#and high low. Loose fit

[yuujispinkhair]

Attending a formal family event with Sukuna

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff with some sexual implications. 1.3k words. Minors don't interact. Divider @/plutism

You didn't want to go to your great-aunt's 80th birthday party, where you only know about a third of the people, but they all seem to know you, and you are expected to do awkward small talk. But you couldn't back out, and now you are here in this fancy hotel, wearing a party dress and uncomfortable shoes with heels that make you feel wobbly on your feet.

But luckily, Sukuna is next to you, letting you hold onto his strong arm so you won't make a fool of yourself by falling in front of everyone. When you think about it, it was very easy to convince your boyfriend to accompany you. You even got the impression that he was happy that you wanted to bring him along to such a big family event, letting even the most distant family member know that Sukuna is the man in your life.

And surely, everyone knows by now. Sukuna has all eyes on him. He stands out with his imposing figure, the pink hair, and the face tattoos and various piercings. You can see the curious glances he gets, but Sukuna is someone who doesn't give a fuck, and instead even basks in the attention he gets, always grinning smugly at everyone who looks his way. And he never lets go of you, making sure everyone knows who he is here with.

It makes you feel strangely proud, too. You won't say it so as not to feed your boyfriend's arrogance even more, but you are beginning to enjoy the looks Sukuna receives. It feels good to show him off as your boyfriend. He looks sinfully good in his black pants and the black dress shirt that sits so snugly on his athletic figure, accentuating his broad shoulders and all the firm muscles.

But it's not just that Sukuna is sexy eye candy on your arm. You are grateful he is by your side because you feel much more at ease with him keeping you company. As boring and awkward as events like these can be, Sukuna is making it better, just like he always makes everything better.

He stands behind you close enough so you feel his tall, firm body brush against you, giving you comfort and security. And providing constant entertainment.

Sukuna leans down to rest his chin on top of your head, hugging you loosely and watching the crowd with his cat-like eyes, analyzing everyone in this room and sharing his deductions with you in his sexy, low voice the whole time.

You laugh and sometimes exclaim in mock outrage, but you find Sukuna's comments very fitting and funny. Your boyfriend is always a first-class shit-talker, and at least the hours pass faster when he is here to make you laugh with his surprisingly accurate character studies of each and every family member.

You catch yourself leaning against Sukuna, resting more of your weight on him, knowing he can easily take it. And he hums approvingly.

One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, Sukuna's large hand sprawling casually and yet possessively over your stomach, high enough so he can feel your heart beating under his fingers. A heart that is currently picking up speed because you can feel Sukuna's firm muscles press against your back, and his breath is ghosting over your neck before he places a soft kiss right under your earlobe.

The band starts to play, and all the older couples gather on the dance floor and wave at you to join them. You shake your head apologetically, but Sukuna takes your hand firmly in his and tugs you along, making you complain all the way to the dancefloor, telling Sukuna that you can't dance, but he just laughs and grins that boyish grin at you,

"Doesn't matter what you can or can't do, princess. I'll take the lead, so don't worry."

Sukuna spins you around the dance floor amidst the elderly couples as if he is doing this for a living. You stare at him with big eyes, while Sukuna smirks smugly and informs you that his grandpa taught him and Yuuji how to dance because he said a man needs to know how to take his girl dancing.

You realize you have already relaxed in Sukuna's arms, letting him take control and trusting him blindly to keep you upright. You see several nods of approval from the couples around you as you dance past them - or rather, your boyfriend steers you past them.

"I think you are winning their hearts, baby."

"Of course I am."

After a few more songs, Sukuna leads you back to your table, and you lean into his side and whisper a thank you to him, not even knowing what you tank him for right now. For dancing with you, or for making an effort to get your family to like him, or just for being here with you.

Sukuna answers it with one of his rare dazzling smiles and a whispered, "I love you," which you return with an equally whispered, "I love you, too," and a soft smile.

Your great-aunt pulls you to the side later and tells you that your boyfriend is such a handsome young man. She doesn't really like the face tattoos, but oh, it doesn't matter, right? If that is what young people do nowadays, and he looks good with them and is so handsome and so tall! Such a charming young man!

"Does he make you happy?"

You nod and beam at your great-aunt, unable to stop smiling from ear to ear,

"Yes, he does. He makes me very happy."

And she gets that cheeky expression on her face and nods knowingly,

"Oh, I bet that goes for every aspect of your relationship, huh?"

She winks at you, leaving no doubt about what she is implying. And you feel your face heat up, stuttering nervously and trying to laugh it off while your great-aunt pats your arm and tells you,

"Make sure to keep him, honey. A handsome, tall man who makes you happy and looks like he can protect you is always a good choice!"

You walk back to Sukuna, who is leaning casually against the wall with his hands shoved into the pocket of his suit pants. There's a shit-eating grin on his beautiful face, and you roll your eyes as you stop in front of him and tilt your head to look up at your boyfriend's face.

"What did your aunt say about me, princess?"

"Basically that you are very handsome and that she thinks you are good in bed."

The smug smirk on Sukuna's face grows even bigger, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him, making you sway a bit on your heels, so you stumble against him and end up bracing yourself with both hands on Sukuna's chest. He sounds far too conceited when he says,

"Well, she is right. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sukuna cocks his head, waiting for your confirmation, and you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, getting on your tiptoes with a matching teasing grin on your face. You slowly lean closer to Sukuna's tattooed face, pressing a little kiss on his cheek before you look deeply into his amused maroon eyes,

"I don't know, baby. Maybe I need a little reminder."

And Sukuna laughs softly,

"Oh, don't worry. I'll refresh your memory all night. And I promise to be very thorough."

His tongue flicks out to lick over your lips teasingly before it pushes into your mouth, and Sukuna kisses you deeply while his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer to his tall, muscular body.

Maybe that 80th birthday party wasn't so bad after all.

I AM SIGHING SO LOUD 😭😭💗💗 I have no idea why I thought of this scenario, but it wouldn't leave my mind anymore, so I HAD to write it. The thought of bad boy Sukuna being able to charm your family into liking him makes me very soft for him :((

I hope you enjoyed it!! Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments would be very sweet 💗

[hairmetal666]

Steve goes to a gay club for the first time alone. He and Robin, they'd talked about it since moving to Chicago, but every time they made plans he got cold feet.

But on a random, rainy Saturday with Robin back home in Hawkins, he decides fuck it, puts on his sluttiest jeans and polo, and goes to the damn club. He's sick of being nervous--he's going to make out with a guy for the first time tonight.

The club is crowded, loud, sweaty, the energy a pulsing wave. He's overwhelmed immediately, but it's invigorating. He pushes towards the bar, orders a beer, then cozies himself against the nearest wall.

He sips his drink and watches beautiful men dance and kiss and play, and he wants to be part of it, get out there, find his own person to get close to but--

What if none of this is for him? He feels out of place in his clothes, with his hairstyle, an old version of himself that doesn't belong in this world.

There's a swell of sound at the bar, and he glances over, expecting drunks or fighting. Instead, he sees a guy who makes his plans to leave slip straight from his mind.

He's unlike any other person there, even within his group. Long, curly hair, visible tattoos, ripped black jeans, a faded black t-shirt under a big leather jacket. He moves with purpose and grace, obviously uncaring about fitting in.

Steve can't stop watching him, transfixed. He buys another beer, settles back against his wall. He knows it's weird, but can't bring himself to care. Not when it's helping him feel more comfortable in his own skin.

The guy, he's vibrant, the brightest spot, his laughter reaching Steve even over the pounding music.

He's beautiful.

The lights flash, illuminating his face and recognition hits Steve like a fist. It's Eddie Munson, former freak of Hawkins High.

Steve's spine straightens, chest tightening. He can't believe--I mean there were rumors about Eddie in school, but he's here, right now, in Chicago, and Steve--Steve--

He abandons the remains of his beer, rushing out the door.

---

Steve goes back the next night.

He doesn't mean to; didn't have any plans to do it, but the clock turns to 9 and he pulls on the same slutty jeans, this time with an old blue t-shirt a size too small.

It's not because Eddie could be there again, he reassures himself as he shows the bouncer his ID. It's not like he wants to see him or has been thinking about him nonstop. No, it's because tonight's the night he finally makes a move. He needed a test run to find his footing, but now--

Eddie's at the bar. His hair is pulled up, loose tendrils around his face. No jacket this time; the rolled up sleeves of his black t-shirt showing off his wiry muscles, the swirling ink of his tattoos. Something low and hot clenches in Steve's stomach.

There's no way he's going to be preoccupied with Munson tonight. He came here to flirt and dance and maybe get lucky, and he'll ignore Eddie. He will.

Steve orders a beer, sits at the bar this time, his eyes lingering on black ink and pale skin. No matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the ease and assurance Eddie moves with. He's so unafraid to take up space, it's intoxicating.

He loses track of Munson when he orders a second drink, his face no longer immediately visible in the crowd. Disappointment sinks his stomach until a voice to his left says, "You better be planning to buy me a drink, pretty boy."

The voice is low, oddly melodic, and he turns to find Eddie Munson's sparkling brown eyes gazing down at him. He's surprised, hides it, says, "Sure. What are you having?"

Eddie's mouth opens, but his eyes narrow. "Wait--Steve Harrington??"

"Um." His mouth goes dry. "Munson. Hi?"

"I--uh--wouldn't think this was your scene." Eddie shifts back, puts distance between them, and Steve hates it. Hates that Munson thinks the space is necessary, hates that he used to a person that made people feel that way.

"Yeah, well. A lot has changed since high school."

"Is that right? Surely not this much."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Eddie's eyebrow lifts, but his mouth is a tight line. "Have a cigarette with me."

Steve nods and follows him out a side door into a narrow alley. Eddie pulls out two cigarettes, hands one to Steve. There's something about the cold politeness that sends a fizzle of disappointment down his spine.

"What brings you here?" Eddie asks.

"To Chicago or to this club?"

"Don't be cute."

"Can't help it." He smirks and Eddie rolls his eyes. "I moved to Chicago three months ago with my best friend, Robin. I'm at this club trying to explore my bisexuality."

Eddie's in the middle of taking a drag, splutters on the smoke. "Holy Shit."

He shrugs, knows he's blushing. "What can I say? I've spent the last few years learning about myself."

"And one of the things was that you like dick?"

"Looks like it."

'Well, goddamn, Steve Harrington."

"Impressed?"

Eddie licks his lips, steps closer. "Maybe I am."

"I aim to please." Steve lets himself grin.

"I bet you do," Eddie's voice goes even lower, and heat dances deep in Steve's stomach. "Wanna dance?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Steve blinks up at Eddie from under his eyelashes.

They go inside and join the bodies packed on the dance floor. At first, they keep their distance, dancing and laughing with an arm's length between them, but it's not long before they're drawn together, arms twining, legs pressed together. Their eyes lock, Steve can't look away, wouldn't even if he wanted to. Eddie's hands go to his waist, pull him closer.

"You're gorgeous, Harrington," he says it with his lips pressed to Steve's ear, goosebumps spreading across his skin.

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course."

Eddie's mouth presses closer. "I used to have the biggest crush on you in high school."

"Fuck, Eddie," he says. "That's so--"

"Weird?"

"Fucking hot, dude."

"Can I tell you another secret?" Eddie's voice is all rumble.

"Course,"

"I can't stop thinking about kissing you."

"You could do something about it."

Eddie smiles, eyes going darker, almost predatory. He leans in, their breath mingling, Steve's hitching.

"You sure you want me to?" Eddie asks, mouth barely brushing Steve's.

"Please," and it comes out like he's been punched.

He thinks the kiss will be hard, hot, but Eddie's hand is gentle as it cups the back of his head, slowly pulls him in. It's a soft meeting of mouths, almost tender. His head is swimming, blood thrumming low and hot and sweet. He parts his lips and then all he can feel, taste, sense is Eddie.

It cracks something inside him, and his fingers dig into the fabric of Eddie's shirt, eagerly licking into his mouth. It must crack something in Eddie too, because he's hauling Steve impossibly closer until his legs have to wrap around Eddie's waist, or they're falling.

They break apart with a breathless laugh, both red cheeked and bright eyed. They don't move apart, instead they dance and make out until the music stops and the lights come up.

Eddie twines their fingers together as they walk to the exit, Steve sweaty and elated and a little head over heels.

Out on the sidewalk, basking in the cool air, Eddie stops him. "Can I--uh, take you for a drink? Or back to my place? I don't--not to assume, but I--"

"Both. Anywhere," Steve laughs. "I don't want this night to end."

Eddie's smile is brilliant, heart stopping. "Your wish is my command."

[doestalker]

their fav panties!

including: toji, nanami, gojo, geto, choso, sukuna & hiromi (nsfw, mdni, geto's reader has hip dips)

thank you sm for 700 followers!

TOJI likes the black thong with the red 'property of toji' embroided on the front you bought as a joke. when he pulled down your shorts and read it, he burst out laughing, you did too. but he actually loved it and made sure you knew by giving you the most life changing backshots you've ever gotten, thong still on. his hips bucked in an angle that always hit the right spot with the tip of his cock. he also made sure to fill you up with his cum, just to further mark his property.

NANAMI likes the frilly ones that look like a little skirt, specially the one with a bow behind. he likes to look a it when you're on your knees, bent over and struggling to fit all of his girth inside your mouth. his arm rests on the back of the couch, a glass of whisky hanging from his fingers, his tie is loose and his hair is all messy. he looks like a mess and he knows it, but he also loves the contrast of his rugged self and the softness of your figure in front of him, offering your warm throat as stress relief.

GOJO likes buying you lingerie sets any chance he gets, that's the benefit of having a rich boyfriend! he likes the ones with the tiny and lacy thongs he can just pull to the side and let you bounce on his dick all you want. he loves it when you're on reverse cowgirl, and how from his point of view there's nothing but a thin elastic clinging to your ass cheek. he buys them custom made, and makes sure to add a little 'SG' charm on the back so he can mark his territory anytime you wear them with your low rise jeans.

GETO likes the calvin klein set you have that matches his boxers. he likes it when you both come back from the gym and start undressing for a quick shower together and sees in the reflection of the mirror the matching sets. he then focuses on how your dips on your hips stand out more with the high waisted underwear and his mind starts to go places. as much as he loves the way your figure looks with them on, he much prefers them out of the way, craving nothing but the warm feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock mixed with the cold tiles of the shower.

CHOSO likes you in anything, but if you were to ask him, he would say the black boyshorts are his favourite, the ones you often wear with one of his band tees to walk around the house. it's comfy and sexy, and he likes that he can smell himself on you when he hugs you from the back. although he can't help himself and a hand may slide down to your pussy and start lazily playing with your clit. the soft fingers massaging your bud sending shockwaves through your entire body and his hot breath whispering sweet praises on your ear.

SUKUNA likes the ones with the slit, he's a man with urges, so he appreciates the easy access for a quickie in a public bathroom or in the car. he just lifts your skirt and spreads you open with his cock, no prep or anything. 'cause he knows that you like the burning sensation followed by the delicious fullness of his length buried deep inside of you.

HIROMI likes the sheer pair of briefs you bought for your one-year-anniversary as a surprise. the meshy black fabric lets him see those puffy pussy lips when you bend over for him and he can't help but lick you through the panties. thankfully the fabric is so thin you can feel his tongue messily lapping at your cunt and the friction that the mesh adds is just so nice.

[teamred]

after midnight

✩‌ logan howlett/wolverine x mutant!reader | smut | 1.8k

SUMMARY | logan hates that you never listen to him and you can't stand how he still treats you like a kid. but tonight's your chance to change each other's minds.

WARNINGS | smut, breastplay, oral s*x (male receiving), piv s*x, power dynamics

RATING | explicit

NOTES | this is more dialogue and tension than smut, but i hope y'all still enjoy!

The X-Mansion at night is eerily quiet, a peaceful respite compared to the bustling energy during the day with the swarm of students walking around. Despite the stillness, some nights, like tonight, make sleep hard to come by. 

You carefully tread down the stairs, through the halls, and towards the communal kitchen to grab a drink. 

With the flick of your hand, you open the fridge, its bright light illuminating you amidst the darkness, and glance at what’s available.

Times like these, you wish there was something stronger than soda available, but you settle on a bottle of ginger ale and levitate it towards your hand. You will the fridge to close behind you as you make your way to a high stool by the kitchen island.  

“Shouldn't be walkin’ around in that outfit, bub.” 

Startled, you whip your body around, clutching the bottle to your chest and holding your hand out, an instinctive fighting stance. You relax at the sight of him leaning against the doorframe. 

“Jesus Christ, Logan…” you exhale, shaking your head.

He turns on the low lights above the kitchen counters. His hair is tousled from sleep, and his usual scowl is plastered on his face.

Your eyes sweep over his sleep wear—a simple fitted white tee and grey sweats. Then you glance down at yourself—black booty shorts and a loose crop top. Sure, what you wear to bed is a little risqué, but it’s comfortable. 

“What are you—my dad?” you shoot back, sipping your drink and leaning against the counter.

Logan rolls his eyes, crossing the room to grab a Dr. Pepper from the fridge.

“You should put on a robe or somethin’,” he grumbles. “The kids could see you.” 

He reaches to untwist the cap, but you beat him to it, using your powers to unscrew it with a swish of your fingers. The cap clatters onto the island, a bit louder than you intended. 

“You know, kids aren’t exactly wandering around the mansion at 3AM,” you mutter.

He downs half the bottle in one go and you can’t help it, but you’re enticed by how his Adam’s apple bobs with each gulp. Your eyes sweep over him again, noticing how the shirt stretches perfectly over his body and the outline of his length underneath his sweats.

Logan may be an asshole, but at least he’s an attractive asshole.

When he finishes, he tilts the bottle towards you with a sneer. 

“Yeah? Look who's talking.”

In a flash, you swipe his drink into your hand and shove him against the edge of the counter. He stumbles, almost falling to the floor, and snarls a curse.  

Your nostrils flare as you close the distance between you, fists clenched. “When are you gonna take me seriously, Logan? I’m about to become a professor soon.”

He stands up straight, towering over you and matching your intensity.

He grits out, “When you finally start listenin’ to me.”

You scoff, the bitterness rising in your chest. “Oh, so that's what this is all about.” 

You shake your head, finding it all too familiar. Coincidentally, this was why you couldn’t sleep tonight. 

Logan jabs a finger towards you. “You never listen to a goddamn thing I say during training, always throwin’ yourself into the danger and I’m the one always pullin’ you out.” 

“It's just the Danger Room!” you whisper-shout back, not wanting to wake others. “And you do the same shit all the time, Mr. Hypocrite.”

“Because I can handle the risk."

“And what? I can't?” 

“Don't get cocky with me."

You step closer, merely inches away from his face, and raise a brow, meeting his glare with a defiant smirk. 

“What are you gonna do, Logan? Bend me over your knee and teach me a lesson?”

The words are meant to taunt, to push his buttons, but they come out with an edge you didn’t expect. 

Something daring.

Something that challenges Logan. 

His gaze darkens, and the room fills with a charged silence. His breathing turns heavy, his eyes fixed on you like he’s ready to pounce. 

“I just might.” 

The tension snaps. 

You’re unsure who moves first, but it doesn’t matter because you’re on each other, the kiss raw, messy, and all-consuming.

It’s a clash of hunger and fury. Lips crashing, teeth nearly clashing. His hands seize your bare thighs hard. Likewise, your nails dig into his muscled arms and shoulders. His groan turns into a guttural growl at the bite of your touch. 

Effortlessly, he hoists you up, and you wrap your legs around him before he sets you down onto the cold tiled countertop. His hand snakes its way up your shirt, calloused fingers finding your nipples, rolling and pinching them ruthlessly.

One gasp escapes you, then another as he thrusts his thigh between your legs; the friction is delicious against your aching core. 

“Tell me you'll listen to me,” he rasps the demand, his mouth now sucking and biting down your neck. 

Initially, you shake your head, but he twists your nipple hard, dragging a sharp moan from your throat.

“Yes,” you moan. 

“Yes, who?”

“Yes, Logan,” you seethe, detesting how weak you are under his touch, but you can’t control yourself. 

He chuckles irritatingly, brushing your neck upwards with the tip of his nose, until he presses his mouth against your ear. “You gonna do as I say?”

You nod. A desperate whine escapes your lips as he presses his thigh harder into you. Your body’s inflamed, craving more than just this from him. 

“Then get on your knees,” he commands. “Show me what you got.”

As if under possession, you jump off the counter and fall to your knees as Logan switches spots with you. He drops his sweatpants towards his ankles and holds his cock in front of you, stroking it. 

You almost salivate at the sight. Not that you’ve ever imagined fucking Logan, but it’s unsurprising how long and thick it is. 

You start off with chaste kisses and darts of your tongue. A touch here and there to torment him. Minutes pass, and when he's had enough, he's about to say something until you suddenly take him in as much as you can.

You channel all your desire and frustration onto him in the form of crude pleasure to prove yourself.

Your tongue swirls. Licks up the precum leaking from his slit. Mouth sucks on his tip so hard, Logan's gripping your head roughly, groaning a plea for you to slow down. You disobey and relax your throat, allowing him to hit the back of your throat.

He practically has to rip you away to avoid an early end to all of this. His mouth is back on yours again with his drenched cock pressed up against your thigh.

Logan leads you to be on the counter once again. Impatiently, or perhaps it's laziness, his fingers deftly drag the fabric of your shorts and underwear towards one side to prepare for his entry.  

And he doesn't even ease into it, knowing how wet you are from just a whiff of the air.

He's not gentle, and you don't want him to be. You yearn for each deep thrust, letting his fullness fill you to the brim.

“Is this what you wanted?" he growls. "Me fucking some sense into you?” 

“If that’s what it takes to prove to you I’m not a fucking kid anymore, then—fuck—yes…” 

He answers every moan you make with a deeper plunge. However, the moans rise to cries. Logan puts a hand over your mouth, drowning them out.

In turn, the suppression of it only accelerates your climax and somehow draws out your powers. Utensils shake, along with the cupboards. 

“Sweetheart,” he warns with a low chuckle, still keeping a steady pace, “you’re gonna wake everybody up.”

“Don’t care,” you say, words muffled behind his hand. “Just keep fucking me. Don’t stop, don’t stop—” 

Everything shakes in unison with your body’s trembling. You whimper Logan’s name, eyes fluttering, until you come undone around his length. 

The kitchen slows its shaking as you come down from your high, and he pulls out, jolting his thick release onto your inner thigh with a sharp moan. 

Both of you are still, listening for any sign of footsteps or voices of anyone that is coming to investigate the noises. But the mansion is still quiet as a mouse, save for your rigorous panting and the hum of the fridge. 

Logan draws his pants back up and reaches for the paper towels. He holds them out in your direction, and, without ever touching it, you rip one off, wipe away the mess, and toss it into the garbage. 

Jumping off the counter, you adjust your clothes, but not much is needed since nothing ever came off. 

“So,” he says after catching his breath, reaching for his Dr. Pepper behind you. His body presses slightly against you, the warmth of his body radiating onto yours. “You gonna listen to me from now on?” 

“That depends.” You drag your ginger ale towards you with a tilt of your head. In sync, you chug your drinks. “Are you gonna treat me like an adult from now on?” 

“I’ll try, kid,” he says, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You shove him playfully at the label and he chuckles. “Sorry, it’s outta habit.” 

“But seriously,” he continues, his expression hardening into his usual tough one. “You know that I only say those things to look out for you.” 

That catches you off-guard. You search his eyes, revelling in the sincerity of his words. 

“I know, Logan,” you smile and nod. Leaning in, you kiss him tenderly on his cheek and begin to walk away. “Try to get some sleep.” 

When you’re about to leave, he calls out your name softly, causing you to turn around. 

“If you ever have another sleepless night, come find me.” He closes the distance and pins you down with an intense stare and a smug arch of his eyebrow. “I still have to properly teach you a lesson over my knee, y’know.” 

“Is that so?” you challenge. “Even after everything that happened tonight?” 

“Tonight was just a preview,” he whispers. He lifts his hand to palm your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin. “I need to keep you in check so you won’t forget.”

You're drawn to him, wanting to close the gap with a kiss.

But you decide against it, not wanting to let him win this round.

“I’ll think about it."

Turning on your heel, you saunter away. His eyes track every move, every sway of your hips in those tight shorts, drinking in the sight of you until you disappear from view. 

Despite your tentativeness, Logan’s determined he’ll have another taste of you soon enough. 

[pricetagged]

fool's gold (pyrite)

Got inspired by gougie's executioner asks and cloth's egging hehe 💖 have some pirate au simon breeding kink~

Content: 18+; breeding kink; dubious consent*; mean Simon; pirates; captured-by-the-crown reader; barest implication of potential soap/reader and future ghoap/reader; POV shift

*in a 'get out of jail' way, so take that how you will.

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

It fluttered in your stomach. A nebulous, squirming little thing.

Not the baby, no. The lie.

You felt it, restless and hot. Kicking your ribs from the inside. It made you flushed, it made you sick-

It bought you at least another few weeks to slip the noose, to slide away in borrowed shoes meant to dance a gallows' jig. Maybe it would buy you more, if the stress held back your monthly the way it often did on the ship. Great, long stretches of time with too much work and not enough food.

You wore the lie like you wore your borrowed clothes, a too-tight bodice and heavy skirts. Impractical, sweet. Modest. A poor little dear caught up and brought low. Fallen woman, sunken to the depths before the law fished her out. 

Your thighs stuck together, warm and bare under the skirts. It was sweltering, damp. Clammy in the cell with its stagnant air and earthy, unfinished floors. The wood of your bench –and bedcot–was warped with age, woodlouse burrowed deep into the pulpy grooves. It was enough to make you shudder, sweat dripping down your spine until it soaked into the cotton of your shift.

It did little to cool you.

Nine months aboard The Watcher had spoiled you, coarse rope and sharp, sea air warping you into something new. Something wilder. It was hardtack and hard work, yes. But it was freedom. To toil under a flag of your choosing, to trust the waves and the Captain to take you to new ports and newer treasures–

You'd left your papa's place with little more than ill-fitting breeches and a pocketed purse. You'd passed the scars on your hands and the patches on your shirt as evidence of experience – hardy little stowaway, aren't ye–. The morals didn't bother you the way stolen scraps didn't bother a dog. Street rat or ship rat; at least this way you could put miles between you and your father. Nautical miles, bobbing away with the wood of the ship's log. You watched it often, knots of rope and grains of sand. Hourglass and paper in hand while you stood on the stern.

It was you who first spotted the English Man O'War, sluicing through waves with colours hoisted high. Three gun-decks, at least, and coming into port.

"–plead the belly–it'll spare ye the choppin' block. Might even get lucky and be sent t' the reformatory– ah heard they do that f'r expectant mothers–" you couldn't quite hear him over the ringing of the cannons and the ringing in your ears.  "–plead the belly, and I'll try tae come back for y–"

They echoed now in your sweltering cell, suspended in the humidity. The boatswain's last words before he was violently wrestled away.

You remembered him as you counted the bars of your cage. Iron-wrought and cruel. As cruel as the chain tethering you to the wall, cold metal biting into your bare ankle.

'–I've got the keys, girlie, if you want freein' from it. Don' have to sit against that wall, all shy. C'mere an' I'll make you a deal–'

You stayed silent, stone-faced. Weathered the taunts and jeers of your gaolers like a battered old rock. The guards took it as arrogance, the other prisoners took it as invite.

The priest took it as shame.

You let them all believe it, lips pressed tight lest you let loose sobs–giggles–something– as days passed and your sentencing drew closer.

You'd heard about him before you saw him. The Ghost. The last face you'd see before facing the faceless. The pitch-black eyes that would watch as you jigged to the jeers of the crowd.

It was the last face you'd see and it was only a mask. More macabre than the usual executioner's hood– a skull motif, bleach-white bones and empty sockets. A nasty minikin mockery of the reaper. It was gristly; it was sick.

But so was he.

A butcher, some said. Fingers caked in blood no matter to which job he attended. A pirate, according to others. One pressed into service, earning his freedom by sending others to the pits. 

And now you heard him for real.

The low, resonant whistle. The heavy tread of his boots.

It had you curling your fingers into your palms, nautical superstitions and fishwives' tales nipping at you like fleas.

–quit yer whistlin', you'll anger the winds and summon a storm–

                                                 –it's good luck, don't worry. It'll make the winds blow strong and steady, you'll see–

–I wouldn't do that if I were you. Cap'n'll think it's code between mutineers–

                                                                                                                                    –taboo–

The whistling stopped, a cheery solitary note wavering in the air before silence. Even the gaoler's dog had scarpered off, keys jingling around its neck until you couldn't even hear the echo.

A gravel-rough voice cut through the swirling tempest of your mind.

"Was told 'got a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage."

That pulled you from your reverie, neck-stiff as you turned towards the voice. It was more of a twitch than a conscious motion, a sudden flaring of deadened synapses as his voice rasped over them. Still, you didn't speak. Didn't even look at him fully, the hulking thing in your peripheral.

It was silent, now. Eerily so, like all the air had been sucked from the prison. Sitting in the eye of the storm, too calm and too quiet. You could hear the drag of his boots as he shifted closer. The rolling clank of iron scraping against itself, your cage creaking open.

The shadow in your peripheral became mass, then man as he stepped closer.

You risked a glance up.

He'd still be large, sturdy, even without you curled up on your dank, spongy bedcot. Tall enough to duck as he sauntered into the cell. Broad enough to block out the flickering oil lamps by the warden's desk. In the lambent glow of dusk it was already dim, hazy with sea-spray and the oppressive heat of wet season. But with him in front of you it was pitch-dark. A pall cast by his sheer size, all light swallowed up until you could just about make out his blurry edges.

The ghostly white of the bones bleached onto his mask moved and his voice rumbled out.

"Well, g'nna show me?"

You stretched out weakened muscles, unfurling as slow as a wind-battered sail. Joints creaked alongside the iron of your shackle, tight from where you'd clenched hard. Dug your blunt little fingernails into the pulpy, malleable fibers of the aged ironwood below you.

Standing was like finding yourself unmoored, sliding off the buoyant driftwood keeping you afloat. Your legs got tangled up in your borrowed clothes, damp petticoats and overskirts clinging as your feet finally touched the straw-strewn earth of the cell floor. It was cumbersome, made more difficult by the sliding of the heavy chain against the bench. You felt the weight around your ankle, anchoring you down.

Though you could barely see it, you felt as he studied you from top-to-toe. Flat, dead eyes followed every curve and dip of your body as you stood before him, your traitorous chest rising and falling in a way that made you grit your teeth. You used that force to steel your jaw, to look straight ahead and keep your arms lax and loose by your side.

Let him look his fill. Let him– your judge, jury and executioner.

He hummed. Circled you like a shark in a balmy waters. It was funny– you'd never felt more exposed than now in all your layers. Not even under the punishing sun in your loose, men's clothes. No, his eyes stripped you bare. More than cotton and linens, he peeled the flesh from bone. Flayed you open, eyes slicing through your skittish guise. Through your rabbity gaze hopping around the walls, the way you tried to arch your back and poke out more of your soft belly.

"You a liar, then?" You could hear the low, mocking note in his voice. "Or got a case of wishful thinkin'?"

That had you looking up, meeting him dead in the eye. Your hands hovered above the slight swell of your stomach, fingers twitching in an abortive gesture–

–you wanted to cradle it, the fluttering in your empty belly. Push down the sick, swirling terror and face the ghost you'd summoned, because you had summoned it–

He grabbed by your wrist, meaty paw pulling you close enough to brush against his expansive chest.

–Hadn't you? Bad luck. Malefic omen, having you on the ship. No prophets, no redheads–

There, in the cradle of his arms, you were frozen. Your wrist felt fragile, bird-like under the firm grip of his thick-knuckled fingers. You weren't weak, you'd rigged topsails in tempest winds with those wrists. But that was then. That was weeks ago, when you were part of a crew on the open seas. Here, it was just you and the beast that had sent stronger than you to their graves. The warnings from persnickety old seadogs tolled death knolls in your mind–

–no women. And now the sea had swallowed you up. Sent you down to the belly of the beast. A Jonah, locked behind something stronger than whalebone. Trapped. Unless–

Wishful thinking.

He chucked at your chin, calloused fingertips arching your head further back until your neck strained. Your heartbeat rushed past your ears, sending your head spinning. Dizzy, docile. An artificial calm; buoyant lifeline in the raging currents. He turned you slightly, left then right. Like he was measuring you up, the line of your throat. The fluttering of your pulse. That treacherous throbbing, sending oxygen to your brain that you were too erethic to feel.

He spoke again, rough and coruscating. You noticed that he didn't blink, just stared down at you. Dead-eyed as a fish, blond lashes spiked around dark irises. He kept you arched, unable to escape as every syllable struck you like a storm. You balanced on bare tip-toes, butterfly-soft fingers spread across his hairy forearm.

"The Beak's happy to let ya swing if it means 'e can catch the rest of y'r crewmates. And, 'round here, the only good pirate is a dead pirate," he must have felt how your fingers tightened, a futile brace against his butal strength and harsh words. "So, I tell him y'r a liar, get paid to do my job, and keep the governor happy."

He shrugged, bulky shoulders popping as he rolled them back. He shrugged like it meant nothing to him, just a matter of fact. The fisherman, fingers deep in guts and gristle. The butcher, hands stained copper and hardened on cannon bone. The executioner, calloused from rope neckties and the deadweight of the condemned–

But you catch the way his eyes follow your flinch. The way his lips move under his mask too as your mouth opens and closes. Hesitant. Dry.

You could only look up at him with wide, naïve eyes, dilating in the dark. The jejune jailbird. Doe-eyed. Caught.

The jig was up.

"Please," the words stuck in your throat, cracking and broken. "Please don't–"

He lets you go. Not a gentle action, no. No careful caress; he lowers you abruptly, chuckles as you scramble to face him. Stunned, you rub at your throat. Still there, still unadorned with the necklace of rope you swear he wants to place there. Coarse twine and hessian brown, constricting tighter until– no. You can't think on it, anathema to the lie you've worked hard to maintain. If he doesn't believe the plea of the belly, you'll– you'll–

You'll make it so.

As he settles his massive frame on the thin, wooden slat against the wall you wonder. Why did he come here in cover of night. Why did he need to see for himself what the priest confirmed as a priori truth? The seal of confession melts away, your moribund admittance flakes and crumbles under his heavy hand. He knows.

Solid legs spread wide, he makes himself comfortable. You follow the bulge of his thighs, easily as thick as your skull–more–, as the bench groans and creaks worse than the brig in a storm.

You worry that it can't handle the weight.

Even sitting, he dwarfs you. Stepping up between his thighs is like willingly stepping off the stern into still waters. It's terrifying, thrilling– your belly swoops and head feels light. You know there must be something lurking in the depths, some undulating hydra ready to slide its malignant limbs around your ankle and wrench you down–

He clamps a filthy boot down over the length of chain across the floor. Keeps you tethered to him, unable to pull back even if you wanted to.

"Clever enough t'come up with the scheme, clever enough t'get out of it." It's an offering, albeit a twisted one. Alms tainted by the greedy slap of his palms against his thighs. Rough, scarred hands frame the growing bulge between his legs.

Even in the dark, you see it. Heavy, perverse, Fattening enough to strain against the seam of his trousers. You can't look away, can't escape the muggy heat in the air and the scorching burn of his eyes on you. Incendiary, it sends heat pooling to your own belly. The damp, stickiness between your thighs seems cool now, sweat superseded by the slick gathering in your core. It's filthy, it's wrong–

It's blazing hot, shame seared away by a want that is not entirely born of desperation.

At first you think it's a tit-for-tat, your mouth stuffed full in exchange for his staying closed. Kneeling before him, you're suddenly grateful for your skirts. Matchsticks of dried straw and dusty smithereens dig into your knees, legs bent awkwardly as he keeps his boot on your chain. He's content to let you paw at him, to tug at the drawstrings and fumble with his waistband as he offers no help.

Eventually, he must grow bored.

"Don' need me to tell ya that's not how it works."

"What–?" He has you frozen, tableau vivant of a wanton grisette. Pupils-blown and lips-parted, you tremble up at him. Try to read the desire that he hides beneath harsh words and heavy breaths.

"Tryin' t'make me a liar, too?" He grunts, brushing aside your confused, hurried protestations. "Gonna make me a liar when I go out'nd tell them there really is a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage?"

He pats at his lap, palming at himself and hissing through his teeth. Sound is muffled by that grotesque mask, but you catch it all the same. Every flash of the man beneath– of the desire wrought by your artless, ingenue fumblings– sends you reeling. You are not a creature of flesh and blood, not when both are fever-hot and itching. You can't breathe in your body under sweltering layers and sultry air. And he can sense it, too. The beast you let into your cage, bars bending as easily as your will to his.

And, through messily-tugged drawstrings, you see it. Tugged through the opening you'd hastily torn open. The thick, ruddy head of his cock is already leaking.

And as you slide into his lap, it all slides into place.

You think of– no, not now. You can't think of him now. When he comes back for you, if it takes, you could pass the baby off as his. He was sweet on you, you know it. A breezy, comfortable kind of affection. Small, just barely burgeoning but still there. He's a good man– You'll claim that you were telling the truth at your capture– that you and he already– He's a decent man– maybe you wouldn't even have to lie. He'd take you in, little stray and the seed that kept her off the scaffold–

Thoughts slip away, sea spray in the wind, as you work yourself open in his lap. You're drenched beneath your skirts, slick running down your thighs and into his. You're spread so wide across him that it burns, pinned open by his bulk. You can feel the power of his frame, coiled muscle holding you up from the worn wooden bench. The soft pudge of his belly presses into yours as you lean forward, shakily lining up with the swollen head of his cock.

It's already weeping, thick globs of his slick mingle with yours as he slides between your folds. Like he can't wait to be inside you, leaking his spend at the barest touch of your cunt. Like he can't wait to put it inside you, to make good on his word and yours and put a baby there.

You shiver, biting back a gasp as he nudges the aching pearl at the apex of your thighs. His chuckle rumbles through his hulking chest into yours. It jostles you, hitching you just right over his length until it notches against you. You press down, hole clenching against the initial pain, until you feel the throb of his slit inside. It's deep, sending your back arching as you grip his shoulders with white knuckles. And there's still more–

"Tha's it, tha's it, birdie," his voice is impossibly thicker, desire dragging it down until he growls at you. "Gonna have t'take more, gotta make it all fit if you want this baby–"

"Yes, yes, please," you babble at him. Voice high, whines catching on every breath you work yourself lower. You can feel him in your stomach, every inch sending sparks dancing along your spine until they're all you can see when you close your eyes. The sparks, and the spectral imprint of his ghostly mask.

He grunts below you, swallowing back groans behind a jaw that you know is clenched tight. Avaricious brute, he needs you closer. Hands that were meant to measure you for the drop dig into your hips, working you lower and lower. He forces you down to the root, bare thighs on hessian cloth, until you cry out. Shaking at the spread– the stretch– you pant in his ear. Hot little breaths, heady against the crook of his neck.

You can hear it, the obscene squelch of your greedy cunt. The creaking of the bench beneath you as you ride him with shaking legs, chasing pleasure that's already beginning to pool in your belly. You feel heavy with it, moaning behind your clenched fist. Through bleary eyes you catch his, cimmerian and heavy-lidded. His head is thrown back against the wall, guttural filth spilling as he waits for you to come undone.

"Want it, don't ya? Want my baby so fuckin' bad, just look at ya," he growls it, frothing with a hunger so biting it reads as rage. "I'll put one in ya, keep you stuffed full. Keep this chain around y'r ankle, too, keep you shackled to me–"

Eyes-watering as you lose yourself in it. In the sounds that that send blood rushing to your head, the deep ache in your core, the desperation– make him come, make him come, want to come, need to come–

---------

At first, he was happy to watch you. To sit back and watch you work yourself up, to perform for him until he sees you drop the mask. You wear the mantle of captive soubrette so well, sweat-damp petticoats clinging to curves that he wants to trace with his tongue. With his teeth. He saw the craft in your sweet, open face. You're a flighty thing, aren't you? Trying to slip the noose and slip past him. Luckily his grasp is strong.

He saw the scheme slip away as he got you speared open on his length. He can see it in your eyes, feels the way you suck him in–. You're dripping down into his breeches, sloppy and squeezing him so tight. Desperate, wanton little naiad. Riding hard like your life depends on it. He huffs out a laugh as he squeezes you tight, rough fingers digging into peach-soft flesh.

He doesn't tell you that you're already free, that the Royal Navy is already in hot pursuit of The Watcher and the pregnant, little skivvy is of as much importance to them as the ship's rats. No, you're a nuisance they're willing to hand off to him. Too big, too blunt, too bloody to find a respectable wife.

(There was a time, once, when he had no need of such comforts. Lieutenant aboard The Larimar's Revenge, he'd docked in many-a-port. But he'd always come back to those blue eyes. The haircut that had even the natives of Port Royal looking twice– Cheeky, cocksure pirate.

He'd thought about him, sometimes. On that godforsaken island with just a pistol and one shot for company. 'Mutineer', he was branded. Traitor to King and Crown. Lower than scum, not worth even a keelhaul. But not even grapeshot can kill a ghost–) 

He feels you reaching your end, thighs trembling from more than just exertion. His mask is damp, sultry air mixing with your musk into something that scatters his desultory thoughts. His belly tightens as he feels you clamping down, whining behind the knuckles you’ve got stuffed between your teeth.

When you're home, together in his bed, he'll bite down on those knuckles. Show you what real toothprints look like. Or maybe he'll let you slip his hand into your mouth instead. Let you whet your blunt little teeth on something with more gristle. His appetite for you cannot be satiated on mere flesh. He's got to pierce you, taste you, feel you from the inside and leave a part of himself there–

For now, he holds you down. Forces you to ride out the wave of pleasure-pain as he sets his own pace. Your thighs tremble, whole body seizing around him. He can feel the fluttering in your cunt, the way you shudder and drip until his cock is soaked and his coarse hair turns sticky with your release.

He ignores your whisper of another man's name– John, or Johnny, it's hard to catch with the way you swallow your whimper–it doesn’t matter. Not when he's the one pumping you full of his spend. His belly clenches hard, balls tight and heavy with the come he's going to give you. Going to force it in, plant his baby in you and still leave thick, white, globs leaking out of your poor, abused hole.

He's filled you up, is going to fill you up again. He'll take you back to his house and do it as many times as he wants. Make you grateful for it, for saving your life and giving you the baby you’ve been begging for. Keep you stuffed so full of him that the only name he'll hear from you is 'Simon'.

(And if you help lure Johnny back, well. It's been a long time, but good dogs come home when called.)

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

Well, there is it. Shoutout to my beloved stelle and woolie for listening to me whine about pirate ship names 💖💖💖

[storiesofsvu]

Captain's Office

*NOT MY GIF* I wanted a very particular vibe for this fic and tumblr's function sucks! Found of google, credit goes to @fourteenthofaugust !*

Olivia Benson x fem!reader

2.3k Warnings: language, smut, slight teasing, minor Captain kink, somewhat public sex but not really?

Your morning was spent working from home, your afternoon spent in the courtroom followed by a few hours working through the case with the ADA. This mean you’d forgone your usual look of detective, one ready to race through the streets of New York tackling perps and opted for a softer more approachable and friendly one of credible witness to the case who understood everything at stake. Your hair curled around your shoulders, loosened as the day passed, your regular blazer over top, now at the end of the day finding its home in the back of your car. Dress exposed, professionally enough, but hugging your body, fitted enough to accent the curve of your ass perfectly.

Which is exactly why you thought you’d have a slight upper hand when you showed back up to the precinct, the only light coming from Olivia’s office.

Her text had pinged your phone roughly an hour ago, telling you to meet her back there rather than home. At first you thought maybe she’d had dinner delivered to work instead, choosing to finish up the paperwork rather than bring it with her but the silence of the bull pen told you otherwise, there was no one else left in the building.

“You… wanted to see me?” You asked softly, perching in her doorway, a soft smile on your cheeks.

Olivia tore her gaze away from the file folder in front of her, flipping it shut as her eyes dragged up your body, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She shoved her work off to the side, removing her glasses to place on top of the pile before she leant back in her chair and your breath caught in your throat. She was still in her uniform blues, her black nail polish catching in the low light as a piece of her bangs swung loose from her now somewhat messy updo.

“Close the door.” She instructed, her voice low and you did as she asked, waiting for her next order, “c’mere…”

Two of her fingers crooked and you nearly stumbled over your high heeled feet as your heart began to thud in your chest, heading in the direction of a chair in front of her desk. The corner of her lips flicked up into a grin, her eyes darkening as your fingers wrapped around the chair arm.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head, fingers tapping the side of the desk she was sitting behind, “come here, pretty girl.”

Gulping, you rounded the desk, propping yourself up against the edge while she leaned even further back in her chair. Her head tilted for a moment, smirk evident on her lips while her eyes traced every curve of your body, lingering where your skirt rode up your thighs, the way your chest strained against the neckline. Reaching out her hand grasped your leg, sliding up until it met the hem of your skirt and she nearly chuckled at the way your breathing picked up while she played with the fabric.

“I was right.”

“Sorry?” You managed out, your fingers gripping at the wood behind you.

“You.” Her eyes twinkled, her hand beginning to ghost up your body, sliding up your stomach, delicately making its way between your breasts, avoiding where you really wanted her touch before gently wrapping around your throat as she rose to her feet in front of you, “liking me in uniform.”

“I…”

“Ah!” Her hand tightened around your throat ever so, “don’t lie to me sweetheart. I can feel the way your pulse is racing already.”

You gulped again, noticing the way your throat bobbed under her hand and the way her eyes darkened at the sensation. You couldn’t help the way your lips parted, whether an invitation for hers or an attempt to get more oxygen to your suddenly heaving lungs you weren’t sure.

“Yes…” you breathed out, “I like it.”

“Yes what?” Her chin tilted down as her fingers squeezed your throat.

“I like it Captain.”

“Good girl.” She smiled softly, her hand letting go of your neck, sliding down it and her fingers began to trace across your collarbone before dipping to the curve of your chest, swirling around until she was circling your nipple, one then the other.

Your gulped, taking a shuddering breath, doing your best to maintain eye contact, Olivia’s gaze burning into yours, her eyes darkening the more she toyed with your body. A cocky smirk remained plastered on her lips as her fingers repeated their patterns on the other side of your chest before finding your sternum, trailing lower and lower until she thought she would find the hem of your underwear. When her fingertips found only smoothness her brow cocked, her head tilting as she clicked her tongue.

“No panties?” She questioned, “dirty girl.” Her fingers slipped under your dress, tracing up your inner thigh until you let out a little whimper.

“Please…”

She chuckled, the tip of her middle finger trailing through your folds, collecting just enough wetness to circle around your clit, “shame I don’t have the strap.” Her finger tapped your clit and you shivered, “could have bent you over my desk, fucked you nice and hard…” she leant down, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, “nice and deep” she repeated the action on the other side while her palm caressed at your cunt. “my cock buried in that pretty pussy of yours.” The tips of her fingers slid between your pussy lips, just far enough from where you wanted them, “over… and over… again….” Each time she paused she pulled her hand away from the heat of your cunt before gently hitting it, your whines getting louder with each touch. “I can just imagine the way you’d sound.” Her teeth nipped at your neck as her hand disappeared from under your skirt. You let out a frustrated huff, your hands coming to clutch at her uniform, “you’re practically ready to beg right now, aren’t you?”

She raised a brow but you knew better than to respond and because of that you were rewarded instantly, her leg surged forward, knee bracing against the desk between your thighs and a gasp left your lips when your bare pussy met the muscle.

“Oh god…”

Her hands found your waist, grinding you down onto her thigh, guiding you to roll your hips as you bit your lip in an attempt to stifle any noises. Olivia’s fingers squeezed into your waist, moving you faster, the fabric of her pants brushing against your clit each time you moved on her leg, sending pleasure soaring through your entire body. The slow build up of fluttering in your stomach became fire prickling your skin, breaking it out in goosebumps as your pussy began to pulse around nothing.

“You’re always such a good girl for your Captain.” Olivia purred, a hand briefly leaving your waist to tug down the neckline of your dress, your breasts spilling out, nipples hardening in the cool air of her office.

“Mmhmm…” you nodded feverishly; eyes wide as you looked up at her with need splayed across your face.

“Don’t worry.” Chuckling, she leant down, her lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it into her mouth and your mouth fell open with a quiet moan, “I’m going to let you come sweet girl.” Her breath was hot against your sensitive skin, “I just want to hear you first.” The tip of her tongue shot out, flicking your nipple before blowing a cool stream of air against it and you whimpered, your hand coming to tangle into her hair, further mussing the updo. “That’s it…” she urged, her mouth sucking at your skin again, teeth gently sinking in right as she flexed her thigh against your bare cunt. “You like it when I touch you like this?” Her hand came up, pinching at one nipple while she sucked the other into her mouth.

“Yes…” You breathed out, your hips grinding down harder onto her.

“You like the way it feels when that pretty pussy drags over my thigh?” Her voice was husky, breath hot on your skin as she spoke, the hand she had on your waist tilted your hips back while her thigh pressed up. A loud gasp escaped your lips as your clit directly hit the muscle of her leg.

“Fuck.” Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands desperately gripping the fabric on her shoulders, “yes, oh god yes.”

“I already know you like being bitten.” She confirmed it when her teeth sunk into the underside of your breast and you groaned, arching into the touch, “but what else?”

“Please….” You whined and she chuckled.

“You’re practically shaking sweet girl.” Her tongue swiped over your nipple again, “what would you like?”

“Fingers…” your lips parted, your breath coming out in quick pants as your hips began to roll even faster over her thigh, “need you inside me. Wanna feel you.”

“Hmm?” Her mouth left your chest, her hands wrapping around your waist as she stilled your movement, shifting you off her leg so you were perched on the edge of her desk and your eyes flew open. Her hands flicked up the skirt of your dress and her tongue darted out to wet her lips at the sight of your cunt glistening in the low light of the office, your juices smeared across her pant leg. “You’re dripping already,” she reached out, her fingers dipping into your pussy, “you want to come around my fingers? Make a mess all over my desk?”

“Yes!” You replied, probably too eagerly and a blush crept onto your cheeks, “please. Need to.”

“Alright sweet girl.” Leaning in, Olivia pressed her lips to yours just as her fingers sunk into your cunt and she swallowed down the deep moan that left your throat. “Good girls do get rewarded after all.”

Her mouth quickly returned to your chest, sucking a nipple in between her lips, scraping at it with her teeth as her fingers began to pump in and out of your drenched pussy. Your head dropped back, a muffled cry from behind your closed lips as you dropped back onto your elbows for support. Fire was racing under your skin, your pussy already clenching down around her fingers and you both knew it wasn’t going to take very long before Olivia had your entire body shaking. With each thrust of her fingers the noises coming from your pussy got louder, wet and messy like the kisses she was leaving on your chest. Her teeth sunk into the sensitive skin around your nipple right as her fingers crooked and you cried out.

“Fuck!” Your voice was hoarse, your thighs quaking around her as she continued her movements, each time pressing harder and longer against the extra sensitive spot inside you.

“What do you say?” She nearly growled, her free hand moving to rub your clit and your hips nearly shot off the desk.

“Please Captain!” The coil deep in your stomach was winding tighter and tighter, the need for your release driving you wild enough that tears were beginning to form in the corners of your eyes.

“Please what?” She asked with a particularly hard pinch on your clit and you couldn’t help but moan.

“Please can I come?” You whimpered, “oh god, m’so close, please Captain.”

“You may.”

Olivia sucked your breast back into her mouth, her fingers working you perfectly, knowing just how to fuck you, just when she needed to crook her fingers again, just how hard to press and just how fast to rub your clit. She could feel your juices trickling down her wrist, your pussy clenching tighter and tighter.

“That’s it baby. Squeeze my fingers, let me feel you come.” She pressed her fingers even harder, her entire body rocking into the thrusts and with one final push of her hand you were crying out.

Your legs instantly wrapped around her, pulling her impossibly close to you as your body began to quake, whimpers and breathless moans leaving your lips. Your hand shot out, tugging her to you by the tie, ruining the perfect lines of her captain’s uniform as you gasped against her lips. A sturdy arm wrapped around your waist, hugging you to her while she peppered your face with gentle kisses and she slowly fucked you through your orgasm. When you finally let out a heavy breath, your head dropping onto her shoulder and your body nearly limp in her arms she slipped her fingers out of your pussy.

You let out a small whine, lifting your head and she couldn’t help but smile at the way you obediently opened your mouth for her to slide her fingers into so you could suck them clean.

“Good girl.” She cooed, her free hand stroking the side of your face, smoothing back your mussed up hair.

Her fingers slipped out of your mouth and she leant forward to press a gentle kiss to it while her hands readjusted your dress, neatly tucking your tits back under the fabric. Olivia took a moment to survey you, fixing the twisted strap of your dress, neatly combing her fingers through your hair, twisting the strands back into place and sliding a couple of bobby pins in properly. Her hands gently tapped your knees as she stepped back and you closed your legs so she could smooth the bottom of your dress back down. Her eyes slowly drifted back up your body, aside from your tinged cheeks and the way your lips were still parted in a final attempt to catch your breath, you looked completely normal, like you’d only stopped in the office to pick her up from work.

“Now, how about we get you home?” She held her hand out for you to take and helped you hop of the desk, a smile on her cheeks as you instantly nuzzled into her side.

“Yes please.”

“You better not be getting all tired on me,” she chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I wasn’t kidding about bending you over and fucking you hard enough to make you scream.”

_______________

Before people start flooding the ask box/comments, NO! There WILL NOT be a part two. If you come asking for it, that will not help the situation, it will just make it worse.

_________

@red1culous @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl rl @svushots @lesbianspacecowboy @wannabe-fic-reader @lawandorderimagines @venablemayfairgoode @alexusonfire @mysticfalls01 @beccabarba @littlegaybabe @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @enduringalexblake @wosoimagines @solemnnova @infernumlilith @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @wandas-wife @emskisworld @lawandorderuswnt @wandasbrat @hbkpop @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @sia2raw @ladysc @narvaldetierra @dxtery @poisonedcrowns @momlifebehard @holycrapraewth @alexxavicry @onmykneesformarvel @kmc1989 @temp0rary-bliss @gamma-rae-bursts

[sxswriter]

🔞 NSFW headcanon that you and Sylus are college roommates who share an apartment.

WC: 500+

One day, Sylus decides to hide one of your precious plushies to get under your skin, and for an entire week, he refuses to tell you where it is. Luckily, when he was out for his afternoon classes, you seized the opportunity to look through his room. After searching high and low in the apartment for the past couple of days, you were convinced that it had to be in his room.

You comb through every corner of his space, but after failing to find it, you finally set your sights on his closet as a last resort. Just as you’re about to start your search, he unexpectedly returns to the apartment much earlier than you anticipated. Not wanting to be discovered, you quietly slip into his closet, leaving a small crack to peek through, and decide to wait for him to drift into his usual afternoon nap.  

But imagine your surprise when you see him sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard, and pull his hard cock out, and start jerking off. Of course, you knew it was wrong to be practically spying on your roommate during such a private moment. But the way he tilted his head back, his cheeks flushed, his abs tensing, and the sounds he was making made it difficult to look away.

It didn’t help that your thoughts had spiraled into wild, suggestive fantasies. You bit your lip as you imagined how your lips would wrap around his cock, struggling to fit it all in– because he was huge. The way your tongue would trace every curve, making sure not a single spot went untouched. You imagined how he would look when he finally reached his peak.

Your thighs rubbed against each other but it did nothing to alleviate the growing ache inside your core. You struggled to stay silent when your hand slipped underneath your shorts to rub against your clothed core to possibly seek some relief. 

All your attempts to remain quiet vanished the moment you heard him groan your name. He was thinking of you. You cursed yourself internally as a soft gasp escaped your lips, causing him to halt and turn his head toward the closet. You stepped back, wishing you could blend in with the hanging clothes, silently praying he hadn’t noticed.

But of course, luck was usually never on your side.

As Sylus opened the closet door, he looked down at you with a mischievous smirk. “Enjoying the show, sweetie?”

You half-expected him to be angry about your invasion of his personal space, but he seemed more amused than anything.

“Not really,” you replied, matching his smirk. You’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected you. “I never got to see how it finished.”

You saw the way his eyes roamed over you, and you were certain he noticed how your thighs were pressed tightly together or the way your hardened peaks pressed against your top. Even in shorts and a loose t-shirt, you felt exposed as if he were undressing you with his gaze.

“I see,” He finally said. 

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer, closing the distance between you. Leaning down, Sylus whispered into your ear, “How about you help me finish, then?”

[hiddenlongingsfanfic]

Just His Luck (Lucky Boys 1)

The viscous liquid drip…drip..dripped off of the tip of a clawed finger.

Landing on the bricks below, it sounded incongruously like rainfall.

The acid green substance defied gravity with its tendrils creeping out and then into the porous surfaces of a badly maintained sewer system. His hands were covered in tight fitting gloves, still glowing white even amongst the filth. They lay lax, palms up, and fingers loosely curled to create a small divot in the center.

It took a long time, and it hurt this waiting.

Slowly, though, his patience began to bear fruit.

In his slightly cupped hand pooled the unnaturally rippling ectoplasm.

Danny laboriously, in fits and starts, managed to bring his hand to his chest and tipped the meager liquid directly into his organs. He whined softly with relief as he felt this new world’s ectoplasm nourish him. He didn’t know what would happen if he had a direct source to guzzle from, though. He couldn’t even really describe the difference that he felt. he just knew that it was present and almost alien.

Although Danny smiled slightly, he supposed at this point, he was the alien life-form.

He grimaced then at the feeling of the restrictive plastic that was still strapped to his face before he was forced back to stoicism when it cut painfully into his skin. It wouldn’t be pretty if he had to try and projectile vomit through the thin metal bars that pierced his skin. He finally heaved a deep breath and gingerly wrapped his arms around his torso, doing his best to avoid any sutures, before he pillowed his head on the sinuous length of his tail. Curled into as tight of a ball as his battered body would concede, Danny finally allowed himself to start crying. Tears streamed down his face, and if he had had the ability, he would have screamed.

Wailed.  

At the loss of everything.

His jaw wouldn’t move, held in place by some sort of wire that wound its way through his gums and bones held in place by the plastic of the muzzle. Whatever Fenton invention they had used on it made it nearly impossible to remove. It refused to phase through walls with him and was strong enough that he couldn’t manage to snap the wire into pieces. 

They had learned their lesson early on with him.

They hadn’t wanted to hear what he had to say anyway. Had only cared about what they could discover next. What they could find as they tore through him with methodical, scientific patience. He was a ghost. Long dead. Why would they waste the supplies on feeding him? They had tried something different.

Something…bad.

This shallow pool was a slow method of collection, but it also gave him time to recover his strength, and it didn’t hurt anyone else. He wasn’t being forced to harm anyone just to survive. He couldn’t remember when the portal had started to fall to pieces around him. Cobbled together as it had been, a mixture of human and animal blood used by his friends in a desperate attempt to free him from the laboratory that he had been imprisoned in.

Danny had appeared amongst the clouds and didn’t have the strength to stay afloat.  Danny’s ghost half was supernaturally hardy, but even he needed time to recuperate after plummeting from that high in the air. He had tried to control his fall, but he had just been so tired. Normally, floating felt more natural to him when he was like this than walking. But his injuries even before he had escaped had left him weak. At least he had managed to avoid skewering himself on the steeple of a church. Had felt something close to horror at the thought of being killed (again? fully?) by the sharp points of a metal cross.

A sudden noise distracted him from his agonized sobs.

Danny growled low in his chest as he heard something splashing through the sewer water. Gross. That water couldn’t be sanitary. Seemed questionable to him. He wanted to disappear away from whatever was making that much of a ruckus. Sure, he could technically still turn himself invisible, but that wouldn’t hide the trail of ectoplasm that he had left in his wake. Better to make himself as scary as possible. At this point he’d probably have trouble fighting off the ghost of a fly, let alone whatever monster was roaming through near pitch black tunnels with apparent ease. He couldn’t bare his teeth anymore, but he let the sonic rumbling coming from his chest turn up a gear. There was another splash, and this time, it was followed by a curse. Someone had just fallen face first into that foul water.

Okay.

That helped the fear a little bit. 

Danny let the growl ebb away with a quizzical chirp. He’d have to be even worse off than he currently was to not recognize that “ Mother Fucker!!” that echoed off the brick walls for a moment.  The tinny sound of some sort of earpiece let him hear the faint sound of the feminine laughter of whoever was on the other line.

“Shut it, O. It’s your fault I’m down here anyways.”

The voice was raspy, but it also didn’t sound completely natural. Some sort of mechanical modulation that gave him the heebie-jeebies. 

“ I told you. Cameras caught something falling out of the sky. I found the furrow that it left.”

In the goddamn cemetery.”

“ Yes, but you saw the same thing I did.”

“Yeah, something dragged itself away from the impact site.” “

Satellites saw whatever fell. They literally survived a fall from low atmosphere space and then had the strength to pull themselves into the sewers.”

The damned muzzle meant that there was no way for Danny to run away from whoever was looking for him. Every other piece of clothing went intangible with no issue; but the Fucking Fenton Wire™ made it literally impossible for him to get his face through anything. Forcing himself through would probably end with him missing a bunch of teeth and a good portion of skin from his face. It might be worth it; Danny had taken enough blows to the head that he knew his teeth grew back eventually. Maybe he’d get lucky and the man would give up after his impromptu dip in sewage.

Has he ever been lucky in his entire life?

The abrupt blast of light as the man held up a small penlight felt like it pierced him solidly through both of his eye sockets.

“Hmmm, I’m seeing some sort of liquid.”

“ Blood?”

“I mean the splatter marks. They match up to what I’d expect to see if someone managed to drag themselves through Gotham city water.” 

“ But?” “

"But this shit is looking a hell of a lot more like  Lazarus Water?”

There was a long buzzy pause that came out of whatever kind of earwigs these two weirdo’s were wearing. Danny forced himself to lay even flatter to the ground. He took in a deep breath and fully stuck himself into the corner. Maybe his ratty old hazmat suit would let him pass as a pile of dirty laundry or a trash bag. It wouldn’t work, but Danny hadn’t had too many great ideas about how to talk to a man without showing off his wired. shut. teeth. He also seemed familiar with ectoplasm. Though it didn’t seem to be a happy association.  His modulated voice had dipped into an even lower register. 

When a hand forcefully landed on Danny’s shoulders, the tips of his gloved fingers caught against the concrete of the floor and threw out sparks as he was dragged backwards by ungentle hands.

“ Wait! Hood, be care…!! ”

Danny had had more than enough of being manhandled in his lifetime (afterlife?) and he didn’t even let the woman on the other side of the microphone finish her warning before he whipped his body around and smacked his clawed fingers across the face of his unknown attacker.  It wasn’t exactly like a hot knife through butter, but Danny could feel the way the tips first caught in the metal of the full face helmet that the man was wearing and a push of ice into those cracks shattered the rest of the man's headgear. In a normal situation (for Danny) this would be the point where the person, ghost, being of unimaginable power, etc, etc would either turn tail and run in the other direction or at least shrink away from whatever had just ripped apart what looked like it had been a very expensive piece of body armor. This time, though, he didn’t even have time to react before being punched straight in the nose.

His head snapped back hard for a moment before he twisted sinuously around and launched himself at whoever had hit him. Only for the much taller man to nimbly spring away from where he had been and leaving Danny crouched in the grotty water that was already up well past his shins. At least his feet had decided to reappear. Small favors and all that.  Danny swung out in a wide arc with his claws bared rather than in a fist and let out a little growl of frustration as he hit nothing but air. The other man was quicker on his feet than Danny was used to and he didn’t want to put his full force behind the blow anyways. 

He’d gotten into plenty of fights with ghosts, in their form of rough and tumble play, and a little less regularly by humans that meant business.

This felt like a combination of the two and that was fucking weird man.

Not to be trusted.

It's time to try and actually fight his way out of this situation since this asshole wouldn’t just leave him alone to sulk in the sewers.

Danny instinctively tried to open his mouth wide both to show off his sharpened fangs as well as to hopefully wail into his attacker's face. Of course, the wire cut that off hard, and he had to pull back with a sharp, frustrated whine as he pawed at his face for a moment. Scrabbling to get that stupid mask off so that he could defend himself.  His claws caught on the edge of the plastic, but it didn’t budge. He only managed to snag a finger through a small loop of the metal before it shocked him hard enough to drop him completely in the water, the muzzle sparking and pulsing in punishment and making it impossible for him to keep on his feet. He could feel the way the water around him electrified and was relieved when the other man had the good sense to jump out of it.

This time when a hand came down to grab him the stranger had at least gone for a limb a little further away from whatever fuckery was happening on his face and he felt now much gentler hands wrap around his ankles.  They gently dragged him up and out of the water, plopping him relatively softly on the cement again before relinquishing his hold and backing up with his hands in the air. Danny flopped onto his belly and pushed himself away as quickly as he could. He ended up on all fours with his forearms flat on the ground so that he could hold his head up away from the ground but not have to try and hold onto his teetering balance.

Electricity flashed through his face and left him seeing stars and smelling burnt flesh.

He was gasping for air.

Air he knew that he didn’t really need anymore, but it still felt so necessary.

Deep inhales and slow exhales to try and calm himself down and to get the equipment on his face to stop fucking zapping him. It took several long seconds before he was able to get the courage together to look over and see what the stranger was doing while he was having an electricity induced panic attack. He hadn’t heard the other man leave but that didn’t mean much when this sort of stuff happened. He couldn’t hear much of anything with the way it felt like electricity jolted through his brain. It brought back not only recent memories of this being used as a punishment but older, harder memories from his deathday.  But no, the stranger hadn’t had the decency to leave. Instead he had just taken a seat across the stream of water from him and was watching him carefully from behind another smaller mask that still hid a good majority of his facial features.

Who wears two masks?

Seriously.

He could see the black hair with a shocking patch of white, turned a little brown gray from the muck of the sewer water. 

The sight made his core hum inquisitively.

That was a very distinctive sort of mark to have. Danny cocked his head a little further and, this time, let himself reach out with tendrils of inquiry from his core to see how the other man reacted.

At first, he didn’t.

React that is.

Didn’t seem to have any sort of idea about what was happening, and then Danny felt the first flutters of a very, very new core as it responded with a stressed chatter of noise. It said don’t hurt me…I’m just a baby…Just a baby . Be calm. Safe. safe. Danny’s eyes blazed green as he reacted to the placating emotions the man was obviously sending his way unintentionally. Even after everything he had gone through, Danny didn’t want to be a bully. Sure his face, hell his entire body, fucking hurt, but he had all but face planted into the other ghosts territory. He hadn’t known where the portal had been going to take him. All he had been able to gather from the abrupt conversation that he had had with Jazz was that it was somewhere the GIW would never find him.

A dimension far far away, where he would be safe.

Alone.

But safe.

He had grabbed onto that with both hands and hadn’t let himself think about what he might be losing. So he had managed to get away from an evil government agency, lose his remaining friends and family permanently, only to land smack dab in the middle of some powerful baby ghosts haunt.

Just his fucking luck . 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Jason wasn’t often at a complete loss for words.

He had words to spare.

Profanity laced, but still, available for use at all times. 

When the call had come through from Oracle, he had felt cold dread start to creep down his spine. Some thing had landed in Crime Alley and walked away from the impact. It was late enough that he had been considering turning in for the evening. When he had heard the subtle ping of his earpiece. Jason had almost considered declining the call. Whatever it was that Oracle needed at this time of night wasn’t going to be good. Even the criminals went to bed eventually.

He clenched hard on his motorcycle's handles before he accepted the call with a gruff. “What is it?”

“ We’ve got something or someone that just landed hard in the Gotham cemetery.” “

Why aren’t you sure if it’s a person or an object?”

“ They fell from literal space. Some sort of portal ripped open the sky and dropped something through it. I’d say the only person that would be able to survive that kind of a fall would be Superman.”

“But it’s not him because?”

“ Because Superman is currently working a case with B, and he was the first person I called. Present and accounted for.” “

And you don’t think it’s a random object falling from a portal because?”

“ First. When has it ever just been a random object?”

“Hn.” Jason grunted in agreement.

“ Secondly, it’s not there anymore. Camera’s went a little fuzzy, but somebody pulled themselves out of the impact site and slid through a sewer grate.”

“Hn.” This was not a grunt of agreement. This was a grunt of displeasure. Oracle had worked with enough bats and birds throughout her lifetime to be able to tell the difference immediately. “

Yes. I literally mean through. It looked like liquid, but it moved under its own power.” “

Hn.”

“ Don’t whine. It’s not befitting a crime lord.”

Jason didn’t even bother to respond as he pulled in through the cracked open gates of the cemetery. Better to park his bike here rather than on the street. B would actually never let him hear the end of it if someone tried to steal his tires.

It didn’t take him long to find the impact site.  There were spatters of sinister glowing green liquid, and the sight of it made Jason’s gorge rise. There was no way that was what it looked like. As he circled around the deep divot in the earth, Jason could make out what looked like handprints in the earth.

Whoever had landed here had hit the ground with enough force to dig several inches into the loamy soil before it looked like they had crawled out with clawed fingers digging deep divots into the dirt as it dragged itself towards the slim opening that led into the Gotham sewer system.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m fitting through that opening.” Jason drawled. “We’ll have to call in one of the Robins. What a shame.”

“ Nice try. There’s a manhole less than 50 feet from where you’re standing.”

Jason let his face drop forward with a dramatic sigh before he strode over to the manhole. With a grunt of effort, he pulled the thick metal up and to the side before he peered down into the darkness. Thankfully, his mask helped him see through the pitch black, and he was able to locate a ladder without trouble.

He curled his lip a little with disgust before dropping down into the muck. The ladder was made out of a sturdy metal, but he could still feel flakes of rust coming off underneath his leather gloves, and his boots slipped a little on some sort of slimy algae. Jason could hear Oracle breathing quietly in his ear, but they had both gone quiet as he had gotten closer to whatever fresh horror had arrived in Gotham city this time. The water was as disgusting as he had feared when he finally hit the floor, but it was still less slippery than trying to walk on the slick sides that slanted inwards to direct the water. Hood’s mask would have had trouble distinguishing the dark stain of normal blood from the filth that coated the surfaces around him but the bright neon of whatever this creature was dripping stood out in stark contrast to everything around it.

It looked toxic.

Malevolent.

His impression of danger only deepened when he felt his chest rumble like he was standing next to a speaker thrumming with bass.  He was so focused on following the small trailing drops that when Jason tripped over some sort of submerged trash he didn’t have the wherewithal to catch himself.

“Mother FUCKER!”.

Thankfully his mask was sealed tightly enough that none of the disgusting water actually got into his mouth or eyes but he knew that as soon as the mask was taken off he was going to be able to smell himself. Hell, regular civilians would be able to smell him coming before they heard his motorcycle. The thrumming noise came to an abrupt halt when he hit the water, and then Oracle's laughter rang out across the line. Jason had to grit his teeth hard to hold back an annoyed snarl.

“Shut it, O. It’s your fault I’m down here anyway.”

“ I told you. Cameras caught something falling out of the sky. I found the furrow that it left.”

“ In the goddamn cemetery.”

“ Yes, but you saw the same thing I did.”

“Yeah, something dragged itself away from the impact site.”

“Satellites saw whatever fell. They literally survived a fall from low atmosphere space and then had the strength to pull themselves into the sewers.” 

“Hn, I’m seeing some sort of liquid.”

“ Blood?”

“I mean the splatter marks I'm seeing. They'd match up to what I’d expect to see if someone managed to drag themselves through Gotham city water.” 

“ But?”

" But this shit is looking a hell of a lot more like Lazarus Water?” 

Jason had been feeling more and more sketched out as he stepped past what felt more and more like he had stepped into an evil Jackson Pollock painting. He could see handprints in the smears of green that looked almost human. But there was something wrong with the edges. Like whatever had made them didn’t have just normal fingertips. Little indentations in the brick marked the spaces where claws had dug in a little too forcefully to be human.

When Hood finally turned a corner in the sewers and found the source of the Lazarus water he barely even paused when he saw the dirty frayed edges of some sort of black rubbery suit and just reached out to drag whatever the hell had been stupid enough to show up right on his fucking doorstep out of the darkness.

“ Wait! Hood, be care…!! ”

The clawed hand that whipped out of the darkness shone off-white even in the darkness of the sewers, but Hood didn’t have time to dodge before they caught hard in the alloy that covered his left cheek.  He felt the fine cracks as they started to form before he was hit with a sudden icy cold that burned ferociously for a moment before he felt his helmet completely shatter. Jason could only see a vague shadow of whatever had just hit him, but it was more than enough, and he aimed a hard punch directly where somebody's nose should be.

If it had a nose.

He felt cartilage snap under his knuckles and smirked when his opponent's head snapped backwards. And continued backwards further than any human spine should be able to bend. It twisted sinuously around and sent another swiping blow in his direction. This time Jason had enough time to dodge the uncanny blow, and he leapt backwards to give himself some space. He heard a low growl of frustration from the man across from him, and Hood’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the other man's face for the first time. The clear plastic of the bite mask was deeply embedded in the skin around the stranger's face. 

No.

Jason’s breath caught.

Not embedded.

Sewn.

The edges were sewn into his skin with what looked like a thin wire. Where the metal bars that would usually be in front of his lips had instead been wound through them. Sealing them completely shut. The young man’s eyes glowed the same neon green as the Lazarus water. Eerily similar to his own eyes when the Pit rage took over; but brighter, almost incandescent.  His hair swirled in violent waves around his head as though taken by an unseen riptide, glowing white in the gloom. His skin was almost as pale as his hair; though the filth of the sewers had spread a disgusting film across his face. Jason could see the tear tracks that had sloughed off the dirt in ghostly pale streaks. 

The rumbling growl that Jason had heard was coming from deep within the man’s slender chest.  He could see the way the man’s jaw clenched hard as he strained to open his mouth against the tortuous contraption that was entrenched in his face.

He hoped, God did Jason hope, that the mask was a new fixture because whatever he had been trying to do, the young man jerked his head sideways and pawed ineffectually at the edges of the plastic. Clawed fingertips caught and held but weren’t able to pull the fucking muzzle off of his face. With a newly frustrated growl, the man changed tactics and looped a finger through the metal x’d through his lips and pulled. Jason couldn’t see where the electric shocks that started to spark across the mask came from. There didn’t seem to be any sort of electronics attached to the mask itself but wherever they had come from the shocks were enough to drop the man where he stood.

He was nearly covered by the sewage that he had fallen into, and Jason had years of training to thank for the fact that he managed to get out of the water before it became dangerously electrified. He scrambled up into the tunnel that the other person had emerged from while he tried to figure out how he was going to help this poor fucker without getting electrocuted for his troubles. After several long seconds Jason finally managed to reach out and snag the, hopefully rubber, tattered ends of the guys pants and dragged him up and out of the water with a grunting heave.

Jason curled himself away from the sparks that were still coming off of the guy.

Jesus.

Were the electronics in the man’s mouth?

It took several heaving breaths, nostrils flaring and chest racked with silent coughs, before the guy managed to get up on his knees and elbows. He rested his forehead on his fisted hands for several long seconds as they both tried to decide how best to handle the situation going forward. Green eyes slid over to him, and Jason felt a completely foreign crash of emotion sweep through him in a wave. The top notes of whatever this being was sending his way were aggressive!mean!GETAWAY! But underneath that was a wave of agonized terror that left him nearly breathless.

Jason held back a snarl of fear when he felt something shift in his chest and respond without his conscious permission. Something that felt a little bit like the Pit but a lot like when he was trying to sooth his siblings after a hard night. Safe…safe here. Jason slowly slid further down the wall and took a deep deep breath to try and calm himself down.

They both lay, covered in filth, as they tried to recover from the sudden cessation of violence and stared into each others eyes. “

So…uh Hood? You okay?”

Jesus, now he’d have to talk to Oracle about everything that had just happened in the space of several silent minutes.

No.

Worse.

He’d have to explain what happened to Da…Batman.

Jason let his head fall back against the dirty brick and groaned aloud.

Just his fucking luck .

[antiwhores]

The rubble smells underneath this building. The smell of dirt, dust, and suit. It’s intoxicating, almost. What’s more intoxicating? Katsuki Bakugou’s scent as you straddle him.

About 2 minutes ago, a building started to fall down right in Bakugou’s path. You were both fighting a villain with a quirk thats almost as destructive as Bakugou’s.

The villain went down but the villain decided that so would you guys. So in one last petty move, he dropped a building when Bakugou was distracted.

You dove towards him, scared to see your agency leader die. Especially since you harbored feelings for him ever since you met him 5 years ago.

You knew that you couldnt make it out in time so in quick thinking you threw yourself on top of him and redirected yourself to an area where you didn’t think that I’d fall on you guys.

It was a close call because it was a tight enough space just to fit the both of you.

“HEY!”

Who the hell is he yelling at?

“Wake up, dumbass! Shit, shit, shit… please be alive.”

You forced your eyes, that you didn’t even know were closed, open. You’re straddled on top of him, with your head on his chest. He’s against a wall, looking down at you with a look that you’ve never seen on him before. It quickly turned to relief.

“Holy shit,” he tightened the hands around your waist, “if you would have died I’d have fucking killed you.”

You moved the get off of him but he stopped you. “Theres no room, you’ll bump your head.”

You groaned at the situation, “Fuck.”

“Ex- fucking - actly, this shit sucks.”

As your brain begins to unfog, you start to digest the situation. Panic runs through your body as you wiggle your body.

“What the hell? Stop panicking.” He attempts to still you but you continue to flail.

“Im fucking claustrophobic! I’m gonna loose my shit!”

Tears well up in your eyes when your back hits against the concrete rock behind you for the 10th time.

“Fuck, you’re gonna- fucking stop!”

You only stop when you hear a grunt escape his lips. You blush as the realization comes to you. You’d been grinding against him while trying to get out. He blushes back, grabbing your head and forcing it on his chest.

“God, here- just lay your head down. You’re right on my dick doing that shit.”

Your heart is beating out of your chest. You cant tell if it’s from the fact that your boss is hard against your clothed regions or the situation of being stuck for god knows how long.

“Im sorry, I-“

“It’s fine, it’ll go away. Just stop moving.”

But will it? The way he’s feeling right now with your tits pressed against him and his dick against your crotch doesn’t seem to be fading. He can practically feel the heat radiating from your pussy.

After 5 minutes of silence, he thinks he’s gonna go crazy. His dick is still hard and you’re still on top of him trying your best to not move. The pressure of you against him is unfortunately enough to keep it hard and its driving him nuts.

You both speak at the same time.

“Fuck, can you-“

“What if I help?”

You bury your face deeper into his chest trying to hide your entirely red face.

“What?”

He waits for you to speak, wanting to confirm that you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. You mumble something so low he almost didn’t hear it.

“I wanna help make it go away. If you wanna.”

Bakugou doesn’t speak for what felt like an eternity. Sure, he wanted to take you out on a date. But he thought he could at least wine and dine you before you start getting intimate. His brain is foggy as he thinks about all the late nights he’s spent looking at press photos of you while he strokes himself.

“You don’t have to-“ “But I want to.”

Neither of you say a word as Bakugou tightens his hold on your hips. He pulls you down hard against his cock. You both suck in a breath.

Bakugou curses as he repeats the motion. You begin to grind with him, angling your body so your clit rubs against where you connect.

Its a back and forth effort. You both work towards chasing your highs. One hand leaves your hips and pulls at your hair. He pulls you back to where your neck is exposed to him.

He latches onto your neck, licking and sucking marks into you between groans.

You put a hand over your mouth. The moans that are coming out are getting progressively louder.

“Move your hand.” He demands.

You shake your head. It’s too embarrassing the way you’re moaning like a bitch in heat.

Your eyes almost roll back at a particular harsh thrust. He rips your hand off while you’re distracted. He puts it at your side. “Move it and i’ll bite you.”

You pull at your hero costume. It’s so damn hot.

He takes it as an invitation to pull up your shirt and grab at your tits. He pulls your bra up, “Fuckkk, your tits are so perfect.”

You borderline whine when he sucks on your tit while playing with the other. All while grinding up onto you.

You feel yourself reaching the edge, “Katsuki- Im gonna.”

“Cum for me then.”

Your whole body shakes as your orgasm runs through your body. You shove your mouth against his. The kiss is hurried and hungry.

He only breaks it when his orgasm practically punches him in the face. He grips onto you so hard that theres no way he’s not leaving bruises. He bites into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. He bites so hard that you cry out.

His eyes roll back and a long grown forces itself out.

After you both come down you look each other in the eyes as you breathe heavily.

You’re the first one to break the silence.

“Your eyes are really pretty up close.”

He chuckles, “Go on a date with me and I’ll let you see them even closer.”

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: dress for the occasion

everyone is always mentioning to dress like your venus sign. recently, i have seen a lot of tiktoks where people are like dress like your crush/boyfriend's venus sign to look like his dream girl. and i was like what about dressing for the occasion? which brought me here! grab your venus persona and take a look at the houses.

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

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5h - prom, dances, dates, and clubs

5h cancer (4°, 16°, 28°) and/or 5h moon: elegance is key. you might be drawn to long, flowy gowns with shimmery fabric. something light but glowy! often the fabric is dark (black or midnight blue) or slivery/white. a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder cut tends to look beautiful on these people. often you are drawn to semi-sheer fabric as it adds some mystique to your appearance.

5h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 5h venus: light pastels or ivory are likely to grab your attention but a plain white or black dress is likely to give you that elegant/timeless look that you want most in pictures to remember your day (otherwise, you might take pictures in a colored dress and turn on a black and white filter). you want the wow factor! so a-line, a ball gown, or fit-flare dresses might be your go to look. a floor length dress is likely a must for you. silk, satin, chiffon, and/or organza are likely on the tags of these dresses even if you don't know what these materials are by the naked eye. dresses with a sweetheart neckline or off the shoulder sleeves are likely to make you feel elegant. you may like very simple accessories - plain earrings, a dainty bracelet, small pendant necklace, classic heels, etc. a v-neckline, bateau, or strapless design is likely to fit your elegance same could be said about a low back dress.

5h aquarius (11°, 23°) and/or 5h uranus: you are likely to be drawn to the blue family (sky, sea, ocean, water, turquoise, etc.). iridescence/holographic/shimmery material might draw your attention in a store. you often go for something very atypical in the store (might be from seasons ago - its likely the last of its kind). something a-line, flowy, and/or high-to-low might be of interest to you - the cuts of a dress bring interest to your favorite parts of yourself (example, maybe its a two piece dress). something high neck or off the shoulder is likely of interest to you as well. a loose braid and/or waves might be all you need to finish out your look.

7h - wedding attire

7h aries (1°, 13°, 25°) and/or 7h mars: as a bride you should be wearing pure white. nudes or off-whites aren't likely to hold your attention anyway. grab the pure stark white. it is likely that reds are going to be an accent of this wedding - roses, nail, polish, bridesmaid dresses, etc. but if you aren't in the wedding party, go for the red whether its a fiery red or a deep burgundy, its the way to go! no matter if you are the bride, the guest, or a member of the wedding party - you should opt for a fit flare dress or mermaid silhouette. or be really dramatic and go for a deep slit, a plunge neckline, or something backless! the devil is in the details too so things like careful beading, sequins, or embroidery should be something critical to your look (if not the fit and/or the drama). alternatively, minimalism/modernism might be something you enjoy for your look.

7h gemini (3°, 15°, 27°) and/or 7h mercury: as a bride, you might lean towards ivory or whites with an undertone of some color (like a blush). you don't tend to go for the traditional white color, in my experience. if you are a guest or in the wedding party it is likely you will find yourself in soft pastel colors! movement is of the utmost importance to you so opt for a-line or flowy gown. you might also enjoy wearing things that are asymmetrical - the hemline might be high to low or you might like the one shoulder strap design. these people also like details in their dresses whether it is lace, embroidery, beading, ruffles, tiered skirts, or glitter - the options are endless. chiffon, tulle, or organza might be the fabrics for you because they are light and breathable.

6h - everyday clothes and workwear

6h pisces (12°, 24°) and/or 6h neptune: soft fabrics like cotton, silk, or jersey in gentle, soothing colors such as ocean blues, seafoam greens, lavender, and soft pinks. loose, flowing clothes like maxi skirts, wrap dresses, or wide-legged pants that move gracefully. style would likely be bohemian and free-spirited, incorporating layers, delicate patterns, or subtle prints (florals, paisley, etc.). clothes would be cozy and easy to wear—think oversized sweaters, soft cardigans, and flowy blouses. might like jewelry that is delicate, handmade, seashells, pearls, and/or celestial themed.

6h libra (7°, 19°) and/or 6h venus: these people have a natural sense of style and an appreciation for their appearance. outfits would likely be classic, well-tailored pieces in soft, neutral tones like blush pink, dove gray, cream, and pastel blues. the fabrics would be light and luxurious - like silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, or satin skirts. well-fitted blazers, A-line skirts, and or high-waisted trousers make them look polished and graceful. they effortlessly blend comfort with sophistication. everything else is minimal yet thoughtfully chosen - delicate gold or silver jewelry, a stylish handbag, etc.

9h - graduation and religious events

9h taurus (2°, 14°, 26°) and/or 9h venus: elegance, luxury, and comfort ("it has pockets too!"). a sleek, well-structured dress in an earthy tones like emerald green, soft brown, or blush pink. the fabric might be luxurious, like silk, satin, or velvet. a silhouette would likely be timeless and flattering - a wrap dress or an A-line dress that cinches at the waist, emphasizing femininity and grace is well suited for this placement. delicate embroidery or subtle jewelry accents. understated but beautiful accessories, like a simple gold necklace or pearl earrings.

9h leo (5°, 17°, 29°) and/or 9h sun: bold, glamorous, and attention grabbing. vibrant colors like gold, fiery red, or royal purple. the fabric might be something that shimmers or catches the light, such as sequined, satin, or metallic materials. a silhouette could be daring and statement-making, like a fitted flair dress, a high-low hemline, or an off-the-shoulder design. ruffles, a thigh-high slit, or an open back, ensures all eyes are on them. accessories would be bold—think large, sparkling earrings, a dramatic statement necklace, etc. yes, realize what my sub-header is for this section.

9h sagittarius (9°, 21°) and/or jupiter: it's never just one graduation or church event and thus never just one dress/opportunity. the dresses would likely have a regal, flowing quality to it. jewel tones like deep sapphire, royal blue, or amethyst. flowy, A-line, and/or empire waisted dresses that gives a sense of movement. fabric might be lightweight and ethereal, like chiffon, tulle, or silk. intricate embroidery, beading, etc. accessories would be tasteful but luxurious, like a delicate gold bracelet or a jeweled hairpiece.

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© a-d-nox 2024 all rights reserved

[boowritess]

i'm just going insane about the guys having drinking nights with their pretty little dolls all dressed up with tiny skirts, dresses, and tops showing too much skin. glossed lips pulled into smiles. heels on their feet. dolls perked so prettily on their laps. maybe on the ground. maybe between their legs...

141 hands are always everywhere on the pretty little dolls they bring along. mouths share liquid, some breathe in smoke. others a little more with scarred hands skimming under clothes, zippers undone.

giggles, gasps and whispers fill the room, mixing with sounds of clinking glass, lighters and deep chuckles.

nothing at all is held back on nights like this. when the 141 are all together. smoking, drinking, playing cards, and... more.

then you come in.

out of all the guys to bring you - it's gaz. his usual dressed up doll replaced with you.

and how cute you fucking are.

you're the exact opposite of the dolls they usually have set up. dressed in clothes that cover your skin. t-shirts, long sleeves, pants that go to your ankles, a dress that's modest. sometimes loose and sometimes form-fitting.

maybe you'd wear a low-cut shirt, but with long sleeves and cover your stomach. or even a long dress or skirt that may have a high slit. maybe shorts, but the highest they go is mid-thigh.

the only heels you may wear is boots, but sometimes it's comfortable footwear you prefer to wear. there's no smile on your lips, that only really use chapstick.

instead of sitting on gaz's lap or the ground. he pulled up a chair right next to his for you sit. you curl away when you get touched too much, and gaz stops when he notices. but sometimes you let him hold your pinky, that's about it though.

the most affection you show him on nights like these, is leaning on his chair - his chair not him - and holding his shirt in between your fingers in a loose manner.

it's such a stark contrast to what happens so blatantly in front of you. you don't blink an eye. if anything, you looked bored and rather than repulsed by what you see. and it's a lot that you see.

but you're just a quiet little thing, that talks when you get talked too. talks to the girls in the same manner when they strike up conversation. just so sweet and quiet.

you don't come all the time. so sometimes it's just gaz, and the others don't mind sharing what they have, dolls included, so when they try to get their dolls to give gaz some attention - he usually is so ready for it, they all tend to be - gaz grins and instead sends them on their way back to their respective man.

so they take it that you and gaz may have discussed some boundaries, and when they ask, gaz just chuckles and shakes his head no. shrugs and says he doesn't need anything. he's fine. a genuine smile on his lips. they don't question it further.

but they ask about you. interest simmering just beneath those words with a hint of care. your very few appearances affected them more than they were willing to admit. with your lack of appearance, they started to wonder if it was them and the way they were that made you not want to come...

you're just this sweet, shy, kind little thing that they're just constantly finding themselves missing.

and that's all i have. so many ways it could go.

[tiza0925]

A Celebration | 18+

Warnings/Tags: afab/female reader, tipsy!reader, soft!Bokuto, established relationship, pet names, teasing, needy!Bokuto, pussy drunk!Bokuto, praise kink, pussy eating, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting ♡ SET IN A TIMELINE WHERE ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED-UP AND OVER 18

Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“Ko,” Your voice comes out low, almost a whisper, as you look up at Bokuto while you sit on the edge of your guys’ bed, hands behind you as support, and you angle your head to the side—your hair falling over one shoulder. 

Bokuto hums as he lifts one brow, looking down at you from the bridge of his nose with a small smile adorning his lips, and he crosses his arms to clutch the bottom hem of his shirt to take it off—leaving his chest bare.

And your stomach clenches at the sight of him half naked already.

“Yes, darling?” 

Your answering smile is slow and syrupy, and your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “‘m tipsy.” 

Bokuto snorts, affectionately, and drops to his haunches in front of where you’re sitting—and he looks up at you with a teasing grin. “Are you, now?” 

His hands—so rough and warm and huge—come to hold onto the back of your exposed calves, sliding his hands up and down in a soothing gesture that makes you shiver. “Did my baby drink too much wine tonight?” 

You two were celebrating tonight. 

Bokuto just won a very important match. 

You just received news that you got into your dream university to do your master's. 

It was something worth dressing nice for the night—with Bokuto in a fitted black turtleneck that hugged his frame so deliciously well, and black dress pants with a belt. 

You had on a simple black dress that hugged your waist in a way that Bokuto couldn’t stop admiring—with your cleavage teasing him with thin straps and the dress running no longer than just below your knees. 

A fancy restaurant was what you both decided to go to—and they were serving alcohol so—

You two shared a bottle of wine. 

Except you drank more than he did. 

And now it’s making an impact on you as your head grows fuzzy and liquid warmth spreads through your body. 

You whine, your head feels loopy and there’s a warm ache beginning to grow more intense between your thighs, and you frown as you look down at Bokuto. “You let me drink all that wine.” 

Bokuto’s chuckle is breathy, and he moves one hand down your left calf until his fingers wrap around your ankle, and he uses that to hold your foot in place as his other hand comes down to slip off your heel. “You seemed to be enjoying it more than I was.” 

He sets your shoe aside, and moves onto the other foot, giving your shin a soft kiss as he takes the other high heel off. “And you’re cute when you’re tipsy, my love.” 

You let out a huff, but you can’t be too annoyed by it. 

Not when you feel a nice buzz underneath your skin, and Bokuto’s touches feel so delicate and hot on your legs that it makes you shiver and melt. 

Plus—he always treats you well if you have some alcohol in your system. 

You never have to worry. 

Just like tonight. 

You pout. “Shut up.” 

But Bokuto simply smiles against your shin, and moves to brush his lips up your leg, murmuring in that playful low voice of his with a hum, “I don’t think I will.”

You let loose a small breath, although it’s a little shaky because of the way Bokuto’s lips feel brushing over your leg—his breath fanning against you as he spreads goosebumps over your skin. 

It has you squirming, your thighs tensing, and you bite on your lower lip as his mouth travels closer and closer to your inner thigh—

“Your legs are so soft,” Bokuto murmurs, lifting your dress with his hands to expose your panties, and you suck in a sharp breath at the cool air slapping your skin. 

“Ko,” You whimper, and he looks up at you—and his eyes widen a little at how you’re looking at him. 

Eyes big, and foggy, and your red-painted lips parted with soft breaths leaving you. 

“You okay?” He asks, voice coming out velvety soft, and you nod. 

Then he squeezes your thighs, his mouth just inches away from your panties. “You want me to stop, love?” 

God—no. 

You just feel so hot and it’s doing things to you. 

And it doesn’t help when you have the image of him kneeling in front of you like that—with his head right between your legs. 

It gets you heady, feeling a little overwhelmed, and the wine in your system isn’t doing anything to quell that heat in your lower belly. 

You shake your head. “N-no.” 

And that’s all Bokuto needs to hear as he lets a smile crawl on his lips and leans forward to give your clit a delicate kiss over your panties. “Good.” 

He darts out his tongue and slides it from bottom to top over your covered slit, a rumble in his voice. “Because I need to taste you, baby.” 

He’s so unbelievable sometimes that it makes you want to shake your head in disbelief. 

Leave it to him to become drunk not off wine like you—but by your sweet little cunt that he just loves to have his mouth on whenever he gets the chance. 

Not that you mind, obviously. 

Bokuto nestles his face right between your thighs, and you feel his cheeks and hair brush against your inner thighs as he kisses your folds and clit over the thin fabric you have on, getting your panties soaked as he licks and licks, groaning and digging his thumbs into your plush thighs. 

“God—” You moan, your eyes rolling back, and you buck your hips up to get more—because it’s not enough when your underwear is in the way. 

“Feels good?” He mumbles against your covered pussy, making you shiver, and you nod as you breath out heavily. 

“Mhm—”

“Can I take these off, baby?” 

You almost let out a frustrated breath at that question alone as your nodding quickens, almost desperately fast, as you pant and fist the sheets. “Please—fuck, Ko—please—”

He chuckles, endeared. “I know, love,” and he doesn’t wait a second longer as he tugs on the waistband of your panties, and you lift your hips to help him as he slides them down, tossing them aside. 

“Shit,” He groans at the sight of your pussy—bare and wet—and he licks his lips before locking eyes with you, his smile is serene and mirthful as he grazes his lips over your sensitive clit. “You’re always needy when you drink wine, baby.” 

Your eyelids grow heavy, and you feel heat flush in your cheeks as he hooks his palms under the back of your knees, and pushes your legs up to have them rest over his broad shoulders—

Then his tongue goes to lick your pussy from bottom to top—the tip of his tongue flicking at your swollen clit—

And you let out a sharp gasp as everything inside you bursts into honeyed pleasure. 

“Always taste so good for me,” Bokuto groans against your cunt, running the flat of his wet tongue up and down your slit, licking your folds and the skin around it, tasting you with his eyes rolling back. “So fucking good baby, goddamn—”

And it’s a lot. 

So much so that you fall back onto the bed, your back sinking into the cushion, and you throw an arm over your head—feeling so dizzy and heated—as your other hand cards through his hair, moaning. 

His tongue is thorough. 

If it isn’t teasing your clit—it’s dipping inside you, flexing in ways a finger can’t—fucking you with his tongue as he holds onto your thighs, eating you out like this is for his pleasure more than it is for you. 

And Bokuto watches you through half-lidded eyes—how your face changes with every flick of his tongue, how your pretty little mouth opens with small moans, how your chest rises and falls with your heavy breathing as he licks and sucks your pussy over and over until you’re dripping everywhere, coating his chin and your thighs with your fluids. 

“Can you cum on my tongue for me, baby?” Bokuto is breathless when he pulls back, kissing and nipping your inner thigh, before going back to lap at your drooling slit like he’s fucking thirsty. “I want to feel you, baby, you’re so good for me.” 

You sob out another gasp when you feel his warm lips wrap around your clit to suck on it, his tongue teasing the underside of it as he hollows his cheeks, seemingly determined to make you lose your mind and any sense of your body almost immediately.

And—

“Fuck, fuck, Ko—!” 

Your orgasm hits you as if a cord inside you suddenly snapped—and your knuckles turn white with how hard you’re gripping onto his hair, your vision going blurry and your cheeks are on fire as heat explodes from your pussy and throughout your entire body.

Your legs shake around his head, squeezing him, and—

And Boktuo moans, low and needy, as he works you through it—licking whatever juices gush out of your throbbing pussy, his mouth sucking over your oversensitive clit as you cum on his tongue like the good girl that you are. 

“There you go, darling,” Bokuto purrs, lapping you up like a dog eager to please its master, and he huffs out a fan of warm air against your sensitive pussy—making it flinch as he kisses it. “Such a good pussy, baby.”

And what he says next—makes you want to almost cry because—

“Can you give me one more?” He’s panting against you as if he’s the one who just had an orgasm, and you make a sound at the back of your throat as you look at him—disbelief written all over your features. 

But Bokuto smiles against your cunt, his tongue doing little zig-zags over your soaked slit until he works his way up to your abused clit—undulating his tongue against it to make you whimper in overstimulation, heat stinging your core and an ache in your pussy beginning to slowly grow again. “I just need one more, you taste too good, baby.” 

He’s insane. 

But you must be just as crazy to agree—even if it hurts a little—as he eats your sloppy pussy out, getting him drunk on it, until you’re cumming with a cry straight from your lungs, and fluids squirt on his face that has him growing so fucking light-headed with how hard he is. 

And he’s definitely not done with you for the night. 

Because like you said—he takes good care of you when you’re tipsy. 

end.

Masterpost

[peekofhistory]

What dynasty are wuxia hanfu based off? The ones in The Untamed and Word Of Honor look cool but I can't tell which dynasty they're based off

It depends on the story/show :D

Wuxia shows can be from any dynasty, or even no dynasty at all. There's a Chinese term called "架空" （jiakong), essentially it means the story takes place in a fictional time period that doesn't actually exist in history. Stories that are "jiakong" have a lot of leeway when it comes to clothing, hair, settings, etc. because the writer/director can essentially do whatever they want.

Xianxia stories (like The Untamed) tend to be "jiakong" because immortals don't actually exist. To put Xianxia stories into actual history, the writer would have to make a lot of changes to what actually happened in history, which can get messy, so most writers choose to "jiakong" the time period just to make things easier.

Wuxia stories (like Word of Honor) can be "jiakong" or set in a particular dynasty. In the case of Word of Honor, it's "jiakong".

Because of that, the Hanfu designs for both shows are a mixed batch. I don't think the costume designers had any dynasty in mind when designing these clothes and instead just went with a basic "look" of Hanfu (long sleeves, long robes) and worked from there.

(If I get any of the characters' names wrong, please forgive me, it's been a while since I saw these shows OTL)

For example, in the pic below this style of flipped out collar worn by A-Xu doesn't fit with any Hanfu styles I'm aware of. The only flipped-out collar I know of is sometimes when wearing quju robes (pic 2,3) of the Qin/Han Dynasties, and he's definitely not wearing a quju.

【EDIT】 The collar of Tang Dynasty robes could be worn flipped outwards to reveal the semi-sleeve inside, but that's not the style A-Xu is wearing here.

Also the long slits in the bottom of the robes they're wearing, some Hanfu styles from the Tang Dynasty and onward do have slits but they were one on either side, and possibly one at the back, more commonly seen with round-collared robes (though not always).

Here Wen Kexing has on a quling (turtle-neck collared) undershirt which is seen in Han/Weijin Dynasties, but then the white robe has a flipped out collar. A-Xu's entire outfit is...lol, I think he's purposely wearing his collar loose like that to portray that he didn't really care about his appearance but technically no collar should be so low as that light-blue robe he's wearing. I don't think that robe actually has a defined collar, the fabric is just loosely gathered but there's no collar "cuff".

In this pic, Wen Kexing has a round collared robe which is seen in Tang, Song, Ming, but then the sleeve is like a half-shoulder vest rather than full sleeve, and that's also not seen in any Hanfu styles.

...Or is that one robe? Is the sleeve connected to that shoulder piece? Because it looks like the robe he has underneath is red (from the collar). I can't tell, but either way, that shoulder design is not a style found in any Hanfu of a particular dynasty.

This couple's wedding outfit is influenced by a mix of Song and Ming Dynasty. She's wearing green, usually seen in Song Dynasty, but her collar is a criss-crossed collar which would be Ming (Song would be like pic 3 where the woman is wearing a low-collared top rather than a high-collared robe). She's missing the "xiapei (霞帔)" which is that strip of fabric draped on the shoulders (pic 4), but it looks like the costume designer put a strip of red along the collar to give an illusion of wearing xiapei.

For the groom, rather than the official round-collar robe he's wearing a cross-collared robe, and his red is more of a blue-ish tint. Usually wedding robes, if red, are a bright red (literally called "China red" in China, xDD).

For this pic below, it's a 1-piece robe with collar piece going across the chest, then straight down from the waist. It could be a Tang or Song style Hanfu, but the sleeves, the belt, and the overall fit of the clothing isn't quite right.

The Untamed made a lot of their clothes really form-fitting against the actors, that's actually not a good fit for Hanfu in general. You want a nice loose fit, even if the clothing is "form-fitting" it's not meant to stick to your frame. Because of this, the clothing in the Untamed always appear a size or two too small (Word of Honor did a better job of sizing their clothes). If they were wearing today's clothing then it's no problem, but for Hanfu it's too tight >_< Then again, that's probably just the style they were going for so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This black jacket/vest definitely was just created for a "cool" aesthetic. Xianxia/Wuxia shows love doing this broad shoulder vest garment, in actual Hanfu there ARE garments that look similar but these shows really run with it.

Here, Jinguang Yao (it's Yao, right?) is wearing a round-collared robe which was popular in Tang, Song, and Ming. The outer jacket and the material (it looks like brocade rather than soft silk) makes me lean towards Ming Dynasty for this outfit.

It also has an emblem piece on the chest which makes me think of the Mandarin Square robe during the Ming Dynasty (work attire for court officials) except: 1) Mandarin squares are embroidered separately then sewn onto the robe, this looks like it was weaved into the fabric 2) Mandarin Square robes in Ming Dynast were red 3) This emblem is round instead of square

So I would say they took inspiration from the Mandarin Square robe but changed aspects to make it fit into the show better (I think the show kept most characters in lighter colours to contrast with Wei Wuxian's darker, bold colours).

There's also things like the buildings, props, etc. to consider if we were to really dig into dynasties. And the hair styles, that half-up half-down thing is purely for aesthetics because in history they wouldn't wear their hair like that (especially considering their background).

There was a short period during the Jin/North-South dynasty when some men did wear half their hair down, but that was ONLY because that period of time was notoriously chaotic and the "rules" specifying appropriate behaviour in society had crashed (礼崩乐坏). Essentially, if you were a "civil" man (particularly with some education from a wealthy family) all your hair is tied up at 15 yo, and at 20 you get your guan (hair piece) ceremony symbolizing you're now an adult.

For women, pre-marriage you can leave some hair down, but tied in the back, not loose. After marriage it all gets tied up.

Leaving hair loose would basically get you labeled as rude, disrespectful, uncouth, uneducated, crazy, you get the idea.

But in shows like this it's a nice aesthetic when they're doing martial arts moves and the hair is flying around, so these days it tends to be the go-to hairstyle for xianxia/wuxia shows.

I hope that was helpful :D None of this is to say these costumes aren't beautiful, just not history textbook Hanfu ^^;;;;

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (6)

previous | next

Price watches you through dinner, noticing the tremor in your hand and how you won't meet his gaze. Every time Ghost moves or makes a sound, you flinch. Which tells him all he needs to know about how the man's confession went. He shouldn't be too surprised. He remembers how ham-handed Ghost's declarations were to Soap and Gaz and himself; the man loves hard but has no grace with it. Price is glad they'd decided to have Ghost and Soap share their feelings before Gaz, let that man run damage control at the end. He can see Soap's confession throwing you off more than you already are. He chuckles to himself. Learning about them tonight is going to send you spinning.

It's a risk, clearly, to push things this quickly. But they all decided you're what they want, and when each mission comes with such high stakes, none of them want to wait. Wishes and hopes have no place in their world, only actions.

Price suggests a quiet night in the barracks, a lull before the storm. Movies and popcorn. You say yes; he's sure you're planning to commandeer one of the recliners to avoid any awkward conversations with him or Ghost, which fits their plan perfectly.

Once at the barracks, John encourages everyone to change out of their gear before congregating in the rec room. "No need ta be in yer kits when we're all tryin-a unwind." The men head down the hallway towards their rooms, leaving you standing alone with John in the entryway. His gaze slides down your dress, and when his eyes meet yours, they're filled with an intoxicating combination of avarice and reverence. The blood is rushing in your ears as he says,"'At goes for you too, dove. Ya can get comfy if ya want," before he turns on his heels and heads down the dorm hallway as well.

You aren't sure what to make of what's happened with him or Simon. You don't know what you want, or rather, you want more than you should and don't know how to handle this obvious connection to them both. Thoughts swirling, you make your way down the hall to your room. You hear water on in the bathroom; they must be cleaning up from their day. Your mind tries to imagine the scene in the next room, but you hastily enter your room, closing the door with more force than necessary to remind yourself to keep those kinds of thoughts away.

You stress momentarily over what to wear and whether you should fix your hair and retouch your makeup. But clearly John and Simon felt something for you before they ever saw you like you did for all of them, so you change quickly into a pair of comfortable leggings and an old, worn, warm university sweatshirt. You leave your hair comfortable and take off what makeup you can with a wipe, not daring the bathroom when others are in there showering.

You figure living with the team means seeing them at their most vulnerable and letting them do the same with you.

Ready to unwind, you head to the rec room. You're happy to be the first one there because it means you can snag a recliner and avoid any further awkward interactions if John or Simon tried to sit with you, especially because they've both told you their feelings, and you don't want to get between them.

You wait, nervously, because this is much different from spending free time at the pub last night. You look around the room more, trying to calm your nerves. You wish you'd brought your phone or a book with you to distract you, but without them you are almost painfully aware of each man as he enters the room.

Simon comes in first, medical mask on instead of the balaclava, wearing a well-worn grey t-shirt that would be loose on practically any other frame but which still strains at the seams. His black sweatpants ride low on his hips and look touchably soft. His bare feet barely make a sound as he pads in and pops into the center of the couch to your right.

You turn to watch the doorway and feel his heated gaze on the side of your face. His stare is as intense as a sunburn. You're trying to politely ignore him because you have no idea what to say. You never gave him a definitive answer at dinner. There's only so long you can go before you'll be forced to tell him something, but until you figure out what that is...

Kyle comes in next, taking a seat on Simon's left. He's donned a white wife beater and dark basketball shorts, long lean limbs on full display. Simon's arm is stretched along the couch behind Kyle almost close enough for him to brush the hair at Kyle's nape. Kyle gives you a million-dollar smile, leaning his head back into Simon's hand. You watch the tension start melting out of both of them at the touch.

Soap follows shortly after, wearing an olive green tank top and matching sweats. He collapsed on Simon's other side, immediately curling his body against his lieutenant and tucking a big hand between Simon's thighs. You don't have time to be surprised before Simon curls an arm around Soap's shoulders and starts playing with his mohawk.

You have no idea what's going on here, but before you can question it or move to leave, John slips into the recliner across from you, remote in hand. He's dressed similarly to his men in a grey sweatshirt, grey cotton shorts, and stereotypical older man socks with loafers. You catch his eye and notice the challenge there as if daring you to say something. Instead he smirks and asks, "Everyone comfy?"

The men on the couch murmur their assent. You realize with a start this is common behavior. John didn't bat an eye about the state of his men, and Simon wasn't bothered by Soap's closeness. You have no idea what this means, especially after Simon's declaration. Was he playing you?

"Olright, dove?" John calls, startling you out of your thoughts. You nod numbly. You can even put your thoughts into words.

John starts something old, the actor one you recognize as having been popular years ago. He gets up as the scene opens and comes back a few minutes later with popcorn for everyone. You try to focus on the film, you really do, but it's hard to ignore how Kyle seems drawn to Simon's bulk or how Johnny keeps burrowing himself into both Simon and the couch or the knowing looks John keeps throwing you.

There's a closeness there that speaks to more than simply friendship, and as you're working all this out in your mind, Kyle stands and stretches, telling everyone he's heading to his bunk. You flick your eyes to the screen and realize you have no clue what's happening or how much more is left to the movie.

You surreptitiously watch as Kyle pats Simon's knee, muttering, "Night, Ghost." He walks to you, puts a heavy hand on your shoulder and murmurs, "Sleep well, doll, yeah?" He walks around behind the couch, ruffling Soap's hair as he passes, throwing a, "Night, Tav," at the Scot. He goes to walk behind John when the latter's hand shoots out and snags Kyle's wrist. John draws the younger man to him, and Kyle leans over as he approaches. John tilts his head up as Kyle puts a chaste kiss on John's lips.

You know you're starting but can't make yourself look away. It's both hot and heartbreaking because wasn't John hinting just this morning he wanted you?

John breaks the kiss and looks at you, eyebrow raised. Kyle follows John's gaze to you and smiles sleepily. You abruptly stand, drawing Simon's and Soap's attention, and practically sprint out the door.

You head for the safety of your room where you can try and fail to figure out what's going on.

~~

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 7 part 8

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[legendaryvermin]

So my home ttrpg group is between longform games right now, and I have been planning to bring a bunch of games to them this weekend as options for what we might play next. However, I have been trying to figure out how to talk about the games in a way that doesn't rely as much on me explaining the vibes to them.

I know that people have a bunch of qualitative categories for how they explain games, but I find the idea of saying things like Dark Fantasy OSR, or Lesbian Goofball PBTA less helpful when talking about how games actually play, especially when two games in the same category are like, wildly different in the way they use their frameworks.

So I invented a 6 axis, 1 to 5 star rating scale for TTRPGs that you are free to borrow when talking to groups, or whatever.

TTRPG 5 Star Rating Matrix

Width

What is the scope of this game? Is it narrowly about one thing or does it encompass many types of play? (Credit to friend of the blog @ostermad-blog for this one, they came up with it from my draft)

Weight

How much cognitive load does the player need to bear? Do rules often need to be referenced verbatim? Can those rules fit on a handout?

Wargame

Is the player expected to apply tactical acumen? Is movement tracked tightly or loosely? Does a bad build punish a player?

Writers Room

How much are players expected to make narrative choices and drive the story without the rules scaffolding them? Does this game fall apart without excellent improvisational storytellers?

(Prep)Work

Does this game require a lot of pre-planning by the facilitator? Are there intricate systems to attend to outside of table play? Can I put in the same amount of time as other players and still have everyone leave happy? 

Whimsy

Expected tone of the game. Does this game have difficult thematic elements baked in? Is the core subject or role in the game high or low risk?

Here are some games I know well and how I calibrated them:

I have breakdowns of what each star rating means below the cut if you're curious. Happy Gaming!

Width

⭐ - As written, the game has basically one mode of play, or one thematic core that it meditates on. May have phases, but textural difference is minimal.

⭐⭐ - As written, there are at least two modes of play, but the scope of that play is highly thematically focused or highly dependent on using the game’s own lore. Might have only one kind of character (e.g. Mech Pilot) that it supports. Has limited tools outside of the primary mode of play.

⭐⭐⭐ - Has a variety of modes of play, but may be rigid in their execution. Might encompass multiple kinds of characters (e.g. Doctor, Lawyer, fighter) or character options. The narratives that this game tells within its setting are narrowed, a three word description tells you what kind of stories it can tell with consistency.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Loose framework, but with some kind of thematic grounding. Describing the framework in 3 words doesn’t tell you the kind of stories that the game tells (e.g. Dark Fantasy, Star Wars Romp). 

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- As written, this game is designed in such a way that it doesn’t put specific limits on what sorts of stories that it is meant to tell. It might ask players to define abilities or stats for themselves. The Facilitator is going to pitch a thematic grounding on top of the rules set.

One Star Examples: For the Queen, Dialect, Honey Heist Five Star Examples: Fate Core, Savage Worlds, GURPS

Weight

⭐ - It is reasonable for a player to be able to recite the rules from memory. The game may be prompt based, or driven by a flow of rules that are read aloud as played.

⭐⭐ - Players can hold most of the most important information about the game in their heads, with a page or less of rules reference needed to play smoothly. This reference could all fit neatly on the character sheet if one is present.

⭐⭐⭐ - Everything a player needs to know about the game is visible on less than 3 sheets of reference. Players are more or less expected to know exactly how their own abilities work in precise detail, and are unlikely to make a mistake in executing them.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Players make extensive use of multiple reference sheets to keep rules moving smoothly. No external tools are needed, but players memorizing the details of all of their abilities is taxing. 

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- Players and facilitators will prefer to make extensive use of external tools or reference to keep play moving smoothly. Expecting a player to have the exact details of their abilities memorized is not reasonable.

One Star Examples: For the Queen, Stewpot, Mobile Frame Zero: Firebrands Five Star Examples: Dungeons and Dragons 3-5e, Lancer, Edge of the Empire

Wargame

⭐ - As written, this game does not treat combat as mechanically different from any other aspect of play, or does not include narrative violence at all.

⭐⭐ - While players may engage in combat, it is minimally different from regular play. There may be tools or abilities for players to use to conduct a fight, but the texture of those fights is thematic, not mechanical. Narrative and consequence drive the action, not hit points.

⭐⭐⭐ - As written, combat has its own set of rules. This game may have some elements of buildcrafting, but either it is difficult to build something that doesn’t work, or the player may meaningfully invest in other modes of play and still find a commensurate level of satisfaction. If combat occurs, spacing is kept in mind, but is tracked in relative terms (range bands) or highly simplified (zone based combat).

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - This game has buildcrafting that is somewhat mandatory if players wish to survive a fight, but there is still a meaningful choice in choosing a non-combat role. It may use a grid or a spacing system to help players visualize the combat. Fights are driven by mechanics, not by narrative.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- To enjoy this game, players must spend time buildcrafting. If a player’s build is suboptimal, there may be significant parts of the intended experience that will either feel tedious, or that the player will not have meaningful access to. This game is played on a grid.

One Star Examples: Wanderhome, Dialect, Belonging Outside Belonging Five Star Examples: Lancer, Dungeons and Dragons 3-5e, Valor

Writers Room

⭐ - Players in this game are not expected to provide much in the way of narrative substance. Story is something that is driven by external input or tools, and players are there to imagine and react. The player need not separate the self from the character they play in any meaningful way.

⭐⭐ - The mechanics of this game drive most of the narrative, or else the narrative is set for the players by an external source or player. Players are encouraged to play optimally rather than dramatically, but do have room for expressing the identity of their character within the game’s mechanical frameworks.

⭐⭐⭐ - While the game does provide strong scaffolding to tell a story, the players present are expected to drive the story within those frameworks. The game’s systems create and resolve conflict on their own, but works best when the players are willing to choose the dramatically interesting option even if it mechanically non-optimal.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - The game provides some mechanical tools that create and resolve drama, but there is a significant expectation that the players are buying into and driving the game’s thematic concepts. Players are the ones deciding what the scenes should be and when to end them, but mechanics still help determine outcomes.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- The players are expected to drive the narrative at all times. Tools for deciding what scenes to do and when to end them are limited, optional, or vague. There is no meaningful scaffolding that creates conflict or resolution, it is incumbent on those present to manifest those things.

One Star Examples: Alice is Missing, Ribbon Drive, For the Queen Five Star Examples: Wanderhome, Systemless RP

(Prep)Work

⭐ - Facilitators are not expected to do work outside the time at the table. All rules can be read while the game is played. No memorization is needed.

⭐⭐ - This game expects the facilitator to have read the rules in advance, but the rules are so few that they can be run from a single reference sheet. At times, the facilitator must think about and potentially advance and adjust the narrative of the game behind the scenes. Prep is qualitative; answering questions about where the narrative is going to go, who will be there etc. The game can be run smoothly predominantly as improv.

⭐⭐⭐ - This game expects the facilitator to not only know the rules, but to imagine scenarios where the group must play. However, the scope of the scenario design is limited and qualitative. It takes a bit of pondering and perhaps a sketch and a few words of notes. Alternatively, the facilitator must design simple foes or track a simple background system. The work is trivial, and can be done with a bit of time before session.

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - The facilitator of this game is expected to have run systems between games, or created usable maps or scenarios. Generally, games at this level have some reduced wargaming component. The facilitator might need to engage in enemy design, but the work is limited or imminently reusable. The work is non-trivial, and failing to do it will somewhat impact the quality of play.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- The facilitator of this game puts in significant time between sessions engaging in game design activities. They are expected to plan narratives, write NPCs, draw maps, run significant background systems, and design enemies and combat encounters. The work is significant outside of play, and failing to do it beforehand will result in a worse table experience.

One Star Examples: For the Queen, Alley-Oop, Lasers and Feelings Five Star Examples: Lancer, D&D 3-5e, Stars Without Number, Edge of the Empire

Whimsy

⭐ - This game’s thematic core is considered dark, taboo, or difficult, and separating the game’s mechanical features from this subject matter is next to impossible. Games with horror elements almost certainly fit within this category. These games encourage extensive pre-play safety talks.

⭐⭐ - This game is designed to look at dark subject matter, but doesn’t expect the player to spend all of their time there. Players explore difficult topics, but may get to choose what topics to explore, or when to explore them. Games with political messaging/commentary tend to fit this category. These games encourage pre-play safety talks.

⭐⭐⭐ - This game may have dark aesthetics, but doesn’t enforce them mechanically. Alternatively, there are mechanics that address difficult topics in broad strokes, but players are given leeway in the rules with how any difficult topics are approached. These games may encourage safety talks. 

⭐⭐⭐⭐ - This game may have the option to explore dark topics, but none of the mechanics are tied to such topics. This game may have violence in its aesthetics, but players may choose to adjust the aesthetics at the table to suit their comfort. These games tend not to talk about safety in their text.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- This game is designed to focus on thematic material that is considered to be relatively safe. The game is unlikely to tread into violence or trauma without effort.

One Star Examples: Trophy Dark, Dungeon Bitches, Vampire the Masquerade Five Star Examples: Honey Heist, Princess World, Beach Episode

The system here isn't about what's good or bad, to be clear. I think there are good and bad games at every level of these categories, but when I think about what my game group is good at and comfy with, I don't think we go in for things at like the 5 end of the Writers Room scale. It's too much work, and most of them aren't pro improvisers.

Similarly, if we play another game that is a 4 or 5 on the PrepWork category, I don't have time to run it these days. So this helps me make practical choices about our next game.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄 𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒐/𝑨.𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Okay, so I’m quite proud of how this came out, so I hope you guys enjoy it<3

The idea for the music video had been sitting in the back of your mind for weeks, growing more insistent each time you replayed your latest single in the studio.

It wasn’t about revealing your relationship outright. You weren’t ready for that yet, not completely anyway. It was about showing the pieces of your lives that made both of you who you were. You knew Alexia would hesitate. She was a private person, always careful about what parts of herself she shared to the world. But this wasn’t just about her, or you. It was about showing the world just how beautifully your words collided together.

When you finally brought it up to her, you were at her apartment, curled up on her couch with her arm draped lazily over your shoulder. You were curled up against her side, legs thrown over your lap as you absentmindedly played with a loose strand of her hair that hung past her shoulder. Her cheek rested atop of your head, eyes closed in content. This was your favourite version of Alexia. Relaxed. At ease. The walls she held up around everyone else completely gone.

“I’ve got an idea for the music video.” You began, tilting your head back to look at her.

“Sí?” Her voice was warm as she looked down at you, but there was a hint of curiosity as her fingers paused their tracing. “Qué idea?”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay, so, it’s for the new song, yeah? The vibe of it is perfect for something high energy. I was thinking clips of me on tour, you know, performing, sound check, hanging with the crew and stuff. And then…clips of you. From your games?”

Her brows furrowed slightly as she pulled you closer against her side. “¿Yo?”

“Yeah.” You nod, lacing your fingers with hers. You can’t help but smile at the way her thumb instinctively grazes over the back of your hand. “You. Watching you play is one of my favourite things, and it’ll fit the vibe I’m imagining perfectly.”

Her expression softened as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, but there was still a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. “And the people? Fans? They will know about us?”

You gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Not directly. It’ll be subtle. If they figure it out, then fine. But if they don’t, that’s fine too. It’ll be just us, doing what be both love.”

Alexia chewed on her bottom lip for a second, clearly weighing the idea. Then, finally, she nodded, a tentative smile appearing on her lips. “Okay. Lo hacemos. Por ti.”

“Yeah?” You shift a little against her so that you were on your knees, Alexia’s arm falling from your shoulders to the small of your back, just above your ass. She nodded again, and you can’t help but squeal slightly as you yank her into a hug.

Her arms secure themselves around your waist as you fall sideways onto her lap, your face buried in the crook of your neck, and you hear her laugh softly as she squeezes you tight.

“Te amo, mi amor.”

“I love you too. So much.” You murmur.

*

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of planning. You worked closely with your director to compile the footage you needed. Scenes from your last tour. Moments with your crew backstage. Rehearsing in empty arenas. Signing autographs for fans. For Alexia, your team has reached out to Barcelona for access to recent match footage, focusing mainly on her goals and assists. You also made sure there were shots of her teammates too, some of girls you’d grown quite close to these past few months.

When you had shown her some of the early clips, she sat next to you on the editing suite, eyes wide as she watched herself on screen.

“No me gusta verme,” she murmured as she leant into your side, her voice low. “It is weird.”

You grinned softly as you wrapped an around her waist, giving her a squeeze as you rested your head against her shoulder. “I know, baby. But you look incredible.”

She glanced at you, lips curving up into a small smile. “¿Seguro?”

“Completely.” You assured, wrapping your other arm around her so your hands met against her hip. You tilted your head upwards and puckered your lips, and Alexia laughed softly as she gently cupped your face kissed you.

The most special part of it all was filming the scenes in the stands. It was a recreation of something that had happened countless times before, where you’d sat front and centre cheering her on. The camera caught you wearing her jersey, your eyes glued to the pitch as she ‘played’. You’d insisted on keeping the scene as natural as possible, and Alexia had almost lost it when she saw just how into it you got, as if the game was happening in real time.

When the video was finally pieced together, you couldn’t wait to show her. You brought her into the studio late one evening, just the two of you and the editor who had helped you bring your vision to life. Alexia sat beside you as the video played on the large screen, her hand resting on your thigh as she watched. You tangled your fingers with her own, trailing your thumb over the side of her hand.

The music video opened with an aerial short of a tour bus rolling down the highway at sunrise, light spilling over the mountains in the distance. The camera then cut to the inside of the bus, where you sat in the corner of a leather seat, a notebook in your lap scribbling down lyrics, your guitar placed on the floor nearby. Quick cuts showed the lively chaos of your crew in the background, bandmates tuning guitars, someone passing out coffee.

As the temp pics up, the video transitioned to a concert venue, the stage still bare. You stood centre stage, holding a microphone as you discussed the set up with your team. The camera panned over the empty seats, a stark contrast to the amount of people that would soon fill the space.

Suddenly, the stage lights flashed, illuminating you as you stepped out in front of a massive crowd. The camera captured the grin on your face, the way you somehow managed to own every inch of the stage. Each cut was quick. Your hand gripping the mic stand, your foot tapping in time with the drums, the sweat glistening on your brow.

As the song reached its bridge, the tone shifted. You were shown walking offstage after your performance, the applause still echoing in the distance. Your shoulders were slumped as you navigated the maze of hallways backstage, wiping off your face with a towel and nodding politely to staff members who congratulated you.

The camera then cut to a completely different setting. A crowded football stadium. This was the first time Alexia entered the video, and it was done in a subtle, almost understated way just like both of you wanted. There was never any clear clips of her face. Or close up shots that told you who it was. But if you knew enough about football, you’d know who it was.

The camera then pans to you in the stands, and fleeting glimpses of Alexia were thrown in as you clapped and cheered with everyone else. The camera then slowly zoomed in on your face as you cheered her name.

It was subtle, but for anyone paying attention, the connection was clear. The video ended with a shot of the two of you walking in opposite directions. Her towards the locker room, and you back to your car where your driver opens the door, letting you inside.

When the screen went dark, Alexia turned to you. “Es…hermoso.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper as her hands tightened around your own. “Gracias.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to hers for a short moment before placing a tender kiss to her cheek. “It’s us, baby.” You murmured, lips brushing her skin as you pulled away.

The video premiered a week later, and as expected, the fans went wild. The comments flooded in, with people dissecting every frame for clues about your relationship. The shots of Alexia on the field, paired with your reactions in the stands, left little doubt for those who had been following the speculation. But there was still enough ambiguity to keep people guessing.

For the two of you, that was enough. You didn’t need to spell it out. The people who understood would see it for what it was. As you sat together that evening, scrolling through the reactions online, Alexia sat behind you on the couch with her arms wrapped her arms around you, her chin hooked over your shoulder.

“Lo hicimos,” she murmured, her voice warm with affection.

You smiled as you craned your head back, gently nudging her chin to turn her face towards you. She raised an eyebrow, and you smile as you press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Yeah, baby. We did.”

**

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