#cue me tensing up and trying not to show my teeth

[famewolf]

my boss-friend at work was feeling down yesterday so I got him a smoothie since a little sweet drink always turns a bad day around

however that put me in the position to be given genuine gratitude and it is so difficult for me to not recoil from it. I want to do the nice things but gods forbid someone express happiness about it lmao

[ellewritesx]

cabin pressure

Summary: He's your boss. You're his assistant. But 30,000 feet in the air, it's not exactly tour logistics he's asking you to handle.

Warnings: fingering, handjob, public sex, slight praise kink, a little bit of dom!Harry

A/N: thanks for the love on my first fic! this is the first smutty fic i've written, so you know the drill; don't take it too seriously. let me know if i've forgotten any warnings or if you'd like a part two because i've got some ideas ;) enjoy x

Word Count: 3,329

...

The cabin rumbles with a soft, steady vibration beneath your feet, the kind that settles in your bones after a while, a quiet reminder that you're thirty-thousand feet in the air with nothing but a view of the top of the clouds outside the window.

You've gotten so used to plane rides that they feel like buses now.

Life on the road tended to blur together after a while. Cities changed, skies shifted, but the routine stayed mostly the same: wake, work, soundcheck, show, sleep. Rinse and repeat. But somewhere in that loop, magic lived. The sound of a crowd screaming in the moments before Harry took the stage. The quiet backstage hum of instruments being tuned. The weird little moments, like brushing your teeth next to Harry in the bathroom of a green room or eating post-show ramen in sweatpants with the crew at 2 a.m. It wasn't glamorous, not always. But it was real. And weirdly beautiful.

But right now, there's no excited chatter echoing off the polished surfaces, no quiet strumming of an instrument, no 5-minute calls. Just the soft roaring of the engine and the occasional shuffle of someone shifting in their sleep behind a curtain. It's late and you're flying somewhere above the Atlantic, everyone tucked away for the red-eye haul to Lisbon.

Except you.

And Harry.

You're curled up beside him in the plush leather seat, a warm blanket draped over the both of you, your laptop balanced on your thighs, the screen casting a faint glow across your face. The soft click of the trackpad is the only sound between you as you scroll through the updated tour logistics: merch drop schedules, radio interviews, VIP timetables, revised set list cues...

You're focused. Professional. And painfully aware of how close Harry's knee is to yours.

''Alright,'' you speak up softly, not looking at him. ''I just need your input on the new Paris VIP plan. They want to add a backstage Q&A before soundcheck, only thirty minutes, but it overlaps with your press block. I told them I'd check with you first.''

Harry's quiet for a beat. You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, even though you're pretending not to.

''What do you think I should do?'' he asks eventually, voice low, almost sleepy.

Your stomach tightens. He does that often. Asks for your thoughts, your judgement, like he actually values your opinion. You try to ignore the way it makes your stomach churn and remind yourself that this is in your job description.

''I think we should move the press slot,'' you say, typing a note quickly. ''You'll have more time to reset before soundcheck that way. And you like talking to the fans. You always leave in a better mood.''

He huffs a quiet laugh. ''You pay attention to my mood, do you?''

Shit.

You blink at your screen, then glance over at him. He's leaning against the armrest, hoodie sleeves pushed up, tattoos half-hidden in the soft light. One rogue curl has graciously fallen above his brow and his lips are tilted in the barest smirk.

''Comes with the territory,'' you say quickly, like it's no big deal. ''I need to know when to avoid you.''

That makes him laugh, low and raspy, making you bite the inside of your cheek as you look back at your screen. It's fine. You're fine.

You've been his personal assistant for over a year now. You've memorized his schedule, his allergies, his coffee order and the name of the plushie he brings on tour, despite vehemently denying it. You know when he's tense, when he needs quiet, when he needs to be left alone. You're loyal, always. Unshakable.

And hopelessly, stupidly, quietly in love with him.

But he doesn't know that. Can't know that. You're too good at your job for that kind of mistake.

And you love your job. There was something electric about being on tour: the long nights, the endless movement, the rush of showtime. You loved the chaos of it all, how no two days were the same. You loved the adrenaline that kicked in when a last-minute change had to be made, and you were the one everyone looked to for the fix. It gave you purpose, grounding. And honestly, you thrived in it.

Even in the exhausting moments, the jet lag, the back-to-back shows, the late-night emails... you never once regretted taking this job. Being around music, around the team, around him, made everything worth it.

You'd slipped into the rhythm of the tour crew like you'd been part of it for years. There was something comforting about the way everyone moved together, the shared glances, the inside jokes, the group breakfasts in hotel lobbies.

You were the youngest on the team, but nobody made you feel small. They trusted you, and more importantly, they liked you. Jeff always brought you coffee when you looked like hell. Pauli made you laugh when you were wound too tight. It felt like family. Loud, messy, and wildly dysfunctional, but it was yours.

And Harry's an incredible boss, to nobody's surprise. He was thoughtful. Kind. A little quiet in meetings, but always listening. Always noticing. He never barked orders, he asked, genuinely. And when he thanked you for something, it wasn't in that empty, offhanded way people often do. He meant it. You could feel it in the way he said your name. It made you want to work harder, not out of obligation, but because he deserved that kind of loyalty.

''I should finish this before we land,'' you murmur, starting to scroll again. ''Still need to go through wardrobe notes for Madrid.''

You don't notice the way he watches you, how his gaze trails from focused eyes down to your parted lips, how he swallows when your fingers twitch on the keyboard.

''You never let me help,'' he points out softly, drawing your attention back to him.

You blink. ''Help with…?''

''Any of this,'' he gestures toward your screen. ''You do everything. Handle everything. I don't know how you're not burnt out yet.''

''I'm your assistant. It's kind of my job, Harry,'' you say with a soft chuckle and a slight tilt of your head, confused.

''You're the best assistant I've ever had,'' he hums, eyes dark.

Something about the way he says it makes your heart stutter.

You weren't sure when it happened exactly, when your feelings shifted, digging deeper into your skin than just a work relationship. Maybe it was the night in Atlanta when he stayed behind after everyone left the venue just to help you find your clipboard, calming you with hushed reassurances as you spiraled.

Or maybe it was how he never let anyone talk over you in meetings, always circling back to your points, asking what you thought. It was slow, creeping, this ache in your chest every time he smiled at you like he knew you, really knew you. You told yourself it would pass.

But that night in Austin you'd known. You'll never forget the way your breath had caught in your throat.

The setlist had already been printed, laminated, sent to every team lead. Your favorite song, a deep cut he rarely performed, wasn't on it. It never was. But during the encore, he looked over his shoulder at you backstage, smirked, and softly said into the mic, ''Think I'll do one more.'' And just like that, he launched into it.

When he sang the bridge, his eyes finding yours for a split second in the wings, it had felt like a secret. Like he was saying, I see you. I know, and you'd known you'd never be the same after that.

''Don't say things like that,'' you say quietly, forcing a smile. ''I might start thinking you actually like me,'' you joke, a futile attempt to lighten the tension that's suddenly growing between you.

There's a pause. Too long. You risk a glance at him, only to find him already looking at you.

''I do,'' he says.

Just that. Without a teasing lilt to his tone, or the shit-eating grin he usually wears that tells you he's just messing with you.

Your breath catches. Your fingers freeze on the keyboard. ''Harry…''

''I know.'' He looks away quickly, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. ''I shouldn't have said that. You're… important. To me. To the crew. I can't mess that up.''

The silence that follows is loud. You can hear your heart pounding. Feel the ache in your chest, years of unspoken want stretching tight between you.

You glance up at him. And for the first time in months, you let yourself see it. The flushed pink at the tips of his ears. The subtle quickening of his breathing. The way his hand flexes on his thigh like he's stopping himself from reaching for you.

His gaze drops to your lips.

''You don't know how long I've wanted to kiss you,'' he says suddenly, voice barely a whisper, like he doesn't even realize he's saying it out loud.

Your mouth goes dry.

''So why haven't you?'', you whisper. He blinks like he hadn't expected the question.

Then, quietly, he says, ''Because I can't lose you. I reckon the team would fall apart without you. You're too good at your job for me to screw it up... just so I could finally have you.''

You can't breathe. Not when he's looking at you like that. And still, even now, you almost chicken out. Almost.

But then your voice breaks through the thick silence, soft and unsteady.

''What if I said I wanted you to?''

His jaw tenses.

You feel it before you see it, the moment he snaps. Quietly, calmly, but undeniably.

His hand slides over your laptop, closes it, and sets it aside.

''Then come here,'' he says, voice low and dark. ''And let me show you how long I've been waiting.''

And suddenly, you're not just sitting beside your boss anymore. You're alone (well, you're shielded from the rest of the cabin by only a curtain, but close enough) with the man who's been undressing you with his eyes for months. Who knows what you look like on two hours of sleep. Who knows your parents' birthdays, your calendar, the way your lips part when you're concentrating too hard.

And now, you swear he knows the exact second your thighs press together under the blanket.

You hesitate.

Not because you don't want him. God, you want him. But the rest of the crew is right there, just past the curtain. His manager's asleep two rows in front of you. Someone else stirs faintly behind you.

''Harry,'' you whisper, panic tugging at your voice. ''There are people.''

''I know,'' he murmurs, shifting closer. His thigh presses against yours, thick and warm beneath the blanket. ''We'll be quiet. Won't we, sweetheart?''

Sweetheart.

It wrecks you.

His fingers slip beneath the edge of the plush blanket. Nothing scandalous, just resting on your leg, but the promise in the gesture sends heat rocketing through you. You feel like you've been lit from the inside out.

''You can stop me anytime,'' he whispers, lips ghosting your ear. ''But if you let me keep going…'' A pause. A low, shaky breath. ''I'm not gonna be sweet about it.''

You breathe in too fast. Your lungs are full of him: his cologne, his warmth, the tension radiating off him like a second skin.

And you nod.

One small nod.

That’s all it takes.

His hand slides higher.

Slips under the waistband of your shorts. Over your bare thigh. Slow, reverent strokes, like he's committing your skin to memory. You try to stay still. Normal. But your breath is already shaking, and his hand is so sure. Confident. Dangerous.

''You've been wearing these shorts on purpose, haven't you?'' he whispers, breath tickling your neck. ''Walking in front of me. Bending over at every venue. Teasing me. Torturing me.''

You shake your head, a weak protest, but he just chuckles, dark and low.

''Liar,'' he murmurs.

And then his fingers brush the edge of your panties.

You jump. Just a little. But his hand steadies you, palm flat on your thigh, thumb brushing soft circles against your skin.

''Easy,'' he breathes. ''Let me touch you. Please, Y/N. Let me feel how wet you are for me.''

The sound your throat makes is borderline embarrassing, a choked gasp you barely catch in time. You grip the blanket tighter. Focus on breathing, on staying quiet.

''Shh, darling,'' he breathes, voice cracked and needy. ''You're gonna get us caught.''

He doesn't rush.

He slides two fingers over your clothed center, slow and deliberate. Feels the damp heat there and groans, quiet and low, like he's physically in pain.

''Fuck, baby,'' he whispers under his breath. ''You're soaked.''

You bury your face in your hand, heat crawling up your neck at the filthy words coming from your boss' mouth. ''Harry—''

''You've been like this the whole flight?'' he hisses, fingers pressing harder, rubbing circles through the fabric. ''Sitting beside me like a perfect little assistant, meanwhile your cunt's fucking throbbing under that laptop of yours?''

You nod, throat too tight to answer. His fingers trace over the damp fabric, slow and teasing, his touch maddeningly gentle; not enough to satisfy, just enough to torture. He keeps his eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch the moment your self-control snaps.

You squeeze your thighs together involuntarily. His hand is caught there now, stuck between them, exactly where he wants to be.

''Don't do that,'' he warns, voice tight. ''Don't hide from me.''

He presses down harder, fingers deliberately rubbing you through the soaked fabric. To anyone watching, it might not even look all that suspicious. But under the blanket, he's drawing filthy, lazy circles over your clit, just soft enough to make you squirm.

''You like bein' good for me, yeah?'' he murmurs against your temple, breath hot. ''Such a good assistant. Always do what you're told.''

You nod desperately, your hips rolling into his touch before you can stop them. He slides your underwear to the side with a practiced flick of his fingers, making you jolt again, whimpering in your throat. His fingers are on your bare pussy now, hot, thick, and teasing as he parts you slowly, lazily.

''You're gonna make me come in my fucking pants,'' he grits, barely moving his wrist as he slides a finger between your folds. ''You have no idea what you do to me.''

You're shaking.

You've fantasized about this on hotel beds, in green rooms, on long drives while he slept beside you in the tour bus. But nothing could've prepared you for the way he touches you. The way he whispers filth in your ear like it's poetry. Like every word comes straight from his heart.

''Open your legs for me, love,'' he says. ''Let me in.''

You do.

Without hesitation.

You shift, knees falling apart just enough under the blanket, and he rewards you by sliding one thick finger inside.

You gasp, one hand flying to cover your mouth and the other gripping his thigh under the blanket, nails digging in, as he pumps his finger slowly, gently, curling it right against your spot, like he's known your body for years without ever having touched you.

''There she is,'' he murmurs. ''That's my good girl.''

Your eyes roll back.

You grip the seat, try to breathe through your nose and bite your lip so hard you taste blood, your entire body trembling from the effort of staying silent. But he's not being merciful. He's savoring it. Twisting his wrist, adding a second finger, fucking you slow and deep under the cover of that soft blanket while the rest of the crew sleeps just feet away. He scissors you open, making you gasp out softly behind your hand, pressing his thumb to your clit with just enough pressure.

''You're so tight,'' he groans softly. ''Gonna take my cock so fucking well.''

You squeeze your eyes shut and bite your hand to stay silent. When you flutter them open slightly, you notice it.

His other hand is moving.

You blink through the dim light.

He's gripping himself under the blanket.

''Harry—''

''Shh,'' he whispers. ''I'm not gonna fuck you yet. Just need your hand. Need to feel you, baby, please.''

You stare at him, dazed. He's got your cunt stretched on two fingers and now he's hard too, thick and flushed and leaking against his fist, the stupid blanket draped over you blocking most of your view.

This shouldn't be happening.

You're his assistant. His team is right there.

And yet your hand is already moving before you can think twice, already wrapping around the base of his cock, warm and slick and heavy in your palm.

''Fucking hell,'' he breathes, his eyes squeezing shut as his head falls back. ''Y/N…'' he pants softly, his chest rising and falling hypnotically.

You stroke him slowly, in rhythm with the way he's fucking your cunt with his fingers. It's a miracle no one's noticed, everyone either asleep or wearing noise-cancelling headphones, the lighting dim, the blanket mercifully thick.

''You feel so good,'' he whispers, leaning closer. ''So warm and wet and perfect. Fuck, I've thought about this every night, getting myself off in the bathroom of every fucking venue while the whole team's waiting for me. I see you watching me every show, looking at me with those doe eyes, practically begging to be fucked, aren't you, baby?''

You whimper, pace quickening. His hips stutter into your hand, his fingers curling hard inside you.

You let out a soft, pained moan into your palm, thighs shaking as he pumps into you faster now, fingers slick and relentless. Your orgasm slams into you, sudden and all-consuming, and your body goes tight, locked up against the seat as he works you through it. Tears sting your eyes as the pleasure tears through you in silent, pulsing waves, Harry whispering praises against your ear as you shake through it.

He groans softly, barely audible, lips brushing your ear as you come undone in his hand.

''That's it. That's my girl. So quiet. So fucking good.''

You stroke him faster now, emboldened. He thrusts into your hand, sharp and desperate.

''I'm gonna come,'' he warns, voice breaking. ''Fuck. Gonna come all over your hand, sweetheart.''

You grip him tighter.

His breath catches, and then he's spilling in your hand, hips jerking, quiet curses hissing through clenched teeth. You feel it coat your skin, warm and messy beneath the blanket.

Neither of you moves for a long moment.

Just panting.

Reeling.

Your hand is still under the blanket, sticky and warm. His hand is still between your thighs, thumb brushing soft circles against your skin as you try to recover.

It takes a full minute before you can breathe again, and when he finally pulls his fingers from you slowly, your body shudders at the loss of connection. He brings them to his lips, sucks them clean without shame, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

''Taste even better than I imagined.''

You stare at him, wide-eyed, wrecked. Boneless. He just smirks, brushing your hair back like nothing happened.

''Next time,'' he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, your collarbone, your neck, your jaw. ''I'm fucking you.''

You shiver.

A curtain rustles behind you, someone getting up to grab a water, and you both quickly pull back, sitting up straight.

Like nothing happened.

Like you're just two co-workers sitting beside one another, watching the clouds.

But under the blanket, your hearts are still racing, your cunt still pulsing, the remnants of his release still coating your hand.

And the line between boss and assistant?

Officially obliterated.

''Now,'' he clears his throat, settling back in his seat with a soft smile like he didn't just ruin you, ''about that Dublin setlist.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake’s Worst Nightmare: Ra’s al Ghul’s Matchmaking Skills

It started with a mission.

Tim hadn’t expected to be sent after a new ghost anomaly, much less one that was human-shaped and strangely familiar. But when he found himself face-to-face with Danny—a teenager who radiated Lazarus energy like it was his second skin—things got weird. Fast.

Cue the League of Assassins bursting onto the scene, followed by a dramatic entrance from none other than Ra’s al Ghul himself.

And that’s when Tim learned the big, world-shattering truth: Danny was Ra’s al Ghul’s son. Not adopted. Biological.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Tim stood, slack-jawed, watching Ra’s beam with the kind of pride usually reserved for conquering cities. Danny, standing awkwardly next to him, scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, so, uh… surprise?” Danny offered.

Ra’s spread his arms wide. “Timothy! This is a joyous day. My son, Daniel, has found you at last.”

Tim blinked. “Found me?”

Danny shuffled nervously. “Uh, yeah. You’re kind of… important to the family now.”

Tim’s brain short-circuited.

———

The Heir Situation

Because here’s the kicker: Ra’s had been trying to get Tim to join the League for years. He saw Tim as a potential heir. But now, with Danny in the picture, Ra’s had an even better idea.

“Through Daniel,” Ra’s explained, practically glowing, “I can finally bring you into the family as I always intended.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not marrying into the League of Assassins.”

Danny choked. “Wait, what?!”

Ra’s nodded sagely. “I see you are both shy about it. No matter! Destiny has a way of unfolding as it should.”

Tim and Danny exchanged horrified glances.

———

Danny and Tim’s Relationship

Despite the chaos, Danny and Tim clicked. Danny was chaotic but genuine, a refreshing contrast to the constant stress of Gotham. And Tim? Tim was the most grounded person Danny had ever met.

“You know, you don’t have to listen to Ra’s,” Tim pointed out after one particularly tense League encounter.

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, but if I don’t humor him, he gets pouty.”

Tim snorted. “Ra’s al Ghul? Pouty?”

“You have no idea.”

———

The Batfamily’s Reaction

When Tim brought Danny back to Gotham, the batfam had questions.

Bruce: “He’s… Ra’s’ son?”

Tim: “Yep.”

Jason: “And you’re… what, his fiancé now?”

Tim: screaming internally

Danny: “I’M RIGHT HERE.”

Damian, eyes wide: “Uncle?”

Danny grinned. “Hey, kiddo.”

Damian, flustered: “I—no. This cannot be.”

———

Ra’s Is Thrilled

Back in Nanda Parbat, Ra’s couldn’t be happier. Every time Tim showed up, Ra’s looked like Christmas came early.

Ra’s: “Timothy, you and Daniel are a perfect match.”

Tim: “In what universe?”

Danny: “Technically, several.”

———

Danny Was Happy.

That was the problem.

Tim might hate making Ra’s happy, but… Danny was different.

Danny liked being part of the League. He liked the structure, the weird family dynamic. He liked the purpose. And he was thriving.

Tim couldn’t ruin that.

Tim didn’t want to make Ra’s happy—he’d rather swallow glass—but he did want to make Danny happy.

And if that meant putting up with Ra’s al Ghul’s matchmaking schemes, well…

Tim gritted his teeth and endured.

———

Tim’s Inner Monologue:

“Being with Danny isn’t the issue. The issue is that it makes Ra’s happy. And I refuse to let that man win.”

Danny: smirking “You’re fighting a losing battle.”

Tim: “Shut up.”

Danny: “Love you too.”

[lovly-q]

FASHIONABLY FUCKED UP ; satoru gojo .

synopsis ⁀ . ❛ you’re a model, and it’s ten minutes before the runway show. most people wouldn’t think that’s enough time to fuck—satoru’s not most people ❜

content⁀ . +18. 1.4k word count. finger fucking. reader doesn’t release (i knowww). since this is a model!reader au, it also means this is in a modern!au.

authors note⁀ . thought of this while listening to that one the weekend song. god someone help me

the bass from the catwalk vibrates so hard through the walls of your dressing room, that you could practically feel in your chest. it wasn’t until the cue song—the one that plays less than 15 minutes before your entrance—that the nerves finally hit. by now, slowly but surely your assistants have slipped out, leaving you alone for these last moments. you’d spent the past hour perfecting your makeup, and now, it was flawless. your outfit hugged your body like a second skin, the fabric tracing every curve of your hips, the neckline cut down just low enough enough to tease the crowd.

ten minutes to curtain.

you take a deep breath, and study yourself in the mirror of your vanity. you turn left, then right—and only then, you notice the figure in the doorway.

startled, you swift around in your chair. “toru—?”

and there he was. leaning against the doorframe as if he owned the damn building. he had his signature sunglasses perched up top of his white hair, shirt half-unbuttoned, black slacks all sleek and ironed.

“what are you doing here?” you hiss. “you can’t be in here—”

“oh please,” he rolls his eyes. “no one saw me.” with his next words, his voice shifts into something low. “plus—who cares? i missed you.”

you stand up from your chair, and lean against the corner of your vanity. crossing your arms, you frown.

“satoru,” you warn, but it’s a useless attempt. he’s already moving across the room—unhurried, almost described as lazy. he does this as if he has all the time in the world. which he didn’t. hell, you didn’t.

“look at my sweet girl. you look gorgeous,” he murmurs, stopping in front of you. his fingers skim the curve of your waist, then they dip even lower. they trace along the plush of your thighs. “really good. y’know i can’t believe they don’t let you take these outfits home. i’d love for you to sit and give me a personal show.”

you narrow your eyes. “i have ten minutes.”

“eight, actually,” he grins, glancing at the clock on the wall above you. “but i’d say that’s plenty of time, yeah?”

“satoru—“

he’s quick to tuck his hand between your thighs. the fabric of your panties is so paper thin that he can easily feel the dampness of your heat.

“fuck,” you groan. your breath catches somewhere in your throat, every muscle tensing.

“huh, you’re already wet,” he hums, voice laced with nothing but amusement. “how rude of you to not to tell me.”

you try to step back, forgetting there was nowhere to go. your actions only make the vanity press closer against your spine. satoru presses between your legs, his free hand firm on your thigh to hold you still.

“don’t start something you can’t finish,” you warn—or atleast try to. it doesn’t help that your voice shakes.

“hm, me?” he comes close to your ear, as he whispers, “i won’t be the one begging to finish.”

abruptly, he tugs your panties aside.

you gasp. the cold air hits you first. then his fingers—warm and fucking agonizingly slow—slip through your folds. he circles your clit once, twice, and you nearly buckle.

“this is cruel,” you manage to get out, voice barely above a whisper.

he gives you a look over before leaning in once more, lips brushing against you ear. “cruel would be making you walk out there dripping and not letting you come.”

“are you not trying to do that already—” your breath hitches as he presses two fingers inside.

he moves slowly, too slowly, curling them just enough to make you whimper. your nails dig into his forearm, teeth clenched as he starts to finally get a rhythm. it’s disappointing, really. too gentle. just shy of what you really needed.

fuck, why does he have to be such a tease?

you whine, “more.”

he lets out a low laugh. “more? you sure?”

“can you just fuckin’ do it,” you groan.

despite your pleas, he doesn’t change his pace. if anything, he slows. his thumb circles your clit again while your fingers side even deeper. dragging against that sweet, aching spot that he knew made your legs tremble.

“still five minutes left,” he murmurs. “don’t act like you’re in a rush.”

“you’re so annoying. i am in a rush.”

“yeah? then say please.”

through hooded eyes, you glare at him, “you’re—”

your insult dissolves into a strangled moan as he curls his fingers more tightly—a quick, repetitive opening and closing gesture. your head falls back, and your thigh begin to shake. his open hand stays steady with its job of pinning you in place. it builds just enough pressure to make your need grow tighter, sharper—until you’re sure you’re finally about to fucking release—

and then he stops.

you voice is broken as you whine, “‘m no—toru, don’t you fuckin’ dare—”

“y’know, baby, at first you said you didn’t even want this,” he murmurs with a slow, teasing smirk. “got such an attitude about it—your mouth’s so filthy, always switchin’ between yes and no…”

his palm lands firm against your clit. it brings a heat that makes you jolt. then, as if to soothe it, his slick fingers slide back up, circling your clit in a slow, lazy swirl.

“but this,” he continues, voice low, “this says yes.”

you bite your lip, “who’s to say you always know what i want? you don’t really think you’ve got me all figured out… do you?”

his gaze darkens, “why wouldn’t i?”

he leans in, and your instantly lips move against one another. it’s slow at first, similar to the way his fingers kept working you over. but gradually the kiss gets deeper, slower.

you were soaked. writhing against his hand.

you really didn’t want to give in.

y’know what?

fuck it.

“toru, baby,” you breathe, forehead resting softly against his. “please.”

he grins so hard its sickening. “ask and you shall receive.”

his fingers speed up, just enough to make you cry out again. your nails rake down his shoulder, and your other hand tightly grips the vanity behind you.

you’re seconds away. so close.

and then—he stops. again.

“no—!” you choke. desperate, dizzy. “please, i’ll do anything—”

“you will,” he says, sucking the slick off his fingers. “but not now.”

you stare dead at him. legs shaking. panties ruined. body filled with so much frustration that it hurt.

“you’re a monster,” you whisper.

“i’m your biggest fan.” he says, and this time his voice is softer than before.

he crosses the room to grab a piece of tissue, then comes back to you with a soft smile. “you’re sweating…don’t worry, it’s jus’ a little,” he murmurs. “don’t worry, as much as i would like to, i wouldn’t let you go out there jus’ lookin’ like anything. i kept an eye on it.”

gently, he dabs the sweat from your forehead. then he leans in and presses a kiss right where he wiped.

“now,” he says, full of pride, “go show ‘em who you belong to.”

a knock came at the door.

“one minute!”

you barely manage to stand, pulling your panties back into place with trembling fingers. your legs were sore. your mind was everywhere other than where it needed to be: the runway show. even stepping toward the hallway was a hassle.

and through all of this stress he has the nerve to smack your ass on the way out.

it’s not hard for the circle of light to find you. immediately, cheers and compliments erupt around the stage.

you got this, you think to yourself.

you take one step forward.

and stumble.

not mortifyingly. not so visibly. not to the cameras or the crowd. but you could feel the imbalance in your walk. your thighs brushed together and heat began to pulse between them with every single step. you couldn’t help but be so aware of everything that was indifferent from your other runway walks. you especially couldn’t help but be aware of the slick that was still coating your folds, soaking the delicate fabric.

when you get to the tip of the runway point, you catch satoru in the front row. his shirt is buttoned now—a attempt at him trying to look less like the bad influence he is.

and…what the fuck? is he…smirking?

he folds his arms, tongue peeking out to lick his bottom lip as his eyes raked over you.

you try to clear your mind as you finalize your performance. you walk. you pose. you turn.

every flash of the camera reminded you that you were still wet, still aching, still one touch away from falling apart completely.

and satoru knew it.

[unfortunatebrainfarts]

After working with your friendly neighborhood intergalactic space cowboy for quite some time, you've managed to become pretty damn good at understanding the gist of what he means to say

Boothill x reader

A/n: OK SO, first fanfic in like 6 years and it's for an intergalactic space cowboy

Tbh I have no idea why I wrote this, my ipad apps are constantly monitored by the teacher and I really have nothing better to do than go on my notes app and pretend I'm writing notes

HAVE AN AMAZING DAY = I HOPE YOU GET FUCKED BY THE IPC AND ROLL IN YOUR OWN DEBT AND SUFFERING (or something like that)

BLESS YOUR HEART = FUCK YOU

PRAY FOR ME = FUCK ME

LOVELY = FUCK

YOU WONDERFUL PERSON = YOU BITCH

Well ain't you just a sweetheart? = Well you're just a little bitchboy aren'tcha?

God love him = He was fuckin' underdeveloped as a fetus wasn't he (Something along the lines of 'he's dumb as shit')

"Hm. Seems about right."

To others, your furrowed brows, tense posture, and concentrated gaze at just one singular page of your notebook may make it seem as if whatever was on that page was something life changing. And honestly, they might as well have been right since you were one step closer to understanding what the hell Boothill was spitting out more than half the time.

You recall the first time you were assigned a mission with him — "BLESS YOUR HEART YOU WONDERFUL PERSON," cue you snapping your head towards the gruff voice seeing the cowboy in all his glory easily decimating the dozens of grunts in his vicinity with a toothy grin no less, which you note are very, very sharp.

His long, flowy hair caught your attention. How was it so white and clean even with all the fights you know gets into? Does it ever get yanked? What shampoo does he use?

"Now I don' mind some ooglin', but wouldn't ya say we should keep our eyes on our enemies darlin'?"

His voice snaps you out of your trance and you come to to a shovel nearing your head. You instinctively cover your face with your hands anticipating the pain, the pain which never came since when you put them down, you see that Boohill had already left a bullet in his head.

"Spacin' out at a space cowboy? Ain't that rich."

.

Ignoring the fact that he saved you from having to get facial reconstruction surgery, the reason you almost got a face full of shovel in the first place was because of the ridiculous curse on his synesthesia beacon.

That's why you've been devoted to trying to decode the albeit hilarious, rather inconvenient in a battle things he says. You've tried asking Boothill to write them down, but his handwriting could have him assigned as a doctor in no time so you gave up on that idea quite quickly.

"Whatcha starin' at so intently darlin'?

Your train of thought was abruptly interrupted by the man of the hour mindlessly snatching your notebook right out of your hands. "Aren't you supposed to stop thieves, not act like one," you ask half heartedly. It was nothing less of what you'd expect from Boothill of all people — no, cyborgs??

"Heh, this ain't thievery 's sharin'! Er, what's that one sayin' again... share to care, care to share, sharin' to carin'? Eh whatever ya get what I mean don'tcha sugar?" He retorted, you roll your eyes mentally as he put his focus back onto the notebook. To be honest you were surprised he could even read considering his handwriting was that bad.

As Boothill read each and every one of your 'translations', his grin only grew wider and wider showing the spiky teeth you don't know how are natural but have grown accustomed to seeing. Just then, a burst of unhinged laughter randomly filled the entire lounge room you were sitting in. The weird glances and whispering were already starting but Boothill didn't care, he was Boothill.

Not wanting to be associated with the man at that very moment, you stand up to leave him comically rolling on the floor. However, you couldn't even do that because the moment you stood up, Boothill snatched your leg and dragged it so that you would fall back down. This time, onto the floor with him. "Well ain't you something sweetcheeks, ya got me alll figured out huh?"
.

.

It's been two months. Ever since Boothill realized that you had actually tried to figure out the true meaning behind his words — and actually got them relatively right — he's been using you to spew out insults overtime. Honestly it was like you had become a pokemon, you could just picture it in your head.

BOOTHILL BROUGHT OUT ____

____ USED SWEAR! IT WAS SUPER EFFECTIVE

Either way, it wasn't that bad since though you might be imagining things, it feels as if you've grown ever so slightly closer to the eccentric space cowboy.

You continue to observe boothill and add more and more onto your list of translations, but apparently you fail to notice that he no longer uses any casual pet names like 'darling' or 'sweetcheeks' anymore. At least, not for anyone but you.

[fayeandknight]

Last week our agility instructor said she wanted Forte to trial soon. There's an AKC trial at our club in May and there are CPE trials in March and April. She wants us to do one of the CPE trials to get real trial experience without worrying about a Q and then trial for real at the AKC event.

My initial thought was oh shit, I'm not sure we're ready for that. Forte runs nicely most of the time but gets sniffy when I'm unclear on our next move (aka me getting lost on the course). He also still gets distracted when dogs/people come or go. Not enough to pull him off course but I can see the attention shift.

My biggest fear is that he finds a trial too much and bails like he did last year at the ACT. In that instance he ran three times, not cleanly - we NQed, but stayed with me for the most part. Mid fourth run members of my household showed up in a well meaning way, but they brought Faye and he heard her complaining in the car. He slipped through a gap in the fencing ring and went to run circles around their car. Compounded on that fear is anxiety around what might happen if he leaves the ring. Will he run past the wrong dog who in turn has a go at him?

As horrible as our first instructor was, I cannot unhear her telling me to be extra careful with Forte. If anything happens between dogs, the Belgian will be blamed regardless of him actually being the aggressor or not.

So I was nervous for our first run tonight and got lost on the course and in my mind. Forte responded by alerting and then going for a sniff when I brushed it off and tried to cue him to the next obstacle. We did the whole run but it was bad. Honestly we haven't had such a disjointed run in almost a year.

As we waited for our next run I waffled between confirming that we definitely are not ready and trying again to see if I could pull myself together. Our second run was indeed better because I didn't get lost but it still wasn't great. I still wasn't fully there with him mentally.

So for our third run I said fuck my anxiety. It is just him and I here in this ring. I trust our relationship and both of our skills and we absolutely have this. And just like that we had the cleanest, smoothest run we've ever had, even with the next class coming in. He never even flicked an ear in their direction.

I was on cloud 9 all the way back to our seat. Until a person and dog from the next class I've not seen before came in. Dog stepped into the room and immediately targeted Forte, body low and forward with teeth fully bared and low growling. I expected them to give us space. But no, the handler strolled pretty much right up to us - with less than a foot between the dogs.

I felt like I was moving in slow motion, watching Forte get stiff when this dog just kept coming into his space. I thought about how this is different from the overly reactive dogs he is fairly frequently called upon to play neutral dog for. This dog had serious intent to hurt him. I gestured for Forte to move to my other side to create more space, he did without hesitation but I could feel his weariness. The other person/dog moved behind us, closing the distance between dogs again. I had Forte come around the front of me and to the other side, again trying to create space. As Forte moved away this other dog shot forward to make a grab for him. I stood up to be more of a barrier and while Forte was clearly tense, he continued to not react and follow directions.

The other handler did then finally move away from us. It felt like the whole thing went on for five minutes at least but was probably much shorter. I can't say for sure because of the way time gets distorted when I'm that stressed.

And while I give Forte all the props for letting me handle the situation I'm not really sure how I feel about potentially going to trial. On the one hand, I do believe if I have my internal shit together he'll do well. And he's proven, again, that he will not engage with reactive and/or aggressive dogs - at the very least if I'm supporting him but probably even without that.

But I'm worried about a full trial experience because I don't want to put him in a situation where he's in danger from another dog. No ribbon or title in the world is worth having another dog go after him. We both worked so hard to get through his own reactive phase and I would hate to send us back to that. But I also know that when I'm stressed/worried I tend catastrophize and my perspective gets warped by it.

We will keep showing up to classes, because we both enjoy agility. But I feel more mixed up about potentially trialing than I did last week. Hopefully between getting my thoughts out here and having some good weeks going forward I'll feel more confident entering a trial. But if not, I won't.

As much as I would really love to earn an agility title my mindset is very much dog first, sport second. Though in our case it's more like dog first, service work second, and sports third.

[liamthemailman]

The island saga at this point can be it’s own feature length film like the trailer would be fire…

[Camera flashes to a cork board with pins and string connecting imagines of people labeled MIA. Across from it is Lemon, observing the information with a steady glare as tense music plays.] “Just what in hell’s name does she want with them…”

[Lemon slams his hand onto the desk with his teeth gritted]

[Screen goes black before a sliver is out into view by King taking out a book from the shelf in front of the camera’s few. A wideshot of the room comes to screen as he walks off. King glances over to Valentino.] “You said you were briefly part of the scheme?” [Valentino simply nods as King walks over and grabs his shoulder tightly.] ”Spill what you know.”

[The screen goes black again until Sofia turns on a light, flipping through photos with me crossing out names.] “We lost our best way of getting King…”

[I mutter bitterly, sharply looking up to Sophia] “Well, I have another plan that may work even better…”

[Sofia starts to explain her plan as his words are muffled out by the screen fade.]

[Camera flashes to Khushi then Jokest3r then Teabagtoes, all with various looks of shock or disbelief on their face] “Give him back…”

[Khushi’s words have a subtle echo as the tense music crescendos to words on the screen saying “Revolutionary storytelling & plot” by New York Times]

[Camera shows Arjun desperately trying to escape before being tied back with a rope around him. Vincent looks at him and their captors fearfully while Mayvey has a scheming look on his face. Arjun’s hoarse yelling attempts continue into hysterics as the camera shows another review “Shows a dark side with new characters.” by Activision]

“We have to get out of here!”

[Queen’s voices pierced through Arjun’s slowly fizzled out yelling as she looks between Ace and Sofia with a serious gaze. Jack walks closer and hands a letter from King to Queen.]

“Hell. On. Earth.”

[The music becomes subtle, adding a clicking noise. Ace states each word coldly as the camera shows Lemon’s board again. He turns, looking at Sergeant Kennedy] “Are you sure we can even do this?”

[Kennedy asks with furrowed eyebrows] “Shiloh… he have to at least try.”

[Lemon responds before the camera flashes white to the screen, showing a series of shots while the music becomes louder than ever; Jack setting a match on fire, Roger crying as he gives Kennedy a gentle hug, King writing a letter, Ace laying in a boat, Jokest3r & Trabagtoes talking over coffee, & Valentino pinning a photo of “The Squad” to the cork board.] [The camera zooms into the photo before flashing to a gun in Sofia’s hand that is pointed to the camera. The music stops.] “I never wanted it to end this way.”

[She says just above a whisper before the camera goes black at the piercing sound of a gunshot. The title appears on screen as eerie music plays…]

THE ISLAND SAGA: GOOSE ISLAND

[A goose walks across screen before the camera cuts out.]

God that took too long to write…

Hope you liked my trailer from a VERY unprofessional screenplay writer This all seems a lot cooler in my head 💀

what the hell..

i dont know what i was expecting but i wasnt expecting a whole ass script. hello? i can tell you that this is so well put together. like its so vivid and i can picture it clearly?? like DAMN. you even have the sound cues n shit!!

from one unprofessional screenplay writer to another, hats off to you because SHEESH??? THIS IS SO COOL?? I HAVE THE URGE TO MAKE STORYBOARDS AND A SCRIPT????

im in shock. you dropped this into my inbox for FREE??? i dont know if you have any plans for the film or entertainment industry but you should actually consider being a writer LIKE WOAH. this much creativity has so much potential.

dont worry about things sounding cool only in your head. i was told that i was a madman while i was pitching my first short film in class and three months later it became the class favourite when the finished project was presented. so dont doubt yourself. you never know if your ramblings bring you places.

[tonysslut]

𝟊𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 ᜭ 𝐓.𝐒

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠։ 𝐃𝐚𝐝̕𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝟊𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝ᴉ𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐲

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬։ 𝚨𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩ˏ 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱ˏ 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬ˏ 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 (𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝)

𝐖𝐂։ 𝟓𝐥𝐥

𝚨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫̕𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞։ 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞ˏ 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐭̕𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈̕𝐦 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩�� 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 ։)

𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝑴𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pls do not repost, copy, or translate my work

You lock eyes with Tony in the mirror, his disheveled hair sticking to his forehead, pupils blown out, lips tinted red with your lipstick. You weren’t sure how you got here in the first place, it wasn’t like you could think straight anyways. Not with the way he was thrusting into you, his cock almost splitting you in two. 

“Look at you. If only your dad knew his sweet, innocent little daughter liked to be fucked like a slut.” He trails his free hand up your body, wrapping it around your throat and squeezing enough to make your eyes roll back. 

“Harder, please.” You beg. You could feel your release building, teetering on the edge. 

“Please what?” He whispers in your ear before taking your earlobe between his teeth. 

“Please, Daddy. Fuck me harder, M’so close.” You whine, desperately pushing back against him. 

Almost as if on cue, you hear footsteps getting closer, a familiar voice coming from the other side of the shut door. “Tony? Have you seen Y/N?” 

Your eyes widened as you attempted to move away from Tony. But he’s quick to cover your mouth and press you against the bathroom counter, trapping you.

“Looks like your dad’s looking for you. Maybe I should open the door? Show him how fucked out you look on his best friend’s cock.” You moan into his hand, desperately shaking your head, begging him not to do so. 

“Last time I saw her, she was on the phone with that boyfriend of hers. Did you check the backyard?” He yells back, fucking you harder as he speaks. You place your hands on his thighs, nails digging into his skin as you try to ground yourself and keep quiet. 

“I’ll check there next. Tell her I’m looking for her if you happen to see her.” His voice fades out as he walks away. Tony waits a few more moments before he uncovers your mouth.

You gasp for air as your orgasm hits you, vision going white, stomach tensing as your creamy release coats Tony’s cock. His movements don’t falter, using you for his pleasure as your orgasm blends into another. 

“Could fuck a baby into you right now.” He grunts, pulling back until to slam right back into your sore hole. The idea of being completely full of him makes you clench around his girth. “I can feel you squeezing my cock, sweet girl. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? “

“So much, Daddy. Please cum inside me.” You whine. 

It only takes a few more thrusts for him to release inside you, coating your velvety walls in his seed, marking your as his. He presses gentle kisses along your back and neck, hands rubbing your outer thigh as you both attempt to catch your breath. He reaches over and grabs your panties off the floor, pulling out and sliding them on. 

“You’re gonna walk around with my cum inside your sweet pussy for the rest of the night, and when I take you home, I’ll make sure to clean you up.” He smirks.

Feedback

Taglist: @ccbsrmsf1 @athenastark18 @aetherneto @hiddlechive @bluebear142077

[butchkaramazov]

A Shade Darker Than Red: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

The same day. 15:01.

I felt Paro long before I saw her.

The way the leaves rustled and nodded towards the sky, the way the red seemed to clear away. 

Next, I heard her.

Firm, sure footsteps resounded on the pavement. I imagined her walking towards me with her head held high, an earthen cup of steaming black tea in her hand.

And finally, I saw her.

She looked like the rich (sort of extra, if you ask me) businesswoman she was meant to be, exactly how I imagined her—except she hadn’t seen me yet.

The moment she saw me, her façade slipped and a wide grin spread over her face. Her free hand almost reached up to cover her teeth. Almost. 

She ran towards me, and all I remember is that I kept telling her not to drop the tea. The next thing I saw was her arms wrapped around my shoulders, her stupid face grinning at me. 

“We literally had a tickle fight an hour ago,” I said, pushing her off. Oh God, what was I going to do with this love?

“I know,” Paro said, still grinning. “Being away from you for an hour made me miserable.”

“Hey! I’m supposed to be the poet here!”

Paro swatted me on the arm before downing her tea in one go. “Shut up and give me the ice cream.”

“Say ‘please’.”

“No.”

“Fine. Just because I’m nice.” I fished out the plastic bag, the faint silhouette of a two-in-one cup and an orange packet showing.

Paro flashed me a victorious grin before dipping her hand into the bag, snatching the two-in-one cup for herself. What a Disney villain. 

“Won’t you have yours?” she asked me.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Why?”

“Not hungry.”

Paro eyed me suspiciously for a moment before shrugging it off. Something told me that her brain was working at the speed of a million miles per hour. 

I turned to look at the sky. It was red. 

Red.

Red.

What a familiar word.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” I whispered, mostly to myself.

Paro glanced at me. “Hm?”

“The sky,” I repeated. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Paro looked up, squinting at the midday sun. “Dude, how are you even looking at that? You’ll damage your eyes, Renu!”

Her words seemed to be coming from a faraway corridor. I looked down at my hands. Were they really my hands? Why was the sky red again? Things were getting better. Things were getting better, weren’t they?

Focus, Renu. Tickle fight. Paro. Paro. Paro.

As if on cue, Paro slipped her fingers through the gaps between mine. “Renu?” she asked softly.

I stifled a gasp and looked at her with a tight smile. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Earth to Renu!” I said, flailing my arms, trying to coax a smile out of her tensed features. I forced out a laugh. “I’m okay, Paro. Chill.”

Paro stared at—or rather, through—me. “And how exactly am I supposed to chill?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe have more ice cream?”

Paro’s lips twitched. She allowed herself to giggle briefly before turning serious again. “How dare you make me laugh in the most inappropriate situations?”

I knew what she would, inevitably, be thinking of—the day of her uncle’s funeral, when we were thirteen. Our parents were having a sombre discussion and Maa had told me to go “upstairs”. Paro and I had maintained eye contact for exactly one second before I looked terribly, terribly confused and asked: “To uncle-ji?”

Now, I looked at Paro and her barely suppressed smile. “I facepalmed so hard my head hurt,” she chuckled. 

“Now that I think of it, I’m probably the reason for your migraines,” I said.

Paro grumbled. “Nice job changing the subject, twerp. One problem: I’m not letting you go today.”

I smiled at her feeble attempt at being grumpy. “Don’t worry,” I said. “We have plenty of time.”

And that was true. We’d have days and weeks and months and years to talk about ourselves. By then, perhaps, the tinted glasses would disappear from my eyes. Everything had been red for so long I thought I had marks from the ‘rims’ of my red-tinted glasses. 

We had time. We had time for everything to subside to normal again. I had time to hold her hand and swing it and squeeze it and paint the sky in her colours.

But for now, the sky was on fire and I was sixteen.

@avani-amulya @manujanolavu @nirmohi-premika @lovesickpdf @arachneofthoughts @sonilaalbindi @desi-yearning @alhad-si-simran @thatpagalchokri @trashmeowcan @waitingforthesunrise @vellibandi @thesunandstarss @chanda-chamke-cham-cham @damnn-dorothea @the-unhinged-fanwinggg @watchingblsnowandforever please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist<3

tw: sudden anxiety attack

[cypressnmarigolds]

NSFW Bo Sinclair HCs + angst

I can't believe it. I've finally managed to start carving out a little space in my mean mind where I can feel safe and comfortable thinking about Bo. This is of course thanks to help from @slutforguts @early20sfailingplenty and @visceravalentines. You three have done some amazing work helping me get comfortable with Bo, even if you don't realize it, so thank you!

Anyway Let's get to it!

Contains: Bo being a complex, complicated human being. Switch, soft needy Bo.

🚫 Minors, blank and no-age blogs are not welcome on my blog or to interact with my posts. You will be blocked. 🚫

•First things first. I think Bo is very... complex. He goes back and forth with himself a lot. On one hand, he doesn't want to be a monster. He wants to be be better than his father (I think Victor facilitated a lot of the abuse Bo faced, Trudy probably just went along or didn't care unless she was pissed a Bo) and he wants to prove his parents wrong

•On the other hand, his parents taught him, told him he was a monster, wouldn't want to disrespect the dear old folks any would he? He also enjoys feeling so powerful in instilling fear and causing suffering to his victims. Making them feel like he did.

• This means Bo is going to have very complicated feelings about you as his (potential) s/o at first. He's going to be angry at you for making him feel so soft and weak and vulnerable, but at the same time, he wants to be so, so good for you, good to you. He has to be. Show you and everyone he's not a monster.

•When Bo first meets you, something clicks for him. Something about you catches his interest, makes him feel... something. He feels some pulsing incessantly in his brain, telling him he can't let you go. He can't hurt you, he can't kill you or scare you away. He doesn't know why, he just can't. His mind is an enigma. *cue image of spilt milk*

• Now, I Cannot, CANNOT imagine Bo putting his potential s/o in the chair. One, because I can't stand the idea , personally it would destroy my mind, and I can't even fathom coming out of that and still wanting Bo. I can't. Two, like I said, Bo doesn't want to be a monster to you. He won't put you there. He doesn't want to put you through what his parents did to him.

•He might actually be somewhat skittish and more reserved around you in the beginning. He's angry he feels so soft, but he's trying to be good for you. He's still gonna be a charming flirt, he may express frustration that you don't understand at times, but he is going to try SO hard not to take his shit out on you. Any visitors that roll in during this time get the brunt of his inner turmoil Vincent's having to do serious overtime, and also hiding away. Lester too, will be less present in town.

•Things are gonna be rocky and tense for a bit.

• I don't think he's gonna want sex too soon either. He has... intense tastes when it comes to sex, and doesn't want to scare or hurt you. He may believe that his desires are fucked up. He might see BDSM as a form of torture (given that all his kink gear is stored in the torture room) and has no place in pleasure shared between two consenting adults. Oh Bo, you are so very wrong.

• Bo will probably spill his guts to you one night after heavy drinking. When his scars itch and he scratches till they bleed, and the memories are too much to bear on his own. He will pour out everything to you though gritted teeth and sobs. What happened to him and his brothers, his parents, all his complicated feelings about you and his desire to be a good man for you despite how much of a monster he feels he is because of everything. He needs to know you love him anyway, and you do.(otherwise you wouldn't be here)

• Once all is said and done, you guys can work on things more calmly. Things will be worked and talked through. They won't be perfect, but Bo will be overjoyed that he gets to have this with you. Once you guys get to work on building your sex life, this fun really kicks off. 😈

• Bo loves to be dominant (but he is a switch) He loves tying you up, gagging you, teasing you, overstimulating you, denying you, spanking you, using toys on you... There's so much he loves to do with you.

•Anything you're comfortable with, he'll do. And he will praise/degrade you for being so brave and needy for him. And he will refer to himself as Daddy if you're on board with it I don't make the rules.

If you want some samplings Bo's dirty talk...

"You're my brave, strong little darlin' ain't 'cha? Lettin' me tie you up like this and have my way with you? Look at 'cha, squirmin' for me already.

"You gonna come for Daddy, huh? Is my needy little slut ready to come for me? Thaaaat's it, there you go darlin', make a mess for me."

"Is it too much sugar? You can't take another spanking? You sure? Cause this mess you're makin' all over my lap says otherwise."

•Now, Bo is a switch. Sometimes he needs to hand over the reigns. Let someone else do the thinking but sometimes he feels he needs to be put in his place or punished. Times like those can tricky to maneuver. Check in with him often and make sure he's not pushing himself past his limits. If you're domming him and you feel like something isn't right, use your safeword. Make sure he knows you don't want to hurt him. That you don't want to actually punish him, make him suffer. Sometimes he thinks he deserves it. Keep an eye on him.

• Now when Bo just wants to be fucked dumb and out of his mind? Ohhhh fuck you're in for a treat. He won't allow you to bind his hands, but he loves it when you take his hands in yours and press them to either side of his head while you fuck him.

•He loves being overstimulated (despite what his cries and whines may suggest) Does NOT like being denied. Edging is great, but ruined orgasms and straight up denial are a no-go for him.

• For some reason I can't stop thinking about Bo being blindfolded and having as many toys as possible used on him. So... blindfolds. Good.

If you want more samplings of Bo's dirty talk...

"Oh FUCK! Please! Ri--right there darlin' Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Ah! Please... N-no more. I-I can't-- Ah Fuck! Again please. please!"

"Shit, you feel so, so, sososo good inside me. Fuck! Harder!"

lots of moans he tries to hold in, but they only turns into whines.

•Bo also loves getting on his knees and between your thighs. Because he KNOWS how powerless you are with him kneeling between your legs, staring intensely up at you with those blue eyes. He may be on his knees, but he is fully in control. He loves watching you squirm under his gaze and falling apart.

OK. Holy shit. I'm exhausted. I had to get this all out while it was still in my mind. It's waaaaaay past my bedtime but I am so happy I got to do this. I hope you enjoyed!!

[coffearabica]

Bae, there is this one sentence that stuck with me for some reason but I can't seem to think of any good story to use it in rn. So, maybe u would think of sth?

"Just because you CAN (do it all by yourself), doesn't mean you HAVE TO."

Cue exasperation, lol.

babes i woke up early to work, saw this, and my plans did a rapid 180. wrote it too quickly so pls don’t expect much. and thank you sm for this!! i really need to write but i don’t know what and this helped a ton🫶

—

You didn’t know the extent of it, then again he made sure of that.

Xavier could never hide his emotions. If there was one thing he disliked more than Wednesday herself, it was her ability to do just that. Because she seemed to have no qualms about accusing him of murder while he was left spiraling.

It was easy to pick up on his negative mood. He was unsteady, his knee shaking, his empty fingers shifting as though he had a pen creating unseeable art. You couldn’t ask him about it though, because another thing about Xavier was he didn’t like to burden you.

Especially not with murder.

It’d gone on for days - each new sunrise met with a darker version of your boyfriend. He no loger smiled at you, he seemed to have adopted a permanent frown and canyon between his brows. He didn’t speak to you much either, but his silence spoke volumes. And this was only when you saw him, because he’d also disappeared. Even Ajax was growing concerned.

“Hey.” He approached you just before Botany let out, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and beanie pulled down lower than usual.

“Hi,” you smiled at him.

“Have you seen Xavier lately?”

“Uhm, no not really.”

“Oh,” he visibly deflates, “something’s wrong with him. He hasn’t even been showing up to-” he pauses, wryly looks around and leans in to whisper, “the meetings.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s dealing with some stuff.” You try to keep the bitterness out of your tone, feeling ashamed for not knowing the specifics. He wouldn’t even give you a chance to ask.

“This Hyde stuff as been really messing with him.”

That gets you to pause. You don’t hear anymore of what Ajax is saying, instead determination fills your blood stream and your shouldering your bag just as class is dismissed and pushing out a half-assed apology to him as you rush off.

The woods seemed to get denser anytime you walked through them, especially when Xavier wasn’t around. The sky was gloomier and open spaces smaller but you’d made it through in record time. His art shed stood as it always did, a bit battered, unimportant looking to the plain eye. But you knew his space, and you knew him.

You didn’t do your knock, a specific one to let him know it was you. You twisted the knob and barged right in.

“What the hell.” He scowls, dropping his paintbrush and turning to face you with nothing but malice. It took him a moment to register that it was you, the hard edge to his voice fell away, his shoulders relaxed and he was back to frowning, “What’re you doing here?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Xavier. Tell me what has you holing yourself way from everyone.”

He bends down to pick up his brush, “Nothings wrong.”

“Something must be! You wont talk to me, you won’t see me, and now you won’t even look at me! Your friends are worried about you, I’m worried about you, okay?”

His shoulders tense and with his back turned to you you don’t see his lips pursing and eyes welling with tears.

“Is it really that bad? Because if it is and you don’t want to talk to me about it, fine. But at least talk to someone. You can’t keep pushing people away and hiding in your shed as if no one gives a-”

“Just stop.” He says through gritted teeth.

“No, Xavier, no more of that silent torture bullshit. I’m your girlfriend, I’m supposed to be here for you. You’d never let me get away with not telling you so I’m done letting you.”

When he doesn’t respond, or move, you start to think you went too far. That maybe he just wasn’t ready and you’d barged into his space like an asshole demanding answers. But then you hear the shuddering breaths that give way to an almost inaudible sob.

Your bag hits the floor with a thud and Xavier turns just as you reach him. His arms loop around your waist and pulls you plush against him as he hides in the crook of your neck. Drops of tears hit your skin and his shoulders shake beneath your arms. His skin is oddly warm and hair a tangled mess that your fingers barely get through, but you only hold him tighter.

“It’s okay, baby.” You whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. It’s unsteady, much like him. Everything seems to come out in that moment, like the knots holding everything in had loosened just enough and it all came tumbling. It takes a while before he calms down. His shaking shoulders reduce to lengthy breaths and when you’re sure he’s gotten it all out you try to pull back.

Except he doesn’t let you, he anchors you to himself and drops a soft kiss on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He says again.

“What’s wrong, Xavier?”

It takes a moment before he tells you, and it takes an even tighter squeeze to quell the anger he feels swelling inside you when he does. “It just got too much. And with the visions - I didn’t want to close my eyes and I knew that if I saw you I’d…” he trails off and it’s your turn to tighten your arms around him,

“I wish you’d come to me sooner.”

“I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You’re never a burden to me, xav.”

“Still, it’s a lot and I didn’t want anyone else to have to deal with it.”

When you pull back this time he lets you, his face blotchy and eyes still shiny with tears. His cheeks redden and he tries to duck his head back to your shoulder but you grab his face and swipe your thumbs under his eyes.

“You shouldn’t deal with it alone. That’s too much.” He tries to open his mouth but you kiss him before he can, its quick - just to keep him quiet so you can speak, “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to. Especially not when you have me.”

You look into his eyes, hoping he sees how serious you are. Because it hurt to feel like you lost him.

You pull him in to kiss him again, this time it’s longer, slower, and full of everything unsaid in the past week. With your hands you tilt his head, deepening the kiss and without prompting him to xavier opens his mouth.

His hands begin moving, up and down your back and crushing your chest to his. They skim over your waist, his fingers briefly digging into the skin there. He lowers them, tugging at your hips until you’re gasping for air. He doesn’t relent, he trails kisses along your neck as you gently pull on his hair.

“Thank you.” he whispers between his sloppy kisses.

“Come to me next time.” You say it firmly, even with your eyes closed in bliss. “Promise me.”

He picks his head up, looking down at you with tender eyes. The space between them is no longer creased and the added pink to his face makes him look much brighter than he’d looked all week.

“I promise.” he says.

“Good.” You tug him low, kissing his forehead first, then his nose, under each of his eyes, and his chin. His eyes are closed, anticipating the next spot and when you touch your lips to his again, for a moment, the horrors of his week are forgotten.

[n0bamak1s]

clueless - maki zenin x reader

request: “I was thinking Maki Zenin x Fem reader where y/n is really intimidated by Maki and has avoided her since they first met each other. Despite that, they both have feelings for each other and after a while Maki gets annoyed with y/n and confronts her to figure out why she keeps avoiding Maki. And then the reader accidentally confesses and says something like “how could I not feel intimidated by someone so hot!?”” - @wh0legrain

summary: it’s difficult for you to read maki’s intent when she tries to become more approachable to you, which throws of your plan of trying to avoid her at all costs. alternatively titled: maki zenin is terrible at flirting (genre: fluff, attempt at humor, idiots to lovers)

warnings: like one or two swear words, mentions of bruises/scrapes from training

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i honestly had so much fun with the dynamic between maki and reader here! i love the idea that maki would have no idea how to flirt lmao

“don’t look now, but she’s looking at you again.” panda, your current sparring partner, peered at her over your shoulder as you got into a fighting position. of course, out of curiosity you immediately turned around, and unluckily for your own ego, you made direct eye contact with maki. she seemed to have no intent of backing down from your impromptu staring contest, intense black eyes remaining on you, and had you not been so focused on trying to figure out what had caused this sudden interest in you, you’d have noticed the amused glint in her eyes.

did she really have no shame in being caught staring at you?

before giving yourself any more time to process her expression, you whipped your head back around to face panda. at least you were able to take note of the amusement on his face.

“i don’t get why she keeps glaring at me.” you huffed annoyedly, still feeling her gaze burn into the back of your head. shouldn’t she be busy sparring with inumaki? “if it’s about that one time i borrowed her uniform skirt because mine was in the wash, she should be more mad about inumaki and gojo taking it every time she’s on a mission to try it on.”

panda had a shocked expression on his face, as if to ask why the hell you knew about the boys prancing around in the girl’s skirts whenever the opportunity arose, but it was quickly wiped off to be replaced by a knowing sort of smile.

“no, i doubt that’s why.” his voice rang with the sing-songy sound of knowing something you didn’t, but you simply chose to raise an annoyed eyebrow at his annoying little game rather than question him.

even as you ran at him, fists raised defensively, you swore you could still feel a pair of sleek eyes trailing your movements. you slid to dodge panda’s swing at you, leaving a layer of dirt on the hem of your shorts. despite succeeding in avoiding sparring with maki, which admittedly sounded absolutely brutal, you felt extremely ungrateful for panda’s strength as he lifted you up by the wrist. somehow he managed to end up with you flipped onto your back, despite your best efforts to sweep his legs out from under him. if losing to a literal panda in a fight wasn’t embarrassing enough, it didn’t help that this was the moment maki had decided to suddenly start paying attention to you, a fact you became acutely aware of as she hovered over you, her figure shadowed by the sun behind you.

“you okay?” she cocked an eyebrow, extending a hand to pull you to your feet, making you suddenly conscious of how her legs were positioned on either side of you, so you laid beneath her. when you were unable to sputter out a response, she sighed softly, leaning down so she knelt with her knees resting on the dirt on either side of your thighs. a hand waves in front of your face, and makis brows furrow slightly. “did you hit your head or something because of that idiot?” she cocked a thumb at your sparring partner.

something about her sudden proximity seemed to shock you out of your distracted daze, making you push yourself up so you held yourself by palms flat on the ground. taking note of how close your face was to hers, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smirk, her lips parting slightly to show her teeth. you weren’t even sure if she was aware of the fact that she was smiling right now, or the effect she was having on your already embarrassed state as she leaned over you, her figure shadowing yours.

why was she so intent on making fun of you?

“i’m fine!” you managed to blurt out, pulling your knees close to you to escape the compromising position she’d put the both of you in.

her eyes remained playfully narrowed and her lips turned up, but as she opened her mouth to say something, you practically sprung up from the ground as if you weren’t bruised and tired from fighting, turning on your heel to go back to panda. you flashed an awkwardly apologetic smile, before shrouding yourself in panda’s shadow.

you found yourself grateful for the shadow panda cast on you, as it shielded your eyes from the sun, and the glare you knew was inevitably resting behind maki’s glasses.

the four of you remained sparring until the first glimpse of heavy gray clouds masqueraded the blistering sun. you helped panda up from where he’d laid on the ground, spotting out of the corner of your eye none other than gojo, who looked almost comical inspecting the state of the sky with his usual dopey smile while still adorning his iconic blindfold. had you not known any better, you’d say he looked like a complete idiot.

on the other hand, maki, who did know better, seemed to have no problem stating that he did, in fact, look like a complete idiot.

“so are you just gonna stand there all day, moron? or do you actually have something important to say for once.” maki crossed her arms over her chest, making her jacket taut over her muscles, catching your attention for the briefest of moments. you quickly averted your eyes back to gojo in hopes of not being caught staring as she had earlier, as if you were a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. though you couldn’t see gojos eyes, you could sense a sort of mischief from him as he smiled at you. was today just some weird holiday where people stared at you for no reason that no one had informed you about?

“you guys seem to have the sky on your side today.” gojo smiled widely as his gaze flickered between the four of you lined up in front of him. “since it seems to be about to rain, you guys can get off a little early today, just go clean up in the bathrooms if you need to.” he waved his hands at you all, in a motion that seemed to be shooing you away.

you begin to feel the beginnings of drizzling rain hitting the tip of your nose, and the top of your head, and take that as your cue to leave. letting out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding in, you unzipped and shrugged off your hoodie, throwing it over your shoulder as you turned towards the heavy doors of the school building. you’d only gotten a couple steps closer than you’d been before you heard the familiar sound of your name, called from the less familiar source that was maki zenin.

“wait up!” she called, taking long strides to catch up to you. “if we’re cleaning up now, i’ll come with you and i can help you if you got scraped or anything.” her hand rubbed the back of her neck, and a soft smile cracked onto her lips, egging you on to respond.

you furrowed your brows slightly. she had never bothered to help you out like this before, so what made it different. “i think i’ll be fine.” you hoped your embarrassment at the idea of the situation didn’t show on your face.

“tch, it’s not like i’m planning to kill you in there or anything.” honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had been. “it’ll just be weird if we’re both patching ourselves up in silence when there’s clearly a more efficient way to do it.”

screw her for always being correct.

you nodded your head in agreement in a way that was comically defeated. she motioned for you to follow her, and so you trailed behind her like a lost puppy.

though you had no way to prove it, you could’ve sworn that gojo winked at you from underneath his blindfold as you passed him.

the two of you walked in silence that seemed comfortable for you, but maki seemed clearly impatient.

“i wanted to check on you and ask if you were alright.” she broke the silence, pulling off her rain stained glasses to wipe them on the edge of her shorts. “you seemed really frazzled earlier, so if you hit your head or something we can take you to shoko, i wouldn’t want you to get seriously hurt or something.”

you were somewhat surprised by her words, but feigned indifference as you smiled reassuringly. “i’m fine, was just kinda lost in my thoughts earlier. guess you kinda just caught me off guard.” you were telling the truth, so why did it feel as if you were lying straight through your teeth?

as she swung open the girls bathroom door, she gave you an incredulous look, as if she was trying to recall the events of the day that could have made you so tense. you hoisted yourself up to sit on the sink, leaning back with a sigh of relief from finally relaxing your muscles. maki grabbed the small first aid kit, positioning herself to stand between your legs,a position that was oddly reminiscent of when you’d been on the field earlier. she caught your wrist in your hand, causing you to jump slightly as her eyes scanned your forearm, riddled with some bruises from training, but nothing that really needed cleaning.

“what could i have possibly done to catch you off guard?” her words sounded concerned, but contrasted the teasing smile playing at her lips. under the fluorescent lights, you could make out the flush tinted on her cheeks from being outside all day, as if she’d been kissed by the sun herself.

suddenly you felt very shy, twiddling with your thumbs in your lap, and willing your eyes anywhere but where they’d meet maki’s. to her, your current flustered state was an amusing contrast to how you were when fighting curses, your usual confident and strong willed demeanor had been replaced with the attitude of a bashful school girl. still, you knew you’d have to be confrontational in this moment.

“please stop teasing me, maki.” you looked her dead in the eyes, wiping the amusement from her face, and swapping it with a mixture of shock and worry.

“i’m not making fun of you.” she shook her head, her already pink dusted cheeks turning more red. “what makes you think I am?”

you chucked humourlessly. “well if the glaring at me wasn’t enough, you seem to keep trying to embarrass me. if it’s because of that time i borrowed your skirt without telling you, i really am sorry, but stop trying to make fun of me.”

“when did you borrow my skirt? i always just assume it’s the boys being idiots. you can borrow my skirt anytime you want.” you wished you could be mad at her for her nonchalance. “besides, YOU’RE the one who’s always avoiding me, panda told me i should try to be more approachable, so i thought eye contact might help.” she shrugged exasperatedly, placing her hands flat on sink, resting on either side of your thighs.

“well, you don’t exactly have the most approachable face when you’re making ‘eye contact.’ you had me thinking you were plotting my downfall in your head or something.” she stifled a laugh at your overdramatization. “it was totally intimidating.”

“oh?” her smile was dopey, one that only you would be flustered by. “does that mean i make you nervous?” her voice was hushed as she tilted her head downwards toward you, looking satisfied with herself.

“well you’re gonna make anyone nervous if you’re sending them death glares one second and offering to clean their wounds the next.”

her only response was a laugh as she buried her face in her hands. it wasn’t a mean laugh, not one directed at you, more so just her laughing at what idiots the both of you were being.

“you really thought i hated you?” her words were spaced apart by involuntary giggles, her mouth was stretched into a wide grin, almost like one from gojo. “man, i thought i was so obvious!” she turned to hoist herself next to you on the sink, leaning her head on your shoulder as her whole body shook from laughter.

you said nothing in response, just processing if this moment was real. you’d hardly seen maki smile before today, let alone laugh.

“you mean to tell me you’ve spent all this time avoiding me because you thought i hated you?” admittedly, when she repeated it back to you after her outburst of laughter, it did sound rather ridiculous. but to be fair, she should’ve considered the possibility before her sorry attempt to be more approachable.

“it’s not my fault you scare the crap out of me, i mean, how could i not be intimidated by someone so hot!” your mouth moves faster than your brain, and she lifts her head from your shoulder, making you hyper aware of both your words and your sudden proximity to her face.

shit.

your eyes are wide as saucers as you stare at her, convinced that, like a dinosaur, if you don’t move, she won’t even notice you’re there. much to your dread, she smiles yet again (seriously, today alone make up a solid 90% of the times you’d ever seen her smile.)

“you’re such a dumbass, you know?” you can hear the laughter threatening to bubble up in her voice. you wish you could come up with a clever comeback, but you just stared back, moth gaping like a fish out of water. “the reason i was asking panda for advice was because i like you. in hindsight, i suppose he’s probably not the most reliable when it comes to relationship advice.”

“all you really got out of following his advice was making a fool out of me.” you looked down at your feet. “but i guess i kind of did that myself anyways.”

“don’t beat yourself up about it. it’s cute.” she leaned forward so she was in your peripheral, willing you to look at her. “plus if you weren’t such an idiot, i’d have to keep sending you ‘death glares’, as you like to call them, to get your attention.” she chuckled, and you lifted your hand to shove her playfully, before she caught your wrist effortlessly, tugging slightly so you could feel her breath fan on your face.

once again, your mouth moved before you had time to think. “maki...can i kiss you?” you’d taken note of how her eyes darted between your eyes and your lips.

it was her turn to be bashful now. she nodded slowly, her eyes half lidded, as she dared to close the small amount of distance between the both of you. without second thought, you press your lips to hers tenderly, letting your arms loop around her neck, hands meeting between her shoulder blades. her eyelashes tickle your face as they flutter closed, with her hands balancing her, palms flat on the sink counter. the pitter pattering sound of rain from outside echoed in you ears.

the kiss is messy and awkward, but in that moment, you felt on top of the world, smiling into it without a care in the world as your fingers played with the ends of her ponytail. you break away reluctantly for air, taking in the dopey smile on her face, and the way her hands reached to grab yours to hold in her own, rubbing small circles in the back of your hand with her calloused thumb. her breathing is soft and steady, clearly still readjusting after your kiss. wordlessly, she leans forward to rest her head on your shoulder, so you can feel her breath hit the crook of your neck, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“thank god you’re such an idiot.”

[missycolorful]

This path we carved for ourselves, we do not have to travel it alone

(So... in my current canon-complaint story, there’s a large csandduo scene, that I wanted to get done before Wilbur's stream but didn't. Not that I'm bothered just adding "canon-divergence," more so that I want my work to fit the characters as best as possible. And if csandduo interaction… doesn't go the way I'd like, I'd feel disheartened to go too different a route? idk, brain be weird.

Anyway, this is a very rough draft of that scene I cobbled together, so people can enjoy one interpretation of how the stream might go. I’ll likely still keep it in the story, though knowing me it'll be vastly different from the final project. Again, very rough.

ALL THIS TO SAY. Here’s a 4k c!sandduo drabble about apologies long left unsaid and a father and son trying to fix what is broken, and if everything I wrote about these two is wrong, I will cry but at least I got this out there)

oo

With a slow, eerie creak, the door opened. Phil’s hands stilled from their stitch up work on Tubbo’s winter pants. Something about Tubbo and Tommy fighting over the last batch of cookies they had between them. Said goat hybrid sat on the chair adjacent the couch in a pair of shorts, tapping his knees and rambling about Michael. The spark in his eyes seemed to reignite now that Ranboo was back, their family reunited if not entirely as it was.

With the noise at the door, though, Tubbo’s mouth snapped shut. Phil wondered if Technoblade had returned. He came back from another journey the other day, but left once more shortly after, busy as ever. Phil glanced toward the door and—

Guilt stumbled into his chest when Wilbur tilted his head to walk through the doorway. Of course. Even though Wilbur’s presence in the cabin had been scarce, Phil still offered the cabin as a proper home for him. Yet Wilbur stood stiffly at the corner like a stranger. A tense expression wrinkled his face.

Philza straightened his posture, sitting taller on the couch. Concern etched his brow. “Hey, Wil,” he said. “D’you want something to drink? I-I should have extra snacks lying around if you need—“

“Uh, no, no, I don’t need anything right now. Well,” Wilbur interrupted. His shoulders drew rigid, the posture of a man with business to attend to. “I was sort of hoping to talk to you.”

Phil froze, fingers twitching with the needle and thread.

“Alright, that’s my cue, I’ll be taking that, thank you, Philza!” Tubbo exclaimed all in what felt like one breath, shattering the tension that was thick as steel. He stood up, yanked the cloth from Phil’s grasp, and began to exit the house.

“I, fuckin—Tubbo, I didn’t even finish—“

“And if I get frostbite on my ass, that’ll be the consequences of my actions. Bye!” With a single, curt wave, Tubbo was out the door in seconds, slamming it shut with more force than necessary. Even Wilbur cringed slightly from the sound.

Philza tried to show off his best poker face. Wilbur continued to stand close to the corner, and nothing was being said, so naturally, Philza’s mind liked to wander and assume the worst of this future conversation.

His mind was scattered, but the unsettling feeling was not unfounded. Not after the last time Wilbur and he spoke, though that was more akin to a one-sided shouting match on Wilbur’s part.

“How could you do that?” Wilbur shouted, right in his face, a snarl curling his lips and revealing gritted teeth. “After all he’s done, you just let him out!”

Philza forced himself to keep still, to not recoil at the sudden rise of anger bursting from Wilbur like a prodded balloon. Things had been going swell until Tommy walked in to join the two. The conversation, some way or another, led to Wilbur discovering Phil helped Dream escape prison and forced a frazzled Tommy to deal with his abuser all over again. Phil dragged a calloused hand over his eyes,

“It was... it was just business, like I told Tommy. Technoblade had his own thing to do, and I was just... making sure nothing went wrong.”

“Business? You just let out a criminal ‘cause it’s business?” Wilbur continued, and Tommy stood beside him, awkwardly at that. He never once spoke up. He eyed Wilbur every time his voice rose or he mentioned his name, but otherwise, the boy held no courage to discuss his struggles. “Since when were you buddy buddy with the guy, Philza?”

“We’re not friends,” Phil spat with no hesitation, offended by the notion. “Not like I ever gave a shit ‘bout him.”

“But you still let him out, don’t you understand? You’re responsible for making Tommy afraid for his own life again. You can’t just say you feel bad now, it’s too late. Not after what Dream put Tommy through.”

“Okay, ‘cept I barely know what he's ever done to Tommy,” Phil said, irritation riling like a volcano ready to erupt, but he had to keep it under the surface. He wasn't going to fight against his son; he couldn't. He threw his arms out. "Fuck’s sake, I still barely know shit 'bout a lot of things."

Wilbur shook his head in disbelief, a sickly grin on his face. “Wh-you can't be serious."

"I can't know everything going on in this server, Wil," Phil pressed, shoulders sagging as if to emphasize his exhaustion.

"But I know," Wilbur replied, his voice low. "I've been back a lot less than you have. I know plenty, and I know you made a mistake." He gestured with a finger close to Phil's heart.

"Okay, I'm aware of that now," Phil bit back, voice rising as it inched somewhere between anger and desperation. Because it wasn't fair it wasn't fair...

"But that's the problem. After all this time, you didn't know? Do you really care so little? Or are you playing ignorant, old man?” he asked in a honey-suckle voice that had an acidic exterior. And hearing Wilbur speak to him like that hurt worse than any punch or sting.

“No, it’s that no one fucking tells me anything!” Philza snapped back against his viciously pounding heart. Blood pumped in his ears drums, a cacophony of noise, noise, noise. “How can I help if I’m kept in the dark all the time? What good can I do when I don’t know fuck all about you?!” He clamped his mouth shut before the tides came crashing in, but the damage was done, the sand swallowed by sea. His chest heaved.

The fire in Wilbur's eyes was more like an ember, as opposed to the billowing inferno from a minute ago. He took a moment to respond. “You never asked,” he whispered, the change in his tone threatening to cause whiplash.

Something lodged in Phil’s throat. A million thoughts surged through his brain like lightning striking flat land.

I wanted you to come to me.

I was afraid to.

I didn’t think you’d want me to.

Phil released a long and painful breath. “Y-yeah, you’re right... I-I couldn’t... I didn’t.”

No one said a word. Phil wondered if the world would shatter if a floorboard creaked, or one of the crows made a sound. Wilbur looked down, eyebrows furrowed. Phil was afraid to decipher his expression, so he gripped his chair and stared at the ground.

“I-I-I need to go,” Wilbur hastily said, turning on his heel and throwing the door open. “C’mon, Tommy.”

Tommy didn’t even look back at Philza before following Wilbur through the door, which was slammed shut. The picture above shuddered before going still. Phil collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands.

It had been over a week since then. Phil didn’t know where his son had gone off to in that time, or who he talked to. Wilbur had been in the midst of seeking redemption and forgiveness when he had thrown open Philza’s door with Tommy lagging behind him. Now he was back, he was alone, and he looked tired.

Did Wilbur learn about Phil’s hand in New L’manberg’s destruction? Or anything else that would break the camel’s back?

It was all coming together, Philza realized. For all he knew, Wilbur was here to rescind his forgiveness toward his father, because it was Phil’s fault, after all. He was here to tell Phil he never wanted to hear from him again. The thoughts crept through his mind for months and never relented, but now Frankenstein's monster was coming alive, but there was no kindness here, only cruelty and truth. Philza would not be okay with it for a long time, but at least the worry about what if's would no longer plague his mind like an illness as to whether his son even wanted him around or not—

“Phil?”

A voice spurred him from his spiraling. Phil flinched, and he sunk back into his body. He grabbed his cane to help himself to his feet. Blue eyes returned to Wilbur. “If you need to talk, we can. You don’t need to stand there the whole time,” he said, whirling around to step into the kitchen. “Go ‘head and sit down, I can grab some wate--“

“I’m leaving.”

Phil’s hand had been on the doorway when he stopped. His grip tightened, hiding the trembling of his fingers. Don’t turn back, don’t look back.

“What’s that?”

“I’m leaving the server. And I'm not really coming back.”

Fuck. Phil glanced over his shoulder. Wilbur’s hands were shoved into his pockets, and he stared directly at Philza with weary eyes. He had the face of a man who had seen several lifetimes.

Did something happen?

Is everything okay?

I just got you back.

Let me help you.

“O-oh,” Phil struggled, leaning heavily onto his cane. “Okay. That’s... you know, maybe it’ll be good for you to... to get away from all this." Phil gestured vaguely into the air before slapping his hand back at his side. "If you think that's best, go out and explore, mate. Has, uh, everything be going good? Wi-with everyone you’re talking to?”

Wilbur nodded. “Yeah, it’s been...” He carded through his hair, and lowered himself onto the couch. The fire cackled right beside him, casting orange shade to the side of his face. “It’s been hard, not gonna lie. But reaching out to everyone was for the best. It helped a lot. I learned a lot, too.”

Phil nodded, hurrying to grab a pair of glasses. He returned and placed two cups of water onto the coffee table. As Phil rounded the table, Wilbur spoke up.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Wilbur brought one leg to his chest, leaning his cheek against his arms as they rested on his knee. “Why did you do it? Blow up L’manberg, I mean?”

There was nothing accusatory to his voice, no anger, no disappointment. It sounded like a simply, curious question, like asking someone how they wanted to spend the day. Not asking why someone would commit terrorism.

It didn’t calm the worry seeping into Phil's skin. “Who told you?” he asked, a genuine question as opposed to anything blunt or demanding.

“A few people, actually. Tommy, for example, but th-that’s not what’s important here,” Wilbur made vague gestures with his hands as he spoke. He scratched at his hairline. “I’m asking why you did it.”

He tried so hard to read his son’s tone, but the boy seemed to do well in concealing what lied in his heart. Like he wanted to throw a sucker punch only when it would hit the hardest. But Phil would never be ready for the sudden blow. He sat in the chair closest to Wilbur, his hands clasped in his lap.

“Mate, I… fuck, whatever version of L’manberg you made was not the one I saw. You weren’t there to see th-the…” He gestured weakly with a hand. “How fucked the government was. All these people getting corrupted by greed and shit and-and…” His voice petered off, and he whispered, “And seeing that that country... i-it destroyed you. And I didn’t want that to happen again. That's... that's why, really.”

“I see,” Wilbur muttered, straightening his posture. His eyes drifted toward his hands, buried in the fabric of his worn pants.

“You know, I helped start building it back up. I wanted to help,” Phil continued, thinking back to his first days in the server. The air still tasted like ash, but among the ruins, there was beauty to be found underneath, he just knew. And Phil wanted to seek it, only to later discover the ugly in the cracks and corners. He sighed, a tragic smile playing on his lips. “It just all fell apart. I dunno what happened, but... would you believe me if I told you I did it ‘cause I care?”

“Even if it destroyed the homes of the people who say you care about? Tubbo and Tommy were quite upset by it--”

“Lot of people were hurt by that place. Niki and Ranboo told me themselves. Just… I swear, if you were there, you’d understand,” Phil emphasized, leaning forward, his fingers twitching from how close they were to his son’s hands. How he desperately sought to hold them and never let go. He shook his head. “I’m trying, I really am.”

“Somehow, I understand,” Wilbur said, his voice a touch far away. “Seeing as that was, well, part of my reasons.”

"Is... really?” Phil tried desperately to hold back how desperate he sounded, because that split moment of connection meant more to him than anything else in that moment.

“You see, Phil,” Wilbur’s curls bounced over his eyes when he tilted his head toward his father. He stapled his fingers together. “You destroyed it out of regard for others--perhaps yourself, as well, I can assume. Pretty drastic actions for it, but who am I to critique that? ‘Cause I, too, saw my own country fall into the hands of a tyrant. Just-just the mere existence of that country, the one I built, created tyranny. So I destroyed what had to be destroyed, but…”

“But?” Phil pushed, leaning forward to place a hand on Wilbur’s knee. I’m here I’m right here.

Wilbur leaned back, his guarded expression on full display. A smile tugged at his lips, one that did not meet the exhaustion that sunk his eyes. “Except your wrong. Well, at least about the old L’manberg. The new one, my memories are... faint, happy, but all of Ghostbur’s memories are, so they’re not that helpful. But the thing is, Philza, is that L’manberg didn’t destroy me.” He kicked his leg up to cross it over his other knee, prompting Phil to retract his palm. “I was the bad guy, it was all me, the system I created. I started my own downfall because I was a terrible person who did terrible things. I hurt all those people, and... you were right, when we last spoke. Y-you have no idea how much I’ve done.” And through it all, he smiled, though it wavered the longer he spoke.

“I...” Word abandoned Phil. What was he supposed to say, what could he say he had to say something!!

“I’ve done so much wrong, and I died because that’s how it was supposed to happen. Yet here I am,” Wilbur shook his head, eyes misting over, “sitting across my father, who just… accepted me in his house without question, and all these people I’ve hurt are forgiving me way too easily, and I don’t get it. You all should be afraid of me, fuckin’ hate me, so… why not?” he asked, looking Phil directly in the eye, practically pleading for some semblance of understanding. The walls were tumbling down, his expression completely open, utterly heartbreaking.

And Philza’s face crumbled. He turned away to fight back against another tsunami of emotions that assaulted him. And Wilbur was waiting for him to say something, but now, now he had an idea as to what to say.

Because Wilbur truly was his son, because he had been staring at a version of himself, one still forging his path.

“You know that, uh, I have done some bad things too,” he began, trying to keep everything under control. For now. “I’m a fucked up guy, I’m not perfect--well, none of us are, but… god, you don’t even know the extent of all the shit I’ve done…” His smile faded. “Though you know plenty about what I’ve done here.”

“Like you guys breaking Dream out of jail--god, Phil, that was so fuckin’ stupid--”

“I didn't know," Phil again argued, in vain, so he added, "It’s why I’ve been trying to help Tommy, as a way to apologize. But all that? Would you say I’m a bad guy?”

Wilbur didn’t respond right away, the gears in his head turning. “In someone’s story, perhaps," he said.

“Alright, fair, that’s fair,” Phil conceded, nodding. "I know what it looks like to others, the things I did. I’m not stupid. I must look like the biggest dick.” He pressed a hand against the wrinkled folds of his pants, smoothing the fabric. “But that’s… the world isn’t that simple, never was. Villains, heroes, it’s all in stories, nothing more. At worst, we just do bad things, even if we think we have good reasons.” He glanced out the window, thinking back to the afternoon when he had returneded to this cabin on a day where smoke from what was once L’manberg could still be seen, even from afar.

How there was no feeling of satisfaction or joy or even anger or resentment. There was no catharsis. That would imply Doomsday was to make him feel good, when he wanted to bury everything that trembled inside of him in debris and ash.

“But after everything I’ve done," said Wilbur, again dragging Phil from deeply hidden memories, "my friends forgave me. Shouldn’t they hate me?”

Phil thought about his conversation with Kristin, about cavorting death and about second chances, and he shook his head. “I think it’s why you were given a second chance--”

“But Phil, Dream was just using me against Tommy. That’s the reason he brought me back.”

Philza sneered. Great, another piece to add to the pile that made it really hard to just not find and kill Dream on the spot. “I--well, I’m… I’m talking in the more whole, like, universal way. Fuck Dream, doesn’t matter why he did that. But you came back, and you’re given a chance to work things out with everyone you hurt, because you do care about them. That’s what’s important.

“Wilbur.” Phil stepped forward on weak knees and placed both his hands on Wilbur’s shoulders. Wilbur glanced up at him, looking small and younger. “You shouldn’t have died that day. I don’t care if Kristin even says it was supposed to happen. It fucking--I think every day about it, it was so fucked up. You deserved to come back and be alive.”

Wilbur’s jaw dropped, the wrinkles around his eyes emphasizing a deep sadness that twisted Phil’s heart. “But what do I do now, Phil?” he nearly begged. “I’ve gone to almost everyone I want to give forgiveness to, but after that… where does my story go from here?”

"Stories, that's..." Phil’s fingers tightened on his son’s dirty, dirty coat. He needed to give that a good wash later. He sighed. “You just live, mate.”

“But what does that mean?”

Phil’s mouth fell open, but no words came out. Maybe years and years ago, he’d be upfront and tell him that he wanted to give a good answer but couldn’t, and that was that. Because he had been lost and confused and had let eons of survival consume everything about him.

“I don’t know any legit answer, if there’s even one. F-fuck if I know, but...” But the years had made him soft. So his face, too, softened, as he said, his smile pained but honest, “Just... do better than me.” He squeezed Wilbur’s shoulders. “Be better than me, Wilbur. I think you can do that much.”

Wilbur’s lip quivered, and for a brief second, Phil thought oh god, that didn’t help at all.

Until Wilbur rose to his feet and threw his arms around his back, dragging Phil into a strong embrace. With his heart hammering in his chest, Phil scrambled to wrap his arms around his son. Against his shoulder, Wilbur took in a shuddering breath. Philza fell silent, at a loss for words. All he knew what to do was refuse to let go of his son, never again. Then...

“I’m sorry, Phil,” Wilbur muttered into Phil’s shoulder.

Phil adjusted himself to pull Wilbur back, as he assessed what was going on. Confusion swamped his mind. After all, Wilbur said he had asked for forgiveness from almost everyone he wanted, but… no, that didn’t make sense. Heavy stones sat in Phil’s gut.

“Mate, I...” He scoffed. “Sorry, but what’re you apologizing to me for?”

Wilbur’s eyes furrowed. “Huh?”

“I’m just, that's not how..." Phil shook his head. "I-I killed you. That literally gives you a free pass in-in not needing to apologize. I…” He tried to pass off a laugh, but it was weak. “I don’t even know why you’d apologize.”

Wilbur considered for a moment, arms crossed. “Y’know, for a bit there, in limbo… there was a time where I wasn’t… happy with what happened. What you did. I… I think I hated you.” Blue eyes met brown, and honesty carved every feature of his face.

Phil nodded, gulping back the bile in his throat. “And you have every right to--”

“But now, Phil?” Wilbur straightened his posture and stared down at his hands, like they were stained with uncleansed blood of the past. “Being brought back and seeing what I had done to everyone, including you--”

“Wilbur, I hurt you,” Phil emphasized hurriedly, and he didn’t want to fight his son on this, but if Wilbur truly wanted to insist on it, then he’d gladly rage into war. It was better than this! “I should be the one apologizing, not you." His body sagged, and he clasped his hands onto Wilbur's wrists. "Because I am sorry. I carried that grief with me every fuckin’ day, because I promised I’d do anything to get you back. C-couldn’t even do that, though… I fucked up, and my mistake fucked you over, too.” He brushed a hand over his face, feeling the burn of tears against his eyes,. “And I-I’m sorry for that, but I’m not letting you apologize for dying.”

Wilbur blew air through his nostrils. “That’s not fair, Phil!” he exclaimed, stepping back and throwing his arms out. “You tell me to go out and apologize to people, and everyone knows I’ve done terrible things and treated them horribly. And now you’re telling me what I can’t apologize abo-“

“That’s not...That’s not the point.” Phil sighed, digging his fingers between his eyes. The heavy weight of the conversation dragged over his back, threatening to pull him under. He reached over for his cane before his legs betrayed him. "What reason could--"

Once he gathered himself, his eyes locked on Wilbur, whose attention was directed at something beside Phil. More specifically, to his right, where his tattered wing twitched against the floorboard. The distance in deep brown eyes reflected how far into the past Wilbur was drifting as his focus sharpened on matted feathers.

“Wilbur,” Phil said, voice stern but not cruel. Determined. Wilbur's eyes were glazed over when his gaze returned to his father. “I’d do it again if I had to.”

Wilbur’s eyes fell shut, and he took a long and steady breath. He dragged both hands through messy brown curls, locking his hands together atop his head. When he opened his eyes, they were stone cold. “Did you know after my talk with Fundy he threw himself off a cliff?”

“What?” Horror washed over Phil like a freezing tidal wave.

“Yup.” Wilbur slapped his palms over his legs. “Jumped right off. He’s still around, but… did it right in front of me. He was just that sick of me.” He smiled, though the tears in his eyes said enough.

“Christ, Wil--“

“But that’s when I realized,” Wilbur's voice fell so quiet, Phil just barely managed to catch it. He folded his arms across his chest again. "That… there is nothing worse than watching your son kill himself. And he didn’t even put a sword in my hand; he just… jumped. B-but I forced you into this position, asked you to kill me. Isn’t that horrible?” He blinked at his father with eyes that were staring far away, where the memories were firmly stored, never to be forgotten.

Phil thought about that moment, and how in that moment, when Wilbur shoved the sword into his shaking hands, the world felt small and condensed, a tragic thing for someone who didn’t do well with tight spaces. How his throat tightened, because he had no idea how to handle that kind of situation, he didn’t know the right thing to say. How mind was spinning, his back was horrifically numb, and the world was screeching and loud against his eardrums...

And he killed his son.

A particularly hard breath caught in Phil's throat. “Well, isn’t it horrible that I listened? I--why the fuck--” His hands clenched, tense before he dragged them across his face. He coughed out a bitter sigh. “I can’t answer that, Wil.”

Wilbur deliberated, then looked back down at his hands, at the grime in his fingernails and the dust in the carves of his palms. “I’ve come to understand that forgiveness isn’t just about me, it’s about... the person I’m asking to forgive me. Gives them closure, o-or at least it can. Might not always, but… they can heal and move on, rather than sit in the damage I’ve done.” His head tilted back up, hands still splayed right by his chest. “You said you want me to live, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“We both hurt each other, and we both did stupid shit, but… if you forgive me, if I’m allowed to live,” he said, pointing to himself, and when he spoke again, he poked Phil gingerly in the chest, “so are you.”

“... You know I’d forgive you in a heartbeat. For anything, no holds bar.” The weight of the words, their honesty and depth and love, threatened to crush the world and kill all in its wake. His eyes felt damp, and he hurried to brush the tears away. His hands were shaking. How long had they been like this?

“And I forgive you, Phil, I really do,” Wilbur said, unaware of how Phil’s heart leapt against his chest because this was too good to be true. He ducked his head, curls hiding the top half of his face. “You know, someone told me that, after he gave me his forgiveness, I had one other person--besides you, mind you--I had to forgive. That being myself. And I’m still not…" He sighed, his body dragging with the rhythm of his exhale. "I have no idea how to do that, but... I’m gonna get there.”

Phil began to hesitate, ready to sit back on the sidelines, but realized he didn’t need to. “Can I join you?”

Wilbur peeked over, side eyeing Philza with a small smile. “I’d rather you did.”

“Gods,” Phil let out an awkward laugh, more out of feeling the stress roll of his back than anything else, “when did you get so smart?”

“Don’t give me any credit, someone else smacked me with a load of truth earlier. Really made me open my eyes.” Wil's focus fell toward the window, where a bunch of blond curls suddenly disappeared from view. “And talking to everyone else, too. It really helped, actually. Thank you, Phil.”

That broke the dam, and the tears were thick as they overwhelmed him.

Wilbur reached out into a drawer in one of the chests and retrieved a box of tissues. He offered it to Philza, a playful smile on his lips. “Never seen you cry this hard, Philza. Gone soft on me since I was gone?”

Phil snickered, wiping the tears off his face. “Oh, I’ve been a fuckin’ softie for a while now; you just never noticed. Have been since you came around, to be honest.”

“Oh,” Wilbur muttered, his face calming. He grinned, his hands tugging into his coat pockets once more. “Guess everything’s my fault then. Sorry about that, too,” he added, though Phil had trouble distinguishing whether the apology was genuine or a mere tease.

“Ah, shut up,” Phil said regardless, tossing aside the tissue box. “‘S a good thing. You can’t help that you made me feel human. For the first time, like, ever.” He shrugged.

“R-really?”

“Oh, ‘course.”

“And I’m assuming that’s a good thing?”

“I’m still working on it, but it’s pretty good if I do say so myself.”

[i-need-air]

Hybrid!AU Wolf!Bakugou HCs: NSFW.

Summary: By the title you can already tell what's going on. The long awaited NSFW part of Hybrid!Bakugou. [ 3k words ]

Warnings: NSFW; dom!bakugou, impregnation kink, praise kink, filthy mouthed Baku; also some sub!Bakugou because why not;

Notes: It's important to point put this is a F!Reader. The first 2 parts of the series [sfw] + any ask involving hybrid!bakugou were as gender neutral as possible though. [ Part 1 and Part 2 here, Masterlist here for more ]

× believe it or not, he's a respectful guy

× shy with physical contact at the beginning

× learns incredibly fast though

× feels, listens, smells you, notes what you enjoyed, what you didn't

× you would have to take the first few steps

× lead his hands, put a peace, encourage him and he will surely get the drill

× Bakugou will be eager and curious, and trust me, your moans will drive him insane

× naturally, as you share a bed, one thing will lead to another, soft kisses will turn into a full blown make-out session and his hands will be everywhere on you;

He grunted, grindind his body into you, lips capturing your own in a heated kiss. It just started with a peck after he caressed your features gingerly, catching him in one of those tender moments you oh so loved. He returned it harder, moaning into your mouth. Breath fanned your face when he retreated, his somewhat cloudy eyes made you squirm under his frame and you had to pull him by the shoulders back into you.

From there you lost yourselves into each other. Your touches drove him to the edge and slowly clothes started coming off until you found yourself under an Adonis of a man. He looked mesmerized for a second, drinking you in with a hungry gaze.

Lips clashed, the tension between you, specially in the past few weeks built up and none could take it longer. His calloused hands touched your neck, your shoulders, going further down and making you shiver. He was a little bit rough but you could feel his excitement, both on his face and poking your tights.

Katsuki waited though, slowing down his movements until you whispered "Are you sure about this?" into his ear. A shiver took over him as he lifted his face to yours, lips feathered over your own yet again.

"*Are you?*" his voice just as soft.

"I want you, Katsuki." He had to close his eyes for a second and take a deep breath in at your confession.

"You're fucking perfect." He growled back, the intensity of his words formed a bolt of energy that ran through your whole body. "I just— I've never—"

"We'll take it slow."

× again, he is a fast learner, but needs instructions

× can be a bit selfish at first, this new feeling, this heat driving him insane

× but once he smelled your arousal he almost lost all strength in his body, his mouth watering

× and I bet you almost lost all strength in your body when you saw what he's packing

× big, thick and veiny, curved just enough to know he'd reach the best spots for you

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" he'd growl out into your ear as you moaned under him, nails clenching his shoulders as he held into the bed-frame. He was going insane, he thought. The feeling of your cunt clenching around his dick erased anything else in his brain and your moans— Delicious. Your smell was intoxicating, addictive.

He'd rail you eagerly, getting drunk in the feeling when he noted you move your hand to rub yourself under him, moans increasing. He'd guide his hand towards yours, breathing heavy, anticipating.

"Show me." He'd order.

× clit, you say, huh?

× the moment he understood you could become undone under him because of that little button, you're a goner

× which takes me to my next point

× he's a giver

× once he does his homework and finds out ways to drive you crazy, he'll demand to go down on you

× will dominate in bed, it's natural in him

× so when he tells you to spread your legs and to be a good girl, mischief in his eyes, heat filled your guts

× to which he almost rolled his eyes into the back of his head because holy shit your scent

× loves having his tongue lapping into your sex; he'd suck, he'd lick and thrive because of your reactions

× just having your tights trembling by his ears as he gripped them to keep you in place made his cock hard

× but what he really loved was knowing he could get you off just with his tongue; he'd even smile into your cunt as you'd moan louder and louder, the only thing left in your vocabulary being his name;

"Katsu—" you'd say, out of breath, back arched as you couldn't focus your vision. You struggled to keep your composture as he licked over your clit brutally, two digits inside of you.

"Look at me when I fuck you with my tongue." He said, stopping and earning a groan from you. With a deep breath you settled back, opening your legs a little bit more, not even realizing you were almost choking him with your tights, not that he really cared. He gave you a grin as you locked eyes and proceeded, slowing his peace and pumping his fingers inside of you.

"Good girl." He growled, not breaking eye contact. He felt it too, the shiver running through your body as you knew you got even wetter, and he got to work, proud of his accomplishment.

And as he sucked slowly and made you see stars, he resumed his brutal rhythm until you were a blabbering mess.

× doesn't mean he does not like to receive

× seeing you between his legs sucking him off is a treat to his eyes

× very much into power-play and dominating; he'd tell you how good you look with his cock in your mouth, very vulgar, loving your reactions;

× he grunts, but isn't very vocal so don't expect loud moans for him unless;;

× spread his legs slightly, suck on the tip, pump his cock, milk it into your mouth and with another hand play with his balls

× his leg will start shaking as he'd throw his head back, and if you suck on them while pumping him he'll let out such sinful growls that will reach your core

× that is when you can amp it up by scratching his tights and he'll cum like a fountain under you

You hollowed your cheeks, tongue running on the tip of his hard dick, watching him try to maintain his self-control. He was stubborn, gritting his teeth and acting tough yet he fisted the sheets, that giving him away.

It was always a pleasure to see him like this but it was never enough for you.

"Look at you, hmm?" He said between his teeth. "Such a good little slut for me." You moaned, taking him deeper in your mouth as you rubbed your legs together. "You love my dick in your mouth, hah?"

Little did he expect for you to start playing with his balls gently, your orbs sparkling while watching him almost choke on his own spit.

"Fuck, baby—" he'd growl, tensing up, almost moving his hips forward to fuck your mouth. You took as much of his hardness as you could and sucked, attentive of his balls and whatever you couldn't take in your mouth you pumped slowly, your cunt getting soaked just by hearing him swear to no end.

"Shit, [Y/N], so fucking good—"

With a last good suck, you kissed his tip them smirked at him, getting a confused and desperate look, begging you to continue, but you just lowered yourself and started licking his balls, his head fell back and the most lewd groan left his mouth.

"God, fuck me—" he said breathless as he started moving his hips upwards, fucking into the hand that still had his cock in a grip. It was a little hard to do so, but you licked in circular motions as he stumbled on his words until you felt them tighten and throb, cue for you to put the tip back in your mouth and await your treat, one last choked moan before he came everywhere.

× fucks you hard, will drill into your body, and you'd think fucking hard means fucking fast but he can still fuck you slowly and shake you to the core

× skin slapping skin can be heard all around the apartment and the dude has stamina

× bioengineered as he is, he will make you cum a few times before he comes too

× when you both have enough experience with each other that's when he realizes making you cum beforehand is the best way to fuck you, so yes, you will cum and you will cum hard

× favorite place to cum into? your mouth, so if you don't really dig it, he's okay with you spitting it out or cumming over your body

× his favorite position is doggy [ no duh ], with your ass up and face down, but don't get me wrong, it doesn't matter as long as he fucks you good and long

× he's also more into longer sessions, quickies are fine but not enough for him;

× might also be into praise-kink yet still with his dominant side on

× of course he has to tell you how good you look stuffed up with his cock, from any position

× marking

× oh, yes, he loves marking you

× before you got this intimate he liked to scent you but now that you're lovers expect to have marks all over you and you better not hide them

× definitely bites, sorry, absolutely not sorry, babe;;

× but nothing, nothing compares to his ruts

× just as wolves, it happens between

× hear me out and prepare yourself

× mating season happens between January and March;;;;; 💀

× it has different stages, yet the most fascinating one to you has to be the first weeks because it shifts his behaviour so much

× he goes from cocky, confident, dominant and territorial to whiny, needy, easily made jealous and kinda submissive

Katsuki started acting weird, something that at first you linked to the time you were apart. Maybe he missed you, who knows? The blond started touching you more, asking you to pet him, giving you blushing side glances and seeking your approval even more than normally. You caught on quickly as you once praised him for his amazing cooking, his chest puffed and cheeks burned without shame, contrary to normality, where he'd try to adorably hide it. He started to be really honest through his body.

The biggest difference was, without doubt in mind, when you got intimate. He'd whine for your touch so much, actual whines, gutural, deep from within would even shock you whenever you decided to tease him.

"Please, baby, please..." he'd beg but wait patiently for you to get on top of him and ride his cock until he couldn't take it any longer. You'd test the waters, of course, starting to praise him for being so good for you and he'd melt in your arms.

"You feel so good inside of me, baby." You'd say, slowly raising and falling over him repeatedly, a much calmer rhythm compared to your normal sessions. His hands would be gentler, just feeling you up and enjoying being taken care of, absolutely enamored with the sight of you.

Even if he was on top, he'd go gentler, whispering how incredible he feels, calling you all sorts of praises.

× when the actual rut finally hits, he turns territorial yet again, and the roughness comes with it

× now you're marked with hickeys and bruises from being manhandled by him

× of course he'd still be careful not to hurt you and if ever crosses any line with you and you'd tell him, he'd whine like a wounded animal

× because he would never want to hurt his mate

× but again, doubt it would ever happen

× although be prepared to have sex everywhere inside the house

× he'd pound on you unexpectedly, knowing to perfection how to touch and where to touch to get you in the perfect mood for him

× sometimes he watches, a filthy promise in his eyes to break you so good, just the way only he knows how

× he is hyper-aware of everything about you, the way you breathe, the way your heart pounds in your chest, the way your pupils dilate, how you clench your tights together, every single thing

× one thing that doesn't change from his pre-rut attitude is the honesty, now more verbal

× his first rut is where he learns just how much his words affect you

You were on the edge, just as the past few weeks. He told you a few nights ago that his mating season came to a high this week, so you suggested taking a week off work to help, and he eagerly agreed but not without teasing you about how much you loved being railed by him.

Sure, he teased, but it was so true and both of you knew. Katsuki was watching you silently from the couch. He spent all morning just watching you, walking without making any sound around you, sizing you up while licking his lips. These past weeks you were all over each other every night and now that you finally took a whole week off, he didn't touch you the first day at all? Strange. You definitely felt something was coming though. You were excited, nervous, you felt his eyes all over your body that left a trail of warm in your body. Acting occupied, as if you really had something to do even if the house was impecable, just so you could calm yourself to no avail.

He felt you and he liked seeing you nervous, anticipating his next move. How fucking amazing you looked, how delicious you smelled, his hunger grew and grew for you, excitement to have you for a full week to pleasure each other...

A growl froze you in place making you drop whatever you had in your hands. You turned slowly towards him only to almost collide with his chest.

A rough hand pulled you into him as he burried his nose in your hair.

"Mine." He grinded into you, hand on your ass. "My fucking mate." He breathed you in. "Mine."

He lifted you up without any struggle, just moving a little to press your back against the wall.

"So fucking perfect." He grinned at you then leaned to kiss your neck. "Fuck, you smell ready for me already..." he'd whine, spreading more your legs to adjust himself between them, tights gripped hard. "My sweet little mate..." he'd bite down the same spot he kissed. "I'm gonna fuck you so good you won't remember your own name." He promised and be sure to not wear many clothes because he'd rip them off you.

× impregnation kink; if you don't want pups right away [ ye, he calls em pups ] it's no problem, but you should definitely consider any sort of birth control, condoms...

× beg him to fill you up and he's done, he'll lose himself into you completely

× praise kink would hit again but this time telling you how sexy you'd look with his pups inside of you

× if you did find a method of birth control early on and you're safe, he's gonna fill you up and then finger you while you still had his cum inside, keeping it there while you rode through another orgasm

× mother-fucking filthy about it too

You were exhausted, your bones felt like jelly as you stood in place in bed, legs now opened for him as he admired his hard work. His cock stood proud as he jerked it off to the sight of you, cunt in his face stuffed with his semen, his fingers pushing any drop that dared to come out back inside.

"You took me so good, baby, look at you stuffed like the slut you are." He said after licking his lips. Precum ran over his hand as he pumped himself, head red and needy and both of you knew it wasn't over. "You're gonna take me one last time, understood?" He moved to your face, placing the fingers that were inside of you on your lips for you to lick, and did not need verbal confirmation since you took them in your mouth and sucked hard. He swore silently then grabbed you by the neck, getting close to your face. "So I've fucked you stupid, hah? Can't even say a word back? Can't fucking tell me how much you want me to break that cunt of yours until you see the stars, baby?" He mocked through a grin.

Even as exhausted as you were, you knew he'd take care of you, so when you finally regained the strength to touch his cheek, just the way you learned he liked, tenderly even when he fucked you like a pornstar, you threw him over the edge again... with a few simple words.

"Fill me up, daddy, give me your pups..." you begged in a whisper, curving your body to meet his, rubbing yourself into him.

The maniacal way his face contorted made you regain all your energy back in an instant.

He'd lift your lower part up and trust into you like a mad beast after opening your pussy up and spreading his cum over it to lube you up.

"I'm— gonna— fill— you— up—" he'd say between hard trusts, watching with lust as your tits bounced and you threw your head back.

The bed was a mess, cum leaked from inside of you, you were covered in hickeys and bite-marks, you begged his name like a broken record. He'd lose himself in the moment, falling into your body, hugging you tightly while rutting into you, reaching both of your releases.

× after the rut he's more laid back, both of you would need some time to just rest

× but he'd be very attentive, much like a prolonged aftercare

× he'd take care of you, do everything for you and even feel bad thinking he might've hurt you, even if it wasn't the case

× will hold you close in silence, enjoying your presence, will kiss your temple and just havung you in his arms

× has considered you as his mate from very early, even before you actually got together as a couple officially but after this, you're bonded together, since mating is very important for his species and as I clarified in the sfw version, wolves [ and wolves hybrids ] mate for life;

× will whisper how much he loves you into your neck as he holds you.

Tags: @bakugous-mamas @tspice283 so sorry to a couple of people that reblogged and asked to be tagged too, I've been searchin but I can't find you 😭😭

[capsironunderoos]

I Told You So

Sergeant Hunter X Female!Reader

Request: @mandos-crest​ Sergeant Hunter is absolute putty around the reader. He denies it to his brothers, but it’s totally obvious. He’s over protective and whipped for them, and the reader is completely oblivious too! The Bad Batch think Hunter is being super nice.

Word Count: 1,413

Warnings: None! But there is a suggestive scene with a bad dude in a bar...

Author’s Note: Hey hey! Sorry this took me so long to crank out, I really wanted it to meet your request! I hope you like it! 

Also, italics mean past tense, and some of this is in Omega’s POV!

Here’s a link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“There it is, that look I was telling you about,” Hunter hears mumbled behind him, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

He’s too busy watching you play with Omega. You’re sitting cross-legged on the ground, nodding along with Omega as she tells you a story. You idly hold her stormtrooper doll as she holds Lula, both of you fully engrossed in the story Omega is telling. 

“He looks like he’s about to burst into song,” he hears someone else mumble, and he rolls his eyes as he casts one last glance your way before turning to see Echo and Tech standing behind him, arms crossed in front of their chest as they stand in identical positions. 

“What is this, an intervention?” Hunter asks, missing the way your gaze now shifts to watch him speaking with Echo and Tech. 

“Of sorts,” Tech starts, and Hunter huffs. 

“I told you we’d leave as soon as we gathered some more supplies and made a few minor repairs to the ship,” he starts, referring to the dreadfully hot planet the crew had to make a last-minute landing on. 

“As good as that would be, we’re actually referring to… something else,” Echo clears his throat at Tech’s wording, and he sighs before correcting it. “Someone else,” he amends. 

“Oh no, no. We’re not talking about this again,” Hunter counters, and you continue to watch him as his arms swing as he speaks, his hands emphasizing his words. 

A smile plays on your lips and Omega looks up from Lula when she notices you’ve fallen quiet. Her eyebrows furrow as her mind begins to work. 

“I think we need to,” Echo responds, and Hunter’s shoulders drop. “You can’t go five minutes without asking where she is, without being near her. She even took a nap in your quarters last hyperspace jump!” Tech adds rather factually, and Hunter sends a pointed look his way. 

“Omega…” he mutters and shakes his head. “Listen, I see where you’re coming from, but I worry about all of you. And yes maybe I worry about her a little bit more, but it’s because of what she means to Omega.” 

“And to you,” Wrecker adds from behind him, and he sighs again. 

“Not you too,” he responds, turning to send a somewhat disappointed look to Wrecker. 

Omega has pieced it together. 

You like Hunter! 

She’s not entirely sure what that means, but she knows that you don’t look at the others the same way you look at him. She knows that he looks at you the same way, and that it means something... important. The two of you take care of everyone that’s true, but the care you share for each other is… different. It’s sweeter, softer, and she’s noticed it. 

She’s not the only one. 

“Okay that was one time!” Hunter argues, hands thrown up in aggravation and growing defeat. 

“It definitely was not! I can point to three different scuffs on your armor right now that are from you jumping in-between her and a blaster bolt, and those are just the ones I witnessed.” Echo counters. 

“I would take a blaster bolt for any of you, although that sentiment weakens each time we have this conversation,” Hunter retorts. 

“Fine, what about our last job for Sid hmm?” Hunter knows what Tech is referencing. 

You had volunteered to go undercover at a seedy bar, and Hunter was adamantly against it. He’d pulled you aside just before the mission, hand gripping your arm as he pulled you into a shadowed alley, eyes searching yours for even a hint of doubt. Any inkling that it wasn’t what you wanted and he would call it, no questions asked and credits be damned. 

“Hunter,” you whispered, hand coming to rest on his armor-covered chest, “I’ll be fine. I made my way through the galaxy before I met you. I can handle one womp rat in a bar, okay? And if not, you’ll only be one comm call away.” 

He still searches your eyes as he begins to speak, “What if you can’t get to your comms hmm? What if I’m too late? What if something happens and I can’t get to you?” He whispers, a strain in his voice. 

You smile softly and shake your head. 

“That would never happen. You always keep me safe.” 

“That creep had it comin’,” Hunter counters, albeit weakly. 

“He was walking right into our trap, you know, that we set up as a group, that we all agreed on? You definitely cost us those credits, and you know why.” Tech adds, still upset about the loss of credits from that particular mission. 

Hunter watches from a booth across the bar, eyes never leaving your back as he watches you flirt with the Twi’Lek saddled beside you. His body is turned to face yours, legs braced on either side of your stool so that you’re somewhat trapped with him. His left arm rests against your lower back, and his right is braced on the countertop of the bar. He leans over every so often to whisper in your ear and your shoulders shake with giggles. 

It’s enough to make Hunter want to punch him into the Outer Rim, but he stays seated. He watches for a few more minutes, telling himself to trust you, to trust the plan. 

The Twi’Lek moves again, this time his left hand moves from your lower back to brush your hair off of your shoulder before leaning in and beginning to press kisses to your bare shoulder. 

Hunter swears under his breath.

He watches as the Twi’Lek’s right hand grabs your chin, his left resting once more on your lower back. He’s pulling you into him, and Hunter is grinding his teeth so hard that his jaw will be sore for the next few weeks. He notices your hands bracing against his chest, slipping against the material of his shirt as you try and push him off of you. He pulls harder, suddenly showing enough strength to pull you completely into his lap. His left hand wraps around your stomach, pressing you into him, as his right hand begins to trail up your thigh. 

Hunter sees you struggling and is out of his seat so fast that he briefly registers the sound of his chair hitting the floor. He sees red as he knocks people out of his path, not hesitating to grab the shoulder of the Twi’Lek. 

“When a lady says no, she means no,” Hunter growls, pulling you behind him before throwing the Twi’Lek onto the floor of the bar. 

“I had him,” he hears you yell over the sound of his fist connecting with the Twi’Lek’s jaw. 

“I know you did,” he sighs as he lands another punch. 

“Okay,” Hunter agrees, nodding slowly, “that was my fault. But none of you saw what I did.” 

“Fine. What about your last few rations?” Wrecker brings up, and Hunter’s stomach decides to growl on cue. “We’re running low on food, but she always gets a full portion. And I don’t know the last time I saw you eat!” Wrecker yelps, and Hunter shushes him. 

“Let’s circle back to the nap, shall we?” Tech starts. “You let her sleep in your room, Hunter. In your room. The room that you specifically picked because it’s the farthest away from everyone on the ship. I don’t even know how to get to your room, if I’m being quite frank with you.” 

Hunter stands rigidly still as Tech talks to him, and Omega continues to watch you watch him. She smiles as she stands, handing Lula to you. 

“Here, I’ll be back,” she says, and you nod, still watching Hunter, mind not fully focused on the current conversation. Omega almost laughs at you as she begins to walk towards Hunter. The closer she gets the more their conversation becomes audible. 

“You like her, Hunter. You look at her differently, and you protect her in ways I’ve never seen you protect anything, or anyone for that matter. Yes, you look out for us, but not in the same way, and you know it.” Echo is finishing softly as Omega walks up, the conversation falling silent as they notice her appearance. 

They all look at her for a moment before she lays a hand on Hunter's arm, patting it reassuringly. 

“It’s okay Hunter, she likes you too!” Omega says, a large smile on her face. Hunter's eyes widen as Wrecker laughs. 

“Told you so!”  

[dorimena]

Hello hello! Your blog is beautifully constructed. I hope there will be more dom reader blogs like yours in the future. If you aren’t busy could I please have g/n reader brat taming Bakugou or Shinsou? I’ll leave it up to you to decide. Remember to drink water!

Hello! Thank you! (´ ω `♡) I chose Bakugou, but I might do something similar for Shinsou later on huhu~ And thanks for the reminder! I hope you’re hydrated as well! ╰(*´︶`*)╯

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; bakugou katsuki

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1.5k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; gender neutral reader, impact play (not too hard though), brat taming, crying, mentioned overstimulation, implied edge play, paddle, dom!reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; sex toy (cock ring), lowkey headcanon Bakugou being into impact play, some aftercare before round 2, mentioned safe word (cues like the traffic light colors), aged-up character, Bakugou is 18+

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; I hope you enjoy it notwhatiseem. I might’ve had to do some investigation, as I was unsure if my plan on how the story was going was a correct, or as correct, portrayal. Maybe in the near future Mr. Paddle will make a comeback-

𝕸𝖗. 𝕻𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖑𝖊

“Baby boy! What has gotten into you today?”

You scold Bakugou as he glares at you from the couch, arms crossed and body relaxed on the cushions as he tries not to show how his anger is making his body tremble.

Unlike you, because you’re quivering in anger, in utter disappointment with the stunt he decided to pull during the Bakusquad’s monthly game night.

It was a fun time, a casual time and place where everyone could leave behind their prohero responsibilities before somehow being dragged away to missions, patrols, paperwork, all the glorious hero work.

But Bakugou decided that this very night, in the very moment Kaminari ‘accidentally’ placed his hand on your thigh, that he’ll be a brat. A jealous brat, which is worse than his usual bratty behavior.

But he isn’t usually a brat? It’s confusing and a whiplash for you, not really expecting to punish him after months of him being so obedient, so nice, so docile with you and everything you wanted or needed.

“Answer me, Bakugou.”

Okay, that made him furrow his eyebrows in worry, wondering if he’s crossing a line, but that already happened the moment he began sassing back at you and insulting you. Not even playful banter, it was just outright rude and degrading.

He went against opening his mouth or talking in general, just huffing as he slouched a bit more into the couch, as if he wants the cushions to swallow him in or maybe he’s trying to keep riling up your mood.

“Sit up correctly.” You snapped, halting your pacing as you standing in front of him, hands on your hips as you take in his sitting position. He’s barely such a slouch; he’s taking this too far.

Or maybe you got too used to him being such a sweet baby boy that you forgot just how impatient you can sometimes get.

This is one of those times.

“You’re not gonna talk?”

He shakes his head. Well, at least he answered, but his posture remains the same.

Sighing, you leave the living room and head to the bedroom, rummaging through your closet to find- aha!

Bakugou, in the meantime, is trying not to let his nerves get to him, not wanting clammy palms and possibly causing more harm with his reactions. All he can hear is stuff being moved around in your shared bedroom and then hearing a small shout of victory.

But for what- wait, why the fuck did you take that out?!

“Alright, baby boy. I hope you remember Mr.Paddle. He will aid me in your punishment.”

No, no! Anything but the paddle! You’ve never used it, at all. Even if there were some close calls, you still never had it anywhere near his skin, or him. It was a gag gift you gave him out of the blue.

“No!” Bakugou yelled, getting on his feet as his arms fell on either side of him, eyes wide in shock and slight fear. How hard could you go with that? How bad will it hurt?

But your amused chuckle seems to make him even more confused. Aren’t you angry at him?

“So you speak when threatened, but not when spoken to nicely? I told you to sit correctly-”

“I will!”

“Baby boy.” Oh he’s done it. He interrupted you just as he was kind of redeeming himself.

Well, shit.

“I’m s-sorry…” He trailed off, slowly sitting down on the couch as he never loses eye contact with you, waiting to see if you’ll finally use the paddle or you’ll continue trying to talk things out.

But you made a good point: why does he only speak up when threatened with punishment instead of avoiding all of this anger?

“Baby boy. Today you’ve gotten bold with your actions and your words. But you’ve been terribly rude with Kaminari! Isn’t he your friend? What did he do wrong?”

You do know, but you wanted to hear it from him.

But Bakugou kept his silence, fidgeting on the seat as he battled his inner, mini Bakugous about the pros and cons of speaking up and answering.

The main pro is that he’ll be given attention.

The main con is that that attention will be given with the paddle.

Well, his pride be damned.

“He was touching you! I hate it when other people do!” He spoke out, voice raising in volume just a bit at the end, but he shyly whispered, “you of all people know how jealous I can get.”

“Oh~ so baby boy was jealous?”

He groaned, covering his face with his hands before taking them away in a flash, grimacing at how sweaty they are and how sweet it smells.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, goddamn it.”

“Language.”

He grumbled, pouting as he looked at you again, slowly averting his gaze to the paddle as it just stared back at him.

Why does he feel like even if he spoke, he’s going to get that touching him?

He was right after some time, his body moving forward with every hit you landed on his ass with the paddle, a cry of the number he’s on leaving his mouth as more drool lands on the bed, more tears wetting the sheets, more precum falling in stringy drips on the sheets.

He can’t even come to care about the rapidly dirty sheets, or even come to think about anything really. Not with how every smack he receives, the hornier he keeps getting. The tighter his hands grip the bed sheets, and if he were at least conscious with his actions, he would’ve heard fabric tearing up and smell a bit of burning.

Is he into this? Has he always been into this? Well, yes. But he didn’t think taking the paddle instead of your hand would be so much better.

God, please-

“H-harder! Please! H-hardeeeeer- ugh fuuuuuuuck.”

You snicker before rearing back into a serious expression.

“Excuse me? You’re not allowed to speak, baby. Keep counting.”

Bakugou groans before it ends in a sob, a weak ‘68’ coming out as you land the last spank on his bruising ass and a small ‘69’ squeaks out of his throat as he falls forward, face resting on a nearby pillow. And if you somehow catch his hips gyrate slowly against the bed and small, hoarse whines leave his body, you decide to ignore and let him come down from the high the way he usually does.

You’re quite surprised at how he hadn’t used his safe word, or any safe cues, within the spankings, and actually asked for you to go harder. But his bruises are enough to make you feel kind of bad, just a bit.

“You know,” you speak, throwing the paddle on the floor before rounding the bed, squatting to look at his tear stricken, blush decorated, sweat sticky face, “I knew you were a slut for impact play, but I didn’t think it’d be this much.”

Bakugou just mewls weakly, voice lost in his trance as he tried recollecting any thoughts of his, especially the coherent ones so he could speak. Even if they’re just curse words.

“Sh-shitty y-y/n…” He blinks a couple of times, trying to unblur his eyes with the tears that seem to stubbornly stay on his lash line.

“Th-think tha-at be ‘nough? Hah… y-yer cute.”

Blinking yourself, you stare as you shake your head. So he wants to act difficult today, huh?

“Oh baby, baby, baby. All you had to do was ask nicely instead of being mean to your friends. You know I would do anything to keep you happy, to please you.”

You reach to pet him, scratching his scalp as soothing as possible, watching as his eyes slowly come back to being sharp, the fuzz lingering leaving as his mouth twitches into a smile, a relaxed, serene smile as his once tense body slowly melts into the bed, the small shudders from the intensity of the situation for his body slowly disappearing as he lets out something close to a purr.

How cute, he thinks he’s off the hook.

“Since baby boy isn’t satisfied with what I gave him, guess I’ll just have to fuck the brattiness and attitude out of you, hm?”

You slowly lift your hand, standing up as you go back to the closet, leaving him with enough time to gather his thoughts back together and come to realize how you’ve tricked him, how you’re not even done yet, how he’s still gonna get punished.

But, he loves overstimulation? How is that punishing?

“Oh! Forgot to mention: you’ll be wearing this until I feel like taking it off, okay?”

And in his line of vision is his cock ring, the horrible toy that vibrates in teasing tempos and makes him pathetically cum, humiliating him. God he hates that fucking thing.

He growls lowly, as if he’d have a threat ready between his teeth, but then you flipped him over gently, the coolness of the sheets soothing his ass as you flick one of his nipples.

He whimpers, puffing his chest out more for you to keep playing with.

“What’s your color right now, Katsuki?”

“Green m-master.”