#god my nose is so fucking big and I loathe it

[psychoticwillgraham]

*is 75 degrees outside with a good cool wind and no humidity*

me: ‘time to break out…. the flannel’

[d1s1ntegrated]

can you do headcanons of shigaraki x reader who is goth with a strong, intelligent personality?

also, what do you think his type is? for some reason i feel like he’s more drawn into alternative ppl 🤭

shigaraki is a goth girl fanatic, i know this bc he is my husband and i am goth.

anyways!

shigaraki x alt!gf hcs! (some nsfw) ╭-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╮

shiggy most def loves anything alternative

i mean, he's chronically online, all certified gamer boys need their goth gf/bf/so

goth, emo, scene, metal, alt, etc

has a soft spot for specifically lip and brow piercings, but digs a good old fashioned nose ring or two

he listens to metalcore/numetal a lot

thigh/ass guy for sure, so thicc goths>>>>

was shocked when u of all people wanted him

literally his fantasies came true. he was so ecstatic

actually prefers smart people. he needs someone who understands him, but also can help him rationalize his thoughts

or calm him down when he's off a bean

he wont show that though, he's gotta be the best person in the room at all times

"you're stupid as fuck, stop talking" (drooling)

"shut the fuck up and just sit pretty for me" (cumming)

asks you for help in secret bc his ego is too big around everyone else

likes when you're outspoken and witty, enjoys the challenge honestly

"step on me" (joking. unless??)

loves to watch you do your makeup, especially eyeliner

"can you do that thing where like....? where it looks like it's running? and messy? i dont fucking care what it's called just do that"

"fine, i'll do it myself" (horny)

big t-shirt x little skirt or shorts >>>>> yeah he fucks w that

also really likes tights. he fantasizes ab ripping fishnets w his teeth

u let him do it once, ofc

likes geeking out ab metal/emo bands w u

he specifically rlly likes slipknot, bullet for my valentine, loathe, orgy, the used, soad, and falling in reverse (some of his music taste is lowk toxic but its okay cause hes hot)

"i made you a spotify playlist"

fucks like a GOD if you're in a skirt. like he just fucking folds and worships you

"no no keep it on"

he loves having scary dog privileges

"this is my girlfriend and she will eat you. fuck off"

loves tattoos. like LOVES. wants some of his own. (besides the shitty stick and pokes on his wrist from spinner)

he has piercings too: his nose, snakebites, gauges, nipples (dabi convinced him for that one, he doesn't hate it)

his fav movie is sleepy hollow

and edward scissorhands

he relates a lot to that movie actually ;-; cutie baby

╰-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╯

this was obv one of my fav ones to do, for no particular reason

thank u for the ask fellow goth babe <3 mwah

[partycatty]

I can't get enough of young Johnny MK11! I love him, god!🥵 How do you like this topic for fanfic? Fem!reader put his jacket and glasses on his naked body, and took sexy selfies.😎❤️‍🔥 Johnny saw this aaand here I’m already giving way to your fantasy hehe~

Thank you in advance! I like the way you write! Well done💕

i'm not sure if i read it right ?? lmk, but i went with my interpretation

johnny cage > call me

johnny's out late working, as usual. you've had enough of waiting and decide to bait him into coming home early

warnings: PHONE SEX TEEHEE

notes: do you guys also like genuinely tweak out wishing he was real? he's so perfect? peak malewife? wishing u were [REDACTED] his [REDACTED] rn?

masterlist

• you were often left to your own devices when it came to living with johnny. he, after all, was a star constantly running around on new projects. any studio would be at his knees for just one contract. he was hollywood's richest man, and you were lucky to call him your boyfriend.

• sure, it had it's moments. the paps stealing upskirt shots from you wasn't ideal, neither was the bush stalking. but you could see past that. what was hardest was when johnny would be gone all through the night, dressed in that stupid ninja mime getup that you learned to loathe since it pulled him away more than his other works. does the world really need a ninja mime trilogy? yes, apparently.

• boredom overtook you, since browsing on your phone for eight hours was now becoming a horrible habit on your neck - and mental stability. you took to mopping the floors, tidying the countertops, dusting his awards. finally, you settled on your walk-in closet.

• it was spacious, big enough for you to each get a side. your side was always decently organized to your liking, but johnny's was... atrocious. jackets hung on one sleeve, some on the floor. the only thing that was neatly organized on his side was the giant rack of sunglasses. he always had a pair to match the outfit and occasion. he probably had about three pairs on him at work.

• as you tried to rearrange his clothing, his distinct, classy scent filled your nose, sticking to the inside of your nose and you couldn't help but feel heated. you missed him, him and his dick. you took a deep whiff of his iconic blue and purple jacket, the one he left at home knowing he'd have to get in costume anyway.

• you threw it over yourself, embracing your torso and spinning in the mirror. it fit him perfectly, but on you it was like a blanket. the sleeves sagged off of your arms and your midsection was swimming. his size was impressive, his form shaped like a greek god.

• you couldn't help yourself, the memories of him and scent turned you on. blame pheromones, dammit! but, you realized you could take advantage of this.

• throwing your shirt off, you donned the jacket again, wearing it like he does - chest exposed. a purple pair of sunglasses practically screamed your name from the rack and you put them on. you looked just like him...! no, not really.

• touching yourself in his clothes was not a new idea, but there certainly was a new idea blossoming in your head. you pulled your phone out and snapped a mirror selfie, trying to flex like he does but your muscles were muffled from the loose fabric.

• how's this for the next cagecon? you text johnny, attaching the photo. you didn't expect him to reply right away, considering he was at work. but before you could lock your phone for the moment, his name popped up within milliseconds.

• don't take me away from work, baby! johnny replies with a winking emoji.

• what if i want to? it's so lonely in your mansion, you reply with an angel emoji, sitting on the edge of your shared bed as you fight a grin. you angle the phone downward, capturing your bare chest. your nipples brush against the jacket, making them stick out through the front. johnny takes a moment to reply, but you feel your phone vibrate once, then twice, then three times.

• fuck, you're so hot in my clothes.

• i'm taking my break early. can't work with a boner.

• the third message was a short video of him palming himself through that stupid costume. the only thing you can thank that outfit for is how prominent it makes his bulge.

• phone sex through texts was also nothing new to you two, considering the distance. as your fingers sink under your panties, assuming that's where things will go before you get a fourth message.

• call me. please.

• you sit up straight, biting your lip. his desperation always got you going. you kicked your pants and panties aside.

• you send one last photo, your body spread out on the bed in his clothes. your hand conceals your dripping pussy playfully.

• why should i? you shoot the message out, giggling at your own words.

• johnny doesn't even reply, he opens your message and calls you. you eagerly accept his call. his voice is echoey and rough. you realize he's hiding in the bathroom. his breathing is heavy.

• "are you proud of yourself?" he asks in a low rumble, trying to stay quiet but his flustered huffing makes his voice whiny. "look at what you did."

• he sends a photo. his cock is eager and out, and you see a teardrop of precum on his tip. you happily exchange that photo for another one, a short video of you gingerly touching yourself. he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

• "i couldn't wait til i'd get home," he admits, and you hear the slick sounds of him jerking off. "i want to, i want to come home and fuck you like that, but i'm here for another two hours."

• "you couldn't have waited?" you ask in disbelief, circling small loops on your aching clit.

• "no." johnny's reply sounded so sure of himself, so convinced in his words. he was as firm as he would've been if you asked him if he killed someone. he knew this to be a fact, he could not wait. "i can't help it, sweetheart. you're just so... god."

• his breaths get heavier and needier, you can sense he's speeding up on himself. you try to match what you assume is his pace, one that he confirms through another video. he held the phone below his dick, giving you a delicious view of his abs and bobbing adam's apple as he swallowed hungrily.

• his arms were painted white, but his hands were his usual flesh tone since he wore gloves for the costume. even still, his veins were incredibly prominent and really helping you reach your climax.

• "we gotta make this quick, baby," he grumbles into the phone, muffling his moans through bitten lips. you're a little louder due to your privacy, much to his delight. "people'll start looking for me."

• "johnny," you whimper out, back arching up off of the bed. "i'm already close." through your haze, you get a video of you masturbating wildly, the jacket now sliding down to your sides and fully revealing your tits as you fuck yourself. "i-i need you, i need you so bad-"

• "i know, baby," he breathlessly replies, straining himself to avoid moaning out your name and attracting attention. "let me hear how badly you need me."

• you could only spew out utter nonsense at this point as your orgasm is dangerously close. he seems to get the memo, though, and gives you permission to cum with him. your needy cries and his muffled grunts make a perfect chorus that you only wish were in person.

• when your breathing slows, as does his, you hear him chuckle to himself. a new message appears in your chat.

• his weeping dick was cradled in his palm, as was a entire handful of semen dripping down his fingers. he wanted to show you just how hard you made him cum from phone sex alone.

• "round one was now," he mumbles as you hear him tear a piece of toilet paper to wipe his hand. "round two is when i get home. you gonna be ready for it, princess?"

• the phone rests on your bare, damp chest as you fixate on the ceiling. you take the sunglasses off and wipe your face with a smile.

• "i'm always ready," you reply with a giggle.

• "that's my girl. see you in two hours. i love you." and with that, he hangs up, leaving you a naked, sweaty mess that's only concealed in his jacket.

[themotherofhorses]

Hi author first of wanted to say I love your work !

I'm not sure if you take requests so if you don't feel free to delete this 💛

Modern spy Aemond x naive reader [ Aemond meets her when he's on a mission and becomes obsessed with her how can someone be so sweet and innocent !? He just has to have her also baby trapping and smut if you're comfortable writing it ]

follow me now, and you will not regret (leaving the life you led before we met)

pairing: modern spy!aemond targaryen x naive!reader

warnings: explicit language. stalking. very much nsfw smut. once again, aemond is an obsessive and pussywhipped little bitch with zero thoughts within his pretty knocker. manipulation. innocence kink. breeding kink/baby trapping at the end.

notes: hi, yes, this is me coursing through uncharted and absolutely fucking rough waters in some attempt to spice up my usual smut writing style

(aka me practicing for the next chapter of my modern series)

masterlist

A career life built solely around espionage (or a sort of black shadow warfare mixed with cold combat) came dirty, bloody, and uncertain.

Or, at least, that was what Aemond “The One-Eyed White Death” Targaryen would tell himself on the daily, in some attempt at justifying the ends to the means. Really, this entire situation could have been a lot worse, he thought- after all, the lives of countless innocent civilians could have been caught within his crosshairs. He hated when that happened; it was always so messy, and came with heavy and boring paperwork.

However, that was not the case this time, thankfully.

It was only one innocent civilian in his hands, and she was still safe and sound.

Aemond had never meant to stick around the city for so long, having other missions queued up after this one, but fuck…you were perfect. Godsent, the prettiest and most delicious slice of heaven above, and he did not consider himself a godly man, nowhere near in the slightest. The gods loathed his type, he knew, and never hesitated in casting them all down to the pits of hell.

But you…

He had met you during the mission, while stuck undercover at some random little café on the corner street. The boss sent him to stake out some old-money and big-named crime mobster that was allegedly dealing weapons and various drugs under the noses of local law enforcement, a suspect on their “Most Wanted” board. And you- well, you were tucked away in a small booth, hunched over two thick college textbooks while multiple paper assignments laid strewed across the table top, so unaware of his presence sitting tables away on the other side of the room.

Gods, you were absolutely gorgeous, he thought. So fucking pretty, with those eyelashes and charm bracelet and focused look on your face. It made him forget all about his original mission. Fuck that, he has a new one now. And there was the cutest pout on your pink and glossy lips that made his cock harden, despite not having the faintest clue on what your name could be.

(That itself was no concern of his, he could find it out later in the evening. And he eventually did.)

You were there at the café the following day, and the day after that. Always with your head in those damn school books, his pretty and dutiful schoolgirl. The sight made him chuckle, and smile, and fill with the strongest urge to ruin you completely with his mouth, and fingers, and cock. On the fifth day, he finally decided to step up to your table, interrupting your usual study schedule with a shy smile and your favorite drink in hand, as well as a chocolate chip cookie.

“I- uh, I hope you don’t mind, miss,” he said, feigning bashfulness, “but I’ve seen you around everyday for this past week and thought, maybe, you wouldn’t mind being friends? I’m new in town, actually…and- well, I don’t know a lot of people around here…” he added, watching your pretty eyes widen.

And, fuck, your lips were glossy again, and he stood there (like a complete idiot) wondering what flavor they could possibly taste like.

Cherries?

Strawberries? Blueberries?

Maybe mimosa or peppermint patties?

“Oh, well, of course! I don’t mind whatsoever,” you replied cheerfully, rousing butterflies in Aemond’s stomach. “I’d be happy to be your friend,” and you patted at the spot next to yours, slugging away your tote bag and books so that he could sit down, and you could introduce yourself.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Aemond became your friend, first. The easiest way to manipulate your unsuspecting victims? Through trust and friendships, per the teachings of his old childhood mentors back at the academy. Throughout the next month, he bought you hot chocolate and matcha tea lattes, joined you in quick lunch dates, insisted on driving you to your college classes, and went with you to the little bookstores scattered across the city. It was fun…and torturous- utter torment and near physical agony- because all he wanted to do was fuck your pretty pussy until you could no longer remember your name and your cunt was to the shape of his own cock.

He would sit beside you in the café booth, listening as you drone on and on about your favorite, most passionate subjects, all while trying to desperately hide the boner in his jeans and rid his mind of such dirty thoughts and fantasies. There was no use, though. Aemond was fucked, too addicted and obsessed.

He wanted you, now and forever.

But that was not the worst part. The worst part was that you had not the smallest clue of what you were doing to him. You were just his sweet companion, his dear friend, too innocent and naïve to both the world and the waking beast deep within him.

He often followed you back home, to that tiny apartment near the college. Aemond swore it was because he wanted to make sure you were safe and protected from any of his enemies, anyone daring to steal you away from him, but he knew it was more due to the chances of seeing you undress and shower and decide which nightie you would wear to bed. And, sometimes, he got treated to his sweet girl trying to touch herself. It was so cute, so endearing, to watch you slip a hand between your thighs only to pause because you had no idea of what to do, and how to fuck your own fingers inside your cunt until you came.

 Poor, sweet girl of mine, Aemond shook his head, tutting. Alone and in need.

How could someone so pretty, such a fucking cock-tease, be so innocent and untouched, so stupid and unknowing to everything sexual?

It did not make any sense to him.

Maybe you were made for him, and only him, and this was the gods’ gentle way of telling him to change his ways before it was too late. Leave behind this career of his, wash away all the red staining his ledger and hang up his callsign, all so he can start a family with you. The family he needs, the one he deserves.

Yes, he thought, that makes more sense. You need him the same way he needs you.

And, really, who was he to ignore the gods above? Aemond himself was no godly man, it was not in the nature of a spy like him- but for you, perhaps the fates might allow it.

Two months later, after a dinner date, Aemond has you pressed against your apartment’s door, his mouth frantically devouring yours in a fervent and wet kiss. It has been so long, so torturous, weeks after weeks of constant late-night jerking off to your pretty pictures and those blue-laced panties he managed to slip from your bedroom that one afternoon and pretending that all he wants to be is your friend.

You are so beautiful, so stunning, especially within this very moment, chest heaving out heavy breaths while you peer up at him as if he is a god.

He grabs at your face, a rough grip on your chin. “Tell me you want it tonight,” he demands, his lips near your ear. You shiver and clutch at his arms, so close to melting into nothing but putty in his hands. “Want what, Aemond?” you ask innocently, batting your dark eyelashes up at him. Fucking cock-tease. He chuckles while trailing light kisses along your jawline and down your neckline, mouthing at your nape and clavicle. You mewl at the feeling. “Please- please, don’t stop…”

“Do my kisses feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you sigh out, tangling your fingers within his silver hair, “it feels amazing.”

He smirks. “It will feel a whole lot better in a little while, I promise you, sweet girl. But I need to ask…do you trust me?” You nod frantically, leaning up to kiss his lips. “Of course, Aemond. You are my dearest friend! I trust no one more than you.” Aemond just laughs at your words, yearning so badly to tell you that- by the end of the night- your cute ass will no longer be ‘just his friend’ but something much more, definitely.

But where is the fun in that?

“Good, good. Just relax and enjoy everything, okay?”

Aemond then pushes you back against the door, quickly slipping off the pretty floral top you wore and groaning at how your lacy bra cupped your breasts perfectly. Where have you been all my life? He thinks while snaking his hands around your back to unhook your brace and toss it somewhere over his shoulder, too busy salivating over your free and ample breasts and perky nipples.

“Fuck, look at you…so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles, kneading at your breasts. You stiffen, flushing under his heavy gaze before moving to cover yourself up, feeling a little self-conscious. Aemond shakes his head, gently tugging your hands back to your side. “No, don’t you dare cover yourself up, baby. Not in front of me.” His fingers pinch your nipple, cause your back to arch. “I’ll never understand why no one has ever devoured this pretty body. Gods, look at these tits. You’re so beautiful, baby, a fucking wet dream come true. Mmm, yeah, bet they’ll taste delicious,” and he wraps his lips around a nipple, sucking it into his mouth.

You’re delicious here, and Aemond knows you will be even more down there. His poor cock, still tucked inside his pants, feels like it is weeping, too impatient and irritated and ready to ruin you. His hand slides down your belly to rest on your hipbones and thighs, fingers ghosting around your panties.

“Ohhh…” you gasp out, biting at your bottom lips when his hand slips in.

“Fuuckk,” he drawls out against your breast, thrusting a finger into your wet cunt. “Gods, you’re so fucking wet down here. Absolutely soaking, poor baby.” Aemond strokes your slit a few times before rubbing your clit with his thumb, hearing the way you whine and shake at his actions. “I can’t wait to be inside you, fucking you till all you can think about is me.” He continues his thrusting, watching how your pretty face scrunches in sheer pleasure.

“Are you enjoying this, baby?” he asks, humming. “Do you want me down there tongue-fucking you? Hmm? Oh, wait, my sincere apologies, pretty girl, you probably don’t even know what that means.”

You moan, loud and high-pitched, teeth still chewing on your bottom lip. At your silence, he spanks your ass, causing you to lurch up with a massive gasp. “Use your fucking words, sweetheart. I don’t care for silence, especially from you.”

The more you remain quiet, he thinks, the more spanks you’ll receive.

Eventually, you fling your head back, bumping it against the door. “Okay, yes! Please! Please, Aemond…!”

Grinning, Aemond stands up and draws his lips back to your ear, saying slowly, “Spread those legs then, baby girl, right now.” When you do so, he sinks down to his knees, both hands gently clutching your thighs, “Yeah, that is a good girl. My pretty, good girl of mine.” He moves his face to the front of your pussy, “Can you feel my breath against this pretty clit? Are you waiting for me to devour this pussy? Tongue-fuck you until you’re a stupid little mess? Tell me, baby.”

He then blows against your wetness, ignoring how you jolt hard at the feel. And I’m not taking no for an answer,” he adds before slinging a leg over his shoulder.

“Oh gods, yes, please,” you whine, jerking your hips up against his face. Aemond slaps your asscheeks hard- once, twice, three, four times. “Beg, my pretty baby. C’mon, I know you can do it. Beg for my tongue, beg like you mean it, you stupid and horny little slut.” Your eyebrows furrow at his words and you whimper. “Don’t be mean to me…” you whisper, trying to blink away tears.

Aemond raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you thought that, because this is your first time, I would be nice? My sweet summer girl, you teased me enough these past several months, and I’m done playing nice. Now, tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to claim this pussy as mine.”

Your wanton cries are everything he needs in this life, he soon realizes. If he can spend the rest of his days with his face buried deep between your thighs, he swears he’ll die a happy and satisfied man. The way his name glides off your tongue is incredibly, completely wonderful, and his mind fills with various fantasies and all the positions he will soon have you in, helpless and dripping like a whore in heat.

His pretty whore, forever and always.

“Fuck, baby, who am I to deny you such?” Aemond buries his face between your trembling thighs, inhaling your mouth-watering scent one final time before slipping his tongue inside your wet folds. “You taste so fucking good, baby- shit, you’re leaking all over my face,” he moans amid long licks, fucking you both with his tongue and fingers.

“Oh, gods! Oh- oh- oh…!” You shriek, both legs buckling as your hands clench into tight fists. All of your little moans and whimpers, those pathetic pleas and begs, they all send more blood rushing to his cock. You don’t recognize the early grave you’re digging at, too overtaken by the pleasure.

“So fucking tight against my fingers. How the hell will you take my cock, baby? Fuck, I’m going to destroy you.”

You moan again, in such a loud and lustful cry that causes his resolve to only weaken faster.

“Oh! Oh, Aemond, this feels so good! Please- please, don’t ever stop,” you wail, fat tears gushing down your cheeks. This pleasure, it is a feeling like nothing before, not even coming close to those few times you made some sad and futile attempt to touch yourself, too confused on how to deal with those strange tummy butterflies that seemingly hatched from their cocoons the day you meant Aemond.

How thankful you are that you met him.

Your body squirms every couple seconds, only to wince when he spanks your ass hard again.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aemond hisses without venom. He is too much in love with you for poison. “Do you wish for your neighbors to know that I’m fucking you right now? What would they think? The pretty and sweet girl that lives here, too innocent and naïve for this damn world, letting a man eat her out like a whore.”

You shake your head again, eyes puffy and red from all the tears. “N-no, Aemond…” you stutter out.

Aemond pauses his fingers, now curious to see how far he could go with this new type of torture. But it is not long, though, before you buckle against his hand, your bruised and swollen chest pushing up with stiffened nipples. And your body, it soon tightens as your flustered face screws up in that telltale sign that you are only seconds away from cumming. The scene is beautiful, very much so, and he feels pride that it is all from his own doing.

Yet he drags himself back up on his feet, removing his fingers from your cunt before you could cum. Perhaps it is a bit too cruel on his part, but Aemond could care less; he wants you to cum on his cock for your first time.

There will be many more times of this, he wants to reassure you. He doesn’t, though.

You’ll find out on your own time.

You gaze at him through bleak and narrowed eyes as he unbuttons his pants and shoves them down to his ankles. “You poor, poor little thing,” he tuts, running a gentle hand through your damp hair, “-are you tired? You look tired, but from what? You didn’t even cum once!” He pats your cheek, “Don’t worry, my sweet girl, you’re about to. Can’t tell you how many times, but it’ll be a lot.”

And Aemond does not wait for your response, instead snatching your hand and pressing it against his boxers. “Can you feel that, baby? That is my cock. Can you feel how hard it is? You did this, you made me so fucking hard that it hurts.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, “Now, that is not very nice, is it? No, no, no it is not. I thought you were a sweetheart…” He shoves your hand back, ignoring the small tears that gather in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, wiping them away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Aemond! Please don’t be mad at me…please, how can I help you? I’ll do anything,” you pout as you watch him slip down his boxers. Your teary eyes grow as wide as dinner plates, and your breath hitches. It is so sexy to him, eating away at the little self-control he is trying to maintain.  

You’re a virgin, he reminds himself. Soft and easy, my baby deserves that.

“Shhh, baby,” Aemond rasps out, cupping your face within his hand. He kisses your nose, cheeks, and forehead before finding your lips. “I’m not mad, really, my sweet girl. I know you meant no harm, you’re too sweet and good for that,” and he holds your face against him while readying to fuck you with his cock. He can feel your short pants, the little breaths you take, and how you shudder whenever his clammy skin meets yours.

“Relax your body, baby girl, don’t tense up. It will hurt less…good girl, that’s my good girl.”

Nice and slow, he chants as he slowly sinks into your cunt, groaning at the tightness, slow and nice. You whimper, eyes rolling back as begins his thrusts, slow and easy. I’m a gentleman.

Mother made me promise to be a gentleman.

I’m a gentleman. I’m a gentleman. I’m a gentleman.

But the look you are giving him, with your lips pink and puffy from the shit ton of kisses and bites, and the way your pussy clenches around his cock…it is causing him to forget all about how his mother indeed made him promise to be nothing short but a gentleman.

You’re too pretty for him not to devour, and…well, were you not made for him? The gods created you with the purpose of him eventually finding and caring for you, the way it should’ve always been- the way it will be for now on. His one good eye (the one those stupid bastards left alone back at the academy) watches as you shake and quiver and mewl out the sweetest and yummiest little moans.

The way you are right now, you’re just begging to be made into a new mother, and his mind goes insane at the sudden image of you heavy with his children, huffy and sore and always exhausted. It is delicious to think about. Aemond- truthfully- never really thought about kids, constantly busy with the espionage lifestyle and the back-to-back missions, but you…oh, he knows that, after tonight, you’ll have no choice but to remain by his side as the baby grows, needing him to protect and provide and shower you with love and affection.

He’ll be the best husband and father, and you his good girl- his precious slice of normality.

The way it should be, the way it will be.

It is half a year later that Aemond “The One-Eyed White Death” Targaryen finally connects back with his boss through a phone call.

Before that, he dropped off the grid, returning no calls and messages and signals, leaving everyone behind at the headquarters confused, concerned, and scratching their heads as to why their finest agent suddenly vanished without a trace.

He was not dead- they knew that. He was just…gone.

“What happened, agent?” The director asks, fiddling with his pen while another agent of his attempts to get some kind of reading on him. No luck; Aemond made himself untraceable. “Are you hurt, Aemond? Did someone threaten you? You left after I assigned you that mobster and- well, we assumed the worst, son.”  

Aemond chuckles, shaking his head. “No, boss, do not worry about me," he says, "I’m good. Very good, in fact, the happiest I’ve ever been in my life, one might say.”

He leans against the doorway, arms crossing over his chest as he watches you flip through a baby store catalog and marvel at all the products they have for sale- the finest baby strollers, a variety of cribs, bassinets, and swing sets, and the cutest little animal plushies and clothing.

“Frankly, boss, I just grew tired of the spy life.”

“Is that so? And pray tell what you are now, Aemond One Eye.”

He smiles, eyeing your baby bump and how you are utterly glowing. “I’m a family man.”

[reareaotaku]

I Loathe You [Mike's POV]

Loathe You & I Don't Wanna Be Your Friend, I Wanna Kiss Your Lips Summary: Mike has always had a strange feeling about you, but he's never really known why Pairings: Mean! Mike Wheeler x Mean! Reader Tw: Slight NSFW, First POV [I know, I hate it too] Taglist: @fxchild

"Jump off a cliff, you asshole."

"You first, princess." I roll my eyes, my face detorting in anger.

I didn't understand why the science teacher had paired us up, because I couldn't stand her & vice versa and everyone knew that. They always tried to make us get along, but there was just something about us that always ended up in fire. I felt weird around her and I hated the feeling; So, in turn, I hate her.

Granted, we shared the same group, job, and classes, it still wasn't enough to make us get along. I just couldn't stand her.

"Trust me, everytime I see you I hope to be shot execution style, but I also don't want your face to be the last thing I see."

Oh, that stung a little. I frowned, my eyebrows scrunching up, "Oh, don't worry," I turn to her, looking her dead in the eyes before tilting my head, "The feeling is mutual."

"Oh, isn't that great. For a second there I was worried you liked me."

"In your dreams." I spit out, feeling as if I had won.

"Only the scary ones."

Oh, that was kind of good, but I'd never admit that to her. All she needed was an ego boost; We all know it's already big enough. We are practically nose to nose, glaring at each other. Her nose was scrunched like a Who, but surely if looks could kill, I'd be dead with the way she was looking at me.

"God, can yall just fuck already and get over with it?"

I whip my head towards Lucas, frustrated. He always knew how to make everyone in a room angry and sometimes I was impressed.

"How about you fall down a case of stairs?"

"And break your arm over the ramps," I add, causing Lucas to put his hands up in defeat.

"Okay- Sorry, damn."

--

I could hear the group groan as I stare at the girl across from me. It was a staring contest and we were already almost an hour deep. I would never lose and have her insult me like a bitch, but if she were to lose- Well, my mind was racing with insults.

Staring at her made me realize she had nice eyes. They were a nice, cool, e/c. There was speckles of white from the light reflecting in her eyes and her outer pupil had a black outline that I could make out clearly. I liked her eyes... They were nice.

She blinks before my thought can get too gushy and I fistbump, "Haha! What a cockwhore," I smile causing her to groan and roll her eyes before demanding a rematch.

I knew the group had a slight suspicion that the group knew I liked looking at her, but I would never admit it. I hated the thoughts and the last thing I needed was them to know my dark secret. Maybe her competitive nature would come in my favor...

I don't even realize that I've blinked before a see a smirk on Y/n's face. I groan ass she cheers telling me that I get no pussy. I decide that I was tired of the silly game and go to my food when feeling my stomach rubble, but thankfully it didn't make an audible noise.

---

"We have a new hire."

I perked up at my managers words, before smiling, "Finally, I've been telling you for ages we need another server."

The tubby man gives me an annoyed look, before rolling his eyes, "She'll be starting in a few hours. I want you to train her."

"She?" I hadn't met to say it and I quickly covered my mouth as my eyes widened.

"Don't try anything, Wheeler."

"I wouldn't even think of it, Boss."

---

I watched as the clock ticked. The girl was supposed to be here any minute. I couldn't think of who it could be, but it was probably someone from school. The bell rung from the door and I turned around only for my mouth to drop-

"You've got to be fucking shitting me."

"Oh fuck. You work here?"

I groan before running a hand through your hair, "Out of all the places to work, you chose here?"

Y/n glares at me, "I could say the same thing to you."

I step up to her, before pointing at her chest, before taking it off when realizing I was to close to her tits, "I was here first, so if anyone should leave it's you. You can leave now actually and we could pretend this never happened."

"No way, you're not going to scare me away from a good job."

I feel my fist clench, but I turn away, "Whatever, come on, I guess I have to train you."

---

"I'm surprised you aren't fighting."

I sigh, clicking my tongue, "I'm here to get paid, not fight with her."

Lucas leans on his hand, smiling, "Oh? You know," He looks over at Max, "Don't you think Y/n looks good in that uniform? Maybe you'd look good, too?"

"Don't push it," She gives him a knowing look and Lucas quickly shuts up.

I look back at her, like really look at her. She did kind of look nice- When she wasn't frowning, which she was. Though, if you ignored that, she looked kind of angelic. The light shaped her face while her hair sweeped around her. I shake my head, quickly ridding myself of the thoughts.

"What do you think, Mike?"

"What?" I look at Lucas confused

"What do you think of Y/n in her uniform?"

"She's fine- I mean, it's a uniform, she has to wear it, so it's not anything special. It's just some clothes."

"Right... Just some clothes," Lucas looks over at Max, who was already giving him some knowing look.

"What? Why did you both look at each other like that?"

Lucas holds his hand out in surrender, "Nothing! I swear!"

"So, do you guys want the usual?"

"Yeah," Max hands me her menu, before I write it down on my little notepad.

Though, as I'm writing I hear Lucas mumble under his breath.

"Some clothes you want her to take off,"

"What did you say?" I push, causing Lucas' eyes to widen and he quickly shakes his head.

"Nothing! I didn't say anything."

"I heard you!" I lean in when realizing that Y/n was looking at me. She probably thought I was a mad man. Besides, I didn't want her to hear me "I. Do. Not. Want her to remove her clothes. In fact, I want her to put more on, so I don't have to see all her skin."

"Man, if you say so." Max rolls her eyes, pushing some hair out of her face

"It's okay, Mike. We all go through the denial stage."

"I am not in denial."

"Of course you're not."

I roll my eyes, before flipping him off and going to the kitchen to put in the order. I head towards the back, passing the girl of the hour. She was scrubbing the counter, obviously frustrated. It seemed had accidentally poured syrup on the counter. I looked her up and down while her back was turned and I realized something. The uniform did look good on her, but I was biased I liked her in everything.

I frowned when the thought entered my mind and I looked away from her. I groan, accidentally crushing the ticket in my hand. I look down before facepalming. I am such an idiot.

---

My back was turned and it all happened so fast. One minute Y/n was fine and the next she was on the floor with the Demogorgon standing over her. I didn't even think when I grabbed a pipe and hit the back of the creatures head, effectively causing it to retreat.

"Y/n- Y/n," I grab her arm, where a large wound was. Something inside me stirred and if that creature hadn't retreated, I don't know what I would have done, but I would have done bad. Like killed it by beating it over and over. I picked her up, before bringing her to my car. As I sit in the driver seat, I glance at her through the rearview mirror. I feel my fist clench around the wheel, but I take a deep sigh before shaking my head.

---

I sat her down on the toilet before I started digging through the cabinets, looking for the First Aid Kit.

"Ugh, what happened?"

I look back at her, before frowning, "You were knocked out... you know, by the Demogorgon."

There's a moment of silence, before I finally found the kit. I smile to myself, before taking it out and grabbing her arm to fix her up. I hear her grimace in pain and I let out a quick apology. As I clean her up, I feel weird. Just earlier today we had been going at each other like wild dogs, but now here I was patching her up.

"I'm sorry, Mike."

I look up at her, confused. I tilt my head, "What?"

"I'm sorry. For everything. All the fights, all the arguments you know-"

"It's fine," I interrupt. "I kind of look forward to our fights. You know? It's become routine." I joke, wrapping her arm up. I smile looking at my work. God, I'm good.

"Well, I'm sorry and thank you for patching me up."

"It's nothing..."

It went quiet... Too quiet... I had to break the silence. I didn't necessarily know how, but I couldn't stand the silence. So, I decided to tell her how I felt.

"You know, when I saw you..." I pause. I look at her, my brows scrunching together, "bleeding... I think I died a little when I saw it. Something inside of me- I don't know, but I wanted to kill that stupid Demogorgon." I grab her hand, fiddling with it, "I don't want to see anything bad to happen to you."

"Wow, Mike. I didn't know you felt that way about me."

"Of course. You're my friend." The word friend comes out like acid from my mouth. I didn't want to be her friend- Not anymore- I wanted to so much more, but seeing the circumstances, it was probably best to keep it to myself

"We're friends?"

I huff, frowning at her words, "Yeah. At least I think we are."

"Huh, I thought you hated me-"

I look at her, wide-eyed, "Hate you? I thought YOU hated me-"

"You're always hating on me," She says, over exaggerating her non hurt hand.

I smirk, before letting out a chuckle, "What? I'm only returning your energy!"

She rolls your eyes, looking away from me, "Yeah... If we were friends, I think I'd miss our fighting."

"Who says we have to stop fighting?"

I see a smirk grow on her face, "Yeah, if stopped fighting everyone would question it."

"Right. The last thing I want is for them to be like 'So you guys finally fucked?'" I air quote before rolling my eyes. I smile when she laughs at my joke.

"Yeah, that would be pretty annoying, huh?"

---

I felt weird around her. Things were different and I'm sure everyone could sense it. She was acting weird as well, which didn't help the anxiety that was slowly building inside of me. I decided to approach her to see if she okay.

"Hey, are you okay?"

She seems to snap out of it as she looks at me. "Uh-Yeah- Yeah, I-uh yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You seem a little out of it." I frown, concern filling my voice. She wasn't being herself and it was bothering me.

"Yeah," She crosses her arms, avoiding eye contact. "Everything's fine."

I wasn't an idiot. I knew everything wasn't fine. I didn't know if I should push it, but it was seeming she didn't want to talk about it. I look over at her arm seeing the bandages were clean, "Your arm looks better," I reach for her arm, lightly caressing the bandages. She pulls back, causing me to frown. Did I do something wrong? I sigh, looking around the empty restaurant, before I look back at her, "Come on, let's close up and I'll drive you."

---

I tap the wheel, enjoying the silence. I felt at peace, but the thought of her acting different started to plaque my mind again. I frowned, before deciding to drive a different route. It seemed she noticed, because she speaks up.

"Um, Mike, I'd hate to be a backseat driver, but I think you missed the turn to my house."

"We're not going to your house."

"What?"

I pull to the side of the road and park the car, before finally turning to her. "I just wanted to talk to you. You're acting weird."

"Weird? I'm not acting weird."

I frown, turning my full body towards her. "I made fun of you when you dropped a person's drink and you just said 'Yeah, I should be more careful,' in a monotone voice."

"Monotone? That's a big word, huh?"

"See, like that. You said it in that voice. Did I do something wrong?"

"What? No- I mean, uh I don't know... This is weird, you know?"

"What's weird?"

It was weird? What was it? Did she think this new found peace was weird? I thought it was nice to finally be friends with each other. Was I wrong? Did I mistake our relationship? My thoughts stop when I hear her groan and I look at her bandages see they were all bloody. I watch as she reaches for it, smearing blood on her fingers.

"Have you been changing your bandages?" I wanted to facepalm when the words left my mouth. Of course she had, they had been clean before. It seemed she thought the same, because she responds with a sarcastic-

"No, Mike, I'm not. Why would I do that?"

"Sorry, it was a dumb question, "I sigh, "Why is there blood though? Here give me your arm." I don't give her a chance to respond as I pull her arm towards me and slowly remove her bandages.

"Why are you taking the bandages off? You don't have new ones-"

"Actually-" I let go of her arm, opening the glove box to where there were wrapped bandages. I felt a blush rise to my face, hoping she didn't ask why they were in the glove box. I didn't need her to know I put them in there for her.

"Wow, I never expected you to be prepared."

"Well, when you're always getting attacked by monsters, you kind of have to become prepared for everything."

I frown when I finally get the bandage off. It seems the wound had reopened. "Your wound reopened."

"Oh, is that what happened?"

I glare up at her, before unraveling the new bandages, "It might have happened at work or something... You're lucky I had bandages."

"The luckiest." She sarcastically respond, causing me to groan.

I close my eyes tight, my grip also tightening around her. I open my eyes, looking directly at her. I was frustrated, because it felt like nothing I did would make her happy. "I don't know why you're acting like this. I'm trying, like really trying. I want us to be friends and I don't want to fight with you anymore. Believe it or not, I do care about you... I just... uh, I guess I never realized it until recently. I wish you would stop trying to push me away."

"Well, it's going to take time to be friends. We've fought for so long."

I loosen my grip, before rubbing the area with my thumb. "Yeah.. Time. How can we be friends over time if you just push me away though?"

"I don't push you away. I just... How am I supposed to know you're not going to make me into some big joke."

"Oh yeah," I roll my eyes, before pointing at myself. "I, the guy part of possible the biggest loser club in the world with a shirt that tells the world that, am going to embarrass YOU," I point to her, before chuckling, "A girl who has more friends than I've ever had. Even if I was, who would I embarrass you in front of? Everyone hates me-"

"Everyone doesn't hate you. They just think you're weird."

"Well," I turn back towards my wheel, no longer facing her, "Maybe I like being weird."

"Yeah, I've always liked that about you. You are unapologetically yourself."

I could feel a small smile grow on my face. She liked me? Okay, so maybe she didn't say that, but it was close enough. I turn my head towards her, "You know... I've always liked your hair- and eyes." I make sure to say it fast, so she can't call me on my hesitation.

I hear her chuckle. God, I loved her laugh, it was refreshing like lemonade on a hot day. It was like a s'more in the middle of the woods.

"I like your hair too, even if most people don't like mullets," She grabs my hand, causing me to blush, "And your hands. God I love your hands, they're so pretty. And your legs. I like how long they are."

I let out an awkward laugh, trying to not get to red. I felt a tent grow in my pants, which was the worse thing that could happen at this moment. I shake my head, think of an old grandma to get rid of the boner, which thankfully worked.

"Man, take me home-"

"What, you don't want to tell me more about how much you like my body?" I couldn't believe the words left my mouth, though I'm glad they did. I wanted her to compliment me again.

"Not necessarily your body."

I huff, which causes her to back track on her words.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah? How did you mean it?"

"I don't know... Now take me home, seriously. My dad's probably worried."

"Okay, Princess, whatever you want."

[watchingspnagain]

Rewatching Sympathy for the Devil

Welcome to “Sexy Dom Murder Cas and Unhinged Possibly Queer Expert German Cuckoo Clock Repairmen: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!

Up today, s5e1: Sympathy for the Devil

Luci anesti and the boys are left reeling from poor Sammy’s massive fail. But while they’re struggling to navigate this new phase in their brotherly relationship, the hits just keep on coming: Bobby, while possessed, plays on Sam’s sense of self-loathing, and then Dean finds out that *he’s* the sword of Michael, meant to become his vessel in the Final Battle. He gives the asshat angels a big NOPE and is trying to deal with the immediate and violent fallout from that decision when Cas swoops in with his sexy dom voice and rescues them. Meanwhile, back at the Satan Ranch, Luci is busy gaslighting his own potential vessel. It’s about to get real, y’all.

[and we begin:]

Lor:

many many guitar chords

Mace:

HA!

Lor:

nnnnnng Cas

Mace:

YES

Lor:

the way they both grab onto the other's jacket

Mace:

YES

Dean’s first thought is Cas. But yeah, they’re just buds.

Lor:

YEP

"well. my HEAD hurts"

Mace:

HA

Lor:

oh Dean. "are you sure"

Mace:

oh man

Lor:

"Cas, you stupid bastard"

Mace:

YES

Lor:

ew ZACH

Mace:

ASSHAT

Lor:

YEEEES

"maybe we let it happen" ug

Mace:

Dean’s collar is UBERPOPPED

Lor:

YAAAAS

because he has the ATTITUDE

Mace:

CRAM IT WITH WALNUTS

Lor:

"cram it with walnuts, ugly" OMG

Mace:

i need to work that into my daily vernacular

Lor:

HAAAAAHAHAHAHA

YES  

oh zach do NOT call Dean son

Mace:

right?

Lor:

"you listen to me, boy" oh now Dean's REALLY not gonna do anything you say

Mace:

oh look, they underestimated Dean. Fun.

Lor:

"I learned that from my friend Cas you son of a bitch"

"supernatural methadone"

Mace:

HAHAHA

Lor:

oh boys

Mace:

yep

I’m so glad we’re getting to the Luci era

Lor:

YES

this dude plays the most unhinged possibly queer expert German cuckoo clock repairman on one ep of Northern Exposure and it is a TRIP

Mace:

wow. that is a NICHE role

Lor:

RIGHT?

ug. Becky

Mace:

snork

Lor:

BECKY YOUR IMAGINATION IS CLEARLY DEFICIENT

Mace:

SNORK

Lor:

omg Dean's eyebrow raise when she says the demon stuff was getting old

Mace:

HAHAHAHA

Her tastes are on point, though

Lor:

Ahem

she SHOULD get her hands off your Sammy though

Mace:

I mean, I want to slap her hand away from Sam’s chest but only because I want mine there...

HAHAHAHA

Lor:

LOL

"I heard, Romeo" I LOVE BOBBY

Mace:

YES

Oh SAMMY. THAT FACE.

Lor:

RIGHT?

Mace:

oh GOD THAT. FAAACCCEEE

Lor:

he is so GUILT

Mace:

So. Flipping. Hot.

I like the parallel between Bobby’s “boy” and the angel’s

Lor:

omg his EYES

Mace:

although, BACK THE FUCK OFF, BOBBY

Lor:

mmhmmm

Mace:

BOBBY I WILL KICK YOU SQUARE IN THE NUTS

Lor:

LOLOLOL

castle on a hill of 42 dogs

I love it

Mace:

OH! I’ve been bamboozled!!

Lor:

YOU HAVE

(I remembered)

Mace:

How did I not remember this?

Lor:

DEAN SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER

Mace:

(well, how many times have you watched this ep?)

Lor:

Bobby only tolerated John bc he was their father. Come on, Dean

mmm. five?

Mace:

yeah, so quit with the smug

Lor:

LOLOLOLOLOL

Mace:

MY FAVORITE MEG

Lor:

YES

GET YOUR FILTHY LIPS OFF OF DEAN

Lor:

ooooof. Poor Dean always having to talk possessed people he loves out of killing him

oh Nick. this is where you call a friend, buddy

Mace:

yeah

Lor:

friends don't let friends get gaslit into saying yes to Lucifer

Mace:

poor Sammy. he really needs some comforting in this ep

Lor:

he really does

and I know this is exactly what Bobby would want them to do, but I hate that they have to leave him alone in the hospital

Mace:

yeah

Lor:

"oh thank god, the angels are here" DEAN

Mace:

HAHAHAHA

Lor:

oh Dean

"it's you, chucklehead"

Mace:

YAS

Lor:

I LOVE THIS WHOLE MYTHOLOGY SO MUCH IT IS DUMB AND SO PERFECT ALL AT ONCE

BACK OFF ZACH

Mace:

HAHAHA YES

simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing. that’s a little on the nose

Lor:

THE ONLY ANGEL ALLOWED TO SPEAK TRUTH TO DEAN IS CAS

because he is Dean's shield

(I LOVE IT SO MUCH)

Mace:

YEP

oooh, smarty DeanDean

Lor:

"you need my consent" I LOVE IT

YES

Mace:

omg those little winks

AM DED

“on the other hand, eat me.” HAHAHAHA

Lor:

he's a smarty smarty and everyone always underestimates him

YAAAAAAS

omg his voice when he says no

Mace:

YES

Lor:

STOP TOUCHING DEAN

Mace:

MY GOD CAS IS HOT

Lor:

YAYAYAYAY CAS

YES HE IS

Mace:

MURDER CAS IS HOTTIE CAS

Lor:

RIGHT?!

omg someone give Sam back his lungs 

I love it when he BAMFs

Mace:

SNORK

Lor:

lookit his hair all mussed and his coat all disarrayed

Mace:

YESYESYES

OOoo he’s got his dom voice on

Lor:

"now put these boys back together and go" DED

Mace:

DED ONCE AGAIN

Lor:

so ded. on the floor. several times

staying down here on purpose. ahem

Mace:

CARVE MY RIBS NEXT PLS CAS

Lor:

"no I carved it into your ribs"

omg the difference bt Sam's and Dean's faces when he says that

Mace:

YES

Lor:

goddamn it, Cas, your boy has abandonment issues don't just LEAVE

Mace:

HAHAHA

Lor:

"sure. naturally. could you do me a favor, there, Satan" haaaaaahahahahaha

Mace:

YESYESYES I LOVE HIM

Lor:

so if Nick is also a vessel for Luci, does that mean that Sam and Dean are related to him somehow?

Mace:

yeah I’ve wondered that before

Lor:

actor is a real asshat but he does an AMAZING job at this

Mace:

he is?

Lor:

yeeeah

Mace:

what’d he do?

Lor:

well he's BIG into Ayn Rand

Mace:

Aha. enough said, then.

Lor:

yeaaaah

Mace:

what a putz.

Lor:

ooooh Bobby

Mace:

maybe nick is just a vessel on the level of Cas’s vessel, esp since he doesn’t last long before he starts breaking down

Lor:

"screw him, you'll be fine" I LOVE YOU DEAN

Mace:

YES

Lor:

yeah, that's true. the vessel falls apart fairly fast

"they can find their own planet" lololol DAD GAVE IT TO US, NOT THEM NYAAH

Mace:

a GED and a give-em-hell attitude. ADORABLE

Lor:

"a GED and a give em hell attitude"

YES

"it's been said"

Mace:

YES

oh Bobby. good on you

Lor:

"that was the demon talking"

YES

SO MUCH BETTER THAN JOHN

Mace:

omg that Sammy smile with the dimple

he is KILLING ME

Lor:

YES

"I'll fight. I'll fight to the last man." oh, hon

Mace:

both of these boys need therapy so hard

Lor:

RIGHT?!

Lor:

I hate when they get all grrr and can't get on the same page, but I do like this representation of the idea that sometimes you understand but still can't get past it

Mace:

yeah

although the Sam Girl in me thinks Dean’s being just a smidge of a whiny lil bitch here

Lor:

sigh

I AM SHOCKED

SHOCKED I SAY

Mace:

HAAAAAAHAHAHAHA

[aerospectrum]

Dean held his attention on Zach; with deepened brows that darkened the green in his eyes he stared him down until a subtle flinch of one brow manifested with Madison’s hand on cheek and the way she said his name. There was a visible softening of his features; an ability to control his anger that this guy had no problem being at the center of.

His nostrils flared at Zach’s taunts and Dean kept his hold on the guys shirt, not letting up; just allowing him enough air. “I gave her it, yeah, what are you gonna do about it, big guy?” Dean clenched his jaw when Zach leveled Madison with his insults. God what he wouldn’t give to just hit the guy. Just one good fist to the nose; giving him a lopsided face for good. He thought about all the people in his life, past and present; Madison was right… he gave her a fleeting glance; the familiar regret of letting her walk away and the comfort of her hand on his face—then back to Zach. “You’re just not worth it.” Dean’s hands loosened from the man’s shirt. “You’re just…” Dean shared a similar up and then down and then back up, grimacing with disappointment “pathetic.” The word was sticky and sharp as he watched the guys face.

Castiel on the other hand thought he was worth it so he launched himself on the guys back- choking him out before he was flipped head over heels onto his back knocking the wind out of his lungs then sucker punched again. Cas rolled onto his side almost onto his stomach with a yelp in discomfort and that was all it took for Dean to grab Zach and swing twice then connect his knee into the guys chest watching him double over, then the opposite knee to the face; sending him sprawled out backwards on the hallway grounds. “Next time,…” he knelt down to check on Cas. “Stay in the car like I tell you.”

“I was trying to win my honor back.” Cas murmured holding his eye and cheek.

Dean stood back up though; hesitant to check on Madison and overstep some unknown boundary with her again. “I’m…” it seemed like an apology wasn’t gonna fix this mess. He’d convinced himself already though that she loathed him just the same. “You forgot your gnomes.. I, I didn’t want them to get lost… or come alive in the middle of the night and hunt me down for this.. mess.” He felt his throat go dry and sticky on him from nerves. The bruising on her neck had him anxious to reach out and touch, but he didn’t know how to not fuck a good thing up. “I uh… I can clean those up for you, even get you a new flannel if you want.” It was his own way of asking if she was ok— if he could help her if she wasn’t ok. His own shy way of asking if she’d let them help her inside and help her clean up this mess.

The pressure around her neck was removed instantly & Madison collapsed on the floor coughing & gasping. It took her a moment to recognize Dean’s voice & when her head flew up, she caught the end of the body slam.

“Dean!” Madison gasped scrambling to her feet. She felt a slight rush as all the blood shot back up too fast. As she stood, Dean was already pulling Zach up too. Suddenly they were against the door & he was saying things she didn’t know he was capable of saying. Dean, who seemed all smiles & teasing, was spewing venom & threats.

“Dean!” She pressed her hands at his sides. First she was rubbing his waist then one hand was rubbing his chest trying to soothe him. “He’s not worth it,” she deemed. When that wasn’t enough to break his concentration, her hand slid up his neck trying to cup his cheek, “Dean….”.

Zach snickered at the sight before him. It was true he was thrown for a loop & in a compromised position, he still had enough wind in his lungs to talk shit. “Is that your fucking flannel she’s got on?” He looked at Dean up & down, then he watched the way Madison caressed his face. “You fucking her?” Zach asked w/ a laugh, “gone for one night & already fucking someone else? And you called me a slut.”

Madison’s head turned to Zach & she glared. “I hate you Zach.” Her words firm & sharp & for a second, Zach’s expression faltered.

Madison’s small hand still rubbing deans face trying to get his attention on her.

[pedrito-friskito]

SLEEPOVER CELEBRATION YAY!!! Thanks so much for tagging me, love! Can I request "You're more than a fling" with our lovely Matt Murdock? Please and thank you?!

thank YOU for the submission darling 💕 ok ok ok starting friday night fever with my MAN matthew murdock let’s gooooooo!

🔥friday night fever!🔥

You genuinely wonder if Matt knows how handsome he is.

Like, he must know, right? He’s not immune to the attention, not deaf to the compliments that follow him around wherever he goes, and you know for a fact he’s no newbie when it comes to dating. Not that the list is long, but he’s…experienced. And good-looking, and charming, and the list goes on and on. Matt’s not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but being gorgeous goes a long way.

And being an absolute fucking angel in bed helps too.

He must know something, you think, but you genuinely wish it didn’t get to you so hard.

It’s been a few months, a couple dates that have each lasted more than twenty-four hours. You hadn’t planned to put out on the first date, stigma and all that, but when one glass of wine turned into two and the first kiss made you feel like your blood was on fire, that was that. And the silk sheets? Added bonus.

So you’re…something. You don’t really know what you are, and you’re loathe to admit you’re too nervous to ask Matt, to have the ‘conversation’ about what you both want, what you both think about how things are going. If he asked you, you know what you’d say, but the fear of his response is holding you back.

And right now, fear be damned, you’re just annoyed.

Josie’s is full of people, like any other Friday night, the bar littered with patrons and the pool tables full to burst. Karen and Foggy were here at one point, but they said their goodbyes three beers ago. You, on the other hand, have been sat at the table across from Matt, watching the trio of women at the bar ogle him over their shoulders, whispering and pointing to each other. You stuff a few peanuts in your mouth, trying not to huff too audibly as one of them wanders over, all smiles and big eyes and “my friends at the bar dared me to…”. It makes your stomach turn, the embarrassment that you can’t just find the courage to ask, forcing you to keep your mouth shut.

And Matt, ever the gentleman, brushes them off politely with a smile. “Have a good night.”

After the third time, you can’t keep the exasperation under wraps any longer, and slam your beer onto the table a little too loudly. Matt flinches, face turning towards you, brow furrowing on his face. “You okay?”

You give a short sigh, breathing through your nose, and rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, fine.”

His head tilts to the side slowly, a tiny grin twitching the corner of his mouth. “Say it like you mean it.” Laughing, you shake your head, sipping the beer again, but Matt pushes. “C’mon, talk to me.”

“What are we?”

You could cut the tension that hangs in the air with a knife. The words fall out too quickly, your heart picking up in your chest as you lean forward on your elbows, chewing your lip furiously as you watch the words sink in. The smile disappears, those full lips parting gently, and he leans back in his seat, hand curled around his beer bottle.

“What are we?” he echoes, and you feel like you might explode.

You suck back the rest of the beer, leaning into the liquid courage. “Yes, Matthew. You and me. This. Us. What is this?”

His brow is still pulled down, and his jaw twitches. “What do you think this is?”

“I don’t know!” you cry, the exasperation and fear bubbling over again. “Like…am I just a fling, or what? Cuz I know you have a line-up of women drooling over you and I just—”

Matt leans forward, curling his fingers around your wrist, squeezing lightly before he’s pushing his hand up along your forearm and settling in the crook of your elbow. “I don’t give a shit about any of them, you know that, right?” he asks. “Are you…” He brushes his thumb along the thin skin. “You’re more than a fling. God, sweetheart, you’re so much more than that.”

You just stare at him, frozen.

He stands from his seat, rounding the table quickly and grabbing your face in his hands. You’re breathless, tilting your head back as he lowers his face to yours. He kisses you roughly, hot and wet, tongue sliding past your teeth, the both of you tasting like beer and shots of tequila. It’s a possessive kiss, his body pushing forward when your hands land on his hips, fingers hooking into the waist of his pants. His knuckles lock in your hair, tugging just enough to leave you desperate for more.

“C’mon,” he murmurs as he pulls back just slightly, moving his lips to your cheek and leaving a lingering kiss there. “Let me take you home, show you just what you are to me, hmm?”

You just nod, whispering a soft yes as he reaches for his cane and coat at his chair, grabbing your hand and heading for the door.

The trio of women at the bar are watching you as you go, their jaws dropped, the expressions on their faces telling you they just saw the kiss, and you just smile, following Matt into the night.

————— I have a taglist! if you’d like to be tagged in future works, please fill out this form!💕

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[shingekinomyfeelings]

Vanilla Bean (nsfw, mdni)

A Reiner x reader short fic in which you worry that perhaps you’re not quite ~spicy enough~ for your boyfriend. Comedy/smut-fluff???

warnings: explicit sex, rough sex, penetration, afab reader. It’s mentioned that you’re cadets, so do assume everyone is appropriately aged up

notes: I 100% wrote this to make myself feel better about uhh, myself, so if you find y/n hard to identify with, it’s because she’s me.

Also, this is my second attempt ever at writing smut, so I hope it’s not terrible! As always, thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read my writing. <3

“Reiner, I want you to fuck me as hard as you can this time.”

“Wait, what?” It’s enough to halt the large man in his tracks as he hovers over you on the bed, his cock at full attention as the head is just pressed to your warm cusp.

“I…” You falter for a second. “I want you to fuck me as hard as you can?” It comes out more like a question this time.

“Uh, yeah, I caught that bit, I just-- Are you being serious?” Reiner scans your face for any hint of a joke, but your expression is uncharacteristically resolute and oh-so-serious.

“Yes, I’m serious! Why would you ask that?” you demand, a little defensively.

“It’s just, uhh, you’re not exactly-- I mean, you’re always…” He fumbles as he grasps for an appropriate answer.

You’ve only been dating for a few months, and while you’ve been intimate together on a number of occasions, the bulky blonde has handled you quite gently every time. After all, you’re so gentle-natured and quite, well, inexperienced and shy in physical relations. A touch skittish, even. Reiner may talk a big game – and pack a huge dick – but he’s proven to be a softy at heart, and while the brawny cadet has certainly entertained a few fantasies about going buck wild with you, he’s loathe to do anything that could hurt you or scare you.

And that’s just the problem, now, isn’t it??

“I know,” you cut him off briskly. “But there’s a first time for everything, and this time I want you to just, y’know, give it all you got.”

He raises a brow at you, still incredulous.

“Y’know, just… no holds barred, full-on ramming speed, like, bam.”

Reiner can’t hold back a laugh, blushing from ear to ear. “Like, bam?What are you even--”

“Ah, wait...” You roll onto your stomach and wiggle invitingly against his erect length. “Now c’mon, please?”

He smiles helplessly at you, the absurdity not lost on him even as he aches to give in to your sudden, unexpected demand. “y/n, are you really sure…?”

“Yes, yes! Let’s do this. It’s okay, I wanna do this.”

With a sharp exhale from his nose, he finally relents, running his hands over your assto rest on your hips. “Okay, but if it’s too much, you’ll say something, yeah?”

“Hmm-hmmm,” you respond, and then your breath catches as he carefully pushes into your cunt, slowly, to give you time to adjust.

Soon enough, he’s up to the hilt inside of you, making you shudder in pleasure, and he pauses before he grips your hips tightly and draws his own hips back, only to slam them forward again with a force that takes your breath away entirely. Within a moment, the room is filled with the sound of his skin slapping hard against yours as he thrusts into you at a rough and relentless clip, with his breathy huffs, and with the squeaks of the mattress beneath you. Reiner’s sounds of pleasure ring loud in your ears.

“Oh my god, y/n, you’re--” his moan trails off and his motions cease as he’s suddenly aware that you’ve gone quite tense, and still, and silent. First his brow furrows in concern, and then his heart sinks as a tiny whimper of pain escapes you. “Oh my god, y/n.”

In a flash he pulls out and rolls you over to find you attempting to cover your face with your arm. “Shit, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Baby, look at me, please,” he implores softly, tugging at your wrist.

When you let him see your face, your expression is pained, a little tearful, and more than a little sheepish.

“Hi.” You greet him with an air of hollow dejection.

“y/n, what--”

“I thought I’d be okay, but... that was kind of awful.” Curling into a ball on your side, you sigh and face the wall. “I really am just completely soft and boring and vanilla, aren’t I?”

The realization suddenly dings in his mind.

“Wait, wait, is that what this is about?” he asks in bewilderment, and when you sniffle and unhappily nod your head, he struggles not to laugh, not entirely succeeding.

“Hey!” You lift your head to glare at him, but he scoops you into his arms and presses a kiss to your temple.

“y/n, you’re so sweet, and kind of ridiculous sometimes.” Before you can protest this, he gives you a tight squeeze that almost makes you squeak. “And you are pretty soft, and maybe you’re vanilla, but vanilla’s a good, complex kind of flavor, you know? You’re not the cheap, artificial vanilla flavoring, either. You’re the expensive, authentic, hand-pollinated, whole-ass vanilla bean.”

That earns a little puff of laughter from you, but you still pout. “Okay, but, I don’t want you to get bored with me, and it’s not like I don’t wanna try to be more adventurous...”

“Hey, I’m never bored with you,” he responds seriously, now repositioning himself to sit against the wall at the head of the bed, hugging you against his broad chest. “And if you wanna experiment a little, we can, but you don’t have to go from zero to eleven, you know.”

“If I wanted to go from zero to eleven, I’d have asked to peg you,” you grumble, though it’s affectionate.

Reiner just laughs again and kisses the top of your head, letting you snuggle against him. Resting your head where you can hear his heart beat, you’re happy to realize you feel even closer to him now, even if neither of you actually finished. There’d be opportunities for that again later. For now, you’re both content to be together like this.

[cassieb1617]

His little stress relief💌

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Smut

Summary: James’ cock was just so beautiful.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), Minors DNI - Oral (m receiving), cock worship, male orgasm, James loving tits, praising kink, nicknames (bunny, sweetheart, bambi), slight size kink maybe?, aftercare; swearing; language;

A/N: Did I miss writing for James? Yes. Am I sorry for this fic? No.

James was stressed, everybody could tell. It was exam-season, quidditch was coming up and James didn’t know what to focus on. Of course, his main focus laid on two things- playing pranks with his friends and you. Sweet you who hadn’t dared to disturb James’ busy schedule and was extra cautious to take care of him in the best way possible.

It was a stressful Wednesday evening. James had woken up extra early for Quidditch practice, had double potions - a subject he loathed because it was a subject where he couldn’t show off his talent to Slytherins, after class he ended up falling asleep while having a study date with you and missed dinner. If it wasn’t for you waking him up and going to the kitchen with him after dinner to eat, he would’ve been still asleep on the uncomfortable chair and table in the library. To get to one of the worst parts, he couldn’t even go and play a prank with his other three friends of the little group because he was too tense and too exhausted.

And sweet ol’ you had, of course, noticed it and took it upon yoursef to help him in the very best way possible.

“Jamie.” You whined and grabbed his hands, “you need to let loose a little. ‘s going to be okay.” James just sighed in response and pouted a little. There was a little smile, that smile to be exact, on your face at his reaction. The best time possible.

“Jamie.” You sighed out and slowly made your way downwards from where you were laying on his bed, dorm alone because the other three were out. James tensed at the scene in fronf of him. “Let me help you, James.” You whispered while slowly rubbing your hand over his still in sweats clad bulge. Of course he was already hard, you had no problems doing that.

“You don’t have to.” He whispered back while slowly stroking the top of your hair. “I want to.” You told him gently and he nodded.

Slowly rubbing his thighs while sliding down his sweats, you kissed atop of his length over his boxers. James let a quiet moan out at this and you pulled his underwear all the way down to join his sweats at his ankles. His full grown cock now standing at its full length and you started kissing down the prominent vein down to his balls, licking around them and all the way up to the head of his cock again.

“Fuck.” He groaned, followed by your name. You looked up at him fully doe-eyes, suckling on his head while focusing on the slit. You blinked lightly while slowly making your way down to his base, nose slightly tickling at the little hair he had there.

Your eyes watered slightly as James looked down at you, he was so mesmerised with you. “God, bunny. How can you fit me all the way in? You’re so tiny I should choke you.” You moaned around his length at his words and he chuckled a small laugh that was broken off by a moan. “God, but you’re already used to that, huh? You just love to have my cock in the back of your throat.”

And you did love it. James cock is, what you would describe as, made by gods. He had both; length and width and his balls were heavy. You found a bit of comfort everytime you sucked him off, made him feel good. He always sounded pretty and you always thought that he was quiet gorgeous while on the vague of coming. Plus, knowing that you were the only one who’s able to make him cum was a pretty big factor too.

“Take off your shirt. And you bra, please.” You didn’t need to be told twice before leaning up and pulling your shirt up your head, already not wearing a bra because that was James. He loved tits, especially yours. As soon as your bare chest was presented you made your way back to work. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, sweetheart.” He sweared and you smiled around his cock.

He loved complimenting you, it was his favourite thing to do. Everytime he did you got all blushy, whiny and started to fidget. You also clenched around him so beautiful when he had you warming him up again or fucked you dumb again. Yeah, James Potter loved praising his little bambi.

“Shit.” He sweared again when he felt himself getting closer. You seemed to notice too because you sped up your movements, licking the underside of cock everytime you could, giving special attention to his bulbous head and hollowing your cheeks. With one loud moan he let go, shooting his load in your mouth and holding your head by your hair to his base. You swallowed around him and with another groan he let go of you, gently pulling you back and he watched, full attention on you as you swallowed his cum. Licking your lips afterwards to make sure there was nothing left, you smiled up at him.

“Are you feelin’ better, Jamie?” You asked sweetly and James chuckled with a nod. “‘course I do, sweetheart.” Your smile brigtened and you crawled out of bed. James looked confused, “What are you doing?” He was still slightly out of breath and you giggled cutely.

“What do you think, silly? ‘m looking for new clothes for you to sleep in.” You grabbed fresh underwear for him from his drawer and gave them to him and he put them on. Pulling off his shirt he watched as you pulled down your own sweats, kicking them off and looking for a shirt of his, bare aside from white panties. James groaned at the sight. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re killing me here.” He mumbled amd you let out another giggle while turning back to him, shirt now on.

“Let’s get to sleep, James.” The man nodded while pulling you towards him, draping the covers over you as soon as you both laid down together. “Good night, sweetheart. I love you.” You smiled softly and replied with a little ‘Good night’.

[aiylademirci]

"That's because I'm just a weak and feeble woman who needs the guidance of a man if I'm ever going to survive in this world." she turned to look at Liam with her big doe-like eyes, before her pout slipped into a teasing smirk. Aiyla may not be as spontaneous as Liam, but she had certainly fought her way into the lifestyle she has now. From living with parents who had barely $100 to their name, to going away to college and finding her own place, Aiyla had taken steps to make her own way in the world. "Of course I'm going to torture you. You, my beautiful boy, need to learn that you can't always get what you want." she teased, her hand idly reaching over to rest upon the nape of his neck. "You really think you could beat me in a fight?" she eyed Liam with slight scrutiny, followed by a teasing smile.

"Oh my god." Aiyla groaned, her hand moving to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Why on earth did I befriend perhaps the most chaotic person I've ever met?" she questioned herself as she tried to glare across at Liam, although his smile was infectious and it didn't take long for her to mirror his. "I'm sorry, what? You've been to prison? You absolute fucking lunatic, tell me every detail, now."

"Hey, hey-" she was quick to point her finger at him in an accusatory manner. "I can't be a good partner in crime if I wasn't privy to the crime planning part. You know I don't handle things well when they're not planned. You know I'm terrible at poker, I can't lie." it was a fatal flaw in her personality, which was perhaps why she and Liam clicked so well together. "Fine next song, but for this... You have to listen to this." she chose a song she knew Liam loathed, but she loved.

"I don't know, you sounding a little stereotypical over there, baby bird." He teased, with a wink. While he knew that any sane person may have not done that, he trusted that Aiyla knew he wouldn't just toss her to the wolves. Shit, Liam was the first one to brawl over the safety of his people. Aiyla was, in fact, one of his people. Liam let out a groan as she put her own rules on his. "That's not how this works." He huffed, glancing over at his friend, "You're going to torture me, aren't you?" He asked, half jokingly, the other half worried. "Fine, I can share. Sharing is caring. But I want you to know, I will not hesitate to fight you over that aux if it comes down to it." He forced on the road with a smirk, "Well, that's not a denial. So, I guess it's better then nothing. I don't know how I'd be undeserving, but you learn new things every day."

Her reaction was as he expected, the smile on his face only growing tighter as he found amusement in this. He put a little more weigh on the gas pedal, causing the car to pick up in speed. Giving her even less layway to try and jump from the car, not that he'd think she'd do it. But precautions. "Nope." He popped his lips on the 'p' sound in response to rather he was joking or not. He glanced over at her as she mentioned that it was a illegal, in which he just flashed her a toothy smile and looked back to the road. "The best things usually are." He mused, not at all concerned by the fact. This wasn't his first rodeo and it sure the hell wouldn't be his last. "I've been. You're too pretty to last." He told her, "Good thing we won't be going there."

He gave the fainest of nods when she gave in, not that it surprised him. She didn't have that much choice but to. He whipped his hand towards her as she told him she'd throw him under the bus. "Wow, you are the worst partner in crime, Demirci." He chuckled, "I got so much work to do with you -- also, next song."

[inkykeiji]

break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you

character: zenin naoya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation

words: 9.5k

synopsis:

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.

It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.

Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!

It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.

And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.

“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”

Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”

And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.

“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”

Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.

“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.

It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.

It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.

Maybe.  

“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”

Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.

God, you’re beautiful.

It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.

And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.

“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”

Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.

“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”

“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.

It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark  hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.

But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.

He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.

And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.

It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.

Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.

Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.

It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.

He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.

Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.

It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.

No. Instead, you excel.

Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.

And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.

You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.

Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.

You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.

Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.

It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.

You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.

Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”

“I said no—”

“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.

Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”

“Well, they are, but—”

“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”

Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.

“Please, we were studying,”

The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”

“What? No, of course not—”  

“Then why are you lying to him?”

“I-I’m not—”

“And you’re doing it again?”

Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.

“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”

Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.

Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.

And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.  

“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.

Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.

      ✰          ✰          ✰

“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”

“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”

And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.

Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”

The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”

No.

No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.

No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.

Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.

He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.

He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…

Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.

In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.

And eventually, he goes a little too far.

    ✰          ✰          ✰ 

The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.

You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.

His princess.  

Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.

No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.

And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”

“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.

You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”

“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”

A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.

“N-No, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”

The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.

“No.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”

That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”

Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.

“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”

And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.

“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”

A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.

And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.

Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.

Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.

And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.

Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.

So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?

Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.

And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.

And he fucking misses it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.

It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.

And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.

Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.

It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.

“Naoya-nii?”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.

And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.

But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.

That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.

Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.

Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.

It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.

So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.

But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.

And he was stupid to think it would be.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.

It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.

So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.

Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.

Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.

This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.

“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.

A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”

Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.

He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.

“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”

“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”

“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”

“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.

He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.

“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.

His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.

Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”

A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”

“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”

“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”

“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”

“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”

But I can’t stop.

But I need you.

But I love you.

Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.

“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”

“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”

“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.

“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”

He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.

And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.

And you’ve just found his weakness.

“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”

A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.

He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.

“There’s no cure,”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”

He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.

“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.

“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”

“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”

His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.

Because you’re the only one that can.

You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.

And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.

You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.

“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”

It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.

“And there’s nothing—”

Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.

“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”

The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.

He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.

Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.

Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.

Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.

You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.

The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.

Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.

“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”

“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”

The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.

Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.

“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”

“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”

His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”

A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”

It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.

“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”

The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.

Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.

“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”

“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.

“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”

It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.

The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”

“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”

Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.

“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”

“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”

“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”  

“Forever and ever and ever—”

“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”

Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.

“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”

“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”

Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.

His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.

A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.

You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.

“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”

And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”

The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.

And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.

And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.  

[dienamights]

Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s):  Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date. 

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.” 

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to- 

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?” 

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now. 

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her. 

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week. 

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No!  He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.” 

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario. 

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,” 

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-” 

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.” 

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight. 

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it. 

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?” 

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high. 

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a  shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly. 

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you. 

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed. 

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

[emmyhem]

always (l.r.h) part two

a/n: hi everybody! here is always part two, this is actually one of my favorite writings and one that I was looking forward to writing and posting a lot. it’s another angsty piece but with a sappy happy ending :) also it’s unedited but what else is new. i’ll probably post again tomorrow either a bestfriend!calum piece or a roomate!luke piece that are titled in my masterlist. i hope everyone enjoys and is having a wonderful day. i definitely am after that livestream today. (i would say that i didn’t cry because of how good and happy they all looked but that would be a lie) anyway i hope you enjoy and as always my messages are always open to chat or whatever and feedback and comments are always appreciated. thank you - emmy <33

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader 

summary: it’s time for you decide whether or not luke’s mistake is worth losing the love of your life. 

warning(s): mentions of alcohol, cursing, angst (but with a happy ending), self doubt, insecurity, mention of throwing up 

word count: 2.9k

pt. 1

The longer you watched the window the more you were convinced mother nature was taunting you. The rain droplets that cascaded down the glass mirroring the tears that hadn’t stopped falling since you left Luke speechless in the driveway. It had to be for your benefit, I mean it was Los Angeles. California was in a drought for god’s sake. 

Despite the fact that nature was mocking you, you couldn’t dare pull your eyes away. The alternative was to face the endless voicemails waiting for you on your phone that glowed dimly beside you. You knew you would have to hear them eventually but right now you knew that even a breath, let alone full sentences from Luke would break you in every sense of the word. You feared the sound almost as much as the content behind it.

 You weren’t ready to be okay, you needed to wallow in your pain for a bit longer. As bad as that sounds you knew it was the only way you could convince yourself to let him back in, to forgive him. It was also the only way you could forgive yourself. Your body needed to feel how tortured you were without him, how much you needed his affection, his love, and him. Not his money. 

Part of you knew deep down that Luke didn’t mean what he said, the part that awakened the butterflies that had taken permanent residence in your stomach since he had entered your life. The part that caused all your senses to align when Luke kissed you the night you finally understood what it meant to love someone with everything you have. The same part that was clawing at your heart right now as your mind replayed the look of pure devastation that was painted on Luke’s pretty features as you drove away from him. That part was itching for you to run to him, to cuddle into his embrace and say “I forgive you. I’ll never leave you again. Love me?” 

But, it was the other part of you that was causing the problems right now, the part that snuck up on you each time you felt secure in yourself and tore it all down in seconds. The part that told you there was no way you were good enough for your boyfriend when you stared at your reflection in the mirror for even a second too long. The part that Luke was typically the one to silence when it overwhelmed you in a crowded room, with just a tender kiss to the forehead, or squeeze of your hand. The same part that constantly craved for Luke to be proud of you the way you were of him in anything he decided to pursue. That part was completely shattered last week when, whether intentionally or not he showed you that not only was he not proud, but also felt burdened by your lack of brilliance. 

“Y/n,” your friend called, breaking you from your self-loathing thoughts as she approached your brittle body, enveloped in every single fuzzy blanket you could get your hands on. 

“Hi.” you croaked, pulling your stinging eyes from where they had settled on a particularly large rain droplet that had stolen your interest as you wondered how much more water it could withstand before it burst from its flawless embodiment and shattered to the sill below. You wondered the same about Luke, how much more of your insecurity and emotional baggage would it take for him to burst. How much more of your mediocrity could he compensate for before you began to strip him of his excellence? 

“Have you talked to him yet?” she inquired, eyes going soft as she looked at you with sympathy. 

“No.” you groaned, pulling yourself up. “Do I have to?” 

She shook her head, dismissing you. “You know that you’re welcome here as long as you want, but anyone could tell that you’re completely miserable without him, even if he is being an epic prick.” 

You sniffled and wrapped your arms around your best friend.

“Am I an idiot for wanting to forgive him?” you spoke into her hair. 

She returned the embrace and settled next to you in the bed, “I think if he really is sorry then you’re incredibly strong for it. And you’re never an idiot, that would be your blonde haired beau.” 

You laughed softly at her innocent dig, the giggle catching slightly in your throat as it had only been releasing pathetic pleas, and broken sobs for the past few days. 

Y/f/n handed you your phone, the photo of Luke and Petunia sitting by the pool being almost completely covered by all the missed call notifications that had taken over your lock screen. 

“I think you should at least hear what he has to say babe, for your sake if not for his.” 

You let out a heavy sigh and accepted the phone, wrapping your favorite blanket around your shoulders and dragging your feet to the bathroom for some privacy. 

You took a seat in the empty bathtub throwing the blanket across your body. You reasoned it was the perfect place to listen to the messages because as soon as Luke’s voice flooded the room you would be completely submerged in him and you didn’t trust your legs to hold you up. 

You clicked the most recent voicemail, time stamped from 1:28 am last night. As you selected the speaker option you allowed your eyes to fall closed and without noticing or trying you held your breath. 

“Y/n,” 

Only one word in you could immediately tell two things without a trace of doubt. One, he’d been crying, and two he was drunk. If you had to guess you would say tequila, it had always been his favorite and he had a bad habit of nursing his wounds in the liquor cabinet. It shattered your heart to think of him broken, and vulnerable and as he continued to speak you found yourself wrapping your arms around your body for comfort. 

“I miss you and I’m sorry. I-” his voice cut off as a sob played through your phone. You released a matching one while squeezing  your eyes tighter, a shaky hand bringing your phone closer as if it would bring him as well. 

As he continued, your mind began to paint a vivid picture. You saw him sitting on the kitchen floor, an old ratty sweatshirt struggling to keep him warm, damp tear stains spoiling the sleeves. There was a half empty bottle to his side and the tip of his nose was red as it peeked out from the hood. You shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the image that felt like your personal nightmare.

“I-I can’t live without you, really I don’t think I can. I need you and I love you. I love you so much. Just please come home to me, please baby.” he spoke through gasps of breath that caused worry to spread across your body.

You paused the message as a dull ache creeped up from the bottom of your stomach and to your throat which was tightening by the second. You tossed your phone onto the blanket which you had kicked off as your body heated up, and sprung out of the tub landing firmly in front of the toilet. Gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail in your hand you hunched over and retched into the bowl. Y/f/n burst through the door as you gagged and coughed repeatedly, she took your hair from you and rubbed soothing circles on your back as you tried to focus your breathing through your nose. This wasn’t the first time you had cried yourself into throwing up during your stay so she knew what to do to calm you down and settle your stomach. 

As you finished the glass of water she had poured from the sink while you brushed your teeth she held your car keys out to you. 

“Please go see him. I can’t see you like this anymore.” 

You nodded accepting the keys reluctantly and made your way to your car.

 Once outside you noted that the rain had started coming down harder, it seemed fitting as your situation reached its climax. By the time you got into the car your hair was wet and stringy, dripping onto Luke’s shirt that you had been wearing since the night you left. You quickly tied it back and drove away, hoping the sound of the rain could calm your nerves before you got back to your house. 

When you got there the sun was setting and the rain was still falling steadily, you grabbed a jacket from the back seat and held it over your head as you ran to the house. The jacket didn’t give you much protection from the water and you were soaked by the time you reached the door. Taking one big breath, in through your nose, and out from your mouth as you had been repeating the whole ride there, you raised your quivering hand and knocked three times. 

Expecting it to take a few minutes for him to reach the door you were shocked when it swung open in just a few seconds. Your heart sunk as you took in Luke’s appearance, although you were sure you looked just as bad if not worse. Deep dark circles sat beneath his bloodshot eyes, his stubble had grown in a bit longer than he typically liked it and his lips were chapped and bitten down. Guilt panged in your chest, how awful of a girlfriend were you to let it get to this point? The thought made you question if he would even want you here. 

Apparently the time apart had completely fucked with your ability to read Luke’s face because even frozen in shock, his eyes began to fade into that special soft color of blue they only got to around you. He felt as if a giant weight had been lifted from his chest and just as it had been since the moment you left the only word running through his head was “y/n.” 

He didn’t see your messy, wet hair or the ratty tshirt that swallowed your figure. He didn’t see your eyes puffy from crying or your bitten down nails that you were bringing back up to your mouth in that moment as your nerves got the best of you. All he saw was y/n. His y/n. You came home to him and as far as he was concerned you looked like an angel. Warm, sweet, and perfect. So fucking perfect. 

Your eyes ran over his face anxiously, waiting for him to say something, or invite you in, or even slam the door in your face. Anything. After a minute of silence you gathered up the courage to speak first. 

“Sorry I never called you bac-'' your words were knocked from your mouth when Luke took a step forward and wrapped you up into the tightest hug you’d ever experienced. Your limbs fit together perfectly, and the second your bodies met you felt recharged, as if everything was in place once again. And Luke felt like for the first time in a week he could breathe. 

“I don’t deserve you.” he sighed as you pressed your nose into his chest deeply breathing in the smell you could only describe as home. “Thank you for coming back to me, I don’t work without you.” 

From your position in his arms you could see the mess splayed on the floor behind him. It was just as you had pictured it earlier, a thin blanket and scratchy throw pillow were scattered on the floor in front of the sink, a bottle lying on it’s side just next to them. Guilt inched up your spine when your eyes made contact with a framed picture of the two of you on top of the blanket. 

“I’m sorry.” you sobbed into his chest, your hands clawing at the material of his sweatshirt. 

He pulled back quickly, keeping his hands on either sides of your waist, “No baby, why’re you sorry. This is all my fault, I was awful. You...you’re perfect.” he pressed as you shook your head in distress, unable to stop your tears. 

“N-no I stayed away for so long, even when I knew I wa-wanted to forgive you. I was embarrassed and...and selfish.” you struggled to speak over your tears while Luke looked down at you sad and confused. 

“What’re you talking about, love?” 

You sniffed and dropped your hands from Luke’s chest, “I j-just wanted you to be proud of me.” the end of your sentence was nearly lost in your sobs but Luke understood. And in that moment he regretted going into music instead of engineering, or science, or whatever would’ve helped him to invent  a time machine so he could go back and beat the shit out of whoever or whatever had possessed him last week. 

His hands moved to cup your cheeks, his thumb tracing lightly over your bottom lip. 

“I am proud of you baby.” 

He leaned in slowly, and hesitantly, almost as if he was testing the waters, like this was new. As if he hadn’t kissed you thousands of times before. You looked up at him through your lashes littered with unshed tears and nodded your head slowly. He still had so much left to say, you still had so much left to say but you both had been needing this for as long as you’d lost it. He pressed his lips to yours gently, afraid that even one wrong move and you would decide that you had made the wrong choice in coming back. He wouldn’t survive that, he couldn’t lose you twice. 

As he went to pull away you snaked a hand around the back of his neck pulling him back towards you. This time when your lips collided his body sagged into it, both arms wrapping around your back and lifting you up to the tips of your toes. Your eyes drifted shut and you reveled in the feeling of him pressed up against you like this. When the kiss broke you kept your faces close enough that your noses were touching, and opened your eyes to see Luke’s still closed, his eyebrows furrowed as he pressed his forehead to you. 

“You’re what I’m most proud of.” he exhaled, his eyelids still shut lightly. “My greatest achievement is getting you to love me and I can’t believe I almost blew it.” 

You brought a hand to his face and stroked his cheek lightly, the feeling of his overgrown stubble foreign to your fingers. 

“It would take a lot more to get rid of me.” you assured. “I think m’too in love with you.” 

He opened his eyes, locking them with your own, and spoke firmly but with a softness that was and would always be reserved for only you. 

“I want to make it clear that you do not in any way leech.” he dragged the last word out, laced in disgust as if it were hard for him to say. “I lucked out. I actually just seem to keep lucking out, my job, my life, and you.” He placed a hand across your jaw and tilted your chin up before continuing. “I completely lucked out with you. I have lots of money, more than I need actually and it makes me feel fucking incredible that I can take care of you. That’s all I wanna do for the rest of my life.” 

Your mouth broke into a smile hearing him verbally commit to a lifetime with you. 

“But, with that being said I know you don’t need me-” 

“I do need you.” you interrupted. 

Luke threw his head back at your words, a toothy grin overtaking his face before he pressed a chaste peck to your forehead. 

“Y’know what? You’re too fucking cute. I meant financially baby, m’trying to apologize here.” 

You nodded for him to continue, struggling to contain your own beaming smile. 

“Anything you decide to do occupationally or otherwise could never, ever let me down. You’re physically incapable of it. I’d be a lucky guy if you let me stick around for it all and I promise to never forget that again. I’m sorry I did in the first place.” he took a deep breath before finishing his rant. “M’only able to give you the world if you let me. Let me?” 

You answered his question by attaching your lips once again, desire and need radiating off of the place where your lips met. As your taste buds reacquainted themselves with Luke’s mouth you wondered how you had gone even a day without him. 

Luke felt like he was flying and he couldn’t wrap his head around how anyone in the world could live without, seeing you, knowing you, and kissing you. He also knew that he would do anything to ensure that he never had to go a day without you for the rest of his life. 

“How long does it take to get an engagement ring sized?” he wondered to himself. 

If he could’ve read your mind he would’ve seen white gowns, tiered cakes, and little blue eyed, curly haired monsters running amuck. 

“I want everything with you, the whole world.” you affirmed when you pulled apart for air. 

“Yea?” he responded. 

You hummed against his lips, “Always.” 

[x-lordofdarkness-42069-x]

His gut reaction; What did Craig have to smile about? 

Clyde scoffed to himself. The anger reigniting in the pit of his stomach hit him like a hard hand shoving his shoulder and he spun around, face uncharacteristically hot. He stood squarely opposed to the taller man. The fire quelled to a low burn as he considered the other’s hanging head. A sign of true remorse?

Clyde breathed slowly through his nose; which became an increasingly easier task as his tears dried to his cheeks. He wiped away the last of the wet mucus dripping from his nostrils, rubbing the side of his hand against his denim-clad thigh like a grubby little kid. In some way–a lot of ways actually–he was still a grubby little kid. He felt like he had been tossed back and forth between two playground bullies, teased and laughed at while everyone watched but no one cared enough to step in.

The way Craig had left– It made no sense to him, and now that he had finally come back home, what? ‘Unfuck you?’ That was his ace-in-the-hole? His cure-all? He played the words through his ears again. God!! Did Craig expect that shitty apology to be an acceptable recompense for the abandonment?

“You– You don’t get to…” He took in a deep, steading breath. “You don’t get to just walk back into my life like that.” He had wanted to phrase the counterstrike in a much less personal way, but he ultimately could not. The vindication he needed to feel would only come from being totally honest with the other man. If they truly wanted to rekindle any kind of friendship from the tattered remnants Craig left behind, he would need to be honest with Craig and also with himself. At some point, Clyde had curled his fists into tight, white-knuckled balls and raised them defensively in front of his chest. He noticed Craig's clenched hands as well, so he let his own tension go. His wrists dangled loosely at his sides. He shook his head.

“I knew you were coming,” he finally admitted. The rest of their old gang, while not as tightly-knit as they had been as kids, still kept fairly decent contact to each other. At least, he, Jimmy, and Tolkien did. Kind of forced to bond over someone else’s trauma. Clyde considered them all to be a support group, waiting in the wings for the vanished friend’s inevitable return. But time marched onward, and slowly they began to drift apart, too. No one, to Clyde’s knowledge, had heard from Craig at all for a long time. And after so many unread texts and unanswered voicemails, he gave up, too. But the group-chat which connected the three of them still existed; even if it sat in Limbo at the bottom of the message feed, forgotten. Jimmy had fired off the warning shot; Craig was back. And Clyde couldn’t believe it. Excitement flurried a cocktail of chemicals in his brain, but he held off reaching out first. He knew his time would come. 

So, his reaction to that ‘apology’ was understandable, right? 

Hearing his former best friend stumble over an even shittier apology, if that was possible, Clyde laughed. Balked actually, at the fact that Craig continued to put his fucking foot in his mouth at every turn. Wasn’t he smarter than that?

“Dude, you’re actually fucking joking, right now, right?” Clyde went full-on, gut-busting, doubled-over laughing. But the sounds falling out of his throat and past his teeth felt icy cold, devoid of his normal jocular nature. He heaved one great, big final breathy, miserable howl. “Don’t pull that self-loathing, passive-aggressive shit on me. ‘I don’t believe you actually forgive me.’ Oh, shut up.” He closed the distance between them in a single movement. Hastily and without regard for the consequences of his actions, Clyde recklessly grabbed two handfuls of the front of Craig’s clothes. His biceps flexed under the tight fabric of his own shirt, emphasizing the force of his grip as he held Craig in place and stared up at him. “Cut your crap. I told you I forgive. If you don’t want to be forgiven, then you should have stayed the fuck away from me.” 

He relaxed again before the waterworks resumed. Clyde’s hands opened, leaving Craig’s shirt wrinkled and stretched. The shorter man raised his arms and circled them around the other’s neck in a loose embrace. He buried his face into a sharp shoulder. 

“I am pissed. I do forgive you. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive, dickhead.” 

     @x-lordofdarkness-42069-x  〢  cont from here .

Clyde’s reaction got Craig bearing an ironic smile of his own, one twinged half with indignity and half with guilt, as he dropped his gaze to the ground.  He told himself that, in his quest to reach back out to the members of his old gang, it would be fine if they didn’t want to take him back.  He wouldn’t be able to blame them, especially after some of the things he said to shake them off of him.  They just cared about him, and foolishly, he didn’t want people treating him with comfort and kindness, didn’t feel like he deserved it.  So, he turned his characteristic callousness on all of them, trying to make himself out to be a person that they couldn’t care about so that he could slip out of their lives without being missed.

He told Clyde to piss the fuck off in no uncertain terms, then spent years avoiding him as well as the small town of South Park and their being students at the same school would allow him.  But now, Craig missed everyone, and a couple summers away taught him how much he needed the connections he’d made in this town, and he knew logically that getting those back was going to take work.

Yet, it hadn’t with Jimmy, whom Craig reached out to first.  He had shown up on Jimmy’s doorstep, undoubtedly looking like a kicked dog left out in the rain, and the other had taken him back without hesitation and minimal questions.  They went right back to the way things were years ago, sitting on Jimmy’s bedroom floor and playing with his rats—breezy, effortless.

That had spoiled Craig, and there was some part of him that expected a similar reception from Clyde, and he was pissed that he wasn’t getting it.  His fist clenched at his side, the desire to hit his former best friend and demand that he be more like Jimmy coursing through him.  But no, Clyde’s was a reasonable reaction, far more reasonable than Jimmy’s had been.  That one had been preferable, but it hadn’t been sensible.

Craig.  Deserved.  Every.  Bit.  Of.  This.

An actual apology, the word ‘sorry,’ rested on the tip of his tongue, but he was just embarrassed to say it now—too little, too late.  Instead, what escaped him was a dry, humorless chuckle, and he shook his head.

“No, you’re right to be pissed off,” he said.  “I wasn’t fair to you guys.  I know you all were just… worried about me, and I didn’t think I… deserved… that, so I—”  He didn’t cry easily at all, only when his emotions reached their uppermost extremes, but he felt a stirring in his chest and cut himself off to compose himself.  “Self-fulfilling prophecy…”

He scratched the back of his neck, unsure if he should continue or walk away and let Clyde live a long happy life without him.  Clearing away the lump in his throat, he settled on the former, considering he had already gotten this far.  “I don’t believe that you do forgive me, anyway, and honestly, that’s fine—I wasn’t expecting you to.  I kinda knew I wasn’t gonna waltz back in here free of consequences, and I’d rather you stay angry at me for as long as it takes than lie about forgiving me… even if that means I never get you back,” he quietly concluded, trembling.

“I’m a shitty person, Clyde, and you’re right to be mad.”

[bruhstories]

Flowers and Vinyls

Summary: You and Porco are neighbours. You also despise each other. Pairing: Porco Galliard x Fem!Reader (modern AU) Warnings & Content: language, softdom!Porco, softsub!Reader, thigh riding, unprotected sex, spanking, oral sex (male receiving), alcohol abuse, enemies to lovers Word Count: 2.2 k

A/N: Porco deserves some love, too! I also really wanna give Connie some love, too.

You hated him, you loathed him.

To you, Porco was the most insufferable person to ever walk on this earth, strutting his pushed back hair, with his stupid undercut and his silly little upturned nose. You wanted to gouge his eyes out, but that would only land you some time in jail. He was your next-door neighbour both in terms of accommodation, and in terms of work. You owned a small flower shop at the ground floor of your townhouse, he owned a record store placed strategically wall-to-wall with yours — naturally he lived above it. Marcel, Porco's brother, was seemingly a nicer person, but he wasn't always there when you needed him to shut his little brother's mouth — or music. Not only were you two bickering like petty children, you were also complete opposites — he was edgy and brash, you were dainty and solemn. He always wore dark colours, you were dressed in pastels. And to make matters worse, he was best friends with your best friend!

Pieck was completely oblivious to the fact that you two hated each other, both bitching to her, unaware of the other's complaints. She always told you, separately, that perhaps you just need to get laid with one another and get over it. Impossible, for you despised each other. And when Pieck invited you to a small party at her place, you were not expecting to see Porco there. At first, you wanted to turn around and leave, but your friend talked you into staying, promising that Porco was actually a good guy, and that you didn't know him well enough. Oh, how wrong she was. He was evil incarnate, he vandalised your shop after you called the cops on him. Nonetheless, you stayed at her party, opting to spend some time with Reiner and Colt, avoiding Porco at all costs, because if looks could kill, his would smite you.

What you didn't know was that a conflict was taking place inside his tipsy brain — should he kill you or fuck you? Despite your differences, Porco couldn't deny that you were a very alluring woman, hips swaying every time you walked and an ass that could raise the dead. And he saw Colt glancing at that ass, prompting him to drink some more. On the other side of the room, you told Pieck all about how your date stood you up and you were quite sad, opting to drown the empty feeling in your chest with cheap vodka and tequila, and that combination did a number on you. You weren't shitfaced by any means, just drunk enough to feel the music better, taste the liquor better, smell Porco's perfume better whenever he walked past you. God, he intoxicated you more than the alcohol could, and you were beginning to wonder if Pieck was right — maybe you didn't hate him, maybe you needed to fuck him, relieve the sexual tension. But how? What if he did hate you and you'd only make a fool of yourself? The questions were grinding your gears and no amount of tequila could help you get them out of your system. You settled on ignoring them.

"We're gonna split a cab." Porco explained, a bored, inexpensive look on his face.

"Hey, 'm not poor, aight? I can afford a f-fuckin' taxi." You poked his chest with your index finger while losing your balance and falling into his arms. He quickly released you once you regained control of your legs, his eyes drifting elsewhere, crimson creeping to his cheeks.

"We literally live next to each other, but if you wanna go all by yourself, fine!"

"I haaaaate you, Pokko, d'you know? I especially hate that cute nose! Boop!"

He was so done with your attitude, your gestures, your voice, his brows furrowed and lips pursed. But Pieck really wanted to make sure you got home safe, and Porco didn't want to disappoint his friend by letting you loose in a stranger's car, especially since you were drunk and vulnerable. He was an asshole, but he wasn't that bad. Not that you could realise that, anyway.

"Just get in the car, Y/N." He rolled his eyes and opened the door once the yellow taxi pulled over. You stopped between him and the car, nose and cheeks pink from the alcohol, and leaned closer to his face.

"D'you also know I really, really wanna ride you?" You whispered in his ear before stumbling inside the cab, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Ah! Evening, mister!"

"Jesus Christ..."

The entire way home you drove Porco insane with little touches, whispers, obscene proposals. He could feel his cock twitching in his pants but he didn't want to take advantage of you. Yet the more you looked at him with hunger in your eyes, the more he couldn't think rationally — he, too, was drunk, after all. When you got out of the car you almost fell face first, but luckily, he caught you, your hand accidentally brushing his thigh in the process. God, he hated you.

"Come inside!" You looped an arm around his neck for better balance. "I gotta give you your money b-back."

"It's fine."

"No, no, I insist."

"You're so annoying, you know that?" Porco walked with you, perfectly aware of how much he'd regret this night.

"Close the door behind youuuu!" You kicked your shoes off and grabbed the collar of his leather jacket, practically dragging him through the hallway, into the living room. "Sit!"

He could say no. He could just walk out. But he didn't want to. Not anymore.

You rummaged through a drawer looking for some cash, taking your sweet time to do it. The way you were bent over, the tight skirt revealing just an inch of your red panties, sent Porco down a rabbit hole of dirty thoughts. Every gesture, every word uttered so nonchalantly by you made you both forget the turf war you both started, the atmosphere slowly becoming more intimate and sensual. You swayed your hips from side to side, opening another drawer and digging through the clutter.

"Hey, Pokko? Do you think 'm pretty?"

The question caught him off guard as you turned around, no money in your hands. He raised his gaze from your skirt to your eyes, frantically nodding his head.

"Yeah."

"Then why did I get stood up?" You pouted, walking to the couch. Porco swallowed hard when you took a seat on his thigh, his fingers digging into the sofa. "If 'm pretty, why don't men want me?" Your hands rested on his shoulders as your hips slowly rocked back and forth.

"I- I don't know." He pursed his lips, unaware of what to do. Usually, he wouldn't have any issues with situations like this. But it was different this time because he really wanted to shut your srupid mouth up — or maybe Pieck was right and all he needed to do was fuck you.

"Do you want me?" You asked, head tilted, movement stopping.

"God, yes." Porco grabbed your nape and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his other hand desperately tugging at your tank top strap. You could feel your panties dampening under his rough touch and hot kiss, your hands removing his jacket as quickly as possible. "I'm gonna fuck you on that table first." He picked you up and slammed your ass on the dining table, earning a moan out of you. "Then we'll take it to the bedroom." Porco removed his shirt while you pulled your underwear down.

"Fuck me wherever you want, just fuck me!" You begged, legs spread and lust in your eyes.

"Shit, I knew you were a little slut under all that soft girl crap." He unzipped his jeans, letting them fall to the ground while he pulled his cock out. You took a good look at it, teeth digging into your lower lip.

"Aren't you gonna finger me first?"

"You didn't do anything to deserve it. But I'm in a good mood." Porco sneered before he spat on your wet cunt. The disgusting gesture made you purr like a kitten, proving him more that you were indeed a filthy whore. He dragged the tip of his cock up and down your slit, slowly pushing it between your folds as you threw your head back in pleasure. "Fuuuck, you're so tight, so wet."

"Oh my God, go deeper! Please!" You pleaded, voice low and seductive.

"Look how good you're taking it." Porco praised you, fingers digging into your skin before he started rocking his hips. It truly felt that your pussy was made just for him, the silken walls clenching around his hard cock making him grunt with every thrust. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you both realised just how much you needed this, the hate you had for each other melting away, replaced by lust and desire.

"So b-big 'nd hard-" You mumbled incoherent words while one hand found your neck, calloused fingertips squeezing the skin.

"You've no idea how much I wanted these hands around your neck." Porco groaned, his thrusts faster and harder. "Who knew I wanted to fuck you, not kill you?" His thumb parted your lips and you hollowed your cheeks around it, sucking on it like a lollipop. "Good girl. Bedroom, now." He pulled out and you almost cried at the empty feeling between your thighs. You took his hand in yours and guided him to the room — just as pastel and cute as your personality. Porco spun you around, giving your ass a firm slap before bending you down. He pressed hot kisses on your hip and lower back and you threw your head back to look at him.

"Stop t-teasing me!"

"Jeez, aren't you greedy? I thought you hated me." He laughed into your skin, the vibrations tickling your flesh. Porco couldn't abstain any longer, one hand grasping your hip, the other pushing his cock back into you. Inch by inch, it disappeared and he let out a satisfied groan.

"I still h-hate you!" Teeth sunk into your lip to stifle a moan.

"Oh, really?" He thrusted so deep that you lost control over your arms, head falling onto the mattress. Another deep thrust and you shot back up with a growl. "Talk shit and I might not let you finish." His threat alerted you and you bucked your hips, walls clenching around his cock.

"It would be a shame if you f-finished first." Your voice was cocky, targeting that huge ego of his. It was effective — Porco's hand travelled between your legs, fingers rubbing your swollen clit and you moaned in extasy, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

"N-not fair!" You squirmed and whimpered, tears of pleasure pooling at your eyes.

"We're not playing fair." He wrapped his other hand around your neck to pull you closer, back hitting his chest. The room smelled of sex and jasmine incense and it drove you mad with lust. "Oh, what's the matter? Are you coming already?" He mocked while fucking your desperate cunt.

"Yes! God, yes!" You cried out, the climax blurring your vision.

Despite your pleas that you couldn't take it anymore, Porco kept thrusting deeper into your numbing pussy, his fingers bruising your skin, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. He was an animal, everything about him was instinctual and filthy and you hatedloved it. Your silken walls clenched around his cock again, and he was impressed that you still had some fight left in you.

"That's right, milk me dry, you dirty whore." His disgusting words reignited the dying fire inside your core and you bucked your hips against his, the friction and pressure making you come undone a second time.

"Fuck!" Was all you could say before collapsing onto the mattress, body limp and exhausted.

"Damn it, Y/N. I said milk me dry." Porco grabbed a fistful of hair and turned you over, yanking your head back to shove his cock down your throat. How on earth did he have so much stamina? You hollowed your cheeks and triedto suck, but it was him actually fucking your pretty mouth. "Are you gonna keep being a little bitch?"

"Nu-uh!" You shook your head, the word muffled by his girth. Your cheeks were burning from the lack of air, your eyes watery and red.

"Good." He groaned, thick, hot strings of his seed shooting down your throat. "Swallow." Porco held your head back as he slowly pulled out, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue.

You laid on the bed and pulled him next to you, unaware of what to do or say. Your body relaxed when he looped an arm around your shoulders, your head resting on his chest.

"Do you still hate me?" He asked.

"It depends. Are you gonna blast music at three in the morning?"

"Yep."

"Well, there's your answer." You laughed and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Listen, I'm not sorry you got stood up tonight. I mean, I am, but I'm not-"

"Porco, stop talking. It was never going to work out with him, anyway."

"Fair enough." He shrugged, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "What if I take you out?"

"Like a date, or a murder?"

"It depends. Are you gonna call the cops on me again?"

"I'll try not to?"

"A date, then."