro •°

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.

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🗝️ you’ve now unlocked the recipe to my marauders dr ≈

name : julia ephemeri potter

age (when i shift) : 15 — i’m experiencing the whole slow burn.. and i just know it’s gonna be torture . but we persevere

— (when i post about my script) : most of the time, i’ll be talking about me from the ages of 16-21 onwards

occupation : student of witchcraft at hogwarts

+ (eventually) some form of adult occupation . i’ll edit this later i genuinely don’t know and i don’t need to know for good few years at least so..

details :

— house : gryffindor

— wand : sandalwood with a mermaid hair core , 9.5”

+ wand breakdown

— patronus : brown bear / sable (undecided, i love both.. help)

— amortentia : ocean air , candle wax , musty books

+ amortentia breakdown

— fav subject : alchemy

— top subjects : (+ alchemy) ancient runes , charms , muggle studies

— pets : sadie / sadie sue (ginger tabby cat) , barnaby (brown barn owl , shared with james..)

side hobbies/hustles : gryffindor quidditch team seeker

+ (eventually) editorial team of the hogwarts herald

+ (eventually) prefect

s/o : regulus arcturus black ৻ꪆ

౨ৎ meet miss juju berry

an incandescence, forged of tart blood and a permeating sense of melancholy — she finds herself in a constant search, an unsolvable quest for meaning, latching onto anything that can define her identity and yet feeling irrevocably lost to herself — she is only the light, not the sun . she is only the shell, not the pearl . she is only the stain , not the blackberry

i unfurl into this reality with the kind of effervescence found in firewhiskey, a bubbling surprise of sorts, one that my own parents weren’t expecting. my mum calls me a gift, she calls my brother a blessing . i don’t know if the difference in term denotes a difference in how we’re perceived, and truth be told it drove me crazy as a kid and sometimes it still does but for whatever purpose or prosperity, the fates resolved that i was meant to be born and here i am

a toppling fire cracker of a girl, or so i’m told, i’m one of the rambunctious gryffindors that barrel down the marble hallways of hogwarts castle. i bunk with seven other girls, one of whom is my best friend — mary macdonald. along with the charming ravenclaw — emmeline vance — and a snark of a hufflepuff — hestia jones — the four of us can be found in various locations around the school campus; passed out in a heap on the softest patch of grass near the black lake , shooting pine cones over the whomping willow and keeping score of who gets the most over without the tree smacking them away , secluded in the third booth on the second floor of the library . our quills drying out while we distractedly ignore our transfiguration homework in favour of finding the right spell to conceal our carved names on the bottom of the booth’s oakwood table (the result of emmeline sneaking alcoholic butterbeer into the school, and a series of bad decisions later, we’d all drunkenly vandalised the furniture.. thankfully mcgonagall doesn’t know or i might lose my prefect badge)

with small flowers in my braid and golden earrings that shimmer as i shake my head, i slip between the sea of students with an ease that can only be spotted in the agile gait of a seeker. though, nothing about my speed on the ground can compare to that which i showcase when i’m hundreds of feet in the air, my broomstick being an extension of me, something i trust to a concerning degree, coming up with the sorts of tricks and techniques that would land me in the hospital wing if i wasn’t as good as i am. that attention to detail, the pedantic precision of my sight is also what makes me a renowned editor of the student body’s newsletter — a semi-professional scrapbook of a weekly issue, a holistic voice of all students from all houses . honestly it can be hard to maintain that harmony but perhaps that’s why dumbledore sanctioned the club, a forceful hand at coexisting

regardless, it’s the least of my worries, a pastime really, my main focus being the exceedingly irritating presence of a certain slytherin seeker, who grows more and more unbearable by the day, not to mention he’s constantly around, in almost all my classes, assigned to same hours of prefect patrol, not a moment of peace . and yet paired with that bothersome nuisance brews the burning desire to find out more

and if you want to know why, then i suppose you should keep reading

(merlin’s name, i can write intrigue splendidly, they should assign me as the journalist not just the bloody editor)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ my black bird

a rising tide in his own right, he is determined to maintain what is deemed to be perfection, unwilling to admit that no two waves ever look the same, no two stars ever shine alike, there is no apex . and yet he tries. haunted by ancestry, rippling currents that pull him into the ravine of his family’s legacy, it’s a future he wishes to inherit whilst believing it impossible. until his brother abandoned his birthright and that status, that title, that name he always wanted to earn yet never actually trained for, was now his

that unassuming final breath before striking a curse, the calm interwoven with calamity, that’s what regulus feels in every waking moment .

there is a blurry haze of memories when he tries to decipher where it all began — did envy bleed out of him every time sirius entered the room and commanded attention with his mere presence? or was it admiration? did he love his brother or loath him? maybe neither, maybe both, maybe everything in between and nothing at all, it never made sense and it probably never will.

so then leaves the question of his own significance — fostered from birth? or handed down simply because he is the spare to the heir? in this instance both made sense but neither option would ever be clarified.

and so regulus chooses to not feel anything, reserve all emotions to be shared with a few select friends — evan and barty had a way about them, his laughter was not something he could hold back in their presence . dorcas founded a semblance of solitude even though the space was shared, as if their silence was a mutual understanding, a shorthand of sorts . pandora had the gift of gracing their group with his smile, he considered it a curse that she had such a superpower, to bring out these genuine joys in other people, but he knew she wouldn’t see it that way — those were his people

not his brother . who he shifted his eyes to look away from whenever they passed each other .. only to turn back and glance over his shoulder, observing the elder son’s movements, wishing he’d turn back too, and then hurriedly clenching his fist, squashing the thought before it even had the chance to breathe

not his parents . who stood tall yet hollow, ghosts of who they were before their family was “torn apart” according to them, holding metaphorical goal posts only to keep moving them higher and higher every time regulus attempted to score, before tutting as he slipped and fell, unable to maintain the impossible altitude of their expectations

no. his people were his friends, the people who could mellow out his misgivings, erode his stone walls

and yet, those stone walls remain intact, erosion takes time.

unless of course someone me shattered the very structure of his world view, erupting his life into firework flurries of emotions, clandestine nights, musty sunrises drenched in dew drops and fog, leaving a wafting air about the world, scented jasmine and blackberry, amber gold flecks embedded inside twin irises . the kind of beauty that haunts his dreams and burns fire in his heart

he really should not be giving in to such a tragically stupid connection, not when majority of the time is spent bickering amongst dusty textbooks, whispering shouts bouncing off cold castle walls in the middle of the night, hexes spewing back and forth before finally forfeiting from fear of being caught .. that isn’t what he should want

he shouldn’t want anything

and yet he does

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ candlelit hearts

sinking into an unknown abyss, falling from the sky with a smile on your face while the halo around your head crackles, wax dripping down the curve of your back, you were destined to fall, that’s what you are meant to do, that’s who you are meant to be — a tidal wave tore through your heart, engulfing you entirely and yet you let yourself descend deeper and deeper — for reasons unknown, you found a companion in the darkness, a fire in the flesh, a home between interlaced fingers, foreheads pressed together and a single flickering candle flame that burns bright from the magic of your shared love

it’s funny, when i look back at it. because i suppose we always knew the other existed, but i only really met him when i was 13..

whatever classes we shared before, whatever moments were missed where we walked past each other through hallways or on moving staircases, those never really registered.

i just remember the cold, the prickly sensation of snow on my bare fingertips, crunching under my feet, glittering from the shy slithers of sunlight that flitted through the bleak grey sky. the constant dinging bells, the sound of students exploring all that hogsmeade had to offer, and yet there we stood, facing each other in an alley between shops, frowning in a way that would become all too familiar in the years to come

for what it’s worth, it’s easy to dislike the guy — almost always beating me by a few marks, his facial expression was more than enough of a gloat in itself . creating nicknames for whatever trick i use in a quidditch match and always coming up with a counter move (he can’t ever let me win. personally speaking, of course, i win plenty of matches) . it’s always something with him, and whatever quick bursts of emotion i bring out are hurriedly buried under a blank expression and a tired, almost uninterested visage that boils my blood in a way i cannot possibly describe . and yet i find myself thinking about it, about him, in the ungodly hours of the night.. only to get back at him of course

and it isn’t as if i can speak for him, for the longest time i had no clue what he’d be thinking no matter how long i stared, trying to decipher his thoughts.. but i’d be an idiot to have not noticed a change — the way he would walk through life with a strive to prove himself and yet constantly controlling how much of that ambition he could show.. living each day almost half present, half minded, elsewhere entirely, focused on a far reaching future as if it was right around the corner

he wasn’t like that anymore, he seemed to flourish, to spark, to appear alive . but only when teetering on the tightrope of an improbable partnership, an impossible romance, a strange little love story written between the aged cushions of an abandoned couch, in a hidden lounge, behind an old potions classroom — we found it together . or, more so, we argued and raced to unlock the door first, but regardless, it was our space . a space in which the kindling fire of an unlikely friendship would blossom into something greater than i could ever hope for

and when the mysteries within the castle walls start to crack through, when the secrets between the students stir the cauldron of rumours, and the history of influential families begins to pull itself up from the grave .. i guess it’s not so surprising to admit, but someone as curious as me, paired with someone as persistent as regulus? it’s no big shock that we find ourselves in the middle of such a storm

one transmutation away from uncovering the truth, waking up old bones, and burying the new ones

don’t swallow the tea leaves ! for they leave you a message 🍂

the people have spoken (i’m referring to the poll) and so i post ^this .. it did take a while bcs of numerous reasons that i don’t want to go into but anyway, i adore this dr so so much and i’ve worked so hard on the fic version of it T^T however it is a bit too traumatic for me to actually live out so .. this dr is slightly more tame — i just want to relive high school in hogwarts with the people that helped me through a lot of the shit i faced when i was in high school and they were merely characters on a screen — although, i can’t help myself, there are a few mysteries and bouts of intrigue to keep me entertained, i just .need to figure out what.. i could leave it up to my subconscious but . i don’t wanna do that ≈

chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

2025 © chaaistained

[demothers-empty-blog]

The Bully vs The Mountain of a Man

CW: nada, except that you’re mean. part 2 of this

König sits at the far end of the couch, beer in hand feeling sorry for himself.

He suppresses a shudder from the thoughts that plagued his mind as of late, like his body was actively trying to repel the feelings that came with those memories. Goosebumps break out across the expanse of his bare arms and thighs.

His mind offered him no respite, he couldn’t stop agonizing over every painful detail even if he tried.

König physically cringes in his seat, subconsciously pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose to hide his sorry self.

You once bought him a shirt that read: Don’t bully me, I’ll c*m :( in front of many of your coworkers. You don’t regret it, that witch cackle of yours still haunts König’s nightmares to this day. he wears it to sleep sometimes. sue him, it’s comfortable at the very least.

Or that one time he missed a shot during a mission after boasting that he was the best and you, with your big mouth, couldn’t resist the temptation of poking the bear.

“I see why you got rejected as a sniper.”

He muted the channel after that.

Soon his mind began to drift to instances you used to poke fun of him whenever he made an ass of himself, for example in front of that lady who he tried courting at a bar. Rather than receiving her number, he got a face full of her drink. He retreated back to yours and his group who were gathered in a booth, tail tucked between his legs.

“Better luck next time, bub.”

You on the other hand, swooped in after patting poor, defeated König on the shoulder and made your way to the girl. You who managed to get both her socials and phone number just so you could gossip about men over mimosas.

Somehow that stung worse than the rejection.

He wasn’t a sore loser about it, no, he just didn’t understand why you had to one up him. When confronted, you simply said, “König, stop worrying so much about what other people think. Trust me, I say this in the most comforting sense, you’re very forgettable. Nobody’s gonna focus on how your voice raised in pitch or how you fumbled over a word you couldn’t pronounce.”

As barely reassuring as it all sounded, König still couldn’t understand why you had to be, for lack of better terms, a dick.

You shrug your shoulders and look over to somewhere that wasn’t his face. “I like to tease.”

“You like to… tease?” He says out loud.

Not a thought passed through the Colonel’s head after that statement, he could only slow blink as he tried processing what just reached his ears. He’d like to silence you, he hasn’t decided on the how yet.

But you give him this smile chock full of endearment, it holds no resentment or hatred, nor did it contain any traces of disgust.

You looked at him, him. Not past him, you didn’t focus on a body part, you saw him.

Something clicked in that moment.

“…you don’t actually mean it.”

You burst into a light laugh, giving his shoulder a little tap. “Of course I don’t mean it, silly. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Teasing, a little poke, all in good fun. He always had a sore spot when it came to bullying but this, this was different.

König might retaliate now, maybe he’ll tease you more often, make it known that he’s just fucking with you too.

Man, is he ever mean about it. Like when you can’t reach an item and you have to climb countertops to grab said item from the kitchen. When in the military, your fellow soldiers don’t really take into account that they have a half pint working alongside them and will always, always, put shit on the highest shelf.

And by fellow soldiers, it really is just König.

“Was ist los, Taube? Can’t reach?”

You glare at him.

He’s using your head as an arm rest more often, or your least favourite, there’s something he took up recently, calls it your “time out”.

Whenever he’s had it with you, instead of punishing you like he would usually for insubordination because in reality, he doesn’t have a hateful bone in his body towards you, he’ll scoop you up and set you on a high surface.

He forgot about you one time. Profusely apologized for leaving you stranded for a whopping 15 minutes.

tagging a few peeps i thought might enjoy this: @lostintransist @chrysocoma @silentmoor

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

good morning! here's a short little second part to this for the @steddie-spooktober halfway to halloween pop-up!

rated: G | 935 words | full work on AO3

The morning of his second date with Steve starts out on just this side of cold, the sun shining down over dew and through the fog curling up from the earth.

A not all that unusual cold night in the still warming summer that is sure to bloom into a clear 70° later in the day.

Their first date (or was this their first? The last was a double technically) went over smooth as butter; Steve and Robin getting on like a house fire over late night pancakes the day of the fair.

Eddie’s feet were sore, there were still totes of merchandise stuffed into Robin and Chrissy’s backseat, but all four were laughing and joking for a good couple hours more in that booth.

Rob and Chris had driven with Eddie to Benny’s, but Steve was the one to take him home that night, pulling Eddie into a kiss in the driveway as the windows started to fog up around them.

Today, however, Eddie is picking Steve up from his place for their second (he’s decided, it’s their second.) date.

Stomach rolling with nerves, even this early in the day, Eddie gets up and starts getting ready.

He’s attempting what Chrissy calls an ‘everything shower’, he doesn’t have the whole shaving things thing to his to worry about like she includes in hers, but he showers as long as he can to scrub every inch of himself clean, breaks out a tub of body scrub Chrissy gave him that smells like grapefruit, does a full wash and dry of his hair to include the damn diffuser attachment on the damn hairdryer AND the curly hair goops Chrissy had helped him figure out originally. Damn, he loves that girl.

He even made sure to take his shirt for today out of the dryer right when it was done so it didn’t get any ridiculous wrinkles in it as he and Wayne’s iron has taken to melting even Wayne’s fire retardant ‘nice shirts’.

“Why do you need your date shirts to be the same material as your coveralls??”

“Sue me for not wantin’ my shirt to fuse to my skin if I have to save some orphans from a burning building mid-date.”

“....Is that a situation you think you’ll find yourself in?”

“Never hurts to be prepared.”

In any case, Eddie was showered, dressed, and as pretty’d up as he could manage on his own, and with 20 minutes to spare.

“You look great, Eddie!!” Chrissy squeals as soon as she picks up the video call, “He’s gonna want to ravish you right there in the park.”

“You sure? My curls aren’t too curl-y?”

“Is that a thing?” he hears Robin’s voice before he sees her, “Are curls not supposed to be curly?”

Chrissy pushes her away with a palm to the face, “They look perfect Eddie, you ran your fingers through them and everything?” He nods, “Then they’re perfect. Maybe just find a light breeze to ruffle them in and you’re golden.”

“And all the food we decided on is good?”

Chrissy nods, Robin’s voice filters back through, “As long as you have turkey on some of those sandwiches, you can’t fail.”

“And no, the chocolate strawberries are not ‘Too cheesy’, or ‘overdone’, they are a classic for a reason.”

“And Steve loves chocolate covered strawberries!” Robin calls again.

“He does?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Okay, okay.. I can do this.. It’s already our second date. No worries, right?”

“I thought it was your firs–”

Chrissy cuts her off, “Right! It’ll be fun! Don’t forget the blanket, and remember: the middle tree of the three, the others had too many roots.”

“Right…” Eddie nods, thanking his lucky stars again that Chrissy was his friend; she’d insisted on scoping out the perfect spot at the park for his and Steve's picnic date days ahead of time. Somewhere not too close to anything of import, somewhere where the parking lot was emptier even on a perfect sunny day, somewhere up wind from the often-used park grills.

“It’ll be great Eddie, now hurry up or you’ll be late!!”

–

Everything goes smoothly, perfect even; he gets to Steve’s right on time, says hello to Dustin and Max, and Their Spot in the park is just as perfect as he and the girls expected it to be.

So everything was great. Except the one thing he forgot. Gum. Mints. Anything to get the onion smell off his breath.

And of course he doesn’t remember he forgot them until Steve leans up over him on the blanket.

“Wait, no.” Eddie says, turning his face away from Steve’s searching lips.

Steve’s face falls almost imperceptibly, “Everything okay?”

“Perfect, actually, except I forgot the mints.”

His brow scrunches in confusion, “Mints?” he cups his hand over his mouth and checks his breath, “Does my–”

“No! No, no, it’s mine,” Eddie explains quickly, “I have onion breath. I always do after I eat them, even just the little bit that was on the sandwiches.”

“Eddie,” Steve’s concern melts into what Eddie can only describe as exasperated fondness. “You had coffee breath the first time I kissed you. Onion breath is nothing.”

“Oh…?”

“Oh.” Steve nods, leaning down to kiss him into the soft grass beneath their blanket, “And I’m sure your morning breath won’t be a problem either.”

“You’re getting my morning breath now?” Eddie laughs around Steve’s lips, “Presumptuous, Stevie dear.”

Steve snorts, then sighs, laying back down on the blanket. “And to think, I almost didn’t even drive those two to the fair.” he pauses, “I think it was worth it though.”

“Oh yeah?”

Steve turns his head to smile crookedly at him, “I met you, didn’t I?”

and then they live happily ever after the end 🥰

[wasteddmoondust]

you and james potter and physical touch.

heads? on shoulders. in each other's laps. in each other's hands. he holds your face like he's holding the entire world. his favourite pillow to rest on is your chest. yours is in the crook of his neck.

hands? intertwined. at least one of your fingers interlocked as you walk in a crowded hallway. on your waist, or the small of your back. on your thigh (he's a thigh guy, sue me), on the couch or when you're in the passenger seat. your hands comb through his dark curls. his hands braid your hair if it's long enough. fingers are for head massages whenever they are needed.

arms? linked. as much as possible. while walking, while watching a movie, when you're sitting on the same side of a booth for dinner. arms around each other, warm and always welcome. big or little spoon or just... tangled like pasta in a fork.

legs! around his hips when you're on his lap. his between yours in the early hours of the morning. or when he picks you up and throws you over his back.

sometimes all he wishes for is to be close to you and melt into you. lucky for him, it turns out you wish for the same too.

a/n: can you tell my love language is physical touch... (gonna make one of these love language things for the other boys too teehee)

[bunnibite]

FAIRLY UNHINGED! katsuki bakugo

parings; katsuki bakugo x delulu!fem!reader

notes; this is me with my bsf (if reader reminds u of u the physic ward is free entry!)

you’d been talking shit since the car ride.

“I’m gonna win every game, Katsuki,” you bragged, licking blue raspberry off your finger from the slushie you’d demanded before even getting to the fair. “I’m literally built for this. Carnival blood runs in my veins.”

Bakugou gave you a side-eye like you were already losing the plot. “You ain’t winning shit. You don’t got aim, or coordination, or a single ounce of balance.”

“I have confidence,” you countered, which in your delusional little mind, was more powerful than physics.

⸻

GAME #1: RING TOSS.

You kissed the ring for good luck and launched it like a frisbee. It flew three booths over and hit someone’s hot dog.

“…That counted,” you said.

Bakugou groaned. “The fuck it did.”

⸻

GAME #2: SHOOTING GALLERY

“Step aside, baby. Watch greatness in action.” You grabbed the plastic rifle like you were born on the battlefield.

You missed every duck. Every tin can. Even the giant neon target labeled “FREE PRIZE HERE.”

Bakugou was behind you, cracking up and filming it. “You’re a goddamn menace.”

You blew imaginary smoke off the gun. “Sniper. Elite tier.”

“More like blind as shit.”

⸻

GAME #3: THE STRONGMAN HAMMER.

You stepped up, psyching yourself out. You even slapped your bicep like you were prepping for battle. “This is it. Redemption arc.”

Bakugou didn’t even stop you. He was enjoying the downfall.

You swung the hammer like a hero in an anime—and the puck moved up six inches before flopping down with a sad little bell ding.

Bakugou doubled over. “Oh my god.”

“Malfunction,” you insisted. “The hammer’s rigged.”

“It’s foam.”

⸻

THEN: THE RIDES

“Oh hell yeah, we’re doing the Zipper,” you declared. “I’m not even scared. You’re scared. You literally look scared.”

Bakugou raised a brow. “It’s a carnival ride, not a warzone. Get your delusional ass in the seat.”

Two minutes later, the cage door slammed shut. The ride jolted to life, flinging you and Bakugou straight into the air.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. Then louder: “OH MY FUCKING GOD.”

You grabbed the bars with white-knuckle terror. “STOP THE RIDE. I WANNA GET OFF!”

“It just started!” Bakugou was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “What happened to carnival blood, huh?!”

You turned feral midair. “I’M GONNA DIE. I’M TOO HOT TO DIE!”

You actually tried to open the cage door mid-spin.

Bakugou had to slap your hand away. “THE HELL YOU DOIN’? SIT YOUR CRAZY ASS DOWN!”

“I’M SERIOUS. I’LL JUMP.”

“You’re 80 feet in the air! You’ll be a hot pancake!”

“I’d rather die than do another spin!”

The ride operator slowed it down—probably because he saw you trying to unbuckle mid-loop like a final destination death was pending.

Bakugou didn’t stop wheezing until you got off the ride and collapsed in the grass.

You lay there, arms out, staring up at the sky. “I’m suing this fair.”

“You should sue your own brain.”

⸻

LATER THAT NIGHT

You held a single sad prize—a knockoff Squishmallow Bakugou won “just to shut you up.”

“Best day ever,” you mumbled, shoving cotton candy in your mouth.

Bakugou rolled his eyes but wrapped an arm around you anyway. “You’re insane.”

“I’m a champion.”

“You’re a liability.”

“Still pulled though,” you teased, poking his side.

He smirked. “Barely.”

You beamed like you’d actually won something.

(Delusion wins again.)

©bunnibite. all work by me. plagiarism is prohibited

[memento-rory]

✭ 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭. 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐚, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒃.

✭ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and ted get a little too close for schlatt’s comfort at the club, and you finally tell someone what happened between you and schlatt all those months ago.

✭ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: a little ted x reader and a steamy dance scene.

✭ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ~3k

✭ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i realize that i’ve taken four chapters to get through one entire day, and i hope y’all are cool with that lmao. i’m sure it will keep happening again. a week was a little ambitious, but fiwb. no beta, we die like men here. (if you ever see a mistake, you are legally obligated to tell me.) enjoy! 🩵

Blue and purple lights illuminate a steady swirl of fog coming out of machines near the DJ’s stage, the bass of the loud music completely overtaking all of your senses. You can feel the reverb under your skin, and the hairs on your arm stand at attention. The dance floor toward the front of the building is full of bodies, so many people dancing all their cares away.

“I’m gonna get you beautiful ladies a round of shots!” James yells as he pokes his head in between you and Amelia. “You find us a place to chill!”

Amelia takes your hand and leads you through the crowds of people standing around and talking, weaving your way around the large space, before finally finding a table big enough to house your entire party. You scoot into the booth with Amelia close behind you, grinning over at her, already absolutely buzzing about the night you’re about to have.

James had been sure that Ted and Schlatt would have shown up by the time he got back to the table with shots, but he’s wrong, so he offers you and Amelia the two extra shots. You down them, grimacing as the shot burns all the way down. James has also gone ahead and ordered your favorite drink, which you sip on as you wait for Ted and Schlatt to arrive. Amelia and James take to the floor, dragging you along with them.

You sway along to the music, the alcohol already beginning to course through your veins. It’s been a while since you’ve drank, since you’ve really let loose. The last time was… well… you don’t want to dwell on it.

Ted stands in front of the mirror, running his hand through his hair once, twice, three times, trying to get it perfect. He adjusts the string of pearls around his neck, the rings on his fingers. He catches Schlatt’s eyes in the mirror, quirking an eyebrow at the scowl on his face.

“Dude, you look fine, can we fuckin’ go?” Schlatt says, half-laying on the bed, “You’re taking fuckin’ forever.”

“Fuckin’… sue me for wanting look nice,” Ted laughs at Schlatt’s impatience. “Did you see how good (Y/N) looks?”

Schlatt bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “Barely even looked at her, man.” The lie slips out of his mouth so easily, and he’s glad Ted is none the wiser.

“Well, I looked at her. Got a realll good look,” Ted shoots Schlatt a pointed look, before returning to his preening, “Can’t look like some kinda chump next to her.”

Schlatt rolls his eyes, his skin heating up at Ted’s words. He tries to ignore the feeling, but something comes over him.

“You’re not her type, man.” Schlatt says casually, before he can stop it. Ted thinks Schlatt’s just trying to get a rise out of him, so he only laughs, unbothered by Schlatt’s statement.

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

It’s difficult, but for once, Schlatt keeps his thoughts to himself.

You’re two shots and one fruity little drink deep when Schlatt and Ted finally show up. Amelia and James are still out on the dance floor, but you’re at the bar ordering another round of drinks and shots for Ted and Schlatt after they’d texted they were on their way.

When you spot Ted and Schlatt looking for your group, you lift a hand up, waving them over. Ted beams as he catches your eye, sauntering over to the bar, with Schlatt close behind.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Ted sidles up to you at the bar, looming over you, punctuating his greeting with a cheeky wink. “Come here often?” He asks, intentionally deepening his voice to draw a laugh from you. It works, causing you to giggle at him. (Ted’s always been funny, but he’s even funnier now that you’re tipsy.)

“Shut up,” You laugh, rolling your eyes at him. You think you catch Schlatt doing the same out of the corner of your eye, but you can’t be sure. “I ordered your drinks. You’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Yeah?” Ted smiles mischievously down at you, “Are you feelin’ it?”

“I’m feelin’ it,” You confirm with a carefree laugh, nodding your head.

As if on cue, the bartender serves up your shots and Ted and Schlatt’s drinks. “Take my shot,” You tell Ted, handing the small glass over to him, “I’ve gotta pace myself or shit’s gonna go south real fast.” You giggle.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Ted grins, downing the two shots with ease, grimacing slightly. He turns to pass Schlatt a shot and his drink, but Schlatt’s already on the other side of the club, talking to Amelia and James.

Ted merely shrugs and so do you. How are you supposed to care when Ted is standing in front of you, playfully flirting with you while looking absolutely delicious?

“Are you having fun?” Ted asks you, watching you intently as you wrap your lips around the straw in your drink.

“Not yet,” You smirk at him, the alcohol in your system granting you a new kind of confidence, “I was waiting for you to get here.”

Ted’s eyes light up at your statement. “Yeah?” He asks, with a sly grin. He looks like he’s up to no good, and you’re eating it up. “Let me show you a good time.”

Ted downs his drink, before taking your hand in his, leading you out onto the dance floor. You abandon the rest of your drink at the bar, not particularly caring about it at the moment.

Once you hit the dance floor, Ted raises your hand in the air, gracefully spinning you. When you face him again, he drops your hand onto his shoulder, using his other hand to pull you closer to him by your waist. You’re nearly pressed against him, swaying along to the music, with Ted’s firm grip on your waist. The energy in the room is fucking electric, and it only makes you bolder. You turn around, your back up against Ted’s chest. One of your arms snakes up behind you to rest your hand at the back of his neck, and you slowly drag yourself down against him, swaying your hips. You can feel Ted’s breath on your neck as you come back up, and his hand slips underneath the hem of your shirt to rest on your bare skin.

You move your hand to rest on his cheek, holding him close to you. As you touch him, his grip on your skin grows even tighter, and you hear him sigh against your ear. The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

Ted lets you lead, his body moving in tandem with yours, matching all the cues you give him. You can feel yourself getting lost in the music, in him. He feels so good pressed up against you, and your mind wanders as he grinds up on you to the beat. Your eyes close as you let the music flow through you.

When you open your eyes, you notice Schlatt on the other side of the dance floor. He has his eyes fixed on you while some random girl practically feels him up, gyrating against him without shame. His hand lazily rests on the girl’s back, inching dangerously close to her barely-covered ass. His eyebrow quirks just slightly as he realizes you’re watching them.

You maintain eye contact as Ted’s face draws closer to your neck, his lips just barely grazing across your skin. You let your head drop a little lower to give Ted easier access to your neck, and his fingers squeeze at your hip.

Schlatt’s demeanor changes almost imperceptibly, his expression hardening and one of his fists clenching at his side.

His eyes never leave yours, even as the girl he’s dancing with leans up to practically shove her tongue in Schlatt’s mouth. You can almost feel your blood boiling beneath your skin, a scowl forming on your face before you can stop it.

Satisfied that he’s received a reaction from you, Schlatt’s eyes flutter closed as he threads a hand into the girl’s hair, pulling her closer and unabashedly making out with her in the middle of the dance floor.

Your stomach drops and you start to feel entirely too hot under all the lights, all of the heat coming from the bodies around you threatening to suffocate you. You think about stepping off the floor for a break, just to get your wits about you again, but you don’t want to give Schlatt the satisfaction. Instead, you turn back around to face Ted, deciding to turn up the heat yourself.

Ted’s face is unbelievably close to yours as the two of you hit every beat. He’s sporting a wolf-like grin, his eyes half-lidded and staring into your own. The way he’s eyeing you makes you think you’re not alone in having inappropriate thoughts about the two of you together.

Ted has always been handsome, there’s no doubting that, but this is uncharted territory. You’ve known Ted for a good chunk of your life, he’s been one of your closest friends for as long as you can remember. You have a feeling that if you were to do anything, the two of you could be normal about it afterward. What happens at weddings stays at weddings, or whatever.

Ted’s face dips lower, and his eyes dart to your lips, then back up. You move your hand back up to rest at the base of his neck, pulling him to you to close the gap. He tastes like the drinks he downed just a while ago, and almost equally intoxicating.

“Oh, my God!” You hear Amelia yelling beside you, and Ted pulls away from you, clearly amused. Amelia covers her mouth with her hand, looking apologetic for her drunken outburst.

“Sorry, sorry, oh my god.” Amelia shouts over the music, waving her hands, “You guys keep going. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“All good, Mel,” Ted shouts back, waving his own hand dismissively, “We’ve got plenty of time to do that later.” He adds, flirtatiously.

You feel a heat pool in your abdomen at his words. Amelia looks scandalized, but ecstatic nonetheless. James is shockingly quiet beside her, and you follow his gaze to the other side of the dance floor.

Schlatt is gone.

Hours go by before the rest of you are ready to head back to the hotel.

You’ve had many drinks, and your feet hurt like a bitch from all the dancing. Ted keeps you steady as you walk back to your room, his arm around your shoulder, but he’s also fairly drunk, so the two of you are just stumbling and giggling down the hallway.

“I didn’t know you were rooming next to Schlatt.” Ted remarks as you get to your room.

“Don’t remind me.” You let out a little laugh as you fish your key card out of your purse. Once you get the door open, you look over at Ted, who is just watching you with a hopeful look that he’s too drunk to hide on his face.

“Did you wanna come in?” You ask him, “Maybe have a glass of champagne on the balcony?”

Ted’s eyes light up. “Fuck yeah I do.”

You give him a smile and gesture for him to follow you inside, letting the door click shut behind you.

You plop down onto your bed, eager to get your heels off, but as you fiddle with the buckle, you realize you’re a little too drunk to get them off. You huff out a sigh, and Ted laughs, making his way over to you.

“C’mon,” Ted says as he stands in front of you, motioning for you to lift your leg up to him, “Lemme help.”

You raise your leg up, and Ted guides your foot to rest on his stomach so he has better access to the buckles of your heels. He unbuckles one slowly, moving his hand to your calf to let your leg drop gently, before doing the same with the other one. His touch lingers on your other leg, and he smiles down at you, like he’s just waiting for another chance to kiss you.

You find yourself thinking about Schlatt just next door. Part of you doesn’t give a shit, but another part of you wonders if it would be fucked up to fuck his friend where he could easily hear it.

Another part of you wishes it was him.

Clearing your throat to cut through the tension between you and Ted, you stand up from the bed, making your way to the minibar. “How about that drink?” You suggest, grabbing a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

The cool air coming off of the ocean hits your face as you step out onto the balcony, immediately putting you more at ease. As you sit down at the table, you notice that Schlatt’s lights are still on, spilling out between the curtains in his room. You can just barely see him through the gap, and a terrible thought hits you: Is he alone? Had he left with that girl from earlier?

“Oh, good, Schlatt’s still up,” Ted comments, grabbing his phone from his pocket, “I’d love to get into something more comfortable. I’m gonna ask him to toss me some clothes.”

Ted shoots off a text that you both see Schlatt read, and he looks up to see the two of you watching him from outside. He gets up, and you nearly gulp as you notice he’s only in his boxer briefs. He shows no intention of getting Ted’s things, and instead, closes the curtains with a look on his face that you can’t place. You both watch as his lights go out. Well, you think bitterly, at least he’s alone.

“What the fuck?” Ted scoffs, looking over at you.

You release a heavy sigh. “That’s probably my fault.”

“In what world would that be your fault?” Ted kind of laughs, but he stops as you lean back in your chair, looking a little dejected. It’s not fair for Schlatt to be mad at Ted, to treat him this way just because of you.

You wonder how to even begin to explain the situation to Ted. He notices how you struggle, and immediately starts to pour you a glass of champagne.

You give him a soft smile as he hands you the glass.

“What happened?” Ted asks softly, leaning back in his own chair, giving you the floor.

You sigh again before diving into the story. “Schlatt and I were together… for a while.”

“What?” Ted exclaims, obviously shocked. “When?”

“It was, like, a year ago,” You answer, taking a sip of the champagne. “We hooked up after Jasper’s birthday party. When the party started to wind down, we got to talking and, well, one thing led to another… It was good for, like, a month, and then all of a sudden he just… ghosted, so I don’t know why he’s so pressed now, but he is.”

“Fuuuck,” Ted commiserates with you, shaking his head. “Are you still into him?” He asks, this time as your friend, not as someone who was just about to get to hook up with you.

Had you not been drinking, you might answer differently, but with your inhibitions out the window and a kind ear being lent to you, you decide to be honest.

“Yeah, kinda.” You tell Ted, “I thought I was over it but being here with him, being in his presence at all hours of the day… it all just came back, I think.”

“So why don’t you do something about it?”

“He ghosted me. I’m not about to go back to him with my tail between my legs, hoping he’ll change his mind.”

“(Y/N), he just locked me out of my room for the night because he saw us kiss earlier.” Ted says, “Clearly he’s still feeling something for you.”

You shake your head. Ted doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know how many texts you sent, how much you cried, how hard it was to watch Schlatt act like nothing ever happened between the two of you. You’d opened yourself up to him, just for him to disappear.

“I can’t, Ted.” You finally say, taking another drink. “You can stay with me tonight, if you want. It’s my fault you’re wrapped up in this now, too.”

“Hey, I kissed you, so I’m complicit too.” Ted smiles warmly over at you, “He’ll get over it. Don’t let him bother you.”

“I’m really sorry the night turned out like this,” You can’t help the apology that spills from you, “I know you were hoping for… something else.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Ted waves a hand dismissively, fully unbothered that you’ve changed your mind about hooking up with him, “I wasn’t expecting anything. I’m having a good time either way, I promise.”

A comfortable silence settles over the two of you as you finish your drinks, just marinating in the milky glow of the moon over the ocean, enjoying the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

“You got anything I can sleep in?” Ted finally asks, and you grin over at him.

“I have a cute little pink PJ set that you’d look real cute in.” You tease, and Ted rolls his eyes, laughing.

“God, nevermind.”

You let out a cackle at his response, feeling much better than you had just moments ago. It feels good to finally tell someone what happened with Schlatt. You let yourself bask in the comfort of it all, because you know that once tomorrow comes, you’re in for some more torture when Schlatt finds out Ted stayed with you for the night.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 ✭ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 →

[tofics]

Everyone Wants a Piece of Pedro Pascal

To his friends and family, he is Pepelo, Pipi, Pedders, and Peds. Years ago, on a movie set, someone started calling him Pepsi, which he loved.

Over lunch in London, Pascal is a grand raconteur who tells stories with his hands and uses funny voices and loves to swear and drink cocktails and murder a cheese plate. He doesn’t take himself too seriously. At the same time, he’ll press right up against the sad and raw and confusing parts of being alive. His insides are on his outsides. He cries easily. He laughs loudly.

The Fantastic Four’s Vanessa Kirby—who plays Sue Storm to Pascal’s stretchy genius, Reed Richards—tells me that her friend’s allure is “his immense vulnerability”: “He doesn’t have much armor, so he shows himself to you straight away, and you trust that person because he’s revealing himself to you in this very brave way.”

When I first meet Pascal, it’s in the lobby of his swanky hotel. I go in for a handshake, and he wraps me in a hug instead. On our way outside we pass a bar, and he offers to make me a cocktail, then whisks me out the front door into a waiting black BMW. “Baby, I’m taking you on a date!” he says. Pascal is happiest and most comfortable when the people around him are happy and comfortable, and because he is naturally so curious and warm, there’s a sense of immediate safety with him. You’re grateful to be in his light.

We sit down at a Palestinian restaurant in Notting Hill. Pascal says he picked the restaurant because the last time he was here he admired the booth and the afternoon light, and thought it would be fun for us to share small plates of food. But he’s posted more than once on Instagram about what’s unfolding in Gaza, so I suspect he’s also making a statement of support by doing an interview here. He removes his leather jacket and his green sweatshirt, stripping down to a simple white T-shirt, and lays his thick-frame glasses on the table.

Pascal needed to make peace with “crossing this bullshit milestone of 50,” so he decided to lean in headlong, planning a multiday celebration he compares to a wedding. On April 2 he hosted an intimate dinner for family and friends at a London restaurant whose martini he knew to be a winner. All three of his siblings were there, along with his father. Lux surprised him with a slideshow of pictures of Pascal and his friends and family over the years—even Gretta!—that finished to the song “Corazón de Melón.” Three separate times he tries to explain how moved he was by his sister’s gift without crying. “I’m not like this every day, I swear to God,” he says, laughing. “But when you feel seen like I did that night, you feel touched by magic.”

As we’re getting in the car, Pascal mentions his mother: He was 24 when she died by suicide. My own mother died by suicide when I was 18, a fact I wasn’t sure would be comfortable or appropriate to share. But then Pascal mentions that his mother got her PhD at San Antonio’s Trinity University, where I was a college freshman when my mother died. The coincidence is so uncanny that I find myself spilling. Pascal immediately takes my hand. “Whether we like it or not, we’re bonded,” he says.

There was something magical about María Verónica Pascal Ureta. Her firstborn son misses everything about her. Her beauty. Her smell. How funny she was, and how funny she found farts. “She couldn’t get past a fart of any kind without it absolutely destabilizing her into hysterics,” says Pascal. “She thought they were the most brilliant, hilarious, wonderful thing in the world.” She was also “very deep-feeling, very complex, very, very out of reach in a way,” he adds. Pascal’s mother tried as best she could to know her son. She read To Kill a Mockingbird after seeing the profound effect it had on Pascal in grade school. She pored over For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide / When the Rainbow Is Enuf, which consumed Pascal after his high school English teacher read the Lady in Red monologue. She let her 17-year-old son skip school to see a pre-Broadway production of Angels in America. When Pascal came home awestruck—emotionally reorganized by what he’d seen—she bought herself a ticket so she could experience some of what her son felt. Pascal has a tattoo of his mother’s signature on the inside of his right wrist. I have a tattoo in honor of my mother on the inside of my left. As a goodbye outside of Downey’s house, we touch our griefs against each other for a moment. Which is maybe what the movies, or literature, or theater allows us to do.

In honor of Pedro Pascal's cover shoot for Vanity Fair, here are some of my favorite excerpts from the amazing article that came with it, written by Karen Valby.

If people wonder why everyone and their neighbor has a thing for Pedro - this article has the answers.