#anyone can do anything with “enough prep time”

[ranikyani]

You Don’t Know My Name

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Reader MDNI.

Summary: Terry comes into your diner every. single. day. He don't even know what he's doing to you. Or does he?

Word count: 6.4k. This is a one shot with no planned sequel.

A/N: Got this idea the tiktok from the mufasa premiere... (yall know which one I'm talking about)

You enter the diner at 6 am sharp, the rising sun hasn’t even started lighting the morning sky just yet. As always, you start the coffee, unlock the back door for the delivery drivers, and set off to work. In the back of your mind you hear your best friend cussing you for having the doors unlocked knowing you’ll be alone for at least 20 minutes before your coworkers start showing up. But in a busy city like this, the yns are still sleep, and anyone awake at this hour is too focused on their own hustle to rob you. 

The night crew, per usual, has done a shitty job closing. You wipe down tables, and do another sweep of the floor, finding balled up napkins from last night’s patrons wedged along the floor where the metal trim of the booths meets the piano stick tile on the floor. Grabbing the mop, you make a mental note to ask your manager Natalie, Who closed last night?

One by one, your coworkers filter in as you continue to prep and refill the condiment stations. Marcus and Sydney stroll in exactly 5 minutes apart just as they did yesterday, and the day before that. They think no one else in the morning crew can tell they’re together, but you can, and they’re doing a terrible job hiding it. You just don’t care enough to say anything and blow their spot. Then comes Natalie, looking like she just rolled out of bed but still managing to somewhat look put together. You both exchange a quick hello and she starts wiping down the counters picking up where you left off. Alicia is the last to arrive, much later than the rest, breezing through the door with her signature braids underneath her hair net. 

“Hey, you’re early today,” she teases as if you aren’t always the first to arrive, tossing her jean jacket on the employee coat rack. 

“Had to get the place ready for all my customers,” you reply with a smirk, knowing full well it’s just you, her, and one other waiter for the early shift. Every time the other servers call themselves “helping” you set up booths before opening, your customers end up complaining about something missing or out of place, it’s just easier to do it yourself.  

You finish making sure the tables look good and walk the perimeter of the diner to ensure everything is set. At 7 o’clock on the dot, just as you’re putting the finishing touches on the napkin dispensers, you hear the soft jingle of the doorbell. 

It’s him. 

Terry Richmond. 

Alicia leans over the counter to you, her voice low and amused, “Here comes your man” 

A Man. In every sense of the word. 

As a regular, Terry knows the drill. The hostess doesn’t bother seating him or giving him the standard greeting of offering today’s specials, she just smiles as he heads straight for your section like he does every morning. The other waiters learned long ago, don’t even try it. He’s yours, unspoken amongst you but understood by all. 

The air thickens as soon as the door closes behind him, like everyone in the diner is holding their breath. You can hear the other women stifle their sighs, trying not to moan at the sight of him. Everyone in the room freezes for a moment, drawn to him without even meaning to. Even Marcus who doesn’t pay anything but his latest kitchen experiment any mind, glances up for a moment. You’ve seen Terry a hundred times at this point, but each time feels like the first. He moves through the dining area with the kind of confidence that just fills a space without trying. His eyes sweep over the room, scanning each face and offering a light smile and the occasional ‘hello’, but when they land on you. They stay there. 

You can feel the weight of his gaze as it meets yours and unlike every other woman in the diner gawking, frozen in place while admiring him, you try to keep busy offering a small smile in return. You try to focus on what you were doing, but you can’t help it. Terry Richmond has that effect. The man commands attention.  

He gives you a small nod and takes his usual spot in your section peeling his tan carhartt detroit jacket off of his broad shoulders before sitting down. He sits down, newspaper in hand, breaking eye contact and giving you just enough time to gather your composure. He doesn’t need to ask for a menu, he’s been here enough to know exactly what he wants. You approach his table, trying to keep your cool and softly smack down a stack of napkins you know he’ll need once his meal arrives.

“Good morning, the usual?” You ask while pouring hot black coffee from the steel carafe into a mug you’ve sat down for him as well.

“Yes Ma’am” he responds eagerly, looking up briefly from the morning paper to flash you that beautiful smile. It’s striking how his serious, focused expression as he reads today’s current events, contracts with the warm smile he gives when flashing every tooth in his mouth. It’s too captivating, that smile should come with a fucking warning label. 

You make your way back to the kitchen to give the staff Terry’s order ticket being mindful of each step you take in your chef crocs, just in case he’s watching. You don’t want him to catch you slipping, literally, the floor behind the counter gets dangerous. His order is simple, a classic diner breakfast, 2 scrambled eggs, no cheese, double turkey bacon instead of sausage, and a side of well-done breakfast potatoes with extra bell peppers and onions. You try not to think too much about the man in your booth, but he’s hard to ignore, the way he looks at you with that quiet intensity in his eyes, the way his muscles flex with a motion as simple as flipping to the next page of the paper, the way his thick thighs and ass fill out the cargo pants he always chooses to wear, the way he always sits with his legs wide open to accommodate the size of that dic-

No. 

Shaking it off, you turn your attention to the other customers, who’ve started tickling in to grab a little something before they head off to work as well. You check on them, make small talk, and go around to refill drinks well before they’re half way empty, anything to keep yourself distracted. The kitchen hums behind you, and the familiar buzz of the diner settles your nerves, for a moment. 

Ding. 

You jump slightly as the bell above the kitchen door rings, signaling Terry’s order is ready. You grab the plate quickly, making sure everything is just right before you head back to his booth carrying his plate and the coffee filled carafe with quick and practiced motion. You gently sit his plate down and refill his coffee silently, no need for small talk, just get it done and move on. 

As usual, his debit card is sitting face down on the table, the numbers hidden from other guests passing by, just waiting for you to slip it into your apron pocket. You’ll charge him and bring his receipt as soon as he’s done eating, making sure he’s out the door and on his way to work. It’s an effective system the two of you came up with to keep things moving, so he never ends up late, even if the register backs up. 

You walk back behind the counter, but your gaze lingers on Terry as he digs into his meal. There’s something almost mesmerizing about the way he eats, the way his jaw flexes with each chew. Jesus. Its too much and its too early. 

His strong hands grip the fork, it looks so tiny in comparison to his paws, and your mind wanders, imagining those hands on you. How he could hurt you but he’d never do that unless you said please.  

His lips part with each bite, just enough to make you wonder what those lips would feel like pressed against yours, or what they’d taste like covered in your essence if he’d just eat you out, ask you out. 

Then, as he’s taking a bite of his potatoes a small drop of ketchup builds on the corner of his mouth. Instinctually, his tongue flicks out swiftly to lick it clean. The motion is so smooth, so effortless, it takes everything in you not to gasp. He’s a serious eater, you can just tell you’ve always had a knack for being able to smell a munch from a mile away. 

As if he’s a mind reader, just as you take a step forward, tempted to let him know you’d like to find out what that mouth do, he looks up from his plate toward you forcing you to pull it together. Immediately losing the courage your trance bestowed that had you about to head his way, you leap forward in to pour more coffee from your carafe in Mr. Johnson’s cup in an attempt to look busy.

Does he even know my name? You wonder

He occasionally glances out the window, constantly assessing new customers entering the building through the side ramp. Every subtle shift of his muscles beneath the dark shirt he’s wearing is a reminder of just how well put together he is. 

Damn. 

The way he carries himself, the strength in every movement, he’s dangerous, and you want to be in danger. 

You can’t stop thinking about it, and you lick your lips imagining how he’d feel under your hands as you rode him until the cows came home, or until he came, at least twice.  

You can almost feel the heat of his skin, as if you’re sitting with him right now, the weight of him pressing you into the corner of the booth, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in… 

Your breath hitches, and you dart to the other end of the counter taking newfound interest in the salt shakers to break the spell before your thoughts get too filthy. You’re supposed to be working. 

Flustered, and seeing as though you just filled them this morning, you turn toward the kitchen, the heat in your cheeks evidence of the unholy fantasies you’re trying to suppress fighting to break free.  

As Terry’s plate nears empty you head to the machine and punch in the total with practiced ease. $15.87 same as always and swipe his card into the machine. You grab a tray and a pen, ready to return to the booth with his card and receipt, but your chest feels tight. The thoughts you’ve been thinking swirling around in your head.

Ask him out, your inner voice tells you. 

You make your way closer with your heart beating a little faster than usual. This isn’t the first time you’ve caught yourself fantasizing about him, but this time feels different. You’ve been making excuses every time he comes in to avoid this moment, but today? You can’t ignore the pull of your attraction to him any longer. You’ve had enough. 

“Uh… Mr. Richmond?” you say, your voice coming out softer than intended. 

You can’t stop your hands from nervously fiddling with the edge of his card, and you try your best to focus. You can do this. 

He looks up at you, those beautiful green eyes meeting yours, but he notices your hands fidgeting and assumes there’s a problem with his payment. He shifts his weight to his right hip and leans forward to reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet. 

“I keep my card locked up,” he explains casually, his deep voice steady, “just to stay safe. Had someone try to run a $800 charge at a Home Depot in Texas last week. I ordered a new card but I’m still a little annoyed about it.” He chuckles, running a hand forward over his waves “I swore I unlocked it, though.”

You smile at his explanation, but you're distracted by the way his perfectly manicured and never dirty hands move with precision regardless of what he’s doing. And wonder how they would feel inside of you. 

He pulls a crispy $50 bill from his wallet, his fingers causing the paper to crumple under his touch, and hands it to you with a small smirk. 

“I’ve got money, I swear” he states with a playful glance. 

“Oh, it went through Mr. Richmond,” you say, placing his money back on the table. 

“Here’s your receipt, just sign at the bottom. The extra copy is for you, sir.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if weighing something in his mind. 

"I would've stayed here with you and washed all the dishes, I could’ve taken out the trash too to work off my meal, but then I’d definitely be late for my first patrol. I’m working a double shift today."

You swallow hard, feeling heat creep up your neck as you think of this man carrying all the discarded boxes out back. Shirtless… Sweaty…

Focus! You tell yourself.  Don’t back out now. 

“Shame. I would have definitely found something for you to do” you blurt before you can stop yourself, the words just slipped out.

That is not what you were planning to say. 

His brow furrows slightly, a confused look flickering across his face. “What was that?” he asks

“Oh… Nothing…I just meant…” you pause to gather your thoughts but before you can find your words, the sound of raised voices outside rip through the calm atmosphere inside the diner.

You glance out the window to see two familiar regulars, both younger men, standing on the ramp outside of the window arguing. It’s hard to make out their muffled voices and determine what the fight is about but it’s clear they’re not backing down. 

“Excuse me,” he says, heading for the door.

Without a second thought, Terry stands up, his broad shoulders shifting under his shirt as he moves toward the door. His body seems to take up more space with each step, and the yelling outside grows louder once he cracks open the glass door to walk outside.

From where you're standing, you can see him step between the two men, his movements smooth, deliberate, like he’s done this a hundred times before. There’s a quiet authority in the way he stands, clasping his hands in front with his feet shoulder length apart, something you’ve only ever seen in action movies, where the hero arrives to save the day. His eyes narrow with a cold, unspoken warning, something raw and powerful that says, Fuck around and find out.

He mutters something to the men, just loud enough for them to hear. You can’t make out the words, but the effect is instant and they stumble back, silenced, cowed by the sheer force of his presence.

Still by the booth, you watch, captivated, as he commands the scene and sends them on their way with nothing more than a steady gaze and his natural poise. His stance is solid, unwavering. And you? You're breathless, caught in the magnetic pull of him, every inch of him exudes power and complete control. 

When Terry returns to the booth, the energy you had mustered to ask him out seems to dissipate in the air. Does he not realize what he’s doing to you? He doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t mind as long as you keep making sure his order is always correct. With a softened expression he leans down on the table reaching for the pen you’d sat down in the tray earlier and pulls out a business card from his wallet. The name Terry Richmond is printed neatly in bold professional lettering but it’s the scribble he writes on the back that catches your breath. 

His hand moves fluidly as he writes, the thick veins that travel up his arm twitching as his finger flex and grip your pen. Oh, what you would do to be a pin right now. Terry writes his personal number on the card and then adds his signature to the restaurant receipt before placing your pen neatly back in the tray. 

“Just in case,” he says, his voice low and steady with a half smile that makes your pussy flutter; again. 

His hand brushes yours and the touch alone tightens every muscle in your core. You glance at the card and stand frozen for a moment just staring up at him towering over you, your heart skittering in your chest. You can barely breathe as you look into his eyes, those green depths making you feel like you’re drowning. 

“See you tomorrow” he says and then pulls his jacket on in a swift motion. You watch him walk toward the door, the familiar ding of the bell echoing in his wake. And just like that, he's gone.

For a second longer, you stand there, card still in hand, too stunned to move but the buzz of the kitchen quickly brings you back. Almost mechanically you go to clear his table. As you reach for his empty plate your eye catches the $50 bill folded neatly next to the receipt and the handwritten note he’s added to the bottom. 

Something extra. For always taking care of me :) 

“He obviously wants you. Just call him.” Alicia says later, breezing past you with an order of steak and eggs in hand.

“I am not calling him,” you hiss, dodging the swinging kitchen door before it smacks you.

“Well, that’s what I would do,” she shoots back, tucking a bottle of A1 steak sauce under her arm. 

“I wouldn’t even know what to say…” You trail off thinking of all the ways you could embarrass yourself if he did answer the phone. Or even worse if he didn’t and you left a cringy voicemail. Evidence of your lust and desire.

“Then text him!” she calls over her shoulder heading to her table.

You want to argue, but she has a point. Still, the thought of texting him sends a wave of anxiety through you. What do you even say? What if he doesn’t respond? 

The card burns a hole in your apron pocket, daring you to pull it out and make a move. 

Your finger hovers over the send button, and with a deep breath, you tap it before you can second-guess yourself.

You: 9:12 AM Hey this is y/n, the waiter from your favorite diner 😊

Delivered. 

Now all you can do is wait, you say to yourself, but your phone buzzes back as you go to slide it back into your apron.

Terry: 9:13 AM Is everything okay? You: 9:13 AM Yes! All good here. I just wanted to text you so you'd have my number Terry: 9:14 AM Received.

“Received!? That’s all he said?” you groan, dragging the word out as you swipe a hand across your forehead in a futile attempt to calm your nerves. 

“That’s it. Imma just leave it there and back out now so that way I don’t get my feelings hurt” you tell Alicia, reciting the exchange to her as she refills coffee at the counter. 

“No, y/n… This is when you lean in, full throttle!” she shouts causing a few patrons to look your way. 

Her sudden outburst scares one of your regulars, a janitor who works at the school across the street. 

“Sorry Mr. Johnson,” she mutters, grabbing a rag to wipe up the splash of coffee spilled on the counter when he jumped. 

You sigh, shaking your head at her antics, but her words echo in your mind. Lean in. Full throttle. 

You: 9:18 AM Hi Terry, I know girls don’t usually do this, but I wanted to take a chance anyway. You’ve been coming into the restaurant everyday, and I just had to let you know, I think you’re really handsome. I’d love to grab coffee or a drink with you sometime, away from the diner. I promise I look different outside of my uniform. I know you’re very busy but what do you say?

Terry: 9:19 AM What time do you get off? You: 9:20 AM 12 pm right before the lunch rush Terry: 9:20 AM Ok, You free tonight?

You hesitate for a second, caught off guard, but in a good way. 

You: 9:21 AM Yes. I thought you were working a double? Terry: 9:21 AM I’ll leave early. Be ready at 6. Can I pick you up from home, or do you want me to text you details where to meet? You: 9:22 AM I wasn’t expecting you to say yes so quickly... but I’m glad you did. I’ll be ready at 6. You can pick me up, here's my address: Terry: 9:22 AM Ok, It's a date. Terry: 9:23 AM I think you look beautiful in your uniform by the way.

After work, you stumble into your apartment, exhausted but jittery with anticipation. A date. With Terry Richmond. The thought makes your heart race. The clock reads 2:15.

Plenty of time.

You set an alarm for 4 and flop onto the couch, hoping a quick nap will energize you and calm your nerves.

When the alarm blares, you jolt awake, heart pounding with excitement and a new resolve. Tonight, you’re going for what you want.

You stretch, still groggy but fueled by anticipation, and drag yourself to the bathroom. The hot shower is a necessary reset, the steam curling around you as you let the water cascade over your skin. You take your time lathering your body with a vanilla-scented cleanser that leaves your skin soft and warm.

After toweling off, you reach for your favorite shea body butter, scooping a generous amount into your palms. The rich, creamy texture melts into your skin as you rub it in, taking extra time to smooth it over your arms, legs, and collarbone. You breathe it in, letting it ground you, remind you to enjoy every moment your afternoon.

You slip into a pair of fitted jeans that hug your ass just right, pairing them with your favorite oversized sweater. Comfortable, effortless, but still intentional. A swipe of gloss, a touch of mascara, and by the time you finish your makeup, the clock reads 5:45.

Outside, you hear the unmistakable rumble of Terry’s truck. Your pulse jumps. He’s early. Of course, he is. Everything about that man screams prompt. But instead of coming right up he waits outside and 10 minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Terry: 5:55 PM I'm outside. Coming up now.

At exactly 6:00 PM, you doorbell rings, the chime echoing through your quiet apartment. You take a deep breath, smoothing your hands over your outfit one last time before opening the door with a playful, sing song

"Hiiii, Terryyyyy."

He stands there, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and that easy, confident smile on his face that always makes your stomach flutter.

"Hey, baby," he says, his voice warm and smooth.

"Oh? I'm 'baby' already?" you tease, raising an eyebrow as you take the flowers from him, their sweet floral scent fills the air and you step aside to let him in.

"Good, because I actually have a confession to make," you say, your voice steady but your hands trembling slightly as you set the bouquet on the counter. The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you push through, determined to say what you've been holding back for weeks.

“Go on,” he replies, his voice low and steady, instantly grounding you as he takes a seat at one of your barstools. His eyes never leave yours, and you can feel the weight of his gaze, like he’s already reading between the lines.

“I don’t actually want to go out,” you state matter-of-factly, cool as a cucumber on the outside. But on the inside? Your heart feels as if it’s about to explode, each beat thundering in your ears. 

His brow quirks slightly, but his expression remains calm, unreadable. 

“What do you want to do then?” he asks, his tone innocent, but you know better. 

The way his eyes darken, the slight tilt of his head… he’s already figured it out. 

He’s just waiting for you to say it.

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. “I just... I really like you. I admire the way you carry yourself. Not a lot of guys move like they would actually even know what to do with a woman. I don’t even date because it just doesn’t seem worth the time, you know? But I don’t want you to think I’m…”

“You grown. We grown,” he says simply, his calm reassurance melting your nerves. His voice is like a balm, soothing the edges of your anxiety. 

“Say it,” he cuts in, his voice soft but firm, like he’s coaxing the truth out of you. “Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, the room feels too small, the air too thick. But then you meet his gaze, and something in his eyes gives you the courage to speak.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say, your voice steady but soft, the words hanging in the air between you like a challenge.

Terry cocks his head slightly, a mischievous smile playing at his lips.

“Come on, baby. You can do better than that. Say it again.”

Your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away.

“I want you to fuck me,” you repeat, louder and more sure this time, your voice carrying a confidence you didn’t know you had.

“There she is,” he breathes out, his tone is warm and laced with immense pride. The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel a rush of heat pooling low in your stomach. And the longer you hold his gaze without cowering away the more his grin widens. He breaks eye contact first, pulling out his phone and handing it to you.

“This is my MyChart,” he says, his voice casual, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

You blink in surprise but unlock your own phone, pulling up your most recent results as well. Terry glances up at you from behind your screen, a teasing glint in his eye.

“If this was your plan, why’d you even bother getting dressed, mama?”

You smirk, locking his phone and setting it on the counter.

“Just in case you said no.”

“I’d never say no to you, y/n,” he says, his voice low and certain. The space between you feels electric, charged with an energy that makes your skin tingle.

You grab his hand, lacing your fingers together “Come with me,” you say softly, tugging on his hand gently.

Terry doesn't need to be told twice. He stands and squeezes your hand, letting you take the lead as you guide him toward your bedroom. The air between you is heated with anticipation, every step heightening the tension. Once inside, you turn to face him, and before you can second guess yourself, you're pulled into the kiss you've been waiting on for weeks. A kiss that make your knees weak and as his hands slide down to your waist pulling you closer you wrap yours around his waist to hold him tightly.

As your lips part briefly, you tug at the hem of his shirt, your breath coming faster.

"Take this off," you say, your voice edged with urgency.

Terry grins, his green eyes smoldering as he yanks the shirt over his head and tosses it aside. Your gaze rakes over his chest and broad shoulders, and you can’t help but touch him, your palms trailing over the hard lines of his muscles. 

“You're unreal,” you murmur, almost to yourself.

"Is that right?” he teases, his voice rough with desire as his hands slide under your sweater.

“Don't get a big head now,” you quip, but the words dissolve into a sharp inhale as his hands move over your bare skin.

“Too late for that,” he says, lifting your sweater off in one swift motion. The way his eyes darken as they take you in sends a shiver down your spine.

He hovers over you, his lips trailing along your jaw and down your neck, each kiss igniting your skin. You arch into him, your fingers exploring the expanse of his back, pulling him closer, deeper.

When you tug at his belt, your fingers bold and eager, Terry lets out a deep, approving sound that vibrates against your lips.

“You’re not wasting any time, huh?” he murmurs, his eyes locking with yours.

“No. I should've told you how I felt the first day you came in,” you reply breathlessly, your confidence building with every touch.

He grins, his hands slipping under your thighs as he lifts you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he carries you to the bed, his lips never leaving yours. The way he lays you down, slow and deliberate, sends a thrill through you.

“Terry,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, his words a promise.

He kisses his way down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reaches the waistband of your pants, he looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. 

“You so pretty, baby,” he says, before hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling them down slowly, savoring every inch of skin he reveals. Once you’re completely bare, he takes a moment to just look at you, his gaze roaming over your body like he’s memorizing every curve. 

“Perfect,” he murmurs, and the way he says it makes your heart skip a beat.

"I'm proud of you for speaking up," he says looking up at you from in between your legs with direct eye contact.

Then he lowers his head, his breath warm against your inner thigh as he places a soft kiss there. You shiver, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he moves closer, his lips brushing against your most sensitive spot.

“Terry,” you gasp, your back arching off the bed as he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center. He hums in approval, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

He takes his time, savoring you like you’re the most exquisite thing he’s ever tasted in his life. His tongue circles your clit, teasing and tormenting, before he sucks gently, drawing a moan from deep within you. His hands grip the back of your thighs, holding you open as he devours you, each lick and flick of his tongue driving you closer to the edge.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against your lower lips, his voice rough with desire. “Hmmm, I could do this all night.”

You whimper, your hips lifting off the bed as he slides a finger inside you, curling it just right. 

“Terry, please,” you beg, your voice breaking as the pleasure builds, threatening to overwhelm you.

He adds another finger, and now you know exactly what his fingers feel like inside you. His pace is steady and relentless as he continues to lick and suck at your clit. The combination of his mouth and fingers is too much, your body arches off the bed and your thighs clamp around his head instinctively, as the sensation of cumming on Terry's lips leaves you trembling and breathless.

Terry doesn’t stop, drawing out your orgasm until you’re gasping for breath, your hands clutching at the sheets. Only then does he pull back, looking up at you with a satisfied smile. 

“You’re so beautiful when you cum for me,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

"This is better than I imagined," you whisper , staring at the ceiling, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath

"Been imagining me, huh?" he teases, his voice dripping with amusement.

You’re too spent to respond, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Terry kisses his way back up your body, his lips soft and gentle against your skin. When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You ready for me?” he asks, his voice low and rough, and you nod, your body already craving more.

"Say it out loud y/n.. Say 'Yes'"

"Yes"

He positions himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours as he pushes inside you slowly, giving you time to adjust. The stretch is delicious, and you moan while nails digging into his back as he fills you completely.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours as he starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you move together, your bodies perfectly in sync. The room fills with the sounds of your moans and his low steady groans, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desire.

“I wish you could see how pretty you look right now,” he says, his voice soft but filled with awe. 

Terry’s rhythm is relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you as you move together, your bodies perfectly in sync. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his deep voice. Reaching down, he uses his thumb to circle your clit, and you can’t help but tighten your walls around him.

"That's it, baby" he murmurs against your neck "Just like that. Let me hear you"

You moan, throwing your head back deeper into the pillows as your hands grip his shoulders. His muscles flex under your fingertips.

"Terry," you cry out, your voice breaking once again as pleasure surges through you. 

"I'm right here," he coos, coaching you on, "You're doing so good baby."

His words are meant to ground you and keep you present but your mind won't stop racing.

The quiet ones are always the freakiest, you think, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing at your own thoughts. You’ve gotten everything you wanted, and it’s better than you ever imagined. Definitely didn’t see this on your bingo card when you opened the restaurant this morning. Terry is constantly talking in your ear as he thrust, but you’ve been paying him only half your attention. Everything feels too good… his voice, rich, velvety, and impossible deep. Wrapping around you like a magic spell pulling you deeper into the moment. Is he the voodoo man?

"Focus, baby" he says, slowing his movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire but there's something else there too, something soft 

"I need you here with me. Can you do that?"

You nod, then immediately correct yourself and respond "Yes," verbally before he can say anything else. 

If he keeps talking to me like this, you think to yourself, I’m getting pregnant. 

“Turn over,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire, and you don’t hesitate. You roll onto your stomach, your heart pounding as you feel him shift behind you. His hands slide up your back, tracing the curve of your spine before gripping your hips again. He pulls you up onto your knees, and you brace yourself wrapping your hands around the pillows at the head of your bed for support.

When he enters you again it’s from behind where the angle his tip can reach is deeper and more intense. You gasp, your head falling forward as pleasure ripples through you. 

“That’s it, baby,” he says, his voice a low growl in your ear. “Take it... You feel so good.”

“Yesssss,” you moan, matching his rhythm and rocking against him, the sensation overwhelming.

“Use me, baby. You’ve been working so hard, you deserve this,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a jolt of heat through you.

His hands roam all over your body, one hand glides up your side, before sliding around to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in a way that makes you gasp. The other hand trails down your back, his touch firm yet reverent, before finally tangling in your hair. His fingers twist gently into your braids and he tugs just enough to guide you upright. Your back presses against his chest, his warmth enveloping you as his other hand slides around your waist, holding you steady. His fingers find your clit and circle it with just the right amount of pressure.

“Terry… I … Oh God,” you stammer, your words dissolving into a moan as he picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster.

“You close?” he asks, his voice strained but steady, and you nod frantically, unable to form any coherent words.

"I've got you," he murmurs. His voice is steady and grounding even as his thrust grow more urgent. His hand in your hair tightens slightly, his grip possessive yet tender.

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

His words push you over the edge, and you cum with a moan loud enough that you're certain to get you a noise complaint in the mail. Your body swivering as waves of pleasure crash over you. Terry groans, his rhythm faltering as his grip in your hair loosens, letting go to tighten his hold on your hips instead. His breath comes in ragged bursts, his body trembling with the effort to hold on just a little longer. Without his hold to keep you upright, you collapse forward onto the bed, your arms barely catching you as your face presses into the sheets. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body still shaking from the aftershocks of your climax. But even as you try to catch your breath, you’re not done. You throw your ass back against him, meeting his thrusts with what little strength you have left, helping him chase his own release. You can tell he's moments away from spilling inside you.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Terry moans deeply, his breath warm against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine causing you to deepen your arch for him and lift your ass higher in the air. “Y/N…” “Y/NNNNN!” Alicia’s voice snaps through the fog of your daydream. She drags your name out, her tone harsh and sharp, clearly trying to catch your attention since you obviously didn’t hear her the first 5 times she called you. “Bitch! I know you hear me talking to you!” she whispers harshly, her words slicing through the fantasy. You blink rapidly, disoriented, heart still pounding from the scene you’d just imagined. The sound of Alicia’s voice has brought you crashing back to reality, and now you’re frantically scrambling.  “Hello! Your customer is asking for you! Stop daydreaming and go see what that fine ass man wants! What’s wrong with you?” “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, snapping into action. You race to the kitchen, heart still racing as you grab Terry’s to-go order, this morning he told you he was working a double and needed to order out. Your hands are a little shaky, but you focus on making his drink, piling on the extras, whipped cream, a generous drizzle of mocha on top of the foam, everything you know will make him smile. Usually, your boss would make you charge extra for the toppings, but today? It’s all on the house. He deserves it. You rush back to Terry’s table, fully aware that the man runs on a tight schedule. You can’t afford to keep him waiting. “Here you go, Mr. Richmond,” you say, your voice quick but sincere, your words stumbling over themselves with a hint of nervous energy. “Sorry about the wait. I threw in a hot chocolate for you, and your receipt is in the bag. Again, really sorry about that. Have a great day!” Terry looks up from the newspaper with that easy, effortless grin of his. He doesn’t seem phased by the wait at all. “Eh, no worries,” he responds coolly, waving off your apology with a smile  “You can call me Terry… What’s your name again?” Your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice saying your name, and you quickly recover, offering a smile as you introduce yourself.

Extra A/N: Still recovering from the Flu so pls excuse any errors! This story takes place in a universe where niggas don't drink hot chocolate with catfish dinners at lunch time. Can you tell I was catching up on the bear and abbott today? I ended up inserting characters in here lol. On to the recruit & night agent season two ✌🏾. Now that I finally got this idea out of my head I can start my reading back up and try to finish SF Chapter III.

Ok bye 🏃🏾‍♀️💨

Tags: @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @thevelvetwhispers @persethegawd

[0zeeraa0]

POV: we're having a conversation about Batman and I hear your rancid unwashed garlic smelling mouth utter the words "enough prep time"

[boomerang109]

.

[wifeyoozi]

ot13 seventeen : backstage quickie

seungcheol : it took one pout from you after you saw him all dressed up in that sexy purple suit and slicked back red hair for him to pull you aside in an empty restroom. Didn't even bother taking off his clothes, just pulled down the zipper and took his dick out and railed you pinned to the wall. Precisely 15 minutes later he was scolded by the stylist for messing up the hair and getting all sweaty over the make up.

Jeonghan : he'd been making out with you right there in front of everyone, shamelessly, holding you down on his lap and grinding against you. Someone (seungkwan) begged him to get a room and not cum all over his pants in front of everyone.

Joshua : he'd gotten so horny thinking of how he'd be able to fuck you all night after concert since it was the last day and had a very embarrassingly visible tent in his pocket. He'd call you backstage and scurried you off to an abandoned room to have you up on his cock.

Junhui : the concert was starting in exactly 10 minutes and he had his fingers knuckle deep in you in the restroom. He knew everyone had been searching for him to get on his position but he also refused to let go of you undone.

Hoshi : it was just a simple good luck kiss which turned into deep kissing which turned into heated make out which turned into him ramming his dick in you as fast as possible which turned into the manager and stylist scolding him for the mess he's made of himself.

Wonwoo : he wasn't even that horny when he pulled you into the janitor's closet and lifted your skirt up and started scissoring you to prep you for his dick. He just thought the orgasm-induced endorphin and dopamine release would make him more energetic for the stage. And it was probably one of the best performances he's ever given, thanks to you.

Woozi : it wasn't his fault when you came into the green room wearing that tight red leather mini skirt to wish him goodluck, that too paired with the hot red lipstick. He's brain is just associated you wearing anything red with sex enough for his dick to come back to life immediately and having you take care of him backstage.

minghao : he was usually very self-composed and has a good control over his dick. But he is, at the end of the day, a man. And seeing you wink and openly flirt with him in front of everyone sends heat directly to his crotch. And since you caused it, you gotta sort it. He'll find you an empty room, lock it and sit on any available chair, giving you the liberty to sate his arousal however you can.

Mingyu : fucking before shows is a ritual. If he can't fuck you before show, he'll be (secretly) sulky the whole time. He's very adamant about blowing your back and filling you full of cum and have you keep that cum in you till the show ends.

seokmin : the first time he did it, he was so nervous, wanting to get done as quickly and quietly as possible. After a few times, he's confident enough to fuck you at his pace without having you shut up. If anyone hears, it's their problem to be wandering around unused changing rooms.

Seungkwan : he loooves the part where he fucks you. Gives him the energy pump needed to be the greater entertainer on the stage he is. Loves eating you out, your juices are his lucky potion. What he hates tho is when everyone started teasing him after he's come out of the restroom with you, all messed up. If the stylist scolds him, he'll whined and somehow pass the blame on you. Tho nothing will stop him from doing it again.

Vernon : I think unironically the only smart one because he'll have you suck him instead of getting in your puss cuz that's the least messy way to do it. He initially only did it that way to avoid cleaning up mess after but realised this way no one scolds him after he goes missing for some time for messing up his hair and outfit and make up.

Chan : excited and agrees immediately when you ask him for a quickie and steal him to the restroom. Locks you two in a restroom stall and sits on the bathroom seat before you ride him. You have to cover his mouth when you hear someone enter, for it to turn out to be the leader calling him to get his make up done immediately. He calls out five minutes in a shaky voice and you have to hurry yourself on him to get you both orgasm immediately.

Bonus : cheol scolded chan for not using condoms in the heat of the moment when he knows of it. How he knows of it? That's cheol's business how he looks after his kids.

[drdemonprince]

I grew up with abstinence-only sex education, and it did a real number on me. But I’ve shaken off enough of my old cultural programming to realize that the transmission of bacteria and viruses is a thing that sometimes just happens when animals come together, no matter how stringently we might try to prevent it.

I have gotten urinary tract infections when a stray microbe found its way into my urethra after sex. Lube and bodily fluids have disturbed my vagina’s pH and caused a yeast infection many times. So has wearing a bathing suit for too long without drying it, yet another “risk” worth the pleasures of swimming along the sea wall.

Once or twice I’ve had an outbreak of cold sores, just like 80% of humans. If I’m like most people, I probably caught oral herpes when I was very young, sharing a sippy cup or rolling around at a sleepover.

None of this makes me disgusting, irresponsible, evil, or dangerous to others. It just makes me a living creature that exists in close contact with other creatures. I believe I have a responsibility to get tested regularly, to alert people who have been close to me when I get sick, and to use preventative measures like condoms, PreP, vaccines, toys, and masks to prevent the spread of infections as best I can. But I never imagine I can lead a life without risk — or that such a life would even be desirable.

There is no such thing as completely “safe” sex. A friend of mine can’t use condoms because they give her bacterial vaginosis. She chooses instead to fuck raw and take PreP and get anything else she catches treated. A guy I know who masks and tests religiously caught COVID while fisting someone (with a gloved hand!) at an air-filtered party. HPV is so prevalent that most sexual wellness clinics don’t bother testing for it, and can’t do much for a patient if they do have it. Our bodies are teeming at all times with various endemic viruses and microbes that we will never have the power to purge.

Then there are the possible costs of not having sex — vaginal atrophy, pelvic floor weakening, reduced access to endorphins, loneliness, touch starvation, the despair of harboring dreams that one never dares try. I can’t decide for anyone else which dangers loom the largest, but for me a gonorrhea shot is a fair trade for the hours of leg-cramping, bed-staining, hypno-kinky sex that led to it. There’s no guarantee that the next time I have sex it will be anywhere near as much fun, but the potential keeps me throwing the dice.

I hear quite frequently from sexually inexperienced Autistic people who crave an intimate connection, but desperately wish to remain responsible and “safe.” They want there to be a set of iron-tight rules they can follow that will guarantee they remain a virtuous person who never hurts anyone’s feelings, and never catches any sexually transmitted infection.

I understand why they want someone to impose order onto an unpredictable, terrifying world. But I can’t give that certainty to them, nor can anyone. All I can suggest is that they be honest with themselves about what they want, inform themselves of the costs and benefits to pursuing their desires, and then venture forward — proudly welcoming the correct risks into their life, rather than trying to avoid any risks at all.

Life is nothing but a negotiation of risk. If a person has gender dysphoria and they want to combat it, they must risk a transition they could one day regret. If an abolitionist wants to take a stand against the police state, they must plan for the possibility of arrest or political repression. When we open our hearts to love, we expose ourselves to grief — our partners will keep changing and growing, sometimes away from us. Each step that we take forward in life closes off potential paths. There is no avoiding this.

Instead of chasing after the false promise of “safety,” trying to remain completely insulated from harm and challenge forever, we must get better at admitting risk into our lives.

I wrote about all about the messy business of risk mitigation, and how the pursuit of perfect safety is used to justify isolation, theft of bodily autonomy, and political repression. It's free to read (or have narrated to you by the app!) at drdevonprice.substack.com

[neowonderland]

Bully! Haechan + Breeding

Pairing: Bully Haechan x reader Warnings: 18+, smut, noncon, drugging, babytrapping, breeding Wc: 0.9k

Dark Content, Minor please DNI

Disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. I do not condone the actions of any characters in this story and the actions do not reflect the idols in any way.

Haechan swears he hates you.

He swears he hates everything about you, from your full cheeks to your lips that you bite in concentration, to your soft voice, to the way you’re such a pushover for others, to the way you stumble over your words when you get nervous. 

Haechan makes it apparent he hates you too, from the way he complains about you to anyone near him to the way he insults you. Haechan complains that you’re too much of a pushover, you’re too weak, you’re too annoying, you’re too pudgy, you’re too ugly. Of course Haechan makes it known that he thinks that way to your face too, always stating that your existence is an inconvenience to him, something that can’t be solved unless you were to fully disappear from this world because even if you transferred universities you’d still exist and inconvenience him.

 You don’t remember much, remembering being dragged to a party by a couple of friends, spotting Haechan with his friend. You’re not sure which one of his friends had been flirting with you and handed you a drink that you had drunk. Maybe that’s when you had started feeling strange, head beginning to get dizzy, body burning up, memory blanking. 

You can’t really remember how you ended up in Haechan’s bed, memories and head spinning as you lie and stare at the ceiling trying to ignore Haechan on top of you.

Haechan feels cold, his ice cold hands running across the expanse of your stomach and body, squeezing and groping at your flesh. It would feel nice against your flushed skin if it wasn’t Haechan. But, your heavy limbs and fuzzy head made it hard to fight back against his touches, leaving you pliant in Haechan’s hands. 

“You’re such a slut, going to that party and flirting with Jaemin. Do you not get fucked enough? Is that why you went for my friend?” Haechan says mockingly.

You try to shake your head to no avail, leaving you to only stare at him. 

Haechan lets out a laugh, hand gripping your cheeks and forcing you to nod, “That’s the correct answer. You’re lucky I’m great at doing charity. You know how many people would kill to be in your position?”

Haechan moves to run his tongue against your nipples, tongue laving over your sensitive skin before harshly sucking. Haechan works to mark the skin of your chest with red splotches and marks, teeth sinking into your skin alongside his sucking. He only stops to pull his shirt over his head, hands work quickly to take off his clothing and throw them to a corner of the room. 

It’s not until Haechan’s marks run up your neck that Haechan stops, sitting back and proudly admiring his work. His hands reach for his phone halfway before freezing and withdrawing. You can hear him mumble “not this time.” 

Haechan’s hands grip your legs, uncaring of the yelp you let out when he folds you in half. He presses against the back of your thighs with his arm while he lines himself up with your entrance. Haechan teases your entrance and your clit, covering his head with your slick. Alarm bells ring in your head and you try to tell him to stop, to use protection, to do anything but this but everything comes out unintelligible, garbled and slurred. 

The stretch is painful without proper prep and it feels like you’re being divided into two when Haechan enters you. You’re in hell, helpless, burning up and in pain while it looks as if Haechan is in heaven. His eyes flutter shut while he lets out a loud moan. Haechan’s head dips down as he forces his eyes open to drink in your pained facial expression. 

“If I knew your pussy would be so tight, I would’ve fucked you sooner.” Haechan says through gritted teeth as he begins to thrust into you shallowly. You can feel the drag of him in your walls and your body producing more slick, easing his thrusts. Whatever you had drunk seemed to be wearing off, allowing your fingers to dig into your palm to ground yourself. 

“Look how wet you are, so ready for me. I knew you were a slut, getting off on me.” Haechan says as he increases his pace. You can feel him putting his weight on you, crushing you between him and the bed. You can feel the head of his length bashing against your cervix, his drooling tip crushing it in every thrust. 

“Fuck I’m going to cum, going to breed you, going to knock you up. You’re going to be full of my cum and my kid. You’re going to look so much better round with my kid. You’ll be all mine. Everyone will know you’re mine. You won’t even think of leaving me.” Haechan babbles, shifting his weight completely on you.

It’s not until tears begin dripping down your face that Haechan cums with a shiver and whine, filling you up. Haechan moves your legs out of the way, collapsing onto you and burying his head into your neck. 

It’s not until he rises and flips you on your stomach that you realize he wasn’t just babbling, that you’re in for a long night.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Ties That Bind

Strings of Fate alt pov. (Soulmate!AU) Or, Jason Todd's soulmates see the very best in him, even if he doesn't see it in himself. ~3.3k words

When Bruce Wayne meets Jason Todd, he's wearing enough Kevlar to stop a small missile. The kid in the red hoodie is hardly his first soulmate, but he is the first to steal the tires off the batmobile.

He wavers at the sight. The kid's clearly too small for his age. Bruce is already mentally setting aside a trust fund for him, considering what favors he can call in to get the kid into Gotham Prep.

The dark blue string that glows between them makes something in him soften, even if he should know better. His attention trails between the new string, the boy, and the other, more frayed string that leads to his eldest son.

He wonders vaguely if this string will fray, too. (It will do worse. It will grey and vanish, and Bruce Wayne Batman will fail another soulmate)

He opens his mouth to speak, to ask why he's out here, if he has some place to go, if his family knows he's here, but the sound of metal clings through the alley, and the kid runs.

It won't be hard, for Batman to catch up to him.

It will be hard to earn Jason Todd's trust.

It won't be hard when a new Robin flies by his side.

It won't be hard to smile, to laugh, to see hope and light in Gotham.

It won't be hard at all, to see the best in his son, to see all the good that makes up Jason Todd.

It will be hard to hold his son in his arms. It will be harder to know he's failed him.

It will be impossible, as the years pass, to not flinch every time he looks down at his index finger and sees an empty space where a string should be.

Alfred Pennyworth has gained and lost many strings in his life. He cherishes the ones that shine, neatly tied around his arms and fingers.

He meets his second grandson in the batcave.

The boy is flighty, untrusting, and Alfred loves him all the more for it. It takes sheer patience, good books, and many plates of cookies to earn Jason Todd's reluctant trust. Alfred's proud to be one of the few people who can say Jason is relaxed in their presence.

He's proud as he watches Jason save lives, study, laugh, and bring joy. Joy. He brings it to so many people, even people who aren't his soulmate, without asking for any return.

Yes, Alfred Pennyworth is proud. He's proud, even as he watches the blue string fray and fade. He's proud as they lower a small casket into the ground.

He's still proud, when no one sees the tears that spill when he makes a recipe that used to have a second set of hands helping.

Barbara Gordan is Batgirl. She's quick on her feet, stronger than people give her credit for, and just as smart as any other vigilante out there. So, she's not surprised to see a purple string appear between her and the newest Robin.

He's small, but fast and doesn't show an ounce of fear even as she pulls him out of the way of a bullet. Her heart melts a little when he smiles at her, gap toothed and bright, and she can't help but smile back.

She may miss the practiced partnership she had with Dick, but Jason makes a home for himself in her life. Batgirl watches Robin's back, and he's just as loyal and selfless in return.

Barbara knows he's destined for great things. She can see it in the way he takes time to talk to the citizens of crime alley, to pet and feed the strays that hide from most people.

It's why she sobs when the purple string breaks. It's why she steels herself to be better, to try harder, to never let another Robin be without a Batgirl.

(She will fail at this. It will plague her. She will become stronger, better, and anything she needs to be)

Dick Grayson is not impressed by the boy wearing his colors. He's tiny, and his cape seems to swallow him whole. But he did manage to land silently next to him on the roof overlooking Penguins' latest operation.

Dick's not exactly sure why the kids here, he definitely didn't tell anyone he was going to be in Gotham. But, if the blue string glowing between them is anything to go by, they were gonna meet eventually.

He didn't mean to make a face at the new Robin, really, he just wasn't ready to meet him.

He wanted to be in and out of Gotham, not trying to deal with another soulmate he never asked for. Not while the name Nightwing is still new and the blue suit doesn't quite feel right sometimes.

Jason doesn't know any of this. (Yes, he knows the kids' names. Yes, he's been keeping tabs on Bruce.) So, Dick Grayson steadies himself and invites the kid to team up.

Robin Jason fights well, knows when to duck and when to fight dirty. Nightwing leaves Gotham feeling lighter and heavier all at once.

He'll visit his brother(?) a few weeks later, they'll get ice cream and show off to each other and it'll be nice. Jason will hand off a bag full of Alfred's cooking, and a plate of cookies he shyly admits he helped make.

Dick silently promises to be better to the kid who wears his family's colors.

He never gets the chance. Jason is dead and buried by the time he returns to Earth with the Titans. Another soulmate dies in the colors meant to spread joy and hope. (This will change him forever)

Talia al Ghul did not expect a blue string to bind her to Jason Todd. She plans for nearly everything, expects the worst, and hopes for the best.

So, when she found her Beloved's son wandering in a daze, she should have been prepared for the shimmering, ocean blue string to tie itself to her left index finger when he looked at her.

(She wasn't, and she'll stare between Jason's string, and the one on her right index finger leading to her other son for an entire night)

Thalia will take him back to Nanda Parbat, out of duty, out of hope that if she can help Jason, it will bring Bruce back to her, and out of love. The boy follows her– the string– like it's the only thing that matters.

She will never admit it, but it will break her heart. She chances the Lazarus Pit, it helps and hurts him all at once. He no longer follows her around. He trains until there's hardly a soul in the League he can not beat.

Talia watches her son become aimless, restless, and tormented by the past. She hopes with all that she has, and introduces him to Damian.

She knows a blue string forms between them when Jason flinches. He leaves in the night, and takes a part of her with him.

She understands why. It doesn't stop her from tracking him from afar until he finds himself in Gotham again, parading around under the name of his killer. Her beloved will understand soon enough, and she hopes her son will find a home again.

Batman meets Red Hood on a crumbling roof in Crime Alley. The crime lord has been a thorn in his and the GCPDs side for months. He sees the glimmer of a string start to form, but doesn't get to process it before Red Hood is unloading a clip at him.

He dives out of the way, and by the time he comes out of his roll, Red Hood is gone. Batman checks for the new string. But there isn't one, no new line leading from him to a soulmate. He checks again.

Bruce Wayne loses all the air in his lungs when he realizes what has changed. It doesn't make sense. It can't be possible. But there's no lying when it comes to strings. Jason Todd is Red Hood. And for once, Batman doesn't have a plan.

Tim Drake knows soulmates are precious. Each string he's gained is worth cherishing. Each string he's lost is a scar. (He traces where they used to be when he can't sleep)

Tim Drake knows who Red Hood is. Was it a surprise? Sure, it can only mean good things for his family, even if Red Hood is running the majority of crime in Gotham. Jason was the light of Gotham, after all.

He believes that with his whole heart. Which is why he's cautiously excited when a royal blue string ties from his wrist to Red Hood.

It's also why he laughs when Jason Todd breaks half the bones in his body. He's dealt with worse, and he breaks a few of Red Hood's bones in return.

Tim is still laughing when Red Hood stumbles away and leaves. It's kind of funny, he's lost almost all of his best friends, and now he has a brother who hates him. But it's not all bad, he decides, the tracker he managed to get into Jason's jacket will be plenty useful.

Dick Grayson finds Jason Todd by his favorite gargoyle. It's the only thing still familiar about him. But as the string reforms between him, something in his soul slots into place. He sits next to him and talks.

He's not exactly sure what he talks about, but he talks and talks until he's not sure what to say and then talks some more. Jason never answers, but he doesn't leave either. It's enough, it's a start, and he tells his little brother to visit Alfred some time when he goes to leave.

(Red Hood will show up in Blüdhaven later that month. They will work a case together, it will be sloppy and then won't know each other's blind spots. Dick hasn't had so much fun in years)

Alfred Pennyworth is making tea in the kitchen of Wayne Manor when his second grandson nearly gives him a heart attack. One moment, he's alone, and the next, the man who used to be Gotham's biggest crime lord is standing five feet away.

They don't talk much, but Jason still remembers how to make his favorite cup of tea. Alfreds packs up enough food to feed him for a week, and makes him promise to at least call once a month.

Alfred is proud to say he gets a call once a week, and a time to meet out in the city once a month. He's even prouder to say his grandson has grown and learned and thrived.

Barbara Gordan is Oracle, and she's damn good at what she does. She's working intel for the Birds of Prey when the motion sensors around the clock tower go off.

She turns just in time to see the purple string form between her and Red Hood. He takes off his helmet. She appreciates that.

He looks lost for words. She feels lost for words. But she finds them anyway. She tells him it's good to see him, and it really is. She's been keeping tabs on him, knows what he's trying to do, trying to be. He hesitantly tells her he's going to be out of Gotham for a while.

Oracle hands him a comlink before he leaves. She tells him it's her own personal line, not connected at all to The Bat. She tells him to keep in touch. (She knows he'll listen)

Both versions of The Outlaws adore Jason Todd. Arsenal and Starfire, Artemis and Bizzaro, all find good in the purple string that ties them to Red Hood. The team isn't a magical fix all, and sometimes what they do isn't right, but it's theirs.

It's theirs, and they have each other even when it seems like there's nothing else. There's a comfort in that, a comfort in the steady glow of the purple string. There's a comfort in knowing their soulmate would take on the world at their side.

Spoiler knows she shouldn't be in Crime Alley, knows that the newly returned Red Hood doesn't appreciate Bats in his territory. But she's not a Bat, so she thinks she's earned an exception. And if she's being honest, she could use someone to talk to.

Her other soulmates, the other vigilantes, well, there's been a distance between her and them since her return. So, yeah, maybe she's a little lonely and a little hurt, and maybe she's willing to risk getting shot over the chance Red Hood is one of her soulmates. (And that he'll understand)

She's optimistic when a purple string forms between them, but less so when he tells her to leave. Stephanie's never been good at following directions, so she stays. He doesn't shoot her, which she takes as permission to come back again.

And she does. She comes back again and again. She brings him coffee. After a few times, he actually takes his helmet off to drink it. Jason's a good listener, and she really doesn't mean to spill her sob story about dying and knowing what it's like to reform a string.

She knows he's dealt with enough of that. But he doesn't make fun of her, doesn't tell her to get over herself. He just pats her shoulder when she goes to leave that night. (She cries when the news reports on Red Hood delivering Black Mask to prison only two days later)

Cassandra Cain is skilled and very good at what she does. She knows this, and she's proud of it. She smiles behind her mask when she makes her new brother jolt in surprise.

If anything, he should have been paying more attention to the thugs around him; she'd taken out more than half of them before he realized she was there.

She pokes at the string connecting them, incredibly pleased it's the color she wanted it to be. She pats her little brother's arm and leaves the scene, her night is hardly over after all.

Cass doesn't need to ask for his address, she already knows it. So, she happily makes herself at home on his couch at least once a week. He puts on movies for them to watch, even though she can tell he's not exactly sure what to do with her.

She calls him 'baby brother', and he learns how to make her favorite treats in return. She likes that he bends down so she can ruffle his hair, and makes a note of how he leans into the touch. Her soulmate definitely needs more hugs.

Damian Wayne can handle himself. He's Robin. He's an Al Ghul. He's the blood son of the Bat. So he doesn't need his soulmate's help. But his mother always told him Todd is skilled. Todd has a bleeding heart for everyone. He can use that.

He's definitely not trying to work up the courage to enter Red Hood's territory, when the person in question jumps down next to him. Huh. He didn't sense him coming. Maybe he's lost more blood than he's thought.

"Mother told me to seek you if I ever needed anything," Damian tells him, and bites back a wince. Those aren't the words he wanted. He sounds like a child and he doesn't need anything from Jason Todd.

Todd is quiet for a moment, and Damian expects to be turned away. But he's not, he's led to a safehouse instead. He's able to patch his wounds up without Todd noticing, and the next night, he goes into battle with a brother at his side. (They fight like they've been spent years at each other's sides)

Duke Thomas has heard all the stories about Jason Todd. He's curious, sue him, so he seeks out Red Hood just after the sun starts to set. Duke nods like he expected it to happen when he sees the blue string that ties around his forearm. (He wasn't sure it would, but it's a shiny, good color)

Red Hood eyes him, or at least Duke assumes he does. It's kind of hard to tell with the helmet. "Do you need something," Jason asks.

Duke doesn't actually have a plan past this. But he's Signal, and he's great at thinking on his feet, so he asks Jason if he's ever had the chili dogs a couple blocks away.

He's surprised when Jason says no, and he's even more surprised when they end up eating half of food carts' chili dogs.

It ends up being fun, taking down some thugs trying to rob a bank, with Red Hood fighting alongside him. Duke throws out a few jokes, and he manages to make Jason laugh. (He will brag about it to the rest of his soulmates later)

Duke grins when he gets handed a number at the end of the night. He's proud and only a little smug to have seemingly impressed his newest brother. (He will also brag about this)

You were not anticipating getting mugged tonight. Yes, it's always a possibility in Gotham. But you were careful, the street you were on had working lights! So it's annoying when a group of men try to get you to hand over your things.

You're relieved when Red Hood drops down from seemingly out of nowhere to take them out. But you're not completely sure what to feel when a red string ties itself to your pinkie and leads right to him.

He doesn't seem to know what to feel either, because you're just staring at each other in silence on an empty street. It makes you a little braver to see him as knocked off center as you are, at least you think that's what he's feeling.

It's hard to tell when he hasn't moved, and his helmet is dipped down to get a better look at you. So, you break the silence and tell him your name.

His helmet snaps up, "What?"

Oh. Maybe he wasn't looking at you. You tentatively repeat your name, and for a second dread pools in your gut. What if he wants nothing to do with you? What if he leaves?

Soulmates not wanting each other are rare, but not exactly unheard of. You step towards him, ready to plead your case on giving you a chance.

"Red Hood," he supplies, cutting you off before you can speak. It's entirely unhelpful. You know who he is. You think this is his way of keeping the distance.

But, it's not. That thought barely gets to form before Red Hood offers to walk you home.

He keeps coming back, keeps hovering on your fire escape until you start to invite him inside. And soon enough, Jason Todd becomes a part of everything in your life.

He's sweet, kind, and so, so careful. He tugs your string when he's late to come home, a reassurance. He barely leaves your side, the first time you meet his sister.

Your soulmate is good. He makes you happy. You so badly want to be good to him, to make him happy too. You think you do, at least sometimes.

He smiled when you offered to watch his brother's dog, kissed you senseless the first time you made his grandfather's cookies.

You're not there, when Bruce Wayne offers his son a velvet box, a ring passed down from Wayne to Wayne nestled inside. You're asleep, curled into his side when he vows to be brave for you.

But you're there and wide awake when Jason Todd pulls the box from his jacket and drops down to one knee. You're there when he smiles nervously at you, tells you he's never been good at this kind of thing, at anything, really. But you make him feel like he is.

He tells you he loves you. He tells you he doesn't need a red string to know you're his soulmate. He asks you to marry him.

You say yes while peppering his face with kisses. You're giddy, when he slides the ring onto your finger, his smile matching yours.

He kisses you, again and again, and the glowing red string that ties you together seems to sing.

[s-4pphics]

errr hi cont to this or whatever combating my depression with horny crazy lesbians with parental trauma goodbye again

—

Guilt festers in Ellie like hornets.

She hardly remembers the last time she’s seen you. The turbulence that roared within you for months had finally reached its peak, and it sent you crashing into a static-filled void — an unsettling tranquility. Whenever she’s home, you don’t say a word to her, fully committed to the bind that reinforces your lack of autonomy. But still, the house stays clean, dinner stays served, and Ellie stays guilty.

She can’t pinpoint for what exactly — her aggression towards you throughout your marriage, her ignorance to your suffering, for leaving you alone to wilt while she goes and lives her life like you don’t exist, like the weight of the band on her finger doesn’t snare whenever they dig inside someone else.

Divorce. Divorce…

If it ever occurs, both families will bury you, then Ellie, then each other, only leaving behind wasteful bundles of inheritance and homes with no name. But death… It has to be better than this crushing burden in her stomach. It has to be.

There’s water running. Right above where Ellie sits on the couch with a bouncing knee, fiddling with her wedding ring. Her heart thumps in her chest when the rush stops. You must be in the bath.

The thought should make Ellie flush and stutter; the image of her beloved wife bare and surrounded by bubbles from the neck down, scented with lavender and incense, soft as ever.

But she can only see you drowning. Breathing water into your lungs as you fight against your own will to survive. Your screams are loud beneath suffocation, battered as you…

Call out to her—

“Ellie.”

She flinches at your presence from behind, heart racing at the sight of you in your robe and dripping hair, somehow disheveled despite your cleanliness. Ellie swallows dryly when water drips down your neck and seeps into your gown’s collar. The tie is synched around your waist and your breasts are pushed together from its tightness and Ellie’s lost her mind because she shouldn’t be gawking like this. Her eyes fly back to the vacant windows that bring such torture.

“I ran your bath.”

You turn to leave without another glance, already up three— five steps before Ellie mutters,

“Thank you.”

She sees your shoulders stiffen, and she shifts uncomfortably where she sits. It might be the first time you’ve heard any verbal appreciation from her. From anyone, matter of fact. Ellie’s heart thrashes in her chest at the look you give over your shoulder: confused… and so, so tired. The emptiness within them sends her stomach into knots, churning up that treacherous feeling that makes her ill whenever she really looks at you.

But then you smile, soft lips curled around pearly teeth. Dark. Empty.

“Anything for my wife.”

The term of endearment is poisonous on your tongue. Small hairs on Ellie’s arms are upright and thrum with fear and embarrassment and… shockingly enough, something else. Something dirty and thoughtless. It’s the maroon robe. It has to be.

“Should I prep you for the bath, as well?”

Your tone is hateful. Mockingly so. Why does Ellie’s face burn? Why do her nails dig into the cushion beneath her? Why is her breathing so shaky? Why is her body so hot? Because of you, of all people, and you’ve barely spoken to each other. You hate her and she hates you so why why why.

Disgusted eyes rake over Ellie’s squirming form, and a smirk grows on your face.

“I’ll be upstairs.” Voice soft as a feather, but your feet are weighted with each stomp up the stairs.

Ellie can’t halt her fear for what waits for her in your bedroom. Fear has never made her thighs rub together this much.

—

Ellie’s in a fever dream.

You put something in her wine from earlier. She’s knocked out cold and this is all a fucked up, sadistic nightmare. The lavender scent that floats through the marble bathroom isn’t real, the candles that burn with cinnamon aren’t real, the last sizzles from the bathbomb melting into the water isn’t real, your hands aren’t… She can’t feel them. They’re definitely not real. Not where they gently massage her shoulders.

But they are. How fucked up is Ellie. It’s been all of two minutes and she’s already memorized your fingerprints through her button up. Nothing but guilt, guilt, guilt and fear and arousal that makes her more guilty. What sick game are you playing at. You’re so fucking sick.

“You’re so tense, wife… You really needed this bath, huh?”

Your nails sink into her shoulders and Ellie can almost feel your venom eating away at her bloodstream. Her toenails scrap against the tile through her socks. She won’t stop fiddling with her wedding ring. A sign of guilt. An act of nerves.

Your hands drag from her neck to her collarbones and she shivers whenever your nails rake through her. They reach the top button of her shirt. Each pop of a button sends aggressive rattles to Ellie’s ribcage.

Before your meddling fingers stop.

Her flushed chest rises with rapid breaths. Your eyes sear and they’re electric. Ellie’s heart stops when she realizes where your attention is.

A blotchy, ruby-red bruise sits right in between her breasts. The bite glows blue where it fades. It taunts you. Ellie can see it where your jaw clenches. Guilt guilt guilt guilt—

“Who gave you that?”

You sound so innocent. Her anxiety will peak in an instant.

“No one.”

Ellie gasps sharply when buttons clatter to the floor, angered hands ripping open her shirt, prying the fabric from her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. She’s stiff as a board, unable to move, forbidding to combat your aggression. Why does she allow you to take?

“Who gave that to you?” You grit before reaching for her Louis Vuitton belt, pulling it from the loops and throwing it behind you. “Huh? A friend of mine? A family member? Someone I know?”

You smile like it excites you to know who wrecked your home. Who your wife abandoned you for, all for a fix — to exist outside of her body and not think about the world she despises. Ellie shakes her head. Why does she wish to appease you all of a sudden? She’s never cared; never hesitated to flaunt her lechery to you in the late hours of the night. Why now?

“How long ago? How gorgeous was she? Did she give you everything you desired—“

“Stop—“

“Maybe you should invite her over,” You suggest painfully, seductively while you treat her slacks with the same violence, “I’m sure our parents wouldn’t mind a third. More money, right? She’s rich, isn’t she?”

Your suggestion sends knives into her throat. Her hands clamp down onto your arms to get you off. To pull you closer. Fuck, fuck —

“Bring all your whores here, matter of fact!” You screech and fight against Ellie’s grip on your wrists. “I’ll let them fuck me with you if you want! I’m sure it’d please you, wife—“

Ellie nearly vomits when slick drips from her at the imagery; you completely engulfed by the pleasure you deserve for being such a good wife, fucked to peak after peak. Hands all over you, bruised to hell, stress-free. She’d give you that. Only she could give you that. No one else, fuck, just her—

She uses all her strength to shove you into the wall near the sink, ripping your hands from her pants and shoving them behind you, holding you still as you thrash and shout obscenities.

Her heart breaks when you release the loudest sobs she’s ever heard from you, and all she can do is apologize. Whisper calming words against your wet cheeks.

“Look at me, look at me, fuck, m’sorry—“

“Why me! What d-did I do to deserve this! Why — why —“

“I know, I’m sorry, I know I know—“

Ellie blows cool air all over your cheeks. Gentle brushes of wind that ice your boiling skin before your hollers turn to devastated whimpers. She watches you self-soothe, blows more air on your face, redirects your attention onto her.

“Look at me.” She says into your skin.

You whimper and shake your head, eyes downcast at her feet.

“Can you do that for me so we can talk?”

“I don’t wanna fucking talk to you.”

Ellie huffs a laugh at your insolence, “Fair, but I need you to calm down. Can we agree on that?”

“I didn’t drown you. That’s as calm as you’re gonna get.”

Ellie smiles sadly, “Also fair.”

“You’re fucking dead to me.”

“… Potty mouth.”

Ellie loosens her grip on your wrists when you shove her off you, head plopping onto the wall as you gaze at her, eyes filled with rage and possessiveness and lust. For once, your eyes mirror hers.

Your robe isn’t as tight after your fighting, a glimpse of a nipple peeking beneath the deep red cloth. She shouldn’t look, not when you're this vulnerable and hurt, but she can’t help it. She can’t explain it, but she wants you to see how hungry she is for you. So much guilt.

She doesn’t know how to love, to be kind, to dote like a wife should. She can’t do that with you. But she stares, gazes at you with territory. What she’d give to be all over you.

Her ogling pauses when you laugh to yourself, cheeks still glistening under the candlelight. Ellie frowns despite the butterflies in her stomach.

“You’re crazy.”

You don’t adjust your scattered dress, pushing yourself off the wall and into Ellie’s chest. You invade her senses like she wants; her body aches and shakes when your breasts touch hers. She can smell you. All you have to do is inch closer. Your noses almost touch. She just needs a bit more from you and you’ll have her. All to yours—

“Enjoy your bath…”

Your lips tickle hers,

“Ellie.”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip when you vanish into the bedroom. She's never climbed in there with you, but she just might.

-

-

-

Ellie didn’t believe you when you said she was dead in your eyes, but now, she realizes you might’ve actually meant it. She assumed you to be a vessel of patriarchy, of status, of everything she loathes, but you’re unraveling before her eyes, inklings of your true self seeping through the cracks of your parents’ mold.

You might be just as vile as she is. You might even have her beat. You do want her dead.

What else can she think as she sinks lower into her bath to hide her shock, eyes glued to the glass dildo that still drips with your slick at the edge of the tub? Right next to your wedding ring.

How nasty would she be to use your cum as lube while she fucks herself in the shower? How gross would you be if you awoke from your slumber to watch her get off to you?

… Come to think of it, you both never consummated your marriage.

You deserve to wake up to something nice.

[biteyoubiteme]

melon float

yeonjun x fem!reader

synopsis: a picnic in the park is always fun with your boyfriend

warnings: 🔞!!! semipublic/public sex, oral (f!rec), no protection, creampie, breeding kink if you squint kinda, Yeonjun calls reader baby once or twice, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1.9k

an: feedback is appreciated!! this is apart of my float event! check out the other members fics [float m.list]

[m.list]

Yeonjun had been so excited this morning, for over a week he had been planning your next date, picking out every detail. He had gotten up early to get all your food ready, making sure to keep you out of the kitchen to keep the surprise up. “you should get ready I have this handled, maybe you could wear that pretty white dress you just got,” so you complied dressing up and after he was ready you hopped into the car asking him to reveal where you were going.

“to eat out,” was all he gave you to work with, hand on your thigh as he drove.

when you got to the park you knew he was taking you on a picnic. The past couple of days were too unbearable to be outside in the sun but the forecast had shown a few days of cooler mornings with partly cloudy skies. the two of you had been locked up in your apartment sticking to waiting until it was late to go out even when it still felt hot without the sun. you had complained about the heat and not being able to really enjoy the summertime. Now he's gone and found the perfect spot for a picnic, a little secluded patch of grass, the hanging trees giving peaks of the little stream they rest next to. you can hear the twittering birds, and the rambel of water, all of it the perfect soundtrack to summer.

everything had started innocently enough, Yeonjun set up the blanket for the two of you and unpacked his little basket of prepped foods. he had taken the time to cut all the fruit up into cute little shapes, some of them rough around the edges but his clumsiness only ever made the effort so thoughtful. he set up all the little things around to make them look put together to take a photo. “smile,” his little happy grin behind the camera making you blush. “look at how pretty you are,” he flipped his phone towards you to look at, “I'm going to make it my lockscreen,”

“Wait, you can see my underwear in this photo,” you laugh, zooming in on your panties to prove your point. your legs had been up, knees closed as you leaned back on your hands showing your cute outfit. you hadn't noticed how your dress had slipped down your thigh, low enough to show the lacy fabric.

“My favorite ones too,” he states, “they look so good on you, even better off,” the little grin he has is wicked enough to know exactly where his mind is going.

“you can wait until we get home to give me flirty looks like that,”

“I really can’t do that at all,” he looks around at the empty space we are in, “No one really comes around here anyways and we are blocked by all the trees…”

even just the idea of doing anything out in public was a little bit hot to you. Yeonjun was fully into pda, he loved to show you off, hand in the back pocket of your jeans, making out at the club like you'll never get the chance to kiss again, nay excuses to put his hands on you to let people know you were his and his alone. he wasn't shy when it came to people watching the two of you, if you let him he would stick his hand up your skirt in the back of a cab so this wasn't so different for you two. so he didn’t even have to ask for you to know what he wanted now.

“you don’t think anyone will catch us?” you ask but you don’t need to answer because even if there was a possibility of getting caught Yeonjun wouldn't admit it outright but he wouldn't let the two of you go far enough without caution. you stand up and trying not to lift your dress too much you hook your fingers into the waistband of your panties pulling them down. Yeonjun is fast to lean over so that he can help take them off fully, balling them up and tossing them over to the basket half-open behind him.

he slides his hands up the back of your thighs, sitting criss cross in front of you looking up like he found everything he's been missing. he's grinning as he cups your ass, pulling you closer to him, chin on your thigh. “I thought those were your favorite?” you brush his hair behind his ears.

“On the list of my favorite things, they come second to what's standing in front of me. no need to admire them when I could admire you,”

you roll your eyes but even if he was cheesy it always got you. He was rubbing up and down the back of your legs, fingers slipping to your inner thighs making you shiver. every drag of his fingers getting closer and closer to your center. “you know what?”

“hum?” you hummed the tips of his fingers only just grazing over your folds.

“I think I’m starving,” he pulls you back down to the blanket, your laugh cut off by his kiss. hands moving to your waist, body pressing you into the blanket. when he pulls away he keeps his mouth on you, lips down your jaw, down your neck. “and I just happened to bring my favorite meal,”

he lays himself down between your legs lifting the hem of your skirt peeking under to see how wet you've gotten for him. Since you’ve gotten together it was so easy to get wet from a few kisses, for him to look at you the right way and he would just know if he reached down to check he could slip in without any prep.

“You said earlier we were going to eat out, not this,” you’re sitting up on your elbows watching and Yeonjun is giving you a cocky smile, tongue running along the inside of his lip as he shrugs. “You must have misheard me, I was trying to say I wanted to eat you out,” pushing your dress up and bunching it at your hips he leans down blowing over your clit, your knees pulling in at the cool air.

“don’t tease me,” you whine but you don’t expect him to listen, he was always a tease, drawing out your pleasure like it was a test he knew he would pass with flying colors. but there was no time when someone could walk by secluded as the spot was or not Yeonjun didn’t need anyone else to see you falling apart on his tongue namely because he didn’t want to be interrupted. he licked up your wetness, circling your clit before giving precise controlled flicks of his tongue. your head rolls back and you bite your lip to keep quiet only it's harder than you thought when he starts to suck on your clit.

your knees try to pull together and he has to push them back apart, ravaging your cunt, swirling his tongue over and over. He had full control over your body pulling your orgasm from you slowly until you were combusting. hips sinking, hands fisting the blanket, your moans were not silent anymore as you fluttered around nothing, Yeonjun pulling away to let you calm down from your high. but you didn’t feel satiated, not when you felt so empty, it was almost painful. “please jjunie,” you whined sitting up.

“hum? Does my pretty girl need to be stuffed,” knowing exactly what you wanted. he was hard as he sat up, unbuttoning his jeans, “come here,”

you didn’t need to be told twice, crawling over to him before straddling his waist, sensitive clit rubbing over his bulge making the both of you moan. you didn’t even hold yourself back as you started to grind down on him, your arms wrapping around his neck and fingers tangling into his hair. He grabbed your waist trying to still you, “Hold on baby I won't last like that,” he pulled his cock free from his last layer of fabric. you were already clenching at the sight, watching as he gave two slow pumps, thumb running over the tip collecting his precum to spread around the veiny shaft.

you sat up on your knees lifting as he used one hand to guide himself in and the other to hold your dress up. your soft whine turned into a throaty moan as he sank into you, slow to inch as he stretched you open. when you were fully seated the both of you caught your breath, your dress falling from his hands before he pushed your hair away from your face. “you’re so pretty when you sit so well on my cock,” he could feel you pulse around him at his praise, gummy walls warm enough to make him weak. he pulls you in for a kiss on hand at the base of your neck, the other on your hip helping you rock forward on him.

finding a rhyme the both of you melt together, your drawn-out movements deepening your kiss. pressed so deep inside you, you swear you can feel him in your throat, every movement brushing him against your g-spot, knees weak from the feeling. tugging on your hair he leans your head back to expose more of your neck, kissing down the column of your throat and to your exposed cleavage he nips over your skin.

you can feel your second orgasm build aided by the way your clit is rubbing against him but you’re restless, needing more than every slow drag. “I want more,” you breathe trying to pick up the pace but failing to when you’re this close, “please I need more,”

he doesn't even pull out as he flips the two of you, pushing you down on your back and wrapping his arms around you before he starts to pick up the pace on his thrusts. “better baby?”

you can’t even speak as he frantically pumps into you, hips knocking into yours. his mouth at your ear he's moaning, “You feel so good- fuck- I'm gonna fill you up- I-“ he cut himself off on a whimper, “I wanna fill you up so bad, I can’t take it, I need to please,” he presses his face into your neck as he begs. “please,”

he twitched inside you, thrusts turning sloppy as you wrap your legs around his waist. his soft mewls sending you over the edge, your back arching as you came, dots forming in your vision. you’re clenching so much that he can hardly move anymore, hips pressed flush against yours as he stills, warm cum filling you.

Yeonjun pressed a messy kiss to your lips, going back to his slow thrusts to feel how slick you were with both of your cum. every other thrust he pressed into your womb feeling the way your pussy fluttered for him. He gave a lazy smile into your kiss before pulling out. you gave a shaky breath from the loss, your legs falling from around his waist as he leaned back to look at the mess he had made of you. “my pretty girl looking her absolute best,” you could feel the cum slipping out of you and he scooped it up with his thumb to push it back in, “stuffed full of my cum just as she should be,”

[werecreature-addicted]

Not that long ago I gained a better perspective of monsterfuckery 🥰🥰 I'm gonna give way too much personal info in the second paragraph 😄

Thing is I'm an early 20s virgin and also not very adventurous when it comes to masturbation (cause of lack of privacy and late bloomer reasons) so I've only just now gotten around to fingering and even then just one, I actually haven't been able to get to even 2 fingers.

Like I obviously understood in fic all the needed preparation and descriptions of how those sizes feel but I definitely gained a newfound appreciation for the receiving readers!

And now I'm in Great need of some gentle and patient monsters who just like me, can't wait to stretch me out enough to fit them 🥴🥴🫡🫡

I've never heard anyone more suited for a tentacle monster than you my friend.

Long thin tendrils sliding over your body and groping you, squeezing your body feeling your skin get hot and goosebumps rise over your skin before they even start doing anything. A thick tentacle crawls over your neck and curls around your cheek cupping your face. The monster keeps its larger tentacles on your skin instead of inside of you, for now at least. Massaging your tits, holding your thighs apart, and stroking your face.

One tentacle is dedicated solely to stroking your clit the thick tip slides over your slit without pushing into you- it would be cruel to try and make you take something so thick and this creature is nothing if not adoring. It is fun to run the thick tongue-like tentacle over your whole cunt from bottom to top and make you squirm though. Your thighs flex against the strong tentacles that hold you spread open.

They use thin tentacles to push inside of you and stretch your pussy. They start out no wider than your pinky finger but they're long and push deep inside of you, slowly more of these slender tentacles enter your cunt, moving at different rates almost tickling you until you're ready to size up. Then they repeat the process again with the next only slightly thicker tendril.

The monster is slow, patient with your needy inexperienced cunt. You lose track of how many times you cum. You're completely soaked from the waist down. your own wetness mixing with the natural slick slime the creature produces.

This is the kind of process that spans over days, working your cunt open until you're relaxed enough to take something as thick as a human cock. now the real fun begins, now they can really fuck you and pump you full of sticky sap-like cum the rounded tip of the tentacle bumping up against your cervix.

You could stop there, it's a big improvement from where you started. Your monster partner can fuck you easily now without hours and hours of prep. Or...you know. they do have bigger tentacles than this one. you could do the whole process again to work up to their biggest one. maybe that's too much. but you also have other holes they can stretch out and fuck if you're feeling adventurous.

[sordidmusings]

Well Earned Praise - Mihawk x Reader

Art by mugibara

Summary: Mihawk is a man of few words and many gestures. Lucky for him, you understand them all quite well. Lucky for you, he knows when to use those spare few words.

A/N: This is a little celebratory piece for @feral-artistry ! She's made a huge landmark in higher education recently that she's worked her ass off for and deserves all the treats and hype!! I was lucky in getting this one out for it too bless up lol I usually can only get possessed by ideas to flesh them out but being able to get them into actual words in a timely manner??? Near unheard of lol That said, it's only a ficlet but I hope you and anyone reading enjoys!!

It’s heaps of domesticity and Mihawk being what could even be called playful lol there has to be at least a tiny bit of that in there for him to have suffered Shanks for so many years so well 💀 in canon its hidden in stuff like him calling Zoro a rabbit - like you can’t tell me he doesn’t also say that shit to amuse himself on top of belittling opponents

Word Count: ~2.1 k

Warnings: gn!reader, straight up fluff, banter, Mihawk being the Most Obvious in his own way, favoritism, Perona and Zoro are there too, you have a place in all their hearts, found family undertone, family dinner with the edgelords, Mihawk being supportive of your accomplishments in a hopefully in character manner lol

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“And what has you so happy?” Mihawk drawls. 

You’ve barely set foot in the kitchen by the time the question leaves him. Your bright mood from your recent accomplishment is undoubtedly buzzing from you and likely tripped off his haki. Or at least you’d write it off as that if you hadn’t been speaking about it coming up the past few weeks.

Despite his prodding tone, you know that’s just his normal voice and not his grumpy one from all your time living at Kuraigana. There’s also a lack of the miniscule brow or eye twitch that usually precedes The Grumpy Voice. Instead his face is its usual stony facade, looking much too brooding in contrast to the apron Perona had complained him into. It lacks any of the color or frills she wished, but you are sure with enough prodding she will one day get one or the other on your dour host. The one thing that truly binds you all together at Kuraigana is an innate persistence (easily gaining the name “stubbornness” when not in your favor). It is a formidable weapon you wield both for and against each other. Usually against, but that ratio is growing more favorable by the day. Luckily its bad run is mostly in bickering and banter, not actual harm.

“I know you’re getting old, but I didn’t know your memory was already going,” you goad, walking to join him at the prep table at the far end of the kitchen.

“I don’t make the effort to remember the chirping of birds,” he responds blandly, disproving his statement by alluding to the fact that he listened to your frequent gushing about it to Perona. All the while, he continues chopping vegetables with insane speed and accuracy. It will always amuse you to see the world’s greatest swordsman use those skills to harvest and chop veggies. His choice on which you’re starting to recognize as the mix to make your favorite meal.

“Uhuh,” you reply, obviously incredulous. “I suppose you don’t have much room in that head of yours for anything besides swords play.”

“It’s dangerous to insult the one handling your food you know,” he warns with the barest hint of humor warming his low voice.

“This cook wouldn’t stoop to poisons,” you assure him, “though I will need to watch my back during sparring.”

“If you’ve actually taken to my lessons, you’d know to do that anyway,” Mihawk chastises with narrowed eyes. You chuckle at his predictability - always so prickly if he felt you weren’t taking your crafts seriously.

“We both know I’d be dead if I didn’t,” you point out. The silence, save for the steady thumping of knife on cutting board, is his begrudging agreement. 

That silence quickly turns comfortable, its ease built on a few hundred hours of peaceful companionable silence that you’ve shared. Mostly they were filled with quiet sips of wine, rustling pages, crackling logs, and calm music. Your favorite is when the sweet serenade of the night’s bugs leaks in the cracked windows, heralded by a cool breeze playing with the curtains. A few hundred more hours spent in travel and training built quite the familiarity and warmed your heart from simple attraction to true affection for this untouchable man.

That affection only makes you treasure these moments more. Seeing him in an apron performing a homemaker’s duties isn’t only amusing; there’s a twinge of vulnerability to it. This man, who is an embodiment of death collecting its due for most, is comfortable with you seeing such human pieces of himself. He’s connected with you and your housemates enough to let you each have your mark on him in subtle ways. There is proof enough of it in this kitchen - now always well stocked with sake and sweets, the allowance of a few cutesy mugs ready for use, fresh eggs from the chickens he’d gotten for convenience and definitely not because of your love of animals. (You hadn’t broken him on goats yet but you were far from giving up on that one).

Your thoughts are interrupted by him breaking the hypnotizing motion of his knife to back away from the counter.

“I need to stop in the garden,” Mihawk explains. He casts a pointed gaze at you on his exit. “Don’t go in the fridge.”

The moment he’s taken his exit, you disobey the order. More like a poorly veiled hint. The bright lights of the fridge spotlight quite the treat for you. There’s a menagerie of desserts taking up the top shelf, everything from macaroons to tiramisu to cheesecake to fruit tarts. The colorful display almost kept you from noticing the restock of your drawers of charcuterie below. He really spared no expense; rare cured meats and exotic cheeses were huddled around a large supply of all your favorites, a variety of mustards, jams, and preserves in cute little jars tucked neatly to one side. You can’t help how gooey the gesture makes your heart and how that feeling’s definitely still going to be all over your face when he gets back.

Accepting that fate, you don’t even try to hide it when he comes back through the door with fresh herbs in hand. Mihawk goes through the motions of wiping off his boots and making his way back, all nonchalant confidence, until he looks at you and is struck frozen. He stands and holds your loving gaze for a long stretch of breaths. He’s the first to break your eye contact, looking the closest to unsure that you’ve ever seen him. His face would never tell, but his shoulders curl just a bit up and forward before you see him shove them back into their usual sure posture.

You think he’s going to leave the whole thing unacknowledged, as he’s wont to do with your increasingly common Moments. He shatters that thought when he lays a hand on your arm as he passes, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth from his large palm leaves a lasting impression on you. The ravenously yearning part of you - the one you try to keep settled - begins telling you how deliciously warm he must run, how he must be the perfect spot for a nap, how those warm hands would feel easing your muscles, how they would feel-

“Managing to get lost while standing still? Should I worry about that with you too?” Mihawk teases. It’s quite impressive how droll he can be when he lets himself.

“If I say yes, does that mean I’m free of being his human compass?” you joke.

“Only until it’s time to be rid of you both,” he answers easily.

“What?” you ask in mock offense. “No send off party? No tearful goodbyes? And here I thought you were the sentimental type.”

“Obviously,” he agrees, gifting you the first tiny, crooked smile of the night.

Wanting to end on a high note, you let the conversation go and instead focus on trying to find ways to help. It goes poorly. Every task you make for is suddenly already being done by Mihawk, or he’s suddenly blocking you from the means to start. Many an ingredient is intercepted, dish grabbed first, or scraps thrown to trash and compost. The absurd game of keep away it makes is funny to you at first but soon becomes frustrating.

“You’re treating me like an invalid,” you huff.

“I didn’t know you were so fond of labor,” Mihawk drawls. Sly eyes slide your way. “Should I put you back on prepping the new beds?”

“No,” you answer quickly. The new garden spot was chosen for convenient location not ease of creation; the ground was mostly clay and full of rocks with the top carpeted thick with sod and weeds. It would have to be cleared off, rocks dug out, manure and sand and peat moss shoveled in, then all mixed thoroughly to break up the clay. It was grueling work. It was Zoro work.

Mihawk goes back to his cooking with an air of satisfaction. You settle for watching and stealing bites to eat from the food he’s making. He pretends to be annoyed. It lets you both play a new game of keep away where you try to sneak and snatch and he tries to swat you away, usually without even taking his eyes off his task. This continues until the meal is nearly done, when he sends you off to your room to “look proper for a nice meal”. You pretend to be offended but he doesn’t buy it.

You don’t want to spend long getting ready, much more set on spending time with the others, but you also didn’t want to let an excuse to dress up go to waste. By the time you’re headed to the usual dining room, you’re layered in expensive fabric with a fresh face and freshly styled hair.

Mihawk is awaiting you at the grand doors, unfortunately lacking that apron. Instead you get him in a flowing shirt, textured in subtle filigree the same deep red as the whole. It is, of course, open to show off his Kogatana and the sun-kissed skin it rests on. As you get closer, you notice his pants are tailored slacks and his boots have been replaced with dress shoes you wouldn’t have even guessed he owned. Not for a lack of class or style, but for a lack of people and occasions he’d deem worthy of the effort. 

You feel almost silly thinking he’s going through all this effort for you but there’s no other explanation. When you stop next to him, you could swear that even his beard is freshly oiled and combed. You’re too lost in your appraisal of him to notice how his own heated eyes are roving over you. You catch them for a brief moment before they fix to your face. To interrupt the loving taunt about to move your tongue, Mihawk holds the door open for you and gestures you inside.

Zoro and Perona are sat at the table behind pristine place settings. They haven’t even noticed the sound of your entrance over their own bickering. Perona always looks dolled up, but there’s something a little extra in the detail of her makeup and not a single hair on her head is out of place. What’s much more surprising than her is that Zoro looks all cleaned up. He’s still in his usual style but not a speck of dirt is on the clothes and his hair looks slightly damp from a recent shower. It’s hard not to laugh at the idea of Mihawk commanding him to bathe like one would a defiant child and Perona having to throw him in the bath like he’s a hissing cat.

Before you move to join them, Mihawk’s hands catch your shoulders. Their capability for gentleness will always amaze you, and this caress to halt you is no exception. His thumbs swipe across your skin a few times, seeming to relish the motion, before he leans forward. There’s a moment where his cheek brushes the crown of your head before his breath floats over your ear and neck, raising goosebumps over your skin. His lips, surprisingly soft, tickle the tip of your ear as he whispers to you. The words strike you and leave you frozen even as he brushes past you towards the table, leaving the scent of spiced cologne in his wake.

Your housemates finally notice you and both send toothy smiles and celebratory cheers your way. You feel almost bad that you have to shake yourself off to match their energy. Once you get close to the table, Zoro is trying to convince you to share his best sake with him while Perona tells you that’s dumb and you should instead focus on looking through the gifts she’s gotten you. You only laugh as dark fabric and frilly stuffies are shoved your way to intercept the persistent attempts to place an o-choko by your plate. 

Mihawk sighs at the commotion, muttering something about wanting a peaceful dinner for you as he pulls out your chair. His grumbling is undercut by the softness easing the lines from his face. When you meet his eyes as he pushes your chair in, you notice the usually violent amber of them has darkened to flowing honey. His words ring in your head loudly again, causing a loving smile to warm your face. He answers with a brief smile of his own, the smallest curl of his lips and crinkle of his eyes, but it's enough to set your heart racing. It pumps electricity through you, tingling your fingertips and sending his words to spin even faster in your head. Even when your heart calms and is instead made full from loving company, you hold the sound of his voice in your mind.

It’s the first time you’ve heard the words from him, and now that you know their sweetness, you’ll chase that high in all your endeavors.

“I’m proud of you.”

[jacaerysgf]

Sneaking around | 2

Summary: You had thought you finally managed to repair things between you and jacaerys but he seems to have begun avoiding you again and you begin to think the worst, as your wedding approaches you decide to confront him once more.

w.c: 1.9k

c.w: porn with (minor) plot, oral (m!receiving), p in v, jacaerys is a big idiot again, two idiots in love, misunderstandings, not proofread

a.n: masterlist for context ! hope you guys enjoy <3

dedicated to my lovelie mootie @aegonswife <3

in the beginning you had though you were imagining things. maybe you were just so busy with wedding prep and were so busy and were just making it up. but after two weeks you had realized that it was true. jacaerys was once again dodging you at all costs.

it was not as drastic as it used to be but you can still tell. he says hello to you but quickly makes up some excuse to be excused, he will sit next to you during dinner but will engage in conversation with anyone but you. at first you didn't notice since you and your mother had begin to prepare for the wedding, it started to dawn on you when your mother expressed that she was meeting with jacaerys at a different time other than you for wedding prep.

“he does not wish to join us now?” she could hear the frustration in your voice and sighs rubbing her forehead, “he says it would be easier to meet apart as this is when he likes to train, i had told him we could move the time but-” “he does not wish to see me.” you look down at the ground in frustration and you hear your mother sigh as she walks closer to you and places her hands on your face gently lifting you up to look at her, “he is just scared my dear i know it, you should just ask him.” “but how am i to ask if he avoids me?”

“how did you get him to talk to you last time?”

it is once again dead in the night as you wrap yourself in a familiar cloak and quietly leave you room and head back down the familiar path to his room. you are not as scared as you had been last time. you don't march with a sense of desire in your steps, instead you are angry. you knock on his door harshly this time not caring for making too much noise.

the door opens to a shocked jacaerys who looks at you alarmed, “sister did you need something,,,” his words trail off as you push past him into his room and cross your arms staring daggers at him. “you are ignoring me.”

he pauses for a moment, fiddling around with the quill in his hand. despite your anger your eyes linger down to admire him and notice the spots of dark ink stained into the long flowy white shirt he was wearing. your eyes drift towards his desk where he must have been just sitting at littered with papers, some crumpled and some full but your eyes couldn't make out what they say. he clearly notices where you’re looking and swiftly moves to stand in front of the desk blocking the letters from your view. “i have been busy-” “but you do not wish to plan our wedding with me?” “that is when i train dear sister,” “ah yes mother mentioned that, and she also mentioned that she suggested to switch the meetings to a different time and you said no.” he looks down in defeat and you scoff at his lack of response.

“i had thought you were better than most men but it seems once you had me you want nothing to do with me.” you turn around and wrap your arms around yourself as you finally let your tears of frustration run down your face.

some beats of silence pass with the only sounds being your sniffling, for a moment you even fear he’s left the room but you soon feel his hands wrap around you and his head presses into your shoulder. “sorry is not enough, begging for your forgiveness is not enough it is all my fault, but you must understand there is no universe in which i want nothing to do with you my heart you mean more to me than anything.”

you press your head against his and you feel his arms grow tighter around you reveling in his touch. “i just wish to understand you.” he presses a kiss into your neck and sighs, “i have been nothing but a fool, out of my own tasteless fear i have once again drove an unnecessary wedge between you and i.” you manage to twist yourself in his grasp to look at him, “fear?” he hums cupping your face in his hands and presses his forehead against yours, “i feared that should i spend too much time with you, i would lose my self.” you pull away and give him a confused look, “whatever are you talking about?” a bright red flush covers his face as he turns away from you before he speaks, “i desire you far too greatly that i fear i cannot control myself around you.”

Ah.

An embarrassed heat flushes you as you take notice of him poking against you and you push your head into his neck, “Jace,,” “it is because i am so weak minded i cannot even act like a proper gentleman-” “Jace,,,” “i am sorry i should grovel at your feet and punish myself-” “jacaerys!” you pull away from him and shake his shoulders lightly and he looks at you alarmed. you have a smile on your face and let out a light laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation cupping his cheeks and pulling him close and give him a peck. “i am just happy my future husband desires me.”

The look in his eye completely changes when he hears you call him husband and his hands quickly move to the back of your head to bring you into a heated kiss. due to the very sudden action you gasp and he uses that opportunity to push his tongue in your move and pull you even closer to him. your hands grip the back of his head and tug on his hair to pull him away from you, his dark eyes stared at you laced with desire and need.

“Allow me to please you this time husband.” he groans as you drop down to your knees and begin to work through unlacing his pants, “you do not have to-” “i want to.” his pants hit the floor with a light thud and you grip him in your hands and press kisses up and down him. he throws his head back and lets out a strained moan as he grips your head. “my love,,” you lick and suck at his bright pink tip as he continues to wither above you. for a moment you think about the irony of it all, a future king, your future king, completely bewitched by you at your complete mercy, “please do not tease me my love.”

your inexperience shows its head as you try you best to put him all in your throat but are unable to left to simply stroke anything left. he definitely doesn’t mind as his knees almost buckle and the grip on your head grows tighter, he is a very vocal man endless praise falls easily from his lips occasionally getting chocked up by his own moans and groans. “i love you, how are you so good at this?” you let go of him with a pop and give him a smile, “i guess i just imagined this far too often as one would say.” he if realizes your mirroring his own words he does not say as much, well he doesn’t say much of anything completely lost in his own pleasure.

You too also get lost in your own pleasure. you can feel your own wetness soaking your thighs, if your hands were not stuck on him you would have brought them down to begin to play with yourself. He suddenly pulls you off him and drops to his knees, “did i do something wrong?” he quickly shakes his head and kisses you. “i simply have somewhere else i wish to spend my seed.”

he leans you on your back and hovers above you his hands eagerly pulling up your night gown leaving you exposed to him. “i would take my time with you my love but i fear i have lost all sense of control to you.” he rubs his dick against your folds soaking himself in your wetness and you push your head into his neck gripping his arms, “please please husband.”

He quickly pushes himself into you and groans in your ear, “gods you’re so amazing my love.” unlike the first time where he had started out rather slow he seems to be desperate today quickly rutting himself against you. You certainly have no reason to complain and let him have his way with you. it was odd to see the usually very composed prince seem to lose all sense of composure, acting not of a prince but like an animal, if anybody were to walk in on the two of you now it would certainly be a show.

“tell me you are close my love please.” you nod your head and he brings his hand down to play with your clit, “please please come my beautiful wife and i will spend myself in you please.” he quickly manages to bring you to your release, shaking and bringing your hands to his head and kissing him as he comes inside you.

the two of you stay still for awhile the only sounds in the room being your pants and his heaving. he slides out of you and you let out a hiss he follows with a quiet apology and lefts you up bridal style and carries you to the bed lightly placing you down before he moves to take the place next to you.

for awhile no words are exchanged between you, you lay your head on his chest playing with the fabric while you cannot seem to drop the smile from you face. he makes you so happy you can barely believe you had been mad at him in the first place. you look back at his desk and remember all the letters on it. “jacaerys?” he softly hums in acknowledgement, his hand lightly tracing your back. “what are those letters on your desk?” he freezes and brings his other hand up to his mouth to let out an embarrassed cough, you can feel the skin you’re laying on heat up. “they are vows i plan to make to you during our wedding, i am struggling a bit,,” he trails off embarrassed and you sit up to look at him, “vows?”

he scratches his neck as he gives you a strained smile, “i wish to express my love to you with words but i am struggling to put them on paper for i love you too greatly.” your heart swells and you lean down to give him a peck not pulling too far away from him before you speak. “i love it.” “you do not even know what it says.”

“i love anything you make, because i love you.”

[ohbo-ohno]

somno with Johnny bc I think once he’s home and realizes he’s safe, the man sleeps like a rock.

Starting off simple with blowjobs where he wakes up with a groan and a sleepy smile, to then pushing to see how far you can get, either riding him or prepping him enough to fuck him.

I think he also gets grumpy if he has a deep sleep and doesn’t wake up to you having your way with him. mans a slut and wants to be wanted

johnny coming home for the first time in months and being cranky as hell when he doesn't wake up the next day with his dick in your mouth... you're a genius.............

((i have a little horny johnny just-coming-home fic here :)))

im DYING on the hill of "canon johnny mactavish will damn near fuck you unconscious his first night home". i don't think anyone would fight me on it, but i'm on the hill anyway. that man could jack off to pictures of you three times a day while deployed and still be a man possessed when he sees you for the first time again. you're lucky if he keeps his dick in his pants long enough for you make it out of the airport parking lot

you riding johnny in the morning, thinking that surely with how strict his schedule is in the military & Good Sex he'll wake up before he gets off, but he somehow - somehow - sleeps through his own orgasm. he wakes up like 5 minutes later and pouts all day, even after you let him bend you over the bed

waking johnny up with a blowjob but he only actually fully wakes up when you stick a finger inside of him. he moans before he realizes what you're doing, then nearly fucking yelps. he is very offended when you laugh at him, and your lazy morning blowjob turns very quickly into a thorough throat-fucking

(btw, never put anything of yours near that man's ass if you're not comfortable with rimming him. the second he realizes that he can get pleasure from you touching him there, he's practically begging for you to stick your tongue inside of him)

grinding on johnny's abs before he's awake because you're so horny but don't really want to ride him. you only realize he's awake when out of nowhere he grabs you by the hips and all but throws you onto his face, licking up into your cunt with a sort of sleepy insistence

[artssslut2]

Champ

Summary: Arts wife goes into labor during one of his most important matches and Patrick is caught in the middle.

Art Donaldson x Reader

Okay it’s a little long but I like the way it turned out! Please send requests in!

It was July, it was hot and you were heavily pregnant. The combo did not go well, you were so uncomfortable and anyone around you longer than ten minutes knew it especially Art. Art felt terrible he didn’t know how to help, you were so irritated most of the times he felt like it was his fault. But if he acted like it was his fault you would cry and think your a bad wife so he just kept to himself and did the best he could, doing whatever he could for you.

You and Art had been back at home for a few months and were able to get the nursery all set up and were ready to welcome your baby girl. However Art had one last match before you planned to give birth. The U.S open. Luckily it was right by your house this year so you didn’t have to travel. You were doing your best to support his prep but you were kind of pre occupied.

It was the day before the match, Art was off because he always took the day off before a match to rest and reset,

“Can I get you anything babe?” Art asked you standing up from the outdoor lounge bed. It was a painfully hot day and your air conditioning had broke in your house so you and Art were outside relaxing

“No Art sit down. I should be getting you stuff you have the most important-“ Art cut you off while you tried sitting up

“Hey hey stop, it’s okay just relax, you have something big coming up too so let me take care of you” he said making you lay back down

“Art I’m such a bad wife” you started to cry, you felt pathetic, Art knew the drill

“Baby stop your the greatest wife you know that” Art knew what would make you feel better even if it would make him feel worse “can you… get me some water?” He offered more for you than him. You stopped crying and started to stand up and grab his some water,

“It is so fucking hot!” You yelled aggressively handing your husband your water, “I just need this baby to get the fuck out! My back hurts my feet hurt I’m huge and it’s so fucking hot!” You continued on your hormonal rampage Art stood up letting you finish which he learned was best. He walked up to you and wrapped His arms around you, you slowly gave in Art waited a minute before saying soemthing

“You know it’s so amazing what your doing for our little girl, I’m sorry it’s so hot out. But it two weeks we will get to see Lily, and hold her and I will never let her forget all that you did to bring her into the world.” He softly told you. You loved him so much he always knew what to do

“ I love you Art. thank you I’m sorry I’m such a wreck.” You said into his chest

“You’re allowed to be my love… want me to give you a back massage?” He offered, you just looked up at him smiling already going inside.

“I’ll text Patrick and tell him to bring over all of his fans.” Art said picking up his phone

The rest of the night you spent relaxing as did Art, doing some minor prep things for his huge match tomorrow. You knew he was nervous this is the first open of his career. Patrick had brought over four fans which helped but not much.

Throughout the night you couldn’t sleep which wasn’t unusual for you lately but this was different you were having some pain in your stomach and back. You have had Braxton hicks before but these felt different, you were pretty sure they were real contractions. This couldn’t be happening not now before your husbands big match. You tried to stay calm mabye it would pass and you were just over reacting. You decided not to say anything to Art, he needed to focus. If he knew that anything was wrong he would not play as well. Besides the contraction we’re very far apart and not frequent enough to worry anyways.

You picked out Arts outfit like you always did. Art was leaving before you to warm up and get ready.

“Patrick is gonna pick up in a half an hour, I don’t want you to have to drive right now” he told you, you rolled your eyes playfully at his over protectiveness. You may have protested but you didn’t think it was a good idea to drive either.

“Go get ‘em champ” you whispered before kissing him with your arms around his shoulders, he gave you a nervous smile then leaned down to your bump

“Hey Lily girl wish your daddy luck today, okay?“ he kissed your belly making you smile, she definitely was wishing him luck. Art kissed you once more before leaving. You finished getting ready, you had only felt one contraction since he left about fifteens ago. They were starting to get more intense, you wished Art was here to support you.

Patrick came though the front door as you were leaned over clutching the counter top in the middle of a contraction.

“Fuck y/n are you okay what’s going on!?” He rushed over to you putting his hand on your back, the contraction ended after about 40 seconds

“Yeah I’m fine. I’m just… I’m fine” you stuttered. Patrick looked at you knowing you were lying. He looked terrified “I think I’m in labor” you continued. Patrick’s mouth opened wider

“Well should I call Art?!” He panicked already grabbing his phone

“No! Don’t call him!” Patrick looked at you very confused “he can’t know this is the most important match of his Career he can’t miss it or be distracted. He can’t” you had tears in your eyes because of how terrible you felt that this was happening today.

“Y/n you gotta call him it will be fine” Patrick tried convincing you

“No Patrick! It’s fine the contractions are far apart and spontaneous, it might not even be real, and if it is we’ve got a lot of time so we are going to the fucking match and we are going to support my husband and not take this away from him! So get in the damn car right now so we aren’t late!” You ordered, Patrick hesitated then decided to listen to you. You took a deep breath and headed out to the car as well.

The drive to the stadium you had one more contraction only lasting 30 seconds this made you feel better because you knew they should be one minute before thinking about going to the hospital.

You and Patrick sat in the stands, Patrick keeping a very close eye on you. He was scared shitless and it was obvious. The coin toss just happened art was serving first he saw you in the stands and gave you a smile and a quick wave. You did your best to not look freaked out.

The match was going well art won the first set and they were on to the second it had taken about an hour and you had three more contractions but they weren’t too intense. The two player just started the second set when you felt another one hit you like a train this time in your back too, you gasped grabbing Patrick’s forearm tightly. You looked at you,

“Y/n, Y/n is that another one? Y/n”

“Just shut up” you said through gritted teeth squeezing his arm so tight.

“Pat you gotta do me a favor and time them okay? How far apart they are and how long they last, please” you asked him letting go of his arm.

“Of course. But we really gotta go I think we should at least tell someone on Arts team or-“

“No! It’s almost done he needs to win this I’m fine, my water didn’t even break yet” you interrupted him trying to believe your own words, but as the day progresses you started to panic more. You knew it was the real thing now.

It had only been about an hour but it felt like a lifetime. Art lost the second set so now they had to play a third. Contractions had really started to pick up and you didn’t know how much longer you could last.

“Y/n that’s eight minutes apart. Stop this you have to go.” Patrick told you trying to be firm

“Don’t you want him to win!?” You said in a whisper yell,

“I don’t want you to have his kid in the stands!” He whisper yelled back. A few people around you probably cougt on but you didn’t care.

“It’s almost over. Your supposed to go to the hospital at five minute and eight minutes is not five minutes Patrick” you said clearly not budging on your plan. Patrick put his head in his hands, he was a mess, sweating pale you’d think he was the one in labor.

It had been another hour and the match wasn’t over. Luckily things hadn’t progressed to much probably because you were just sitting this whole time. Contractions were six minutes apart. You were in so much pain you couldn’t believe it. You were trying to hide it from everyone but it was becoming harder. Patrick was bouncing his leg nervously and it was driving you insane.

“Patrick stop.” You said glaring at him

“I’m nervous okay. This is crazy”

“I know it is. But can you just stop being so annoying because I’m nervous too. I’m about to give birth on live television at my husbands tennis match.” You told him, he looked at you realizing he should stop being a baby

“You’re right y/n I’m sorry. It shouldn’t be too much longer now. Can I get you anything a water?” He offered putting his hand on your knee.

“Yes please thank you” you patted his hand but before he could stand up the crowd went wild. To be honest you or Patrick weren’t paying attention to the match at all. You looked down at the court. Art had won. You totally forgot about how much pain you were in for a second seeing the confetti fall down to the courts

“Oh my god Patrick!” You smiled Pulling Patrick in for a hug

“He won he fucking won! He’s won the US open!” Patrick cheered, everything felt unreal until another contraction came crashing through ruining the moment

“Fuck Patrick get Art we gotta go now” you said clutching him to help keep you standing, he held you up until it was over

“Okay I’m going just hold on” he said helping you sit down, Patrick ran down the stairs leaning over the edge to motion art towards him art had just finished shaking his opponents hand than ran over to him while simultaneously looking for you in the crowd. You couldn’t hear what Patrick said you just saw arts face go into shock as he was frozen then Patrick hit his arm and art leaped over the bar into the stands. People were still cheering like crazy. Art found you in the stands and bolted towards you kneeling in front of where you were sitting

“Hey baby what’s going on?” Art said out of breath and panicked

“I’m definitely having this baby now” you said feeling another contraction come on Patrick was right behind Art. Now the three of you had caught some attention. Art looked shocked and confused

“Oh my good um okay I’ll- i um- I don’t hav e my car here fuck” Art stuttered looking like a mess still sweaty from his match and in shock that he’s about to have a baby

“We can take mine come on!” Patrick said both boys helped you up out of the seat. The crowd was still cheering and arts coach’s and team were looking for him, he would explain later. He didn’t care about giving a speech or doing interviews or any of that all he cared about was you.

You all piled into the car after making your way through all the people, people were shouting at Art cheering for him asking for autographs but be totally blocked it all out. Art sat in the back you were in the front,

“How long have your been in labor?” He asked leaning over the seat from the middle

“Since this morning, we’ll kind of last night” you admitted feeling guilty all of the sudden

“What!? Why didn’t you tell me y/n!?”

“I couldnt! You had to play, you couldn’t miss this match Art!”

“Well I can’t miss the birth of our child either!”

“Well you didn’t! And I knew if you knew I was having contractions you wouldn’t play as well, and I haven’t had her yet and you won so we are all winners!”

“Guys! Mabye you should focus on the big picture?” Patrick shouted interrupting you and arts disagreement

“Your right I’m sorry baby, I’m just surprised. Are you okay how do you feel?” Art asked shifting to a calming compassionate tone that instantly made you feel more comfortable.

“I’ve been better. I’m just happy you’re here now. I was starting to freak out I thought the match would never end” you reached grabbing his hand looking back at him he looked at you and smiled

“We’re having a baby y/n” he laughed kissing you. Just then you felt something pop, your legs became wet. Fuck.

“Shit I think my water just broke” you cursed looking at Art terrified, you saw Patrick grimace probably worried about his car seat

“Uh um. It’s okay baby we’re almost there just take deep breaths” Art said stroking your arm. Art was terrified but he knew you were too. He didn’t have time to freak out and he needed to be there for you in case you freaked out.

“Fuck I’m scared Art.” You whimpered you hadn’t even realized how scared you were because you were so focused on trying to get through the match.

“I know. Me too. But your already doing so great. I can’t believe you were doing this all alone”

“I mean I was there too” Patrick chimed in but you both ignored him

“Your gonna be such a good mom y/n I’m so proud of you my love” you spoke softly cupping your face. Another contraction ripped through you the worst one you’ve had yet you let out a gutteral moan grabbing Arts hand, you could hardly breath. You couldn’t talk through it, it was much more intense now.

“Patrick how far away are we?” Art asked trying to stay calm

“ like ten minutes but we’re stuck in traffic so I don’t know” he said also trying to stay calm

“I don’t want to have a baby in Patrick’s car” you cried as you felt the contraction coming to an end

“You’re not baby it’s okay we will be there soon” Art reassured but was terrified you might actually have a baby in his best friends car.

You had been sitting traffic for ten minutes and your contractions were now four minutes apart. You were arched off the seat grabbing your stomach trying to get through the contraction, Art looked like he was about to cry from seeing you in so much pain. Patrick looked angry that there was so much traffic.

“Your doing so good y/n/n, just keep breathing okay?” He said stroking your hair.

“Art what do we do?” You asked scared that the traffic wouldn’t let up

“We um we-“

“Finally!” Patrick yelled seeing the traffic break. Everyone sighed with relief.

You had finally made it to the hospital and were settled in a room laying down with Art kneeling by your head stroking your hair. Art sent Patrick back to let his team know why he left and make sure everything was okay. Your labor seemed to be at a stand still, no progress had been made since you arrived.

“Hey I never told you how proud I was of you champ.” You said facing your husband smiling putting a hand on his face

“Well you were kind of busy” he laughed kissing your nose

“Sorry we couldn’t celebrate”

“This is a pretty good way to celebrate are you kidding?” He chuckled

“We’re gonna be parents. Like tonight” you whispered sweetly to him he had tears in his eyes

“Thank you for going through this all baby I owe you everything” he kissed you.

It had been another hour. Very little progress had been made you were so frustrated and just wanted to get your baby girl out and hold her. They suggested walking around to help move the process along which was the last thing you wanted to do. But here you were walking around with Art right by your side. Another contraction came on and you helped in pain, your arms were around arts shoulders as you leaned down in pain. He held you up and swayed you back and fourth.

“I can’t do this anymore” you cried grabbing your husband for dear life.

“What can I do for you y/n how can I help you babe” he asked wholeheartedly

“Can you help me walk, I gotta hurry this up” you said breathlessly. Art came behind you and wrapped his arms under your armpits and walked with you, pretty much for you. You couldn’t ask for a better father of your child. He was the most supportive guy you’d ever seen. He would do this for hours for you.

Now you were settled back in bed exhausted. It felt like an eternity had gone by but then the nurse came in to check you.

“Alright your ready to push I’ll call the doctor in” she smiled. You were shocked and scared. You looked at Art

“What? I don’t I can’t I’m not ready I can’t-“yes you can y/n. I know you can. Your the strongest person I know you’ve made it this far I’ll be here the whole time.” He instructed you. You looked up at him with tears nodding.

It had been half an hour and you were still pushing not making much progress. Everyone could tell you were exhausted.

“Y/n cmon you have to push harder we gotta get this baby out” the doctor said

“I can’t … I can’t do it anymore” you cried feeling lifeless. Art didn’t say anything he just climbed in bed behind you and straddled you holding you up with his body.

“Now y/n push” the doctor told you again

“Baby look at me just look at me. You can do it only a few more than you’ll be able to hold Lily. Okay? You got this champ” he told you tears in his eyes too. You let your head fall back on his shoulder as you screamed in pain pushing as hard as you could. Art was holding you legs back with his arms around you.

“Good good, just one more y/n” the doctor told you

“Your doing so good darling just one more” art was in tears you couldn’t see but you knew. You have one more push before hearing a very loud cry

“Oh my god” you cried as they Laid your daughter on your chest

“Congratulations you have a little girl. “ the doctor smiled. Art was speechless and balling, he couldn’t believe his baby was here he was holding the love of his life who was holding the other love of his life that you two created together, it was a perfect moment.

“We gotta have more Art she’s so cute” you said crying harder every second, everyone in the room laughed,

“I can’t believe it y/n. Thank you so much thank you so so much” he said crying into your hair. He reached his arm around to the baby who grabbed his finger with her tiny hand. You both cried with joy

“Oh my god look at her fingernails” Art said still in disbelief “there so tiny”

“Art we have a daughter” you said to him as he kissed your cheek multiple times

“Does she have a name?” The doctor asked

“Lily” you both said at the same time smiling. You and Art decided on her middle name a few weeks ago

“Hi Lily Jane” you whispered kissing her head. You were so content with your family. All the pain and tears were 100% worth it.

Later on that night Lily was cleaned and wrapped up in a cute little blanket with a hat on in her dads arms next to the hospital bed asleep. Art was smiling down at her still teary eyed. After examining all your babies features you decided she was a clone of her father. She had your lips but his everything else. Even a little speck of brown in her blue eyes that made your heart swell. You had never been more tired but you also had never been happier.

“She’s so beautiful” Art whispered trying not to wake her up “I could look at her for hours.” He smiled

“She looks just like you baby” you told him, he looked at you then her and smiled

“ I don’t know I see you a lot in her too” he told you. Just then you heard a knock at the door and saw Patrick’s head poke through, he was carrying the trophy Art had won

“Hey I thought I’d bring this by” he said quietly “is now a good time?” He asked softly, you nodded and he came into the room

“Wow.” He said carefully walking over to Art staring at the baby in his arms “She’s uh wow she’s-“

“I know.” You finished knowing his was mezmorized by his niece.

“I’m so proud of you guys” he said speaking from the heart

“You wanna hold her?” Art looked up at his best friend

“Oh I don’t know she looks pretty comfortable”

“Oh come on she’s gotta meet her uncle.” Art said standing up and handing him the tiny baby. Patrick took a deep breath staring at her

“Jesus Art she’s your twin” he laughed “Let’s hope she doesn’t get your ears” he teased

“Yeah Pat your one to talk” he he teased back.

Patrick didn’t stay long it was getting pretty late. You and Art decided to announce it on his social media to fill everyone in on why he rushed out of there after winning. He posted a picture you took of him holding Lily in one arm and his trophy from that day in the other. He captioned the picture with

@ArtDondson:

I didn’t think my day could get any better… but it did. Welcome to the world sweet Lily Jane, she’s already our little champ🤍

Of course the post blew up and many people commented and reporters contacted him but he ignored it. At least for now. He had never been so happy with his life than in this moment. This day would go down in history for the Donaldson family.

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 3RD MEAN GIRLS ━━ katsuki bakugou + free use !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. katsuki bakugou + free use. on october third, he asked you what day it was. btw, in girl world, halloween is the only time of the year when katsuki bakugou can slut girls out and no one can say anything about it. boo, you whore! (4.9K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, college!au, free use, dub-con, cum-play, voyeurism, humiliation, manipulation, dacryphilia, no prep, public sex(ish), unprotected sex, suprise guest appearance from shouto as aaron samuels, fem!reader, reigina george coded!bakugou.

୨୧ — director’s note. "it's october third." and you know what that means! another nasty kinktober fic for you all! i hope you enjoy this one, its probably my favourite...because uh hello!? reigina george and bakugou? name a more iconic duo! anyways enjoy mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

halloween is the only time of the year where anyone can dress like a slut and not get called one for it. 

in the world of the conventionally attractive (or the plastics), the kings and queens of the social jungle, it means ditching the guts and gore in favour of skin tight lingerie with a little fake blood that drips calculatedly through the valley between your breasts — just for a little bit of added attention. it’s the one night of the year where self-objectification becomes acceptable, and you by all means, were not planning on missing out.

for you, a well spent Halloween consisted of tooth rotting candy corn, bad movies and trying to avoid the feeling of fomo (fear of missing out, fyi) building up like fluid in the lungs of a sick person. you’ve been an a-grade loser all your life and you’ve never had the chance to experience a proper friend group, high school, (and now) college experience. 

however this year would be different. this year you would be ditching loser-ville for boobs and bunny ears and the shortest dress you could find. because you finally had a friendship group who did these kinds of things and you had an invite to the biggest festive rager hosted by the hottest guy on campus — shouto todoroki. 

the rest of your friend group, the college renowned plastics, had warned you not to get involved with the half and half campus jock. he already had relations to your beloved ring leader, katsuki bakugou, and your involvement would be breaking several laws of girl and guy code — according to dumb blonde kaminari (he swears he has ESPN or something). katsuki was the head of U.A. university, ruling over the entire student body with an iron fist, an attitude so mean you’re sure you’ve seen professors cry and a glare so sinister he could turn milk sour if he tried hard enough. 

bakugou was the definition of the picture perfect guy and he knew it. it was almost as if his face had been ripped straight from a vogue magazine, his shoulders broad, waist slutty and tiny, abs to die for too — you’d be a liar to say you hadn’t thought about him a few times before bed. katsuki was a king bee (if bees could even have kings) and you were a nobody lucky enough to have been indoctrinated into his group of flawless friends — taken under the guidance of his wing. 

your own friends had told you not to fall for the glitz and the glamour that seemed to follow the barbie blonde everywhere he went. but you couldn’t help it, you were enamoured by everything that katsuki did — turned a blind eye to his bitchy persona and twisted mindset. you hardly believed the rumours about him, blissfully ignoring the truth behind the gossip because katsuki was nice to you. just the other night he had been kind enough to offer his help in setting you up with shouto. even if kirishima had tattle told on you.

regardless, katsuki had your back — you knew that. he was even talking to shouto right now, admist the full swing of the halloween party. how could anyone ever hate bakugou? he was so kind, so considerate, treating you like family from the moment you got here. you see shouto look your way fondly as they chatter about you, his lips curling perfectly around your name while he sends you a wave that makes you feel like the only girl in the world. 

“she likes you, yanno.” the shorter blonde purrs, the corner of his perfectly plump lips twitching up into a knowing grin. he says your name, glowering at the way his ex perks up at the mention. 

shouto blinks slow, mismatched eyes filling with affection the longer he looks at you awkwardly swaying to music you’ve never heard before. “yeah? she does?” 

“it’s adorable, really. she writes your fuckin’ name in the corner of her notes with little hearts. even has the name of your future brats written in a cute little list.” the lie slips from bakugou easily, as if manipulating people is second nature to him.

“don’t bother with that, katsuki.” 

when todoroki’s gaze on you lingers for too long, he kicks it up a notch pressing the head of his body into his ex’s side. “listen, half ‘n half,” with his eyes dark and sensual, the blonde allows his voice to slip into deeper, more mocking tones — playing up this innocent act. one that shouto falls for every time. “i know that she can be a little fuckin’ weird but, she’s my friend…so be nice, yeah?”

men are such fickle creatures — for all it takes is a pair of sweltering, red puppy dog eyes to drag the jock under his spell. shouto nods slowly, his own topaz and granite eyes glossing over with some form of obedience, a loyalty to bakugou that no one else would understand. “yeah, alright.” 

“good,” bakugou purrs, the sound causing his brain to short circuit. “such’a good friend, half ‘n half.” the tail end of his words are replaced by the sloppy sound effect of his lips on shouto’s, tongues beginning to clash and hands possessively gripping waists. 

your rose-tinted window shatters at the sight. 

background conversation falls away as your friend and your crush begin to make out right in front of your fucking eyes. “you know who’s  looking fine tonight, neito monoma.” kaminari squeals, shimmying in his little mouse costume. 

“denki, that’s your cousin.” kirishima frowns. 

the blonde shrugs. “yeah! but he’s my first cousin…that’s not right is it,” 

you don’t have time to dwell on their chit chat — you feel like someone has thrown your entire body  out of whack. you feel like you’re drowning as the realisation hits, katsuki bakugou doesn’t give a shit about you or your feelings. storming away from the scene, you make for the nearest bedroom, hurt and confusion swirling around in the tightness of your chest.

“what are you doin’ in here sweetness? ‘minari and kirishima have been looking everywhere for ya.”

you’re still crying like a sore loser when the king of the plastics finds you hauled up in one of shouto’s many rooms. and you hate that it’s katsuki who’s come to comfort you, sitting beside you on the queen sized bed as his hand slips over your bare thigh.  

but you shrug him off, barely keeping your cool. after all, you’re still mad at him for making out with your crush. “don’t touch me, katsuki.” you snarl, doing your best to sound menacing. “i saw what you did. how could you? i thought we were friends?”

he clicks his tongue, ruby red eyes rolling as if he gives a fuck. “oh, you mean that thing with icyhot?” you don’t understand how the blonde can be so nonchalant, tossing around the situation as if it weighs nothing — costing not an ounce of your feelings. “he came onto me, sweetness. i’d never do somethin’ like that to you.” 

denying katsuki bakugou is never an easy feat, he’s a man that knows where his strengths lie. in the deep timber of his rumbling voice and those eyes, with the blood lust curled around each of his pupils. katsuki is a well trained hunter, and on this occasion, you are his prey. a large hand smooths over the meaty swell of your trembling thigh, pushing the likely pair wide open for him to make room between them. “i’m a good friend, r’member?”

his hands roam your blistering hot body, gripping and grabbing at your flesh from over your costume — it feels good, you feel wanted and melt like a lump of butter in a pan at every cascading touch of his. 

you’d be smart to come to your senses, before you’re snapped up in the unrelenting jaws of a hunter. but you’re entranced by those insanely red eyes, the perfect slant to his lips and all-knowing smile — it’d be useless to escape when you’ve fallen this deep. “you’re not…” your bottom lip wobbles, the achy feeling in your chest now submissive to the liquid lust katsuki has spent months conditioning you to feel. “you’re a bad friend.” 

“d’aw…you don’t think i am?” dropping his tone into a sultry coo, bakugou leans in real close and you instinctively follow the tilt of his head. he looms over you, just enough so that you can see the smear of pink eyeshadow across his eyelids, the plasticky glisten of lip gloss masking the true colour of his plump lips, along with the spark of lust swirling through the brown flecks in his eyes.

you shake your head no. “no, you’re not.” big mistake. 

the of temperature of the room rises just from his proximity and you find yourself willing to let the king of the plastics swallow you whole. “i don’t think i like the way yer talkin’ to me, sweets.” he growls darkly and in warning. “i should make you apologise for bein’ so fuckin’ mean.” 

his breath is warm and wet against your cheek, grip rough on your waist and you can’t help but think how mean he is to you. katsuki gaslights you like it’s second nature or another one of his five senses, manipulates you with ease, putting himself on you when you know you can’t say no. because without him you would have been in social suicide, you wouldn’t have any friends, you wouldn’t have had the college experience. you would have just been ordinary.

“gimme a kiss, gorgeous.” the blonde bites down on your lower tip, tugging it away from you because he misses the metallic taste of golden blood on you — the taste of blossoming obedience in your bloodstream. 

you push back, but it’s no use — bakugou’s closing the gap before your brain can even catch up, fizzing like candied pop rocks while you sink further into debauchery. 

“c’mon…” he forces his tongue past the seams of your lips, bursting through with only the darkest of intentions. you briefly seize up, because your body knows this isn’t what you want, at least not 100%.  but katsuki knows how to work stubborn, prude little things like you — squeezing down on your waist heartily as he leads you into a stupid-drunk kiss. “that’s it, there we go…good fuckin’ girl.”

the world tilts on its axis and you grow lightheaded at the blonde’s praise — you should be mad at him for kissing your crush but at the same time, you’ve never wanted someone so bad. mewling against his watermelon and alcohol flavoured lips is like sealing your fate, giving up little pieces of yourself just to appease your ring leader.

“katsuki, i don’t—“ 

his thumb digs into your cheeks, preventing you from pulling away — not that you’d want to. wet sounds from your kisses vibrate through you and cause a twinge in the heartbeat between your thighs. “i wasn’t askin’, i was tellin’.” he grunts into your drooling mouth, wide open to echo your sweet and pliant voice. it’s with those words that you remember your place, being a plastic requires sacrifices — for you to give up pieces of yourself in order to stay by katsuki’s side. 

including letting him use your mind, body and soul freely. 

“so fuckin’ pretty when you’re obedient for me,” he’s snarls, hot under the collar and eager to steal more from you. he grins at how your eyes roll back just from a couple of half-hearted words. leaning back, katsuki shrugs off his shirt, revealing his  perfectly carved hips and washboard abs, golden skin that only the gods could have blessed him with. the sight of him is enough to make your quivering cunt deep juices into the crotch of your panties. “let’s get back at sho, huh? for playin’ us both.” 

the lines of morality and dissoluteness are often blurred when you’re with him — you become a vessel for his pleasure and you don’t even think to mind. somewhere amidst the messy, sensual lip locks bated breaths, katsuki has managed to get you onto your back and tear through your skimpy little halloween costume to suck his claim into your neck. painting you with deep mauve and midnight blue hues. his eyes dilate, roaring obsidian black taking over his mean, rage filled red eyes in a way that lets you know how bad he wants to fuck you. 

it’s when the sharp edges of his canines graze your pulse point that you remember just how much of a wild jungle college is. you remember that katsuki has the ability to make your life a living hell, the power to take a bite and rip your throat out at any second. in this world, you are nothing but a meek gazelle and katsuki bakugou the lion ready for a feast. 

irrespective of how much the very fact may frighten you, you ignore bakugou’s talons as they sink into your chest and leave indented crescent moons on against each breast. he rips apart the costume you worked so hard on and pushes your hands away from your body when you attempt to cover yourself up. so, from that moment, you let lust slither over your brain so you can arch yourself into him for more pleasure, and remind yourself that even if you're being used — it feels good. katsuki feels good. 

you like that he’s a little mean, a mean girl. all teeth and tongue and biting when he licks into you and breaks the strings of honey saliva that tie your tongue to the roof of your mouth. you love how he roughly grabs you by the meat at your hips and tugs you up to meet the grind of his cock against your underwear. you adore how he pulls the very fabric apart like they’re nothing, rolling you onto your stomach and positioning your hips in a way that makes your back arch.

you don’t even realised that bakugou has kicked off the lower part of his costume until you feel the heat of his firm thighs against the backs of your own and the sticky tap of his flushed cockhead on your ass cheeks — smearing white globs of precum over your hot skin. the blonde groans at the visible twitch of your cunt, the way it glistens and spews lightly for him. 

“oh sweetheart,” he laughs through the coagulated feeling of prurience in his throat. “so fuckin’ wet for me, hah?” he manages, spreading your ass cheeks apart hungrily, a curious finger running through your slick folds and dragging your wetness over your pulsating clit. “s’kinda embarrassing. barely even touched you.” 

the situation is embarrassing, humiliating almost and a fresh set of tears burn at your waterline — mascaras already tracking down your cheeks. you don’t fight bakugou as a muscled arm snakes it’s way around your waist and pulls you onto him until your sex is flush against bakugou’s thick cock — your hearts beating in sync, heavy breathing in tune. his dripping dick slips and slides a through your quivering pussy lips, grinding against the pulse in your clit before easing the mushroomed tip through the tight ring at your entrance. 

“f-fuck!” you squeak, a little out of turn. fuckdolls don’t talk. katsuki is quick to growl and remind you, collapsing his entire weight into your body while you take him with ease. no prep required whatsoever. there’s a delicious burn as his girth stretches you wide open and he fucks you with just the tip — a pleasing buzz layering itself over your logical thoughts. the ones that tell you this isn’t right. the ones that tell you that you’re more than just a plastic play thing. 

bakugou squeezes your hips harshly when you push back onto him, desperate to be fed more of his cock. “keep fuckin’ still, alright?” the king of the plastics rasps, taunting you as he thrusts all the way into your tight heat with no warning. you ooze at the sudden stimulation, basking in the weight of his dick against the insides of your crying cunt and fluttering walls. “sho’s gonna love this, maybe he’ll really want you then.” he continues to purr, jamming a thumb past your swollen lips to press down on your tongue. his other hand grasps at his phone once lost in the sheets, talking a picture of your teary face while you suck on his digit to soothe yourself. 

like a baby sucking on a pacifier as it cries.

sending the photo to shouto, bakugou takes a few more selfies of you like this. his favourite is the one of your face squished between his large fingers, covered in salty tears and sticky drool. “don’t cry sweets. ‘m gonna fix this, help you get together. what are friends for?” 

his voice is soft, nose nudging against your cheek in a reassuring manner. 

but it’s all too good to be true.

briefly, there’s a second where everything is calm, where the blonde lets you relax around him between gentle juts of his hips forward and affectionate kisses peppered against your skin. you should have realised that katsuki’s pleasure is always above your own. because he suddenly finds the motivation to pull out of your snug, sensual heat to pound into you properly, dragging is seedy cock along all of the spots along your ribbed walls that make you see stars. 

you feel like a pocket pussy, only one that comes with crybaby wails and pitiful hiccuped noises. it’s all music to katsuki’s ears, blending seamlessly with the intense base from the party’s music and thump of the headboard smashing against the wall all from the sheer force of his thrusts into you. it’s easy to forget how humiliatingly loud you’re being, you can’t find yourself to be worried about someone catching you either. even if the door is wide open. 

why not? because katsuki claims you willingly, over and over again with each brutish brush of his leaky cockhead against your g-spot. “s-suki! please.” you slur around his fingers that fuck your drooling mouth in perfect rhythm with his dick that plunged in and out of your puckered, creamy hole.  

“yeah, yeah. i gotcha. give into me, sweetness.” 

where he had been keeping you pinned against the sex-soaked cheeks — bakugou pulls  his sweaty chest away from your back and adjusts the roll of his hips, letting them crash into you like waves on a shoreline. to support his body weight above you, his toned arms cage you in, head tilted to the side to watch you sniffle on his dick, red rimming your watery eyeline. “you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry, sweetheart.” he moans condescendingly against the shell of your ear, painting a chaste kiss against your wet cheek. “what a pretty fuckin’ girl, suckin’ me in… takin’ my cock. oh fuck.” 

if you could see him, will yourself from the pillows you take purchase in and use to muffle your salacious screams — you would notice how an evil smirk as spread across the blonde’s lips while he ravages you, fucks you beyond the stars and back. “you my pretty girl, yeah? fuckin’ sweet thing.” the praise has you spiralling and simultaneously soothes the burning hatred you have for katsuki in your chest. “why you cryin’ so much? is it over him, or over me?”

the answer to his question slips out of you faster than your sex-crazed brain can catch up. “o-over you!” it’s like you can’t even think for yourself, make any choices for your body outside of what bakugou has planned for you. you’d do anything to please him so that he keeps fucking you, so that you can forget your feelings and keep your place amongst the socially elite. maybe that makes you selfish, maybe it makes you dumb — that you’re a whore for katsuki’s bully cock that churns up your guts and uses you for ecstasy filled relief. 

“y-yeah? mmhm, just like that baby,” katsuki stutters, licking his lips while you throw it back on him. the weak snap of his voice (caused by you clenching down on him) has you gushing nastily down bakugou’s length. bathing him in your juices, dripping down his balls as they clap against your ass, and swing against your clit. 

“yeah…yeah…y-you’re my friend, k-katsuki! didn’t wanna lose you…”

satisfied with your response and feeling a little mean once more, the king of the plastics brings a heavy hand down against your ass before gripping it tight, forcing you back and forth on his creamed dick. you hiss at the newfound pain blooming underneath your skin, blinking back more tears. 

“that’s right sweets, you’ll let me do anythin’ to keep me right? stay bein’ friends.” bakugou barks salaciously into your shoulder blade. greed and power and control sparks between your bodies that move in sync with one another, your hips shakily attempting to catch up with his rough pace.

you gasp when he hits a spot that’s got you howling at the moon. “y-yes, god, yes!”

“even let me fuck your crush? let me fuck you in front’a him?” 

all you can do is nod and gargle in response, passionately sucking on his fingers. “get ‘em nice and wet for me. wanna play with you, gorgeous.” he nips at your skin, leaving the imprint of his canines against you before his red eyes laser focus on where your bodies continually meet. “lift your hips. atta girl.” 

a heinous squeal escapes you, borderline pornographic as katsuki fumbles between your body and shouto’s high thread count sheets. his sticky fingers press into your pleasure nub in tight, calculated circles and he rewards the sound of your choked moans with another barrage of love bites to your neck. ones that you won’t be able to cover up. ones that show how much you’ve been used. 

you wonder if his appetite for your dedication will ever be satisfied. even though your pussy works it’s way back onto him and swallows his cock down like fucking magic — bakugou still wants more of you. he grins sinisterly at the bruises that form just under your skin, that make you hiss when he licks over them and spills his curse words over against that sensitive spot underneath your ear. the sensitivity makes you yelp loudly, despite the people that walk by. 

including none other than shouto todoroki. 

“you’d even let him watch as i creamed your cute cunt, wouldn’t ya? so pathetic. it’s adorable, sweetness.” the blonde goads, pulling back so that he can get a better view of your ass bouncing against his slender hips. spreading you apart with large hands, he drools down onto his cock and your asshole, spitting onto the point at which his shaft slips inside of you — watching the white froth mix in with your viscous nectar and disappear into the creaminess of your tight hole. 

your crush audibly gasps as he enters the room — mismatched eyes drinking in the view of you being absolutely wrecked from behind by his ex. shouto can’t help but admire your puffy face and equally puffy folds while he settles on the bed next to katsuki. he has no idea how his feet even carried him there. 

“bakugou what are you—?” 

the tail end of shouto’s words slip away when you clench down hard on bakugou, his head falling onto the latter’s shoulder while you share shaky moans. “oh my god,” katsuki pants, pulsing against your silken walls and driving his dick upwards into your sweltering mound. “you’re fuckin’ obsessed with me. with him. you just won’t let this dick go, will ya?” 

admitting that you like shouto watching you get fucked by bakugou would be just as embarrassing as admitting your crush on him. it doesn’t matter if you’re crying too hard to confess the matter with words, both of them know it. they can tell by the way your pussy spasms around katsuki’s bulbous cockhead as it bullies it’s way into you with every thrust.  “see icyhot, told ya she was a weirdo,” He chuckles down at you menacingly. “letting me be the one t’stretch her pussy open even though you’re the one that she wants. s’so embarrassing.” 

todoroki let’s out a noncommittal grunt, equally amused by the situation like his ex. “yeah… so weird…”

he reaches around to grab at the fat of your waist and tugs you back onto katsuki so that his dick never leaves you. so that your clit is smooshed up against perfect abs, that contract with every thrust and overstimulate you. 

maybe it’s not such a bad thing to be used by the king of the plastics, if it means shouto gets to touch you too. 

“i think she’s about to cum, katsuki.” the two-toned haired jock states as if it’s obvious, his voice husky and low as the scent of sex trickles into the air. “you’re gonna make her cum, baby.” 

“can fuckin’ feel it, she’s ‘boutta make a mess of me.” they share a lustful look behind you, that leads to them sharing sloppy, uncoordinated  kisses as if you’re not even there. truly treating you like a sex toy to be used whenever, wherever. 

the sounds of their kisses ring in your ears, cause heat to burn at your cheeks and shame to settle in your chest once again. but this time, you don’t fucking care — not when you’re close to cumming, not when both of the people you adore in your life are using little old you. 

forcing you back and forth over katsuki’s dick even faster, shouto finds it in himself to address you, moaning out your name. “a-are you close?” he simpers, tongue rolling over his ex’s.

“i— i am. p-please. let me cum. lemme cum. lemme c-cum—!” you chant as if it’s the gospel, voice tapering off into a set of whistle tone simpers as you finally hit your high. black spots dot your vision, katsuki using a last burst of energy to canter into you, slamming against your g-spot over and over again. the dam breaks before your brain can register it, release trickling out of your fluttering hole like a flash flood after a vicious storm. it soaks his soft tuft of blonde pubes and soils the sheets below, your body wracked with shakes and aftershocks. 

katsuki's cock against your cervix being the epicentre. 

the two men behind you share a sick little laugh when you collapse into the sheets face first, both of them leaning down to kiss either of your cheeks soothingly. 

“so fuckin’ cute ‘n loyal,” bakugou coos in a twisted tone, pulling out of you to jerk himself off over your quivering body. 

shouto smiles and rubs soothing circles in the small of your back in an attempt to calm you down — taking pleasure in your tiny sniffles and hiccups while you come down from your high. 

“your turn, bakugou.” he purrs slightly, using his arm to prop himself up on the bed for a perfect view of you both.  

“mmfuck, shit ‘m so close.” colourful curses spew from between bakugou’s perfect, cherry bitten lips just as he hits his peak. slick sounds accompany the movements of his rough palm up and down his length, coaxing himself towards orgasm. he cums with a shout, a feral growl tearing his chest in two with how loud it is. all while ropes of his blistering hot and white cum land on your ass, pussy and back. 

he collapses next to shouto after that. 

you feel a finger drag through the hot mess on your back and turn around just in time to watch bakugou feed a scoop of his cum to your crush. todoroki sucking his fingers happily. “go get her a towel, icyhot.” he demands, and like a slave to the crown, todoroki follows — disappearing from the room in search for a rag to clean you up with. surprisingly, the blonde helps you to sit up, taking you into his chest so you can snuggle against it. “don’t cry sweetness, s’okay. i forgive you for thinkin’ i was a bad friend.” 

tilting your chin up, you’re rewarded with a firm chaste kiss — swallowing katsuki’s moans as he tastes the saltine tears in your lips. “you’ll never do it again, right?” 

“r-right…” you reply meekly, flinching at the blonde who boops your nose almost affectionately. 

he busies himself with fixing your costume until shouto returns with a wet rag to wipe the cum from between your thighs and the rest of you. you try not to let it get to you when they share another passionate kiss, sucking on each other’s tongues and mussing up each other’s hair until they’re all rosy cheeked and short of breath. 

you would be a fool to think that you ever stood a chance with shouto todoroki after tonight. 

much like you, he’s just another piece in katsuki’s game of chess. he’ll never escape the toxic cycle of their relationship when things keep going like this. 

“you look sexy with your hair pushed back, icyhot.” katsuki says to shouto once they come up for air, ruffling his silky locks out of place. his ruby, crazed, gaze slinks over to you next, a coy smirk playing at his lips. “sweetness, tell him, icyhot he looks sexy with his hair pushed back.” 

katsuki bakugou is terrible. evil. conniving. but he’s all you’ve got, even if he is a mean girl. 

“shouto…you look sexy with your hair pushed back.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[dovesdreaming]

Pirates charm

Summary: You’re the daughter of Meg and Hercules, everyone always compares you to your mother saying your exactly like her. You couldn’t deny it either especially with how you wouldn’t let yourself swoon for Harry hook.

Requested

Masterlist

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Being the daughter of Meg and Hercules wasn’t easy. On one hand, you were expected to live up to your father’s reputation. The strong, brave hero of Olympus who could move mountains and defeat titans. People looked at you like you were supposed to be just like him- noble, pure, a shining example of what a demigod should be. But on the other hand, you were also Meg’s daughter. And that meant you were sarcastic, quick-witted, and more than a little cynical. If your dad was all about heroism, you were about surviving in a world where happy endings didn’t always happen. Your mother had made sure you understood that. She’d been there, done that, and wasn’t about to let you fall into the same traps she had.

You were, as people liked to say, the spitting image of Meg. From your sharp wit to the way you carried yourself, always with a knowing smirk and a hint of sass in your voice. You weren’t a wide-eyed optimist like so many people in Auradon. No, you knew better than that. Which was why Auradon Prep had become.. a little boring. The whole "perfect world" thing? Yeah, it got pretty old fast. Sure, there were plenty of bright, smiling faces and happily-ever-afters, but after a while, it all felt a bit fake. Like everyone was just pretending everything was perfect all the time. You needed something different. Something real. And then… Harry Hook showed up.

The first time you met Harry, you were standing by the docks, watching the Isle of the Lost kids as they arrived on their ship. Ben had done his whole "integration" thing, and now, here they were, villains' kids walking the pristine streets of Auradon. It was all very dramatic, with people whispering and staring at the new arrivals, like they were some kind of dangerous animals let loose in a zoo. You didn’t care about most of them. But then, you saw him. Harry Hook.

With his long coat, swaggering walk, and that trademark hook hanging from his hand, he made quite the entrance. His sharp blue eyes scanned the crowd, taking everything in like he was already planning his next move. His smirk was lazy, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made you raise an eyebrow. And when his gaze landed on you? Oh, he noticed you too. His eyes flicked over your figure, taking in the sharpness of your features, the confidence in the way you stood. Unapologetic, like you didn’t care what anyone thought. It was enough to make him pause for a second, his smirk faltering before returning even wider.

“Aye, what do we have here?” he murmured as he sauntered over to you, his voice dripping with a Scottish lilt that sounded both amused and intrigued. “Didn’t know Auradon had girls like you”.

You crossed your arms, eyeing him up and down. “What? You thought we were all sunshine and rainbows?” He grinned, his hook tapping against his side as he stopped in front of you. “Somethin’ like that. But I think ye’re more storm clouds, lass. And I like that”. You gave him a dry smile, the corner of your lips lifting. “I aim to disappoint”. Harry’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider. “Ah, ye’re trouble, aren’t ye? I can tell”. You shrugged, glancing at him with a bored expression. “If you’re looking for damsels in distress, you might want to look elsewhere”. “Damsels?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk full of mischief. “I don’t do damsels. I like girls who fight back”. You tilted your head, feigning interest. “Good, because I’d rather throw myself off a cliff than need saving”.

He laughed, a deep sound that was rough around the edges, like he wasn’t used to laughing much. But there was something about you that seemed to break through his usual bravado. “Aye, I can tell”. After that, it was like a game between the two of you. Wherever you were, Harry wasn’t far behind, and every time he tried his usual pirate charm on you, you gave it right back with a smart remark or a sarcastic quip. He’d call you “lass” and you’d call him “Hook” with a roll of your eyes, but beneath all the teasing, there was something else. Something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Because despite all the back-and-forth banter, Harry Hook was different from the others. He wasn’t like the perfect princes of Auradon, who threw themselves at you with grand gestures and shining armor. No, Harry was raw. Real. He didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t, and he didn’t expect you to either.You liked that about him, even if you’d never admit it.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting by the lake, enjoying some peace and quiet when you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was “Should’ve guessed you’d be here” you said, not even turning around as you leaned back on your elbows. Harry sat down next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. “Can’t help meself” he said with a grin. “Ye’re just too much fun to annoy”. You glanced over at him, eyebrow raised. “If this is your idea of fun, you need a hobby”.

“Oh, I’ve got hobbies” he replied, his voice teasing. “But ye’re definitely the most interestin’ one so far”. You rolled your eyes, fighting back the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. “You must be really bored”. Harry chuckled softly, but then his expression shifted, turning more serious. “Ye know, ye’re different from the rest of ‘em”.

That caught your attention. You turned to him, curious. “What do you mean?” He tapped his hook lightly against his leg, looking out at the water. “Auradon, it’s full of people pretendin’ to be somethin’ they’re not. All smiles and pretendin’ everythin’ is perfect. But you?” He looked at you with those intense blue eyes. “Ye don’t pretend. Ye’re real”.’You blinked, not expecting the honesty in his words. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You’d spent so long deflecting with sarcasm and wit that someone seeing through you like that threw you off balance. “I’m just me” you finally said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “Nothing special”. Harry’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s where ye’re wrong, lass”.

There was something in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t used to this, this raw, unfiltered honesty. People didn’t talk like that in Auradon. They didn’t look at you like they could see right through the mask. But Harry did. And, gods help you, you liked it. You cleared your throat, breaking the tension. “And here I thought pirates only cared about treasure”. Harry smirked, his teasing nature slipping back into place. “Aye, well, maybe I found somethin’ better”. Your heart did another unexpected flip at that, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you gave him a lopsided smile. “If you think I’m going to swoon, you’ve got another thing coming”. Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t want ye any other way”.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence after that, the sound of the water lapping against the shore filling the space between you. For once, there were no quips, no banter just a quiet understanding. Maybe you and Harry weren’t so different after all. Maybe, beneath the sarcasm and smirks, you were both just looking for something real. And maybe, just maybe, you’d found it in each other.

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Thank you for reading!!