#i mean its not my place to tell him what to do with his hair

[reignpage]

Munchkins

The different ways the JJK men eat pussy

Gojo: like it’s a game

He thinks shit be funny when it’s really not. Fingers spreading your lips apart, he’ll coo at the quivering of your hole. 

“Oh look, she’s talking to me,” he mutters to himself, grinning. “Hi, pretty baby. Whatcha trying to say? ‘You’re so handsome, Satoru?’ And, ‘You’re the best lover I’ve ever had?’”

When he continues his little conversation, you know he’s genuinely getting lost in his own delusions. A whimper of frustration leaves you. That grabs his attention and with a mock gasp of shock, he presses an apologetic kiss right on your clit, sucking as hard as he can to really get his point across. 

“Awwwwww, baby. I’m sorry. Bet you were feeling left out, huh? Okay, okay. Time to get serious.” 

And then a wide tongue is splaying flat against your entire pussy, spreading your wetness around as he motorboats your sloppy cunt, humming a breathy laugh at the juicy sounds that he elicits. “How’s -ha- this? Better? God, you taste so good. Been eating pineapples, haven’t you?”

“S-shut up, Toru,” you groan. 

“Hey, don’t be mean,” he grumbles with no real heat. 

The orgasm that washes over you is powerful and you can’t conjure a single word out even when he quizzes you like an idiot, rubbing in that he's made you feel so good, you're left silent and dumb. “What day is it? No, I don’t think it’s ‘oh fuckkkk.’ Let's try so something easier. Can you recite pi to the one hundredth digit, baby? No? Yeah, me neither. Aw, you look so pretty. I should take a picture, shouldn’t I? Okay, okay, hold that face. Gonna get a camera.”

Geto: like it’s a test

“Come on, pretty.” He pulls away from your cunt, lips glistening with your juices and you have to fight the urge to close your legs from sudden embarrassment. “You’re pulling my hair too hard. How am I supposed to give you all my attention if you’re pulling me away, hmm?”

Lying down on his stomach, he’s placed himself in the most comfortable position for him to do everything it takes to bring you pleasure. And just as he said, locks of his silky black hair pool through your fingers as you tug every time the tip of his tongue rolls your bundle of nerves with expert precision. 

“Sorry, Sugu,” you find the clarity to whimper out. 

His arm reaches out to grip a breast and the weight makes his eyes roll back. As if punishing you for distracting him, he pinches a nipple and shoves his tongue inside your pussy, feeling the gummy walls clench down. Your back arches. “’s okay, pretty girl. Just —mhm so well-behaved— focus on the pleasure, alright?”

"Oh, Suguru, I can't. S-so good, oh yes, right there."

A thumb finds its way onto your clit, rubbing in precise and controlled circles; he knows just how you like it. Your moans get louder and louder. “Close? Tell me what you need. Talk to me,” he pleads. 

The smile that fills your blurry vision after a wonderful orgasm blinds you. His eyes explore your face, seeking every twitch and sigh like it fuels him, and maybe it does because his hard, leaking cock pushes in slowly, massaging every pleat inside your pulsing walls. 

“Let me hear more of your beautiful moans. Fuck, I can’t get enough of you.”

Choso: like an addict

You’re kneeling in the living room, pulling fibres from the plush carpet. Shorts pulled down, you can do nothing to stop the man moaning behind you as he sucks your clit with no technique. His tongue is venturing all the way down and all the way up, chasing after the taste of you. 

“Fuck! Choso, w-what is wrong with you?”

The day had started like normal. On your way to the kitchen, he murmured something about how good you smelt, and, without warning, tackled you onto the ground. This is so typical of him; he eats you out in the shower, against the front door, the window, in the car, in a park, and so on and so forth. And he does it all shamelessly.

“Sorry, I just -mhm- c-couldn’t help -ah so good- myself.”

It’s wet everywhere and not just from the waterfall of juices streaming out of your pulsing hole. Choso’s drooling —no, practically slobbering— all over your thighs, lapping up every drop. Despite all the times he’s tasted you, he can never get enough. 

Most days you have to fight him off, throwing pillows at his face and swatting his wandering hands even when he pouts and asks, “But why?”

And when you cum, mind completely blank as you pant desperately, face firmly planted on the carpet as his hands hold your hips up, his mouth doesn’t stop. 

“Ah, can I have one more?” He presses his cheek to your slit with a squelch and smooshes it, enjoying the heat against his clammy skin. “Please?”

You roll your eyes.

"No, don't crawl away. That's not nice. Oh, do you wanna do it on the kitchen counter? Okay!"

Toji: like a big meanie

“God, she’s talkative today, ain’t she?”

In his defence, you deserve this. He had just come home from a long day being a killer for hire and fell on the bed with just a grunt. You should have let him rest, you knew that, but in your defence, he’s sexy as hell.

Literally walking sex. 

“Y’r soaking the bed like a slut, look at you. Didn’t you grow out of this habit, ma? What kinda example you trying to show to our kid?”

His fingers are pummelling inside your pussy, curling against your G-spot without mercy. The pressure he’s building inside rivals the vacuum of his mouth on your clit. “Just had to climb up and sit on my damn face, didn’t ya? Couldn’t keep it in your pants? What? I don’t give it to ya enough? No, ‘course not, cause this dirty pussy always needs to be stuffed full, doesn’t she?”

There’s no particular rhythm to your grinding, and your desperation makes the corner of his scarred lip tick up. When you look down, your eyes meet his and the wink he sends you drives you over the edge. 

“That’s a new record ha. Must have been pent up, poor baby. Good thinking taking what you want when you need. Proud of ya, kid.”

Out of breath, you ask with a little shame, “You're not mad?”

SMACK!

Your asscheek is burning from the slap and you fall down on the bed with a ‘fuck you!’

“How long have ya known me, dumbass? I could be bleeding from a bullet in the chest and I’d still let you ride my dick.”

Nanami: like a man in love

“Sweetheart, are you sure I’m not distracting you?” 

For whatever reason, your husband still feels guilty about his desire despite all the years you've been together. Watching you slave away at the stove was apparently a stimulating sight. In his own Kento way of saying ‘thank you,’ he had cuddled up behind you, pressing kisses on your neck with his hands wandering down your curves. 

Moaning, you do your best to stir even when his face is shoved in between your thighs, suckling on your pussy from behind. “Ken, you silly man. Of course you’re —ngh!— d-distracting me but it’s a good —oh, Ken— distraction, d-don’t worry.”

“Really? Oh, that makes me so happy, darling, because I really couldn’t hold on any longer.” Even when he’s being absolutely filthy as he forces naughty squelches out of your sensitive pussy, he’s being so sweet — occasionally, he lays kisses on your clit, whispering praises like he’s spell-struck. “My lovely wife. My beautiful wife. My darling love.”

His warm breath and his even warmer words pushes you to the light and you’re spasming in his hands and on his mouth. 

“That’s it, honey. Such a good girl. How did I get so lucky?”

Then, sweaty and elated, he stands to full height and smothers you in a kiss. Distantly, you hear the click of the stove before you’re carried away, bridal-style to your bedroom. Your giggles makes him smile and, when he lays you down gently on the bed, he takes you in with a sparkle in his eyes. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Let me show you my sincerity, sweetheart.”

Sukuna: like a liar 

When you had wandered into the garden, you hadn’t expected that you’d get pulled to the side, off the path, and pushed against a tree. Before you can process anything, your lips are being devoured by his — sharp teeth, unforgiving lips, and a growl echoing in your mouth. 

A big hand worms its way through your layers and tears off your flimsy panties with one yank. Just as the cool breeze meets your slit, a palm covers the entire area. 

“Kuna, w-what are you doi—Ah, fuck!”

A long and wet tongue prods its way around, rolling your clit with reckless abandon. You hear both mouths, from his face and his hand, growl in satisfaction at the taste of you. “I could sense your growing need, woman. It was overwhelming. And as your king, I must fulfil my duty and grant you one moment of pleasure. Rejoice in my benevolence.”

That’s definitely not the case since you were thinking of nothing but what to cook for dinner but you know him; he hides his desires with what he knows best. 

Deceit. 

“I’ve barely done anything and look at you, writhing like a worm. How pathetic,” he snarls. Sukuna kisses your lips the way he eats your pussy: like he’s desperate and hungry — positively starved.

Your orgasm is practically forced out of you, taken like it was always his to begin with. Deep in the back of your mind, you hope no servants have wandered near, or hell, stepped foot in the garden at all because your moans and whimpers were unreserved.

“Your moans are grating on the ears. Try to do less squealing like a mouse when you take both of my cocks, woman.”

[scorpioriesling]

When I Met You In The Summer

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairings: Lucien x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: You’ve lived in the Summer court your entire life, and no one has quite caught your eye such as the Vanserra visiting your High Lord on a mission. As your friendship progresses, you one day come to realize it may be something more.

SR’s Note: Thank you for your patience! Ugh this one is so fluffy and cute. This was a request using prompts #11, #20, #42, #51, and #58 for @hardcoremarvelfan <3

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

You'd wandered down the great hall toward the discussion room, hoping that maybe the handsome redhead had made his return. As you neared the open-walled greatroom -- you were sure of it.

"Yes, Rhysand and Tamlin have both been briefed on the news."

His voice was as smooth as honey from the bee itself, you swore it.

"And, they're in agreement?" Tarquin's rich voice sounded behind the doorway. You pressed your ear up against it, trying to catch any of their conversation. They sounded a bit alike, it was almost impossible to differentiate.

"Indeed they are... for once."

Their shared laughs echoed through the space, and the last few murmurs of conversation sounded closer to the doorway. You instinctively jumped back, walking a few feet away and turning around as the door swung open.

"Thank you again for meeting today Lucien -- I understand the commute between both courts and now this one is a monumental task," Tarquin's apathetic tone had Lucien smiling. You tried not to stare, and forced yourself to look unbothered as his eyes took you in.

You looked back once more, pretending to notice the two for the first time.

"Oh! Hello Tarquin," you curtsied politely, then turned to Lucien, throwing him a wink. "Lucien."

"H-hi," he stuttered, completely enamored by you. Your High Lord, however, spoke up.

"Y/N! What a pleasant surprise," he said. You tore your gaze away from the redhead to make eye contact with Tarquin instead. "Tell me; what brings you to my quarters this early in the morning?"

In that instant, your cheeks pinkened.

"Oh! Well.. I... uh..."

Tarquin gave you a knowing smirk. He clapped Lucien on the shoulder, his attention finally straying from you.

"Thank you again for coming, Lucien." He said in finality, his eyes sliding to you once more before turning to walk back toward the meeting space. "Y/N... I'll see you around."

You chuckled nervously as the High Lord closed the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone in the hallway. Lucien shifted on his feet, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to look relaxed.

"So... how have you been?"

You smiled softly, glancing up at him once more.

"Good, good..."

He smirked, the action similar to the one Tarquin gave you earlier.

"Just good?"

"Well... I mean, I've just been working, and all that-"

"Mmm," he chuckled. "Doing more work on the beach, right?"

You nodded, your heart fluttering at the incinuation that he remembered your conversation from last time he visited.

"Do you get a lot of traffic down there?"

He stepped forward, and you followed along. He strutted down the halls of this place like it were his own -- but you knew better than to inflate the ego of a Vanserra.

Tucking a hair behind your ear, you responded. "Not too much, mostly sea turtles and sand crabs," you giggled, and Lucien couldn't help but smile at your innocence. "But, sometimes people will stop by. Its a but distracting when I'm trying to get the hatchlings to the ocean and people stop by; but I'm sure they just want to see the little ones."

The two of you approached the entrance of the Summer Court Palace, and he pushed the door open for the two of you.

"Ahh... I'm sure they were distracted by more than just the turtles," he said, and you looked sidelong at him. A cute blush spread across his cheeks, and you fought the urge to lean in and kiss them.

You gasped, faking your shock. "Lucien Vanserra! Are you flirting with me?"

He let out a hearty laugh as the two of you continued walking down the cobblestone path toward the beach.

"Maybe I am," he teased, and you nudged him with your shoulder. The two of you made your way to the beachfront, sharing in playful banter and chattering on more about the ocean life.

"People say all the time that they want to put in the work to restore the ocean," you explain, stooping to flip over a baby sea turtle wiggling on its back. "But, people say a lot of things all the time -- its your actions that speak louder than words."

He nodded in understanding, smiling as he watched you watching the hatchling venture toward the waves. You spotted the nearby reef, teeming with bright corals and looking much healthier than when you first found it.

"See? Look," you took his hand, leading him toward the area. "When I found it, this reef was brittle and nearly dead -- but, after a few short weeks of care," you pointed to the bright pink coral patch beneath the water's surface. "It's looking better than ever!"

Lucien raised his eyebrows, his stunned expression bringing you confidence.

"Wow, Y/N -- you really care for the ocean," he muses, and you grin.

"I suppose it's all I have to care for right now," you shrugged. His gaze met yours, and you blushed under the heat of his gaze.

"Oh! Uh... are you busy later tonight?"

He continued gazing into your eyes, searching for answers to questions he hadn't realized he wanted to ask yet.

"For you, I'm always available."

✧･ﾟ: *

Lucien had come and gone to the Summer Court three more times before he was sure -- you had become close, laughing and sharing personal things with one another. It didn't take long for him to consider you a friend, and took even less time to consider you... more.

The waves lapped softly against the shore as the sun set beyond them, casting a tangerine glow across the simmering sand beneath his feet. He toyed with the small golden necklace you'd found for him a few weeks back -- in truth, he hadn't taken it off since you gave it to him.

"Oh, Lucien!"

Your gasp from behind him had him spinning, turning in search of your gorgeous face. The smile he donned when spotting your face was nothing short of brilliant; his eyes roamed over every inch of bare skin, the golden cuff on your arm, all the way down to the white dress billowing out behind you.

You were a vision.

"I'm so glad to see you -- tell me, how was your journey?" You asked, approaching him in quick, light steps across the sand. It wasn't until you cleared the mound before you that you saw it.

Your jaw hung open, no words able to formulate and come out. A million little candles were tucked into the sand, illuminating the way before ending at the shoreline.

"Do you like it? I hoped it wasn't too much, I-"

"Is this... Lucien, you... you did this, for me?"

He nodded sheepishly, and you couldn't help but throw your arms around his neck. You'd gotten used to how good he smelled over the past few weeks; but, nonetheless, his earthy clean scent washed over you like its own tidal wave.

His chest rumbled against you as he chuckled, his hands wrapping around your frame to embrace you as well. When you pulled back, his eyes found yours.

"Um... to answer your question, the journey was just fine," he answered, his right hand sliding overtop of your shoulder and down your arm. "But, it's not a mission that has brought me to the Summer Court this time."

Your eyes widened, and he laced his fingers through yours.

"I needed to come here to see you."

He leaned closer, his gaze flickering to your lips for only a moment.

"Is everything... okay?" You asked innocently, and he nodded.

"It's more than okay, I mean... I hope," he chuckled, bringing your knuckles to his lips and kissing them softly. You smiled, your other hand sliding from his neck to lie flat on his chest.

"I wanted to wait and make sure first, but... I don't think I can wait any longer," he admitted, his free hand reaching into his pocket in search of something. Your brow furrowed as he pulled out a dangling pendant on a long chain.

He pulled his lip between his teeth. "I got you something, in hopes you'd say yes," he said, unclasping the chain with shaking hands. You took the delicate pendant in your palm, inspecting the cream colored oval enscribed with the letter "L".

Lucien.

Your heart squeezed as emotions welled inside of you -- love, butterflies, disbelief.

"It's a sea turtle's shell," he explained, reaching around your neck to clasp the chain behind you. "I had found one and asked the local jewler to preserve it for me. I can always bring it back, or you can just toss it out if you don't like it, uh-"

You gripped the collar of his shirt, tugging his lips to yours in that instant. The kiss was quick, but when you pulled back, he met you with that lovely smile once more.

"Lucien, I love it," you assured him, and his hands found the small of your waist to hold you close once more. "And I'm almost sure that I love you, too."

✧･ﾟ: *

[hiddensanctuarywrites]

Oh how the turn tables

Lawrence Oleander x Reader/MC

Warning: NSFW, Noncon. Read at your own risk!

A/N: I felt an overwhelming desire to be mean to Lawrence, so I wrote this instead of working on my main story lol. Enjoy! ❤️

This is what you get for asking a cute stranger what time it is, you guess. Stuck taped down to a chair after he freaks out and knocks you unconscious. Waiting until he decides to go through with killing you or something, you're not really sure.. It's really hard to tell what is going on in Lawrence's head.

It's the second day here and you woke up to find him asleep on his bed. You're sure he was more careful taping your arms down this time and decided it's worth trying to free yourself again. You pray that he doesn't wake up as you begin your second battle with your restraints.

It was actually the left arm of the chair that loosened, then eventually gave way after a little more effort. You used your free arm to quietly pull off the right side and took the small knife left on the table in front of you to cut yourself free.

You're a bit dizzy and sore standing up but you need to figure out what to do now. You look around the room and then to your captor. Your frustratingly handsome, mentally unstable captor.

…An idea suddenly hits you. You hope to hell it'll work and you'll be very happy if it does. Time to try and give this man a taste of his own medicine, and then some.

You single out a large heavy pot with a fern growing inside, set on his kitchen counter. You very slowly walk over and lift it up as quietly as possible. Walking over to him didn't wake him up, but as you strain to lift the pot high in the air, you accidentally nudge the bed, scaring him awake.

But by then it's too late for him, considering you drop the pot directly on his head, knocking him unconscious. You wince a bit out of sympathy and quickly grab the pot, noticing that it's left a small gash on his forehead.

You're unsure when he'll wake back up so you have no time to waste. You quickly put the fern back in its place, fix the chair up again, and heave Lawrence over to it. It takes quite a bit of effort to move his body but you manage to get him propped up before securing his arms and legs to the chair. Not sure how he'll react initially, you decide to put some tape over his mouth as well.

You take a step back, satisfied with how restrained he is, before looking for something to scare him into cooperation. The tiny knife you cut yourself free with won't do and the giant sheers he has set aside seem overkill…

You rummage through his kitchen and eventually find a chef's knife in one of his drawers. You sigh in relief before standing in front of your captor turned captive and wait patiently for him to wake up. It wouldn't be fun playing with him while he's still unconscious, after all.

…

When he finally comes to, he wakes with a start. He very soon realizes that he’s tied to the same chair you were just in earlier that day and you're standing in front of him, watching him. He looks up at you with a terrified expression, unable to say anything with the tape over his mouth.

“Do as I say and I won't hurt you, okay?” you say gently, but the knife in your hand is showing that you're not messing around.

He's shaking and tearing up now as the gravity of the situation sinks in but eventually nods and you smile gleefully.

“It doesn't feel very good being tied up, now, does it? …Well, I'm not letting you go. I'll take the tape off your face so I can hear your pretty voice though. Be good and quiet or I'll find something else to shut up that mouth with, okay?”

You rip it off as painlessly as you can and when it's finally off, he asks, “W-what do you want from me..?”

You give him a very obvious once-over. “What I'm Going to do... is play with you. However I want.. until I'm completely satisfied.” He shifts uncomfortably in the seat, a nice blush starting to dust his cheeks. “Wha- N-no..don't…”

You pet him, running your hand through his hair, even though it doesn't console him in the slightest. “Oh, honey.. You don't have a Say in what happens to you now.”

He whimpers at that and you continue petting him. “Even though I wanted you so badly from the moment I saw you, I Was going to let you go on your way.. But then you knocked me out, took me home with you...even gave me a wound to remind me of you when I leave. And now.. we're here. You had Your turn..and now it's mine.”

“W..what are you going to do..?” He's still shaking, looking equally bewildered and terrified. When you grab his flaccid cock through his sweatpants, his breath hitches. “I told you, I'm going to play with you until I'm satisfied.”

Now understanding what you mean, his face turns red as his dick twitches in your hand, hardening slightly. You smile coyly, squeezing him lightly to make sure he knows that you know he's reacting to you.

He turns his head away and closes his eyes, clearly disliking how his body is betraying him. “Nuh uh, no looking away. You know what happens when you don't listen, right?” you quietly chastise him, moving your knife back and forth a bit.

You don't actually want to hurt him but this is the only way you figured he'll listen. Thankfully he does, looking back at you but clearly getting frustrated. You knock that look off his face by rubbing the length of his cock a few times through his clothes. “Good boy.. keep those eyes on me, got it?”

You set the knife down on the table behind you before running your hands along his body, from his bare arms to his shoulders, down his torso, along his sides and ending on his thighs.

He's really wrestling with that command to keep looking at you as you're doing this but he’s able to focus on your face since you're busy paying so much attention to the rest of him.

You kneel in front of him, looking up to make sure he's still watching you. You rub his thighs as you talk, “I'm going to need to take these off. You'll cooperate with me, right?”

Not waiting for an answer, you undo the string on his sweatpants and work on pulling them off. You grin teasingly when you see that he's going commando and he looks away, shutting his eyes tightly from embarrassment.

You let it slide this time and tug on his pants more. When you clear your throat as a warning, he cooperates by hovering above the seat just enough to get it down to his ankles.

He's not fully hard yet but he's well on the way. You blow on it, watching it twitch from the smallest bit of contact. “So cute.. I'm going to really enjoy this, Lawrence.”

He doesn't say anything but you can tell a part of him likes it because he keeps getting harder.

“D-don’t look…” he whines out, his embarrassment getting to him. You decide to take it easy on him and focus elsewhere, running your hand up his torso and further up, past his neck to gently cradle his face.

“...Do you have any idea how attractive you are?” you ask him almost accusingly, brushing your thumb along his cheek before sinking your fingertips into his hair.

You really want to bully him a bit more so you grab a fist full of hair near his scalp and yank his head back to run your tongue roughly up the side of his neck.

He reacts by letting out a strangled moan, so you bring your free hand down to jerk off his cock as you suck on his neck hard enough to leave a deep bruise. At that, he cries out your name in a low moan but still is coherent enough to beg “no, not the-ere..”

It's not enough. You need him turned into a pathetic mess. Lucky for you, you know exactly what to do to get him there.

You kiss down his torso, spreading his legs apart wider and getting between them. You make sure that he's looking at you before opening your mouth and lightly slapping the head of his dick against your extended tongue.

He's entranced now and watches closely as you slide him deep into your mouth and rub your tongue against it. It must feel really good because he's twitching again and letting out another strangled whimper, louder than before.

It doesn't take long for him to let go and just enjoy you giving him head. Not much longer than that, he's almost at the edge of coming undone and filling your mouth with his load.

…And that's exactly when you move back, sitting on your legs and watching his reaction. He looked like he was in such bliss until he realized his cock left your mouth. “Why..? Why did you stop..?” He's confused but that quickly turns to frustration and anger when he realizes that you're toying with him.

“Until I’M satisfied, remember?” you say teasingly. You run your fingertip down his length and rub his inner thigh with your other hand but that's clearly not enough for him.

“You damn flower. I should've just killed you when I had the chance.” he growls out. “Well, that's no way to talk to your captor, especially one that's been treating you so nicely.” Your hand reaches back for the knife, a reminder of who's in charge right now.

That seems to shut him up and you're satisfied with that. “Ask nicely and I Might let you cum… eventually.” He's still pissed but clearly thinking it over. You rub his cock a few more times to keep it nice and hard as you add on some probably vital information. “Otherwise I'll just edge you as much as I want without giving you any release.”

He looks a little worried as your words sink in but he still doesn't give in. So you do what you said, going between sucking him off and jerking him off until you can tell his orgasm is close, then backing off completely to let him cool down. It takes a couple rounds of this until he finally cracks, whining out “l…let me cum..”

“Say please.” you demand, keeping your hand hovering around his painfully hard member. He whimpers at that, not wanting to give in completely. He rubs his thighs together, thrusting up a bit in a pitiful attempt to get some friction. To get you to touch him again.

He has tears in his eyes when he finally gives in. “....p..please..” Extremely satisfied, you practically purr your reply. “Good boyy, that wasn't so hard, was it? I'll make sure you cum so hard you're seeing stars… When I'm done.”

Knowing that you're not going to give him his release yet makes him sob quietly but that's quickly turned into another moan when you put your hot mouth back on him.

By the time you have him at the edge again, he's broken down completely, begging “ple-ease, please, Y/N, I'll do anything.”

That stops you. Anything? You were going to just use that tea on him to knock him out and leave after untying him but.. “Anything huh? You promise?”

He whimpers, shaking. “A-anything.” You smile, going back to playing with him. This time, when he's close you keep going, jerking him off and fondling his balls with your mouth firmly over his head.

When he finally comes, his whole body locks up as loads of his spunk aggressively shoot into your mouth, filling it up easily. You work him through his orgasm until he's whining from overstimulation.

He looks completely dazed when you get up but comes to when you're suddenly grabbing his jaw and kissing him, forcing his mouth open enough to spit his own load inside before clamping your hand over his lips.

“Swallow.” You demand, and having no choice, he does. You smile happily at that. “You said Anything, right?” He suddenly looks afraid but nervously nods.

You pick up the knife and slice of the tape binding one of his arms before undoing your pants and sliding them down. You grab his hand and hold it against your parts, watching as he flushes all over again.

“Look at what you did to me.. Be a good boy and take care of it for me.” You notice his cock is twitching again as he feels up your excitement.

...Maybe you'll keep him locked up a while longer.

[eternallyordinary]

"He Belongs to You", Part 20

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Series Masterlist<3

Summary: Waking up lost and chained, you realize revenge isn't always served sweet.

Warnings: language, blood, death, violence, kidnapping, mental illness

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Your head pounds. A dull, unrelenting ache spreading behind your eyes.

The air around you is thick and damp. You can smell the tang of rust and something pungent—the unmistakable stench of decay. It clings to your skin, settles in your lungs. Makes your stomach turn.

Your body feels heavy, weighed down by something far worse than exhaustion. When you try to move, an icy jolt shoots through your limbs—cold metal biting into your wrists and ankles. Chains. Fucking fabulous.

They’re too tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if they were cutting off your circulation already. Panic begins to rise, creeping up your throat like bile, but before you can fully grasp the horror of your situation—

A voice cuts through the darkness.

“Ahh, you’re awake.”

It’s smooth, calm. But there’s something worse lurking beneath the surface—satisfaction.

Whoever this is, they’ve been waiting for this moment. You can hear it in their voice.

They pivot toward a small metal table, their movements slow, deliberate. Fingers curl around a medical instrument—its surface dull and crusted with flakes of rust, like it hasn’t been touched in decades… or sanitized ever.

The sound it makes scraping against the table sends a chill down your spine.

The figure steps forward, wearing a mask. Black. Featureless. Eerie. A faceless stranger with complete control over your well being.

Oh, what you would give to show him something about control.

You force yourself to stay still. Stay calm. Stay aware, you tell yourself. You can’t let him sense your fear.

“Who the fuck are you?”

They tilt their head at the question, almost amused. And then fingers curl under the edges of the mask, peeling it away. Revealing a face that is—

Nothing to you.

No recognition. No familiarity. A complete stranger.

Your brows knit together as you stare, trying to place him. You try to convince yourself you must have seen him somewhere.

At the mall? At the gym? On the street? But deep down, you know the truth. You’ve never seen him before in your life.

And somehow, that makes it so much worse.

“You don’t recognize me, beautiful?” His voice is almost teasing, like he’s enjoying this little game. “How would you? We’ve never met.”

The stranger reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like he’s entitled to touch you. You jerk your head back.

“There, there,” he soothes, his tone mockingly gentle. “Let’s not get hostile. You’re my guest. Show some respect.”

“Your guest?” Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “You kidnapped me, you fucking psycho!”

“Well, I’m not sure your father—oh, I’m sorry—your boyfriend, would’ve allowed you to simply stop by.”

Your jaw tightens. Anger flares in your chest, white-hot. “Shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Why are you doing this?”

“Well…” He leans in slightly. “Why do you think I’m doing this?”

You stare at him, searching.

Is he really asking you to answer?

Before you can even decide, his hand lashes out. A brutal, open-handed slap across your face, the impact snaps your head to the side.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as pain blooms across your cheek, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth.

Guess that means yes.

“I just said—I have no fucking idea who you are.”

“Oh, I’m not deaf. I heard you,” he replies, tone venomous but eerily calm. “Now I want you to think. Why do you think you’re chained up in a fucking basement?”

Your brain scrambles, desperate for an answer. “I don’t know… you knew them?”

“Ding ding ding,” he says, mocking your effort with a twisted grin. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Who, exactly?”

“The guys who—I don’t know—Jimmy—”

Before you can finish, his hand snaps forward, wrapping around your throat in a bruising grip.

“You really are a clueless, selfish fucking bitch, aren’t you?” he growls, leaning in close. “Your mind only jumps to the people who hurt you… never to the ones you’ve hurt.”

His grip tightens, his breath hot against your cheek.

“Straighten up and think. Who the fuck am I, and who the fuck am I getting revenge for?”

"I haven't hurt anyone." You say, sure of it.

He releases your throat with a jerk, then begins pacing the room, manic and unhinged. The way his hands twitch, the way he mutters to himself—it reminds you of someone else you know.

“I know she didn’t—I know she didn’t know!” he rants to the empty air. “But she doesn’t care. Do you not get it?”

Your blood runs cold.

What the fuck.

He halts mid-stride, turning his head slowly toward you. His eyes are wild, unblinking.

Then he starts hitting himself in the head, hard, over and over, until you flinch against the chains restraining you.

And just as suddenly as it began, it stops.

He calmly lowers himself beside you, wearing an eerily calm smile—like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just have a full-blown psychotic episode.

“Sorry about that,” he says cheerfully. “He was always the nice one. The forgiving one. I’m not so forgiving, as you can see.”

“Who?” your voice cracks, frantic. “Please—tell me who you’re talking about. What you’re talking about—”

“You’re the reason he’s dead.”

Your heart slams into your ribs.

“Who?!” you scream.

He grins wider, as if he’s been waiting for this.

“Eli." The name hits you like a bullet to the chest.

Your mind reels back—Eli. The rooftop party. He was kind. Gentle. He made you laugh. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. Didn't deserve what Homelander did.

You tried to forget. Tried to tuck the memory deep into a corner of your mind where it wouldn’t haunt you. But the truth is—you didn’t forget. Couldn't forget. Not just because it was fresh, but because deep down, you knew. You knew If you hadn’t gone to that party… if you hadn’t spoken to him that night… Eli would still be alive.

The stranger watches you closely, reading every flicker of your expression.

“I’m Andrew, by the way,” he says casually. “I’m Eli’s brother. He’s been telling me a lot about you. It’s so nice to finally meet.”

Your breath hitches. “What? He’s alive?”

Andrew’s smile turns strange. “No. I’m just like you.”

Just like you?

“My parents injected me with Compound V when I was an infant,” he says, leaning back like he’s telling some quaint story. “Won some fucking raffle. Can you believe that? Won the prize of altering their kid’s entire brain chemistry. Funny, right?”

He laughs. But it’s not funny. It’s unhinged.

“They definitely regretted it. Once they saw what my power was? They were terrified. They didn’t make the same mistake with Eli. Just me. The family fuck-up. The black sheep. The one who's spent most of his life locked up in a mental facility.”

You’re trembling, but your voice somehow finds its way out.

“What… what’s your power?”

He lights up like a child.

“Oh. I forgot to mention that, didn’t I?” He leans in, his voice soft and proud. “I can speak to the dead!”

Your eyes widen. You didn’t even know that was possible. Compound V had never been associated with anything… supernatural.

“When my grandma died, I started talking to her. In my room, in the corners, wherever she was. My parents thought I was just mentally ill. So off to the psych ward I went. A special one, for supes like me.”

His voice turns wistful. “Eli was the only one who made an effort. He drew me pictures. Visited with our mom when she could bear the sight of me. And when he got old enough, he came on his own. Called me every day. Played chess with me. God, he's so good at chess.”

His tone shifts. “Then one day… he appeared. In my room. Out of nowhere.”

His eyes go glassy. “That’s when I knew. He was gone. Dead. But to me? It didn’t feel that different. I still see him. Still play chess. But knowing he’ll never have a family, never run the Boston marathon, never just… live?”

He looks down. “That part makes me sad.”

You swallow. “I know… it is sad.”

He perks up at that. “I’m glad you agree.”

Then he smiles again—too wide, too calm.

“So, I decided to come find you.”

Your stomach turns.

“I broke out of the hospital. I feel a little bad—I killed my nurse, Ms. Sherry. She was sweet. But don’t worry. I already spoke to her. She forgives me. Thank God.”

You try to keep your voice steady, choosing every word carefully.

“I didn’t kill Eli. I wouldn’t have hurt him.”

Andrew nods, almost understanding. “Oh, I know. Homelander did. But I can’t kill him. So…”

He smiles again, tilting his head like a doll.

“I’ll just kill you.”

⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。

tags: @raginginkedslut @helreyy @lilyalone @emily048 @naty-1001

[totallynotapsychic]

WHO DID THIS. WHO. WHO TOLD HIM THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA. WHO. WHY. NO. I CANT LET HIM FALL INTO THIS PIT OF ABNORMALCY THAT IVE LIVED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. THIS CANT BE HAPPENING

@psychicdelicz WAS IT YOU. DID YOU DO THIS

im crying screaming shitting throwing up sobbing clawing at my walls going at a fire hydrant with a lead pipe this is not okay.

[earlyspringtranscendence]

the things that are generally wrong with the volstovic cycle are made (naturally, by virtue of the setting and pov characters) so much more egregious in shadow magic but like. kouje & mamoru are unfortunately still the only prince/retainer dynamic i’ve ever read like nothing else compares. sorry. forever.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter. 

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up. 

It was him. 

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak. 

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises? 

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers. 

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,” 

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment. 

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,” 

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile. 

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped. 

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,” 

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze. 

Fuck. 

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,” 

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—” 

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked. 

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break. 

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?” 

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?” 

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks. 

“I would,” 

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile. 

Fuck. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears. 

But how can you be quiet? 

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck. 

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,” 

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass. 

He’s huge. 

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—” 

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,” 

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?” 

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much. 

He was too much. 

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,” 

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,” 

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—” 

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns. 

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart. 

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up. 

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—” 

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt. 

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store. 

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—” 

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care. 

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump. 

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush. 

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,” 

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?” 

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling. 

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.” 

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern. 

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started. 

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin. 

“What are you—” 

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,” 

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“ 

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,” 

“Mahito—“ 

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money,  “be a doll, won’t you?” 

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?” 

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice. 

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?” 

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.” 

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling. 

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger. 

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods. 

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot. 

“I will,” 

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,” 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip. 

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,” 

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.” 

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze. 

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—” 

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—” 

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,” 

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—” 

“Have another lesson?” 

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you. 

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue. 

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt. 

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was. 

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—” 

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,” 

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release. 

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure. 

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you. 

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. 

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much. 

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light. 

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. 

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you. 

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it. 

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze. 

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch. 

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away. 

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—” 

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal. 

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod. 

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out. 

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!” 

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you. 

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out,  “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder. 

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him. 

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—” 

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls. 

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt. 

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick. 

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again. 

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour. 

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise. 

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.” 

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?” 

You were picking up your boyfriend. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.” 

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

[gomtangii]

oh my my my!

caleb x fem!reader wc: 1.027k (the nctzen in me is screaming) cw: minors and ageless dni, caleb is insane, cunnilingus, pet names (princess, pipsqeuak), caleb has endless stamina again, fat cock caleb, cock-drunk reader, mating press, slight breeding kink, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, unrealistic sex lol, i did not mean to write this much actually, not edited!

TIME: 11:12 PM LOCATION: SKYHAVEN, CALEB'S APARTMENT: LIVING ROOM

...what did he say? all you did was confront caleb about why the two of you haven't had sex yet, but what did he just say?

"my... penis... is too big." he mutters shyly, a blush spread across his cheeks and ears paired with an expression you've never seen on his face before. you stare at him, mouth agape. you take a moment to to process what he said before stifling a laugh, making caleb frown even more.

"that's it?"

"i'm being serious! i don't want to hurt you."

you smile at him with a sigh, a bit relieved that was his answer. you place a kiss on his cheek that he grumpily accepts, pulling you close to him.

"sounds like you're just going to have to do a better job at prepping me then," you smirk, a hint of mirth in your voice. the look in his eye changes, arousal pooling in his irises.

"is that a challenge, pipsqueak?" he cocks an eyebrow, pulling you closer to him by the waist, "i'm just not sure if you can handle it."

"is that a challenge?" you glare at him, suddenly feeling yourself get competitive too. it's not like you were going to lose, right?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

TIME: 1:39 AM LOCATION: SKYHAVEN, CALEB'S APARTMENT: YOUR BEDROOM

you were, however, indeed losing.

you blink past the stars that caleb was making you see. it's been about 2 hours since he started eating you out, his licks and bites relentless. he gives one last harsh suck to your clit before pulling away, looking at the art he's created.

you're shaking, your pussy became puffy thanks to his ministrations, and there are countless bites and marks around your thighs.

"looks like you bit off more than you could chew, hm? princess?" he kisses your temple, caressing your hair and arms to calm you down from your nth orgasm.

"can... still take more..." you mumble, gripping onto his shirt, frustrated that he's still clothed while you were stripped naked. you feels his hands drag against your arms, your abdomen, before reaching just above your mound.

"you sure? we still got a bit more before you can actually fit me." he warns, his fingers dangerously close to your entrance. you nod, but he ignores it. "words, baby, need you to say it out loud for me."

"mm—" you moan, feeling his fingers graze your clit, "i... i can take it! just fuck me already!"

he plunges two fingers into you and you cum immediately, squirting onto his palm. his hands were big, you knew that, but they were reaching places you couldn't manage to touch yourself.

"fuck, you're so wet," he groans, sucking another mark onto your neck as he fucks his hand into you, "maybe i don't need to do this—maybe you can fit me like this."

he takes his fingers out and you whine, trying to pull him back in. he ignores you, using his other hand to hold both of your wrists above your head as he licks his essence off of his fingers, not wanting to waste a single drop.

he unbuckles his belt swiftly, letting his cock spring out, the tip angry and leaking with precum. it's drenched with its own cum because he couldn't hold back, your moans and whines were enough for him to climax without being touched—if only you knew the effect you had on him. he presses his cock against your entrance and you shudder at his size, suddenly unsure if you could really take it. you try to shy away, scooting your body away from him when he catches you, caging you in his arms as he pins you down.

"aw, don't tell me you're scared now?" he laughs, being uncharacteristically mean. he pushes the tip of his dick a bit further into you, slowly stretching you out with a groan.

"if you can't take it anymore, you just gotta say the word." you glare at him, yanking on his arm to pull his face closer to yours.

"i already said 'fuck me!'"

"as you wish," he smirks, "gotta give my girl what she wants, hm?"

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

TIME: 3:54 AM, YOU THINK. LOCATION: SKYHAVEN, YOU THINK. YOUR BEDROOM... YOU THINK.

you're on all fours, trying to get away from caleb as he pounds you mercilessly, his cum spilling out of your cunt and pooling onto the sheets. his cock is so, so big, you think you're cumming with every thrust, but you're not sure. you don't know how many times you've cum tonight, but you do know that he's made you pass out a few times.

"c-can't... can't..." you cry softly, the pleasure too much for your poor pussy to handle.

"say the word, then. then we'll be at 1 - 0." he taunts, "do you even remember the word, baby?"

you gulp down a sob, nodding while humming weakly as he slows down his thrusts to give you the chance to speak.

"i-i—" you stutter, your mind hazy with cock, "caleb—"

"my name isn't a safeword," he chuckles, "it's Linkon, okay?"

you nod and he smiles sweetly, kissing your forehead before tossing you onto your back, slowly pushing your thighs up and into a mating press.

"just a bit more," he kisses you again, starting up his thrusts once more, "just one more and then it'll be your win."

he resumes the pace he had before, the sound reverberating throughout the bedroom. it's almost animalistic, the marks and bites all over your body, the way your pussy can't even hold in his cum anymore—it's almost like he's trying to breed you, trying to make it stick. you cum weakly, squirting a bit as your eyes roll back. at this point, it's not just stars you're seeing, you can see the entire deepspace tunnel thanks to him. he feels the way your cunt convulses around him and he grunts, unable to stall any longer and he fills you up one last time. his cum floods your womb and spills out, only adding to the mess below you two.

"i guess it's 0 - 1 now. too bad i lost," he says with a smile.

oopsies... caleb u r my muse... also the safeword line has been all over my tl so i couldn't help but implement it! showed up at the perfect time :3

also i actually do not have any ideas on good safewords to use for the men... if yall wanna send some my way in my ask so i can use them in future fics !!!!!

[inkskinned]

she had taken all of the pronouns in my poems and turned them masculine. every she was he. every her was him. i wrote about women dipping their hands into the honey of my chest and she had changed it in this stark, violent way. men now, in my work. in my ribs, i guess. how odd, to stare at it.

i write a lot about worshipping at the knees of my girl. what sapphic can resist the allure of chapel-talk, the divine nature of what is ours and ours alone. her hair in your shower. her chapstick melting in your car. when we say holy here, it is a different meaning. it is the smithing of our own haloes from mix-tape cds. no hammer to the anvil - only our own palms, skin scorching. forging every astral ray with the prayer please don't leave. our bible a history that is never taught in high school. we shape a church from the tent of her arched back. what other word for hymn but her voice. her moaning.

a poem can be stripped of its component parts, maybe, but can it still breathe? is it still the same ship? the words this woman changed, biting and spiraling up at me: my man is holy. i worship at his feet. he is the divinity of saturdays and the wheat of my communion and he is the hushed summer's glorious release.

it's common knowledge that you can say a word too-many times, and then it loses meaning. but here was something new: it wasn't that the words had lost meaning, but rather that they had shifted in the air somehow and turned radioactive to me. all of my words were otherwise unchanged, except for the unkind and glowing eye of him.

ivory-tower glowing in my aorta, i thought about talking to her on the sanctimonious and erudite level. telling her: a poem can be changed, can be erased or added to or demolished or reconfigured; but we do try to respect the original author. i would tell her i would have preferred her not change only the pronouns; that her actions felt like censorship rather than collaboration.

in front of me: you cannot cut him out of me, i was made to love him. no scrubbing, no penance. i will always come back to this house, come back to loving men.

i thought about telling her why her actions were cannibalism, not care. i would tell her about being 18 and pressured by my catholic family to accept a man as a partner; how i'd dated him for 5 years before being able to escape. how abusive he had been. how he had made me kneel in front of him - that i wasn't using the word worship idly, but rather as a reclamation. how i had to be re-taught even the concept of faith. how when i learned peace again, it was by the hand of a woman.

i thought about telling her about the wound behind it, the unceasing loneliness. i thought about telling her shape of the small and quiet hours; the fear; the endless and unpretty nature of just being queer. i thought about saying: all of my work comes from a place of pain.

i thought about telling her everything. when i finally found the words, it was only one: why? in that was the summary of all i felt: why not write her own poem? why change it so violently? and why choose my work, if she disliked it so much? why me?

i imagine she shrugged when she responded. all i got was a single sentence: "i really like your work but i want to be able to enjoy it without being made uncomfortable."

on her insta, her pinned post is of her boyfriend - now husband - proposing. they were married in 2023. congratulations. i really do hope she's happy.

i hope one day it stops hurting.

[metranart]

— HAWKS + DABI + BAKUGO + SHIGARAKI || THINGS THIS LOVESICK BOYS SAY WHEN IN BED WITH YOU

-----------HEADCANONS-----------

HAWKS

“Oh, my darling...fuck, keep doing that.” 

“You're so beautiful, I'm so glad we found each other.”

“I know I’m a mess-… what else was I supposed to do while waiting to make you mine?” 

“Lay back and let me do all the work. I’ve dreamed of eating your pretty pussy all week.”

“Hey, don’t shy away from me. C’mere-”

“You’re so fuckin’ soft. Shiiit…”

“Hey—no teasing the feathers.”

“I n-need to-... I just-…-I’m going to start moving now.”

“Arms around my neck and legs around my hips— ngh! Gravity is a bitch, I don’t want you falling on me, at least, not literally.”

“What a good mate, you respond to me so well."

“I’m so fuckin’ deep, my pretty girl-”

“Fuck—I can’t... I’m not gonna last-”

“Don’t be embarrassed. I love when you squirt on my face.”

“God I’ve wanted this for so long. I’m going to breed your pussy every day, all day long, even after I’ve knocked you up.”

“We're both getting older, babe, and if we want to have more chicks than stars in the sky, then we need to get started.”

“Tell me you love me-… tell me again.”

“I do get ahead of myself often, but I can’t help it. I just know we belong together-” 

“What do you say we try for a baby this time?”

"You’d be adorable, so swollen and full that you can't walk, that you'd have to rely on me for everything...”

“Touch yourself, c’mon. Let me see how you play the right notes.”

“You're going to be a wonderful mother for my chicks.”

“Let me help you move pretty, put your hands on mine.”

“No one’s gonna hear if I put my hand here… no biting, hun.”

“I’ll make it quick, darling... just—let me… let me go again.”

“Need a hand or a finger?”

“Just wait, baby... Fuuuuck—give me a damn minute.”

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Arch your back, there you go, such a good girl.”

“Fuck, even after cumming you aren’t ready to accommodate my size. Don’t worry, baby,” he kisses your creased forehead, “—then just the tip this time.”

“Shit, I can’t help it—” you can feel him twitching excitedly inside you. “I just like you so damn much!” He grunts and snaps his hips again, diving deeper. 

“Just bear with me, I swear I’ll eat you for hours after…. Please, pretty, pleaseeeee…” He kept his pace, practically purring with his throaty groans. 

“No matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, I know how to fuck you well, ain’t I, beautiful?” 

“C’mon let me hear you, I can feel you getting tighter… my cock’s rubbing those hard-to-reach places…. Fuck! I- slid in so easily.”

“I’m painfully close-…. Fuck, I don’t want to cum yet…”

 “Is this your sweet spot I’m bullying?” 

“Each thrust is inching you closer… should I slow down or go faster?”

“Deeper? Okey-… just try to keep it together, I have neighbors.” 

“Give me one more. please, just one more baby.”

“Try to keep your eyes open, I know it’s hard…b-but try for me beautiful.”

“Go ahead and sleep, honey, I’m not going anywhere.”

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

DABI

“What’d I did to deserve such a pretty thing like ya?”

“I’ve barely touch you. You really that hot for me, sweetheart?”

“Open your legs, not gonna say it again.”

“Doesn’t hurt, its already scarred skin.”

“If I have to kiss your tears away again, you are gonna get it— I’ve already told ya, it doesn’t hurt anymore-”

“Bury your hands in my hair, yes... Just like that.”

“Stop pushing me away. You’re gonna take it all, don’t make me shove it down your throat.”

“You love to play the feeble act, but your moans give you away, princess.”

“Nuh-uh, you haven’t cum yet.”

“I said ass up.”

“You want it so bad? beg.”

“Take them off before I rip them off of you, doll. Don’t try me.”

“Harder,” he mutters, not a minute after you started. “Harder,” he demands again.

“Could you go any slower? Ride me like you mean it, princess. I know you can.”

“Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that, princess. You know I like it rough.”

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck…. Just like that.”

“Come on pretty girl. Ride me till you’re numb, yeah? Want you to fuck yourself stupid on my cock today.”

“Move my hands again and see what happens-”

“Fuck—” 

“Sorry, baby-… I just had to jump at the opportunity to sink my cock deeper.”

“Sit on it.”

“Worried it won’t fit? We always make it work just fine—”

“I don’t have condoms, they’re annoying.” He grunts the reply, inwardly absorbed with impatience. 

“Don’t move—Just gimme a minute… F-Fuck…”

“You fuckin’ genius, dammit, I love you so damn much! Not even I knew that spot— …” He shakes his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you been the one to give it to him.

“Did you do that on purpose, princess? ‘cause now we are doing it every time.” 

“Fuck that. Don’t know if you heard sweetheart, but you were made for me to fuck and breed.”

“Stop it, no more whining—I’ll do my best to be…. gentler.” 

“Really? resist me all you want. I know you love being treated like this.”

“Ridiculous, I could stare at your pretty cunt all day long.” 

“Fuck Yeah! I adore the way your thighs tremble like jelly after you cum.”

“Should I pull out? Nah, better give me a daughter to spoil.”

“Unless you were playing with yourself before I got here, I’m guessing this is because of my pretty face?”

“Over my knee, now.”

“Sure, I love ya— but you are not in charge here, princess. Fuckin’ spread them for me.”

“Want me to spank that pussy? lay on my lap then-”

“One’s never enough, I know my princess’s pussy and its begging for another.”

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

BAKUGO (NSFW art teaser here!)

“Do you want me to fuck you harder, cutie?”

“You can be loud, I love to hear you, (Y/N).”

“I’ve waited so long for this...”

“That’s it... slow and easy—” 

“How much longer you gonna make me wait, baby?”

“You ever take it raw? Get a big load of cum in your pussy? —don’t shy on me, I know you love when I talk dirty to you.”

“Take it off before I tear it off.”

“Baby... please...I hate to beg-”

“Make me wait much longer and I’ll have to fuck you in an alley somewhere.”

“What a naughty little girl I have just to myself.”

“Ugh, so hot and wet.” 

“I said I wanted to eat your pussy, didn’t I? Just sit back and enjoy it, baby girl.”

“I’d hate to stop teasing you right before the fun part.”

“It’s so warm...”

“Who do you belong to?” 

 “Whose pussy is this? Say who you belong to.”

“God, what a good fucking cunt. It keeps clenching on my cock like it’s hungry for more milk. You want that? You want me to fill you up?”

“As you wish, princess.”

“You gonna cum?” 

“Go on, gorgeous. Cum on Daddy’s cock.”

“Fucking take it... take every drop...” 

“Nice and stuffed... all mine... my little slutty girl...”

“I said spread those fuckin’ folds.”

“So wet and tight, but my cock just slides right in. It’s like you were born to take me inside of your cunt.”

“Aren’t you a sight. All blissed out when we aren’t even done.”

“That’s right, darlin’. You didn’t think you could tease me for so long and get away with just one little fuck, did you?”

“Oh, did you think we were finished?”

“Did I stutter or somethin’?”

“Alright, baby girl, you asked for it. Just don’t come crying to me if you can’t move after I’m done with you.”

“Don’t move—Just a sec… F-Fuck…”

“No, this is-this is fine. This is beyond fine. Keep doing it, please.”

“Shit, darling, don’t-” 

“God, you make me so needy. Please.... fuck, please...”

“You feel so wonderful, I might go crazy—"

“More... please, more...”

“Fuck, I’m stretching you so good.”

“God, the thought of you ever doing something like this to anyone else... I can’t stand it.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. You’re my precious BABY, now and forever."

NSFW ART OF THIS HEADCANONS IN MY PATREON

SHIGARAKI

“It isn’t even a ‘might’. I can tell you right now with the utmost certainty that you are MINE.”

“Keep looking into my eyes, don’t you fuckin’ look away…”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” He coos in a demeaning tone. “I’ll be your first and your last. Not any of these other NPCs.”

“I can hardly keep my hands to myself, your room or mine.”

“I can do whatever I want to you, I’m player one!”

“I know, I’m keeping track of my digits, don’t worry your pretty head.”

“You are too precious to me to turn to dust, my love.”

“I can’t- I’m dying to breed you, to bury my cock in your wet pussy. Don’t move, I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

“My pants are uncomfortably tight, the fabric’s straining against my throbbing dick, I told you not to put on that dress, dammit” Shigaraki’s practically scratching at the wooden table, surges of arousal shaking him to his core. “Can we go now? Like right NOW?!”

“MY girl, so pretty and needy for my cock.”

“You want him dead. You got it.” Ruby eyes stare through his bangs up at your face in some sort of silent promise. “—Of course, I will. You are my everything.”

“It hurts. I need you to- FUCK, just like that.”

“Fuck, how-how are you this fucking wet and warm inside, fuck, fuck…!”

“Please fuck me.”

“H-hey, I know a fun game we can play together… It’s called ‘how many times can I make you cum all over my cock?’” 

“One point, five points, ten points—Cumming again? Are you shooting for a new high-score, sweetheart?”

“Now... care if I use my mouth on you?”

“Just be good for me, and I’ll take very, very good care of you.”

"Look at you, so worked up over a few couple of fingers, did you miss me that much, sweetheart?" 

“Just looking at you is enough to, oh fuck, drive me wild.”

"So desperate for my cock to stuff you-say it, say you want my cock—ngh!”

"S-Shit,"

"Needy girl, I'll let you have it, be fucking grateful." 

"What? Fainting on me already?"

"Don't let me see you doing this again, or else."

“Just fuck me. I need you, (Y/N), please. Please just fuck bury on me already...! I want it...! I want YOU..!”

“Have it your way then.”

"Keep licking my balls, oh fuck! I’m gonna die—"

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-!"

“You look so pretty choking on my cock.”

“Where do you want it, baby? Mouth, breast, face, pussy… take your pick-”

"Are you close, sweetie?" 

“My feisty little girl. Aren’t you just adorable?”

"Good girl. Give me a minute and I’ll clean up that mess you made." 

“Cum for me. Cum on my cock and show me that you’re mine.”

“I just... wanted to cuddle a little more, is all. Didn’t want to... you know, waste the moment.”

“Don’t you worry, my love. I’ll be sure to give you anything you could ever want and more.” 

“You don’t have to take me all the way into your esophagus, but I expect you to make me cum, and yes, I do want you to swallow.”

“Go on, get on your knees.”

“Ngh, that’s it, keep going...”

“You look so wonderful like this, with your lips wrapped around my cock. I wish I could take a pic for Dabi to swallow his words.” 

“I want you all to myself.”

“H-here it comes...Be sure... to drink... every.. last... drop...YOU ARE FUCKIN’ MINE!!”

I MADE SOME SICK NSFW ART FOR THIS HEADCANONS, YOU CAN CHECK THEM OUT IN MY PATREON. (Along with more MHA nsfw artwork)

[littlelamy]

Teach Me

nerd!rafe x experienced!reader

Rafe Cameron wasn’t usually this quiet.

He wasn’t the loudest guy by any means, but his nervous energy tonight was new. Usually, his shyness came with a sort of clumsy charm, a stammered compliment or a soft laugh that always made your heart ache in the best way. But as he sat stiffly on the edge of your bed, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, he looked like he might bolt at any moment.

“Rafey,” you said softly, stepping closer and leaning into his line of sight. “You okay?”

His head snapped up, blue eyes wide behind the smudge on his glasses. He pushed them up his nose, his hand shaking slightly, and dropped his gaze back to his lap. His long fingers twisted together, pale from how tightly he was holding them.

“Y-yeah,” he mumbled, though his voice betrayed him with its unsteady wobble.

Your lips curved into a soft smile as you reached out, fingertips brushing his jawline. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

Rafe swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, but didn’t meet your gaze. “I just… I want to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” You perched beside him on the bed, close enough that your knees bumped. “I’m listening.”

His lips parted, then closed again, as though the words were stuck in his throat. Finally, he managed, “I want to… I mean, I need to… be better for you. Better at, um, pleasing you.”

Your chest tightened at his vulnerable confession. “Rafe, you’re already amazing. You don’t have to—”

“No.” His voice came out firm, but he winced at his own abruptness. “I mean, thank you. But I want to do more for you. I want to know how to… touch you the way you deserve.”

The raw sincerity in his words made your heart swell. His cheeks were stained with a deep blush, and he looked like he was fighting every instinct to hide his face in his hands.

“You’re so sweet,” you whispered, lacing your fingers through his and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We can take our time, baby. I’ll show you everything you want to know.”

Rafe relaxed slightly as you guided him to sit cross-legged on the bed. His hoodie lay discarded nearby, and his glasses perched crookedly on his nose, slightly fogged from the heat in the room.

“First thing,” you said, settling in front of him, “is to pay attention. My body will tell you when something feels good—whether it’s my breathing, the way I move, or the sounds I make.”

His eyes widened, and he nodded quickly, his gaze flickering nervously between your face and your body.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I can do that.”

You reached for his hand, gently placing it on your thigh. “Start here. Gentle touches, nothing rushed. Feel how warm my skin is? That’s a good sign.”

Rafe’s fingers were warm and hesitant, but they began to explore as you encouraged him. He let his hand glide up slowly, his breath hitching when his fingertips grazed the hem of your shorts.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and strained.

You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s perfect.”

As his touch grew more assured, his fingers dipped under the fabric, skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The softness of his movements contrasted with the heat pooling in your stomach, and a quiet sigh escaped your lips.

“Like that?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched your face for affirmation.

“Exactly like that,” you murmured, your voice catching.

You shifted back against the pillows, tugging him down beside you. “Now, from here, you can explore more. Don’t overthink it. Use your hands, your mouth—just do what feels natural.”

Rafe’s blush deepened, but he nodded. His hand skimmed up your stomach, pausing when he reached the curve of your hip. His fingers trembled slightly, but the reverence in his touch sent a shiver through you.

When his lips brushed your collarbone, warm and tentative, you let out a soft moan. His head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes.

“Was that too much?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped his cheek, pulling him back down for a kiss. “Not at all. That was perfect. Keep going, Rafey.”

Encouraged, he pressed his lips to your skin again, lingering this time. His kisses grew bolder, trailing down to the swell of your chest. His hands followed, brushing over you with featherlight touches that left your skin tingling.

“See how my body reacts?” you whispered, your breath hitching as his hand grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “That’s what I mean by listening.”

Rafe’s lips quirked into a shy smile, and he leaned into your touch with newfound confidence.

Rafe’s hand hesitated at the waistband of your panties, his fingertips brushing the soft fabric with a touch so light it sent a shiver up your spine. His wide blue eyes searched yours, filled with nervous anticipation, his lips slightly parted as though he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take the next step.

“Can I?” His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling but threaded with yearning.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice soft but certain.

His exhale was shaky as he focused his attention fully on you, his hand dipping beneath the fabric with deliberate slowness. The first brush of his fingers against your bare skin sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your breath catching audibly. His touch was tentative, his movements almost reverent, as though he couldn’t believe you were letting him do this.

“Rafey,” you murmured, your voice a mix of encouragement and need.

His fingers explored with unsteady care, tracing the slickness pooling there. His thumb brushed experimentally against your clit, and your body responded instantly, arching slightly under his touch. The sensation was almost too much yet not nearly enough, a delicious pressure that made you gasp softly.

“Is that good?” he asked, his brows furrowing in concentration as he watched your reaction.

“So good,” you managed, your voice a little breathless. “Keep going, just like that.”

The reassurance made his shoulders relax, and his movements grew bolder. His thumb pressed more firmly, circling that swollen bundle of nerves with a rhythm that made your thighs clench instinctively around his hand. The quiet whimper that slipped from your lips seemed to spur him on, his other hand coming to rest on your hip to steady you as his fingers moved with growing confidence.

Your body was alive under his touch, every nerve alight as he adjusted his movements, clearly paying attention to how you squirmed and sighed beneath him. The hesitancy from earlier was melting away, replaced by a kind of focused eagerness that made your chest tighten with affection.

“That feels good,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his messy hair. “You’re doing so good, Rafe.”

His lips curved into the smallest, shyest smile, but his fingers didn’t falter. He leaned down then, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing lower with every press of his lips. His hair tickled against your skin, the sensation adding to the whirlwind of pleasure building inside you.

When his kisses reached the hollow of your throat, you tilted your head back, giving him better access. He took it eagerly, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. The combination of his mouth and his hand working together was intoxicating, a steady rhythm that had you biting your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

“You like that?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and velvety. The rare confidence in his tone sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you couldn’t help but nod, your fingers gripping his hair tighter.

“I love it,” you whispered, your voice trembling with pure pleasure.

His movements stilled for a moment as he shifted, his glasses slightly askew as he glanced up at you. “I… Can I try something else?” he asked, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation, your heart racing as his hands gently eased your panties down your legs.

Rafe paused, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you fully. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, but his gaze was captivated, reverent. Slowly, he settled himself lower, his shoulders nestled between your thighs.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but the determined look in his eyes stopped you.

“I want to,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The first press of his lips to your inner thigh was soft, almost hesitant. He lingered there, kissing a trail upward, his breath warm against your skin. Each kiss was tender, deliberate, until he was just where you wanted him most.

His lips brushed against you then, soft and unhurried, and the sensation sent a gasp tumbling from your lips. He hesitated, his blue eyes flicking up to yours for reassurance, and when he saw the way your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, he pressed another kiss, firmer this time.

The wet warmth of his mouth and the softness of his tongue as he tentatively explored made your entire body tense with pleasure. He was careful, almost shy, but each touch carried a sincerity that left you breathless.

“Rafey,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

The sound of his name on your lips seemed to embolden him. His hands gripped your thighs gently, pulling you closer as he deepened his movements, his tongue finding the rhythm that made you gasp and arch beneath him. Every flick, every press, was deliberate, his sole focus on making you fall apart under his care.

“Is this… okay?” he murmured between kisses, his breath hot against you.

“Perfect,” you managed, your voice breaking on the word. “Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

Rafe’s mouth was insistent now, his shyness giving way to a careful confidence as he listened to every sound you made, adjusting his movements to match the reactions he drew from you. Your hands found his hair, tugging gently as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensations he was giving you.

Every kiss, every caress, was a revelation—an unspoken promise that he was there to learn every inch of you, to cherish you completely. The pleasure built steadily, an intoxicating crescendo that left you breathless, your thighs trembling as he found just the right rhythm with his mouth. His lips latched around that sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking softly at first, then with increasing determination as your whimpers turned into desperate cries of his name.

“Rafey,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as your hips pressed up against him, unable to control the way your body chased the peak he was bringing you toward.

His hands gripped your thighs firmly but gently, holding you in place as he gave it one last, deliberate suck. The sensation sent you spiraling, your body arching as the climax washed over you in waves, leaving you shaking and completely at his mercy. Your breath hitched, the room filled with the sound of your soft cries and his satisfied hum against you.

When the intensity finally began to drop, Rafe eased his touch, his mouth leaving a final tender kiss against your skin before he pulled away. His lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and his face was flushed with both pride and nervousness. His lips and chin glistened, a mix of his efforts and your release, and the sight alone sent another shiver through you.

He climbed back up the bed, his gaze locked on yours as if silently asking for reassurance. Leaning over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, he pressed his lips to yours in a tentative kiss. The taste of yourself lingered on his lips, and the sound he made—low, guttural, and almost shy—vibrated against your mouth.

“Did I… Was that okay?” he asked softly, his voice trembling with vulnerability. His blue eyes searched yours, his glasses slightly askew, and his lips glistening as he hovered just inches from you.

Your heart swelled at the nervousness in his voice, and instead of answering right away, you pulled him into another kiss. This time, it was deep, lingering, your fingers threading through his hair to pull him even closer. When you finally broke away, his lips were even more swollen, and his breath mingled with yours.

“You did amazing, sweetie,” you whispered, your voice full of affection and awe.

The words flooded him with relief, his shoulders relaxing as a shy yet proud smile tugged at the corners of his damp lips. Unable to resist, you reached up to wipe your arousal from his chin, your thumb grazing his flushed skin before leaning in to kiss him again.

Rafe melted into you, his earlier hesitation completely gone, replaced by a quiet confidence that had your heart racing all over again. And as he buried his face in your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin, you knew this was just the beginning of something even more beautiful between you.

a/n: last post of the day🥵

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[mintmatcha]

tiktok reader universe

contains mentions of sexual assault. cisfem reader.

.

There's still times when Bakugo can tell your mind wanders during sex. The focus drains from your eyes, your grip goes limp, and your smile slips just a bit. You always come back to him if he says something, but... sometimes he lets it happen, lets you drift away. Maybe the distance is needed.

Even after all this time, you still never sleep over after sex. Tonight, you're a bit more impatient than usual, fixing your hair and wiping your brow right after he pulls away.

"I was offered a job today," you say casually.

"Yeah?" Bakugo loops an arm around the empty pillow that could be yours, if only you'd lean back into it. "With who?"

Instead, he's left to study the curve of your spine as you throw your legs over the side of the bed. He loves the story your body tells, with its scars and marks. Even the acne pocks are a reminder you were once just a teenager, just like he was. His own scars have puckered with age, still the same raging pink they were when they first healed.

"Someone with way too much money-" you say. -"who likes what I've done for your image and thinks I can fix theirs."

"And can you?"

You shoot him a grin from over your shoulder. "Is that even a question?"

Truthfully, Bakugo thinks you could do anything if you wanted to. You could lean over and rip his heart from his chest with just your fucking teeth-- and you'd make it look easy. He'd maybe even thank you. He'd definitely let it happen again.

Bakugo gives up on luring you back. "Well, when do you start?"

Your head tilts.

"I don't," you say."I didn't take the job."

Bakugo sits up straighter.

"I didn't want to leave you."

The statement sits warm in his chest, then quickly cools.

"Well, maybe you should have."

That makes you turn. You cock your head the other way, expression neutral, but still gracing him with a closed lip grin. The stare lasts for a long while before you crawl back under the covers and return to his side. Your lips find the side of his neck and your hands grip back to him, hot, heavy, breathless in that way you think he likes. A hum builds in your throat, a rolling, performative sound.

"Pull your cock out," you demand, right into the shell of his ear. "If this is the last time, I want another round."

"What?"

He doesn't have time to react before you're gripping his half hard cock, jerking it up gently. It's still wet with you and buzzing with sensitivity, so much so that he can't help but enjoy it, enjoy you-

"If you're about to break up with me, I want to at least cum one more time."

He loses the remnants of his erection.

"That's not what I fucking meant." Bakugo tries to meet your eye, but you just keep kissing at him, gripping at him. "Just-- stop stroking my cock for a second and be fucking serious."

You freeze, but keep your hand on him.

"I don't wanna work together," Bakugo reaches for your hand. The free one. "I just want to date."

You don't respond.

"I want to take you places and have you meet my parents and-"

God. this is so unlike him. When did he lose his teeth? Did you pull them straight from his skull and hang them from your neck like jewels?

"I want you to sleep over." He means it. "Like a real fucking couple."

The ceiling fan hums with an uneven hitch, catching in the same spot each time. It's an easy fix, but he's been ignoring it for so long that it's almost blended into the tapestry of his home. Click-click-click-click-click: now it's deafening, overwhelming the silence you're choosing to sit in. Just as he's about to open his mouth, you look away from his body and meet his eye. There's no sharp edge to your eyes.

"'tsuki."

You say it like a mother about to comfort a child, with a rounded curve to your tone that he's never heard before. You're trying to dull the blow, but it does nothing. It's a fucking knife to the gut.

"I'm serious. I'm really serious." He points with his whole arm towards the bathroom. "I've had a fucking toothbrush ready for you for weeks now. It's right there, in the fucking package."

You withdraw, smile long gone. The air between you two, trapped under the covers, goes cold.

"The girlfriend thing." You are unrecognizable without your Mona Lisa grin and he's obsessed with it. He wants to consume these rare moments, chew on them until he's full of you and only you, despite how it makes his stomach turn. "It was never real. You know that."

You cover your bare tits with one arm, but leave your pussy exposed. It feels like a reflex more than an actual concern.

"I'm not meant to be a girlfriend. You don't want me as a girlfriend."

Bakugo's quick to close the distance between you, but he pauses when you full body flinch. Your quirk activates for a moment - you glitter out of existence and then immediately back in- like it's unwittingly done. It's another incredibly un-you moment, but one that he doesn't want to drink in.

"I do." He keeps his voice as delicate as he can. "I do. I fucking do."

"I don't know how to do the things you need. I don't know how to be a girlfriend," you say. The corners of your smile return and he can see the wall coming back up. The arch of your back, the way your hand suddenly cups your tit: you turn yourself into someone else, someone's who's happy to be here, in an instant. "I can make myself girlfriend shaped. I can open my mouth and let you fuck it. I can pose for a picture. I can make your friends jealous."

Oh, and that distant look comes back to your face. The dilation of your eye is just... wrong, even as you smile.

"But I'm just something that's girlfriend shaped," you say. "I'm an illusion, a creature, a tool, a hole-"

"Don't ever say that shit again."

It rips out of him too roughly. "A hole? That's-- why would you say that?"

It all seems to hit you slowly, as if you're processing your own words. Like it never occured to you that you were saying something foul.

"Because-" you try to explain yourself.

"You're just a girl," Bakugo doesn't let you finish the thought. He can't. Not when you're above him like that, so guarded and yet so vulnerable, neither predator nor prey. "I hate to break your fucking illusion or whatever, but you aren't this fucking lumbering beast or huntress or, or, or, I dunno, whatever the commission has tricked you into believing."

He tries to meet your eye, but you're ducking away from it.

"You're just a girl." He lets his hands fall back to his lap. The pinky that doesn't work twitches, kicking with it's old muscle memory. The scar tissue itches under it's own tautness. "Underneath it all. You're just a girl."

The mattress creaks under your weight as you shift back. Now, your eyes are incredibly focused, almost pinpricks. You watch him with an unreadable expression, one slowly inching more towards horror with every moment.

"You think I can't see you, but I can." Bakugo stays where he is. "And I think you want to be seen."

Everything moves slowly. You blink a couple times, with this meek nod, swallowing thickly as you listen. Then, you get off of the bed and head towards the door. All of your clothes are still scattered on the bedroom floor, your panties at the foot of the bed.

"Wait." Bakugo scrambles to get to his feet. "Don't- fucking wait."

He says your name, once, twice, three times, and gets no response. Panic and regret swirl in his skull, so violent he almost goes lightheaded. By the time he reaches the hall, you're gone, and he thinks you've activated your quirk to escape him. It's the nightmare he's always had around you, the one where you disappear into the night the second he gets too close.

And then the bathroom light flicks on. With a careful trepidation, Bakugo inches down towards the door, afraid the break the illusion. Maybe, if he moves too fast, you'll really scatter off into the night, a deer under his headlights.

But when he slides into the frame, you're just standing there, holding a familiar little tube.

"This it?" You hold the package in your hand. "My toothbrush?"

"Yeah."

With your thumbs, you crack into the packaging and carefully peel the toothbrush out. You run the head under the faucet, then turn it off.

"Toothpaste?"

Bakugo pulls out the top drawer. With a sullen nod, you take the toothpaste and unscrew the top. Bakugo watches you, both of you completely naked, both of you completely silent. It surprises him how unsexual it feels to be here, postcoital, still sweaty, watching you brush your teeth. After the moment settles, he steps over and grabs his own brush.

You're just a girl, he thinks as he brushes his teeth next to you. He likes that you're just a girl next to him.

The both of you finish up, then you silently pad back to the room. Bakugo follows, a healthy distance, but close enough the he watches you shrug on his sweatshirt before dipping under the covers. Your head rests on your pillow.

Bakugo finds his space on the other side of the bed and you lay there, in the dim overhead lighting.

"It's hard for me," you say.

"Sleeping?"

"Yeah."

Bakugo turns on to his side and almost reaches out. Almost. Instead, he goes back and turns off the light. When he returns, you're nothing but a dark lump beside him.

"That's okay," he says, "You can sleep however the hell you want."

Your silhouette stays still.

"Sometimes I wake up crying," you say. "Or kicking, or just remembering something I shouldn't."

"Remembering what?"

The click of the fan overtakes everything again as you lay there, pulling in even breaths. A moment passes, then another and another. You're silent for too long, long enough that he thinks you've fallen asleep. Just as he's about to give up, you sigh out a winding breath.

"He was a hero," you whisper. "I felt special when he paid attention to me."

A chill he can't place creeps up his spine. He wants to ask what that means, why you're telling him this, but nothing comes out when he opens his mouth. He has to swallow, then cleae his throat.

"Did-?" His voice crackles. "Did someone hurt you?"

Again, you're silent.

"Who?" This time, when you don't respond, he presses. "Fucking who?"

"Someone who retired a long, long time ago."

"Give me a name and I'll fucking-"

"Katsuki."

"Someone raped you."

He had to say it out loud and dispel the mystery behind it. It's selfish, brash, but he needed it- just as he needs this hand around you, holding, cradling-

"That's what happens when you're just a girl." You clutch at his forearm with a want that isn't present in your voice. "People hurt you."

The bite of your nails surprises him.

"It's safer to be something else."

It's his turn to be quiet.

[luvly-writer]

You should be (afraid)

Batfamily x Neglected! Reader

Author's note: This IS the last chapter, damn....Thank God, the next one shot is one I am excited for but babes that gonna have to wat till tomorrow. Imagine Y/n's clothes like this and this but instead of red, it is green. ( yes im an ATLA fan and yes it its inspired by Azula)

Warnings: Language?

Part 1 // Part 2

---

You double-checked your hair as you looked in the mirror. The day had come when you would only be known as Y/n Al Ghul, heir to the Demon Head and future Leader of the League of Assassins. It was difficult to grasp if you were quite honest. Per your request, the League had changed headquarters. Nanda Parbat was no longer safe so you had advised of getting one of the old abandoned cities of the League and turning the temple into headquarters with the rest of the city becoming a safe place for all of the servants and assassins. It was surrounded by water and walls with constant surveillance, meaning that no one could get in or out without people knowing. You were never going to forget the day that you came back, the surprise on your grandfather's face as you got to your knees and pledged allegiance to the League. He wasn't convinced at first but came around as you solidified your loyalty. You were no longer a Wayne like Damian. You were an Al Ghul

// "Leave us." Ras's voice carried out across the room. Your mother looked at you and gave you a reassuring nod before she left. As the room emptied, you were starting to feel nervous. Was this the right decision or were you too impulsive? "Explain to me, once again, child. Why are you here?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. You summon all of the courage you had in your body and stand up. "I came to reclaim my birthright as the rightful heir to the Demon Head," I said, trying my best to keep my voice steady. "Is that so? Why the change of heart?" I hesitated to answer and he saw right through me. His knowing smirk gave it away. "Tired of being part of the birds and the Bats it seems. It is very curious how only one came back. You and your brother were inseparable. Should I expect a visit from him as well? To rescue his sis-" "No." I interrupted him and he seemed taken back "No?" "I was never part of their…team. My brother formed great loyalty and attachment to them, but I did not. They…" "Go on" "They rejected me the day I arrived, yet accepted my brother. I have been forgotten, ignored, and cast aside from the moment that I became present in that household. I only hold care for one of them and even he wasn't enough to make me stay." Ras stayed quiet for a moment. "So what my daughter has been telling me is correct after all. It wasn't just that she missed you. Well, then. Let me make you a proposition. You have three months to make me believe you are capable of being my heir. If you succeed, you will begin training solely for the purpose of being my successor. Were you to not prove yourself, you would leave at once. Have I made myself clear, child?" Ras never was one for empty threats and promises, so all she could do was nod. "You are dismissed. Tell your mother to meet me here. We have a few things to discuss" he dismissed you, "Oh and child?" You looked towards him hopefully. "It is good one of you came back to your senses. Don't disappoint me" And thus began the most excruciating three months of your life. //

You were surprised at how well you had adjusted to the League after coming back. Sure, those three months were harsh, but they weren't bad. You were thankful that you picked up a demanding sport such as ice skating. You weren't sure how you'd survive otherwise. Your mother would spar with you any time she visited so your skills weren't too rusty. After sharpening what had been there once again, which had taken you a month and a half, you were able to take assassins from the highest of ranks. Once your grandfather was satisfied, thus began your preparation for a leader. You were a natural. Your role was to follow your grandfather, grant him counsel, and even take part in some of the decision-making processes. Once, your grandfather had even gotten close to saying he was proud. Even went to say (in between the lines of course) that you had been able to surpass your brother in preparation. Since then, you understood that you no longer lived in Damian's shadow. A year had passed soon and your grandfather had announced that we would have a special coronation where you would be proclaimed as Heir.

That brought us here, to your coronation day. Your armor was specifically made to tailor you and your comfort for battle. Your hair, which had gotten quite long, was pulled into an intricate braid so that your face would be visible. You felt strong and that brought a smile to your face.

"You look radiant, my dear" you hear your mother say from behind you. "Thank you, Mother" You responded as she stood in front of you and caressed your face tenderly.

"Ma'am, you have some visitors" A voice was heard from outside the door. One of your assistants went to open the door and lo and behold…your family was there.

They entered slowly, one by one. Each suited up. "Beloved, those are not ceremonial robes" your mother reprimanded Damian, but he wasn't focused on her. He was focused on you.

"So, it is true then, sister," Damian asked feeling the air leave his chest. You were there, but it wasn't you. It couldn't be you. You were soft, kind, gentle, and tame, and you never raised your voice, you were you and this wasn't you. You looked stronger that's for sure. He wouldn't be surprised if their grandfather was injecting something into you. You looked like a member, no, scratch that, you looked like the heir. From the way you stood, with a sight upward til in your head, to the way you dressed. There was a sharpness in your eyes that told him that Ras had not been soft in your teachings.

"What is, Robin," you asked steadily. Gone was the girl who cried over her lost brother. Damian wouldn't admit it but he was hurt. Hearing you call him by his alias so coldly stung in ways he couldn't imagine.

"You truly are becoming the next Head of the Demon, Y/n?" This time the question came from Dick. The last months have been hell for all of them after the shock of your departure. It was as if someone had splashed all of them with a bucket of cold water and brought them back to reality. They had all visited your room at least once, would continually watch your ice skating videos, and would look at footage of you in the manor from the last years. They had desperately searched for a semblance of you in the entirety of the manor.

"Yes. What's it to you, Nightwing?" She responded once again coldly.

"Alfred misses you," It was Jason who spoke up this time. It was jarring to see the girl he once treated as his precious princess following the footsteps of someone so wretched.

"At least someone does. I couldn't visit because of my training. Once the ceremony is finalized, I will have more time and I will visit him" "So you will visit us at the manor-" "I will visit Alfred only. I have no other reason to do so," She interrupted Tim, with a heated gaze.

"What about your dreams of becoming a professional, (nickname)? It was all you ever wanted, you worked so hard for that. We all know, we all saw. This is not wh-"

"What do you know of me, Damian? What do any of you know about me?! We both arrived at the same. Time. And it appeared as if only you were there! Everyone favored you over me and why? Because you were fucking Robin and I wasn't? I tried to reach out. I invited you everywhere, I searched for you all everywhere, I asked and asked and the only thing that I ever received in return was disdain and silence. I only wanted to be loved, LOVED DAMIAN! What you got and I didn't! And if I tried to speak out, I was hushed because I had to be understanding of your processes. I WAS A CHILD HONED AS A WEAPON TOO. I went through everything you did too! And did any of you ever recognize that? NO! You stopped knowing me the moment you forgot you had a twin. You stopped knowing me when I came back and all of you were celebrating OUR birthday as if it was only you. You lost me the moment that you preferred seeing Jon over watching me compete at Nationals. You lost me when you left to see the Titans and I had to find out weeks later. You lost me when you decided that the love they gave you was yours alone and that I didn't deserve a fraction of it." She ranted and with her every word, Damian took a step back.

"You were always out training or with your friends-"

"Don't try to pin this on me, Damian Wayne. You all pushed me away." Y/n scoffed. "I invited you here because you are my mother's son. Not because I wanted you here. They were invited cordially because they are your family. Don't mistake my act of respect as an act of love."

"There are other ways, Y/n" Batman tried to intervene. Even if it didn't show, Bruce was hurting. He was deeply ashamed and disappointed at how things had turned out.

A bell sounded, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. Y/n straightened her back and turned towards her mother, a small smile present in her face. That smile, as much as it softened everyone's hearts, hardened the moment she turned to them,

"Batman, Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin, I will only say this once. I lack the care and mercy my grandfather and mother seem to have for you, with the small exception of Alfred and my brother. I will take this mantle. I will become the Heir to the Demon Head and I will be the next Leader of the League of Assassins. Those are facts that you will have to deal with. If you are here to cause a commotion, then I suggest you leave. I will not tell my assassins to hold back on their ways. If you'd like to stay, so be it. Enjoy the festivity. Have it very clear. I want all of you out. Of. My. Way. once I am the head. This is my birthright and I want it to have nothing with all of you." She started looking at Batman dead in the eye. "Nothing."

"My lady, everyone is expecting you" Came a voice from outside.

"Well, then. Let's go dear. You wouldn't want to have your grandfather waiting would you? Destiny awaits" said Talia as she ushered Y/n out of the room. She never spared a glance at the five men standing in front of her.

That day, they all watched from the sidelines as their sister was proclaimed Heir. Damian had failed and he was going to make sure he NEVER failed again. He was going to do everything in his power to fix the bridges that had been burnt with his sister. As much as Bruce wanted to reassure Damian that everything would be okay, he couldn't. It became clear to him that from now on when interacting with the League, they had to be extremely careful because his daughter could easily become as much an ally as she could be a formidable opponent. He never thought he'd say it but he was afraid of what his little girl could become.

---

Author's note: YES!!! I FINISHED IN ONE NIGHT!!! YESSSSS LAWRD!!!! HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED!! PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK!! I WOULD LOVE LOVE LOVE TO HEAR WHAT YOU ALL SAY!! LIKE AND REPOST! BESITOSSS!!

[hanasnx]

“ PROMISE, BABY, I’LL TAKE YOU TO HEAVEN IF YOU WANT IT ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: writing a scene that was in my dream last night. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ dry humping ノ how clark gets you to forgive him ノ hair pulling (m receiving) ノ dry fuck mention ノ exhibitionism/voyeurism: caught during.

getting annoyed with CLARK KENT for not spending enough time with you so you act out. it takes him a second to realize you’re mad at him so he hears you out, and then gets cheeky. puts on that kent charm, wears that famous smile, impishly draws you in into his arms. he embraces you, tucks your head under his chin. you’re so desperate for his attention you’re entranced for a moment, melting into him. you close your eyes, you feel his muscle underneath his clothes, you feel small next to his big body, he smells so good—and then you get wise. “hey.” you exclaim indignantly, pushing off him. he wears an expression that looks like he knows what he was doing manipulating you. “you can’t just act like we’re back to normal.”

“i know, i know, i’m sorry.” he replies in a drilling tone of voice. he doesn’t mean it. yet he’s pulling you in again, snaking those arms around your waist while you arch away from him. he stoops, stretching a grin onto his face as he’s now eye-level with you.

“you’re not sorry at all.” your gaze narrows as you accuse him, backing up and taking him with you. both of your feet shuffle together hazardously. he trips you, and you fall backwards onto his bed, he lands on top of you, pinning you with his weight. seizing the opportunity, his mouth latches onto your neck, toying with you while he’s sucking on your pulse point. you can’t stay mad at him and giggle at the same time, getting ticklish and trying to fend off your boyfriend while he’s overpowering you.

his hands get frisky, his hips starts to grind, his sharp canines scrape against your neck while the fight in you is dwindling. “clark—!” you keen in a scold, but it sounds more like a breathy moan, and the heel of your hand bangs against his broad shoulder. his wet lips slide along the column of your neck as he mouths it, and you claw into his sweater, lashes fluttering as pleasant tingles send a shiver down your spine. before you know it, you’ve begun to pull him closer, a hard outline becoming decipherable in his pants, rutting against the inside of your thigh. that wide body of his curls around you, blanketing you as you spread your legs so his hips can slot in more comfortably. both of his large hands slide between the mattress and you, cupping your ass to draw you into him.

that hard rod finds its place in the shallow divot of your slit, and he rubs his shaft against you with every surge. the head of him bumps your clit, and when he can gracefully grind up, the underside of his cock slides against your little bud in one steady motion. the sounds that spill out of you change, evolving into a longing plea as he asks for forgiveness through his body. a wet spot blooms in the crotch of your panties, yearning for a relief that’s not confined by his jeans. his fingers dig in, kneading the globes of your backside in his excitement. he’s set a slow and deliberate pace, but you can feel the need within him pulsing through his every movement. his cock twitches, and you’re so close you can tell it knows where it wants to go, seeking you out like the nose of a bloodhound.

his tip catches on the give of your hole, interrupting the streamlined grind, making his hips jerk back so as to protect himself. he whimpers into your neck, a pitiful little sound that conveys just how much he wanted to plow through fabric and dry fuck you. if he’d just pushed a little harder, he could’ve been that much closer to feeling your silken walls. your hand flies to the hair at the nape of his neck, tangling in the raven locks to squeeze. you can feel his grin stretch against your skin, his pearly white teeth and his moistened lips and his handsome dimples. just imagining his smile makes you weak in the knees, falling limp under him.

“you like me again?” he questions, nuzzling his face into the crook of your shoulder.

“oh, go to hell.” you shoot back, but it lacks conviction, breathy from his ministrations. for just one single second, you feel proud. here’s this hot, big, romantic oaf of a farm boy, obsessed with making you feel good, with a smile that could kill, who saves people… and he’s on top of you. you’ve known plenty of girls that would maim for this kind of opportunity, for clark kent superman or not to be at their beck and call. yet he’s here for you, wantonly pleading for you to just let him in. you have something no one else does.

“oh, my god! i’m so sorry—uh, i’ll come back later—“ the humiliated voice of chloe snaps you out of your stupor, both you and clark fixing yourselves up to see the blonde head of hair retreat out of his doorway, humiliated. it was no question what you two were doing, bodies tangled together like this, and you and him exchange a brief eye conversation after you realize what your friend just caught you doing.

[eevenus]

⋆˚࿔ drabble!! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - b.c.

I have thoughts and need to get them out of my head before I go insane.

genre: PURE SMUT TBH!!! MINORS BE GONE!! I WILL BLOCK YOU!!!

pairing: bangchan x fem!reader

warnings: chokeholds (sue me okay), a bit of degradation, rough channie 🥴, reader is called a whore once, size kink if you squint

a/n: I wrote this on my phone because I needed it out of my head NYEOW, I'm going insane over him. dividers by @sister-lucifer

(this is what I was writing to if you wanna listen along 😛😛😛)

✩ thinking so much about Chan having such a horrible day, and I mean absolutely retched. Maybe had some arguments back and forth with staff over a track he was really proud of, a dance practice with small fuckups just out of his control (loose shoelaces tripping him, stumbling over his words, etc), maybe even something as simple as all his anxieties and worries on new tracks and performances have manifested into a boiling anger he can't contain.

✩ he wouldn't want to say anything he doesn't mean, or hurt anyone's feelings, so he wouldn't talk much throughout the day if he can help it. Simple nods and "mhm"s to just get through it. A few texts from you ping his phone every now and then, he's short with you but responds nonetheless. It would almost make him angrier that he can't shake the feeling, I feel.

✩ so he'd try to blow off some steam at the gym, he always hit it on the way home so you wouldn't find it out of the ordinary. But he'd stay a little longer than usual. Trying so, so hard to just shake the feeling off so he can come home to you and relax. But he can't. It sits on his chest worse than any of his anxieties ever could. So he cleans up the area he was using, throws his things into his duffle, and heads home.

✩ he'd show up back to your shared apartment and throw his duffle somewhere out of his sight. His shoes discarded by the door and keys dropped somewhere next to them. And then you'd walk out.

✩ "Hi baby!" So sweet and so kind, already in your pajamas, waiting for him to come home. "Long day?" It was an innocent ask of course, but it clicked a gear in place in his mind. All that anger seemed to quicken the blood rushing through his veins, if you listen close enough in the quiet you'd hear his heartbeat.

✩ no response but he's just stomping his way over to you, and his hands grab your face to smash your lips together. It's messy, teeth knocking every now and then, moving from upper to bottom lip, a bit of spit would connect you when he finally pulled away. Leaving you in a bit of a daze. But before you could question the absolutely hungry look in his eyes his lips would be on you again.

✩ his HUMONGOUS arms would work to pick you up while keeping your lips connected, your hands in his curls as his wrap under your thighs. And he's walking you back to your shared room and his skin is just fiery hot, and he's deepening the kiss while expertly navigating his way down the hall. thank god you walked out and left the door open, because as soon as he is even near your bed he's tossing you onto it and climbing on top of you.

✩ discarding his tank top as you're ridding of your own, his lips moving after to connect with your neck. You'd swear you felt him bite and lick his away along like a hungry animal playing with its prey. And his hands are on your hips, squeezing so hard to keep you in place that it would def leave bruises in the morning.

✩ before you can even register it, you're both without clothes and he's got you on all fours. pulling you down onto his mouth that is just devouring you like your his last meal on death row, like you held a cure for whatever is making him act this way, not like you'd want him to stop.

✩ "Bad day?" You'd question with rutting hips and your hands gripping his hair, he'd simply mumble against you and pull you down further. "Take it out- oh god- on me." You didn't have to tell him really, but it was more like giving him a green light for doing whatever he needed too to blow off the steam that was so pent up. It was rare this happened, but you ate it UP every time.

✩ moments later, after he'd rip at least two orgasms out of you, he's sinking himself into you. Pulling at your hips to meet his, forcing an arch out of you with a flat palm pressing down at the top of your spine. with no mercy does he rut into you, so rough it was physically moving you forward. Your cries and moans muffled with your cheek against the sheets, though you'd have probably been muffled regardless as his moans and groans and growls would be just a bit louder. Feral even.

✩ and when your moans alone weren't enough, he'd slow himself just enough to lean down and wrap his arm around your neck. keeping a hand still on your hip to keep your arch in place when he lifts you up from the bed in a chokehold and returns to his previous pace. Your moans now cut-off whines and groans from the pressure, just enough to slightly bring pressure to your airways but not enough to make you lose all your air. A delightful euphoria of floating and the feeling of his cock pumping into you, you swore in this position he was kissing your cervix in the most delicious way. feeling floaty and so full. so full. (pushing the bde Chris agenda ok).

✩ "fuckin' take it." He'd growl in your ear, and though his arm stays around your neck his hand moves to hold your chin. Relieving the pressure as you take in shaky gasps, keeping you perfectly in place. "Yea? You're my fucking whore, mine- letting me use you, huh? letting me fuck my anger into you?"

✩ he'd be so far gone that he's just mumbling out the nastiest shit he's ever said, and just abusing your pretty little cunt all he wants. And when his growls turn to whines and gasps and groans of his own, his hand reaches between your legs and quickly circles your puffy pretty clit. Silently begging you to cum with him.

✩ ugh and he'd cum so much too. letting you out of his hold halfway through, to lay back against the sheets, but still pushing you through your own orgasm. It would take him a bit to register he's real again before he's pulling out and walking to grab things to clean you up, water, a snack, the works.

✩ "Better?" You'd incoherently mumble after, when you're all laid up together. Snuggled close and naked and safe and warm.

✩ "Mm. Sorry if I was too rough." He'd mumble back, pushing some hair behind your ear before promising to tell you what was bothering him first thing in the morning. But of course you never mind him that way, if you can help him.

✩ he'd apologize PROFUSELY in the morning when he notices your bruised hips and a few red marks of teeth on your neck. Doing his best to mend you. Draw you a bath. Snuggle you as soon as he gets home from the studio. Apologize again. And again. And one more time for good measure. cuz he's just too sweet, and even if he was pent up and needed to channel his anger in a (proactive) different way he could never actually hurt you and he'd feel awful if he ever did. Making sure you feel loved in every way he can in the following days. Cuz he's Channie and an absolute angel, who just loves a rough night every now and again. 😜

EEP KQJDJSNF there's my first spicy drabble, I just needed this out of my fucking head OMG. Need him to chokehold me so BAD KADJNDNF. this is probably a mess because I was trying to get a vision across without turning this into a 7k word fic okay 😭😭. Lemme know if y'all want more of this from meeee by commenting, liking, reposting!! Theenk yewwww ❤️✨🤞🏻

taglist: @possum-playground (taglist is open! Feel free to ask to be added to my general one or the one for my Bangchan series!! or if you'd like to only be added for non-spicy/spicy-only posts!)

[aliteralsemicolon]

Crawling back to you

Masterlist

GIF by undertheniall

Prison changed a lot of things in your relationship with Spencer. The one thing that remains the same is the mutual desire to hold on to the person you love.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Minors do not interact at all. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Drunk! Spencer. I think that’s it. I hope. Idk it’s been a minute I’m sorry. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 3.4K See notes at end for author's note & spoilers.

Full playlist

There’s instant comfort in the sound of laughter coming from somebody you love. It's the kind of laughter that bubbles from deep inside the lungs, depriving them of air and pushing their voice up an octave or two. It envelopes you; you can feel the laughter vibrating between your torsos.

“Spencer, come on!” There’s a failed sternness in your tone, you have to physically fight the giggles away by nuzzling your head in his neck. You’re sure the neighbours below you won’t appreciate the loud thud omitted from the sound of their drunken neighbours toppling over, barely a few steps into the apartment. More precisely, the tall, lanky one drunkenly toppled over and took his girlfriend down with him. 

“I’m sorry! I’m s—so,” He’s not even trying to muffle the sounds, he’s practically hysterical. “Baby—I can’t breathe.” 

“Oh my god.” You push yourself off his chest, grabbing his arms as you stand. It takes all your physical strength to pull him up. Even then, you only manage to get him to sit. “Help me out over here!”

Your plea falls on deaf ears as Spencer bursts into another, slightly more muted, fit of giggles. He places an arm around his ribs and uses the other to hug your leg, leaning his head against your thigh. The muscles in your cheeks begin to ache from how wide your grin is. You have to brace yourself using his shoulder. Your other hand lands in his hair, gently scratching his scalp. 

What even is comfort? 

Spencer would tell you that its origins can be traced back to the Latin word ‘fortis’—meaning strong—combined with the late Latin word ‘com’ to produce’ confortare’. The word ‘comfort’ as we currently know it, was derived from the later French translation of ‘confort.’ The Oxford Dictionary defines it as ‘the easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings of grief or distress.’

What possible grief or distress could there be when his lips press on your thigh, followed by a satisfied hum from the feeling of your skin? And when he looks up at you with those big brown eyes the sun's warmth seeps into your skin, despite it being the moon's hour. You look relaxed. Happy. His lips part and his mouth runs dry. Behind adoration is curiosity painted on his face.

“What?” It makes you nervous. He doesn’t reply instantly, words escape him.

“There are…hundreds of quotes I could pull apart—th—thousands of scientific comparisons I could make, but all I’m able to say right now…is that you’re…perfect. Eve—even your flaws. They’re perfect.” His brows are concentrated and you scoff half-heartedly. It’s not the sun's warmth. It’s him. He is the sun. “Which doesn’t really make sense. But—you. You make sense.”

His eyes wander frantically as he tries to keep track of his thoughts. “Does that make sense?”

Comfort.

You would equate it to the phrase ‘welcome home’. Home. Sanctuary. Retreat from the brutal realities of the cruel world. The lack of response tells him your attention is not entirely on him. He pouts.

“You’re too far away. C’mere.” He whines, his arm moving from his ribcage to tug on your hand. He leans back to make room for you on his lap.

“No, you c’mere.” You resist, trying to pull him up to his feet instead. “We need to get you to bed.” 

“Just two minutes.” 

The tug of war is short-lived; he carries more body strength. Not that he uses much, all it takes is the sweet lull of his voice for him to command you down. His hands glide up your thighs, stopping at your waist once you’re fully straddling him. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, noses nudging and gaze fixed on each other. Spencer brushes his lips against yours, gradually locking them. The kiss is slow, there’s no urgency. The kind that makes you feel like this is forever. As sure as flowers blooming every spring and leaves falling every autumn.

“Impossibly perfect.” He mumbles with a sigh, reaffirming his previous train of thought. The statement travels off his tongue so naturally. Your ears heat up and you fail to respond once again. What response can you give? More sweet affirmations are whispered, and although you don’t hear them, you feel his lips graze your cheek. 

“I love you.” He mumbles against your skin before planting a kiss. You hum in return and diffidently nestle your face in his neck. Spencer shrieks and rolls both of you on the ground. “That tickles!”

He attempts to separate his body from yours, but your arms tighten around his neck. “Let go!”

“Mm-mm.” You shake your head and nuzzle your nose further in. Laughter engulfs you again.

“You have three—ah—three seconds to let go before I start tickling you back.” 

An empty threat, he knows how much you hate it. It works, though. You push off him begrudgingly. 

“Fine.”

His drunken state confuses your playful pout for a sad one and his victorious smirk is short-lived. Spencer ejects upright, hooking his fingers under your chin with a pout of his own. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. Just my boyfriend hates me.” You dramatically sigh and lower your sight, toying with the buttons on his shirt. 

Meanwhile, your boyfriend is aghast that he has you feeling so. If only you could see the genuine furrow in his raised brows. The subtle pout of his lips and his head tilting to the side. His eyes always look like they’re pleading for something, but that’s just the cost of having big, round, beautiful eyes. 

“No. What? N-no!” He’s almost too offended to articulate an appropriate response. “Do you—no!”

Entirely baffled and unable to verbally reject your claim, he opts for physical expression to show you just how wrong you are. He cups your cheeks in both hands and lunges at you with a flurry of kisses, each landing blindly on any accessible part of your face. You anchor an arm behind you to stabilise yourself. The whole scene is chaotic.

“Spence—mmph—” 

With every kiss he inches closer until he’s practically on top of you, leaning his weight forward on one arm. His free hand cradles the back of your head and focuses entirely on your lips. Kissing you soft, slow, deep. Any worries lingering in the back of your mind can wait. Nothing exists outside the bubble you’ve created. That is, until Spencer loses his balance for the umpteenth time and, as usual, you go down with him. At least his inebriated brain had the foresight to shield your head from the hardwood floor. He falls flat on you, free hand defeatedly next to his ear. 

The two of you freeze momentarily, processing the drop. You throw your head back with a loud ‘pfft’ and both of you break out into laughter. You can hear him cackling with his forehead pressing against your jaw. It goes on for at least a minute or two. That’s when you feel it again. The sun’s warmth. It enters your system with every grappling inhale, passing from your lungs, vibrating through your ribs and taking over every limb as it travels through your bloodstream. Your legs trap his waist and you bury your hands in his hair. His other hand shifts from under your head to your collarbone. 

“You’re so silly.” He wheezes.

“I’m silly?!” You tuck your chin in, looking down at him as you push through your giggles. “You’re silly. And drunk. And clumsy.” 

It only spurs him on, nearly to the point of tears. Spencer's drinking is not a common occurrence. Up until recently, he’d been very committed to staying away from alcohol; always choosing a glass of water or some other alternative. At the start, you assumed it was a health-related preference until he sat you down and explained his history with addiction. You can count on one hand the number of outings Spencer has taken so much as a sip of alcohol throughout your relationship. The count only began after his return from Millburn. 

You’d never previously wondered if and how alcohol changes his behaviour, but now you know anyway. It’s unusual, not because he’s different, but because it’s everything you know him to be when it’s just the two of you. There's an air of freedom alongside his gentleness, attentiveness and sass. His own mind doesn’t torment him. He exists—presently, unapologetically. Or at least it was everything you knew him to be. 

Comfort.

Noun. ‘The easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings of grief or distress.’ 

It comes in different forms for different people. For you? You’ve never known a comfort more powerful than Spencer Reid. Not the one that lays next to you every night, but the one lying on top of you right now. In all honesty, you don’t know the man you share a bed with anymore. Physically, you could describe every freckle and mole from memory. Emotionally, he’s practically a stranger. Robotic is an adjective that’s been used to describe him his whole life. It’s a literal manifestation these days. 

Your laughter starts to fade and his follows after. He doesn’t need to ask where your mind is at. Deep down he knows. It’s why he’s too afraid to meet your eyes. He can’t bear the reminiscence he’ll find.

“Too far away...” He repeats, his mumble fading as he reaches your head space.

From dawn, when he first opens his eyes, til dusk, when he finally shuts them; everything he does is part of his ritual. 

Wake up. Work. Home. Sleep. 

Somewhere along the way he’ll eat. Socialise. Read. He can’t recall doing any of it, but he knows it happened because you were there. That’s the only memorable part of it. There’s a faint image of you sitting across from him, nervously watching him nibble the meals you cook for him. He’ll force it down his throat so he doesn’t have to see the worried look on your face. The sound of your voice is slightly more vivid. Speaking at him—for him, making full sentences out of his one-word answers. Because words escape him. Visually, verbally. They’ll run from him on every page he turns; dancing around, mocking him. 

He can feel you staring. You probably don’t even know you are. 

Strange, missing somebody that’s right here. Most people know the feeling all too well, but no one can ever explain it. You can still see fragments of the man Spencer used to be under the rubble of the walls he once lowered for you. Buried too deep inside a cold, dark, liminal pit for you to rescue. A ghost trapped in purgatory. Sometimes he manifests physically. The light in his eyes returns as a culmination of the intent and curiosity he was filled with before. Every look brighter, every touch warmer. 

Comfort.

He’s just as much the source as he is the reason you go weeks without it. Your own, personal double-edged sword, threatening to slice your skin. And you’ll let him, because any ounce of heartache will melt away under the tender feel of his lips. Like slapping a bandaid over the gash and pretending it’s enough to contain the bleeding. You snap back to reality when the weight of his body lifts off you. Spencer’s on his knees cupping your thighs on either side of him, looking down at you. His irises are slightly duller than they were a moment ago. You thrust to sit up too, hands racing to cradle his face. 

“Spence?” Your meekness almost breaks him. 

His vision centres on you. You’re smiling. You have such a beautiful smile. But this one isn’t genuine. It’s a desperate attempt at keeping the pieces together. You’re so afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, he hates it. His brows furrow and he blinks rapidly. The guilt of knowing he’s the reason you’ve been walking on eggshells is overwhelming. You can visibly see his heart sink and his breathing growing shallow. Panic sets in; he pushes away from you, shaking his head and backing himself against the console table.

“Spence?” You repeat worriedly, crawling after him. “Spence, what’s wrong?”

“No. No, stop. Don’t. Please.” His voice cracks and holds his arm out to keep you from moving closer. 

You don’t understand what you did to cause the rapid change in emotions. You pause, hesitantly and kneeling a little too far from him for your liking. You look to the ground and then back at him. It hurts to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Baby—”

The frustration in his tone is evident as he whispers your name with the most strained, painful pronunciation you’ve ever heard of it. It’s not as if he wants this. To be distant or keep you at arm's length, no, on the contrary, he wants to wrap you closely against his chest and never let you go. Your proximity is the only tangible testimonial of the man he once was, the one you fell in love with—the one you deserve. 

“Don’t do that…” He pleads with almost no voice to accompany his words. 

Your arms drop in your lap in defeat. All you're capable of giving him is a hopeless expression, begging him to help you understand. He looks at you accusatorily, as if to say you know exactly what’s wrong. You inadvertently confirm it by averting your eyes.

“How long are you going to pretend?” 

“What?” You pretend to mishear him, your eyes snapping back, wide and watering. 

“That everything’s okay?”

“Why…where is this coming from?” You scoff nervously.

“Nothing’s okay.” 

His direct demeanour should feel icier than it does. Instead, you find familiarity within it. You’ve seen it before. He’s used it when you’ve shown up to his apartment in the later hours of the night, lecturing you about walking alone, and often drunk. It’s been used for many other lectures too, reprimanding any self-destructive or dangerous behaviour. He’s stern, but he’s just as gentle. It’s in his nature—was in his nature. You open your mouth for a rebuttal but he doesn’t give you that chance. 

“Me, you, us. Nothing about us is okay. I’m not okay. To you. I’m not…” His tongue swipes the corner of his mouth, retreating quickly as he stares up at the ceiling and then back at you. “I’m not good for you. Anymore.”

“Spencer, no.” The response flies out of your mouth immediately. Your chest tightens and you try to inch closer to him again. And again, he extends his hand out as a signal to stop. 

“Yes! Don’t you—god—do you think I don’t see how much I hurt you? When I leave the bed before you’re awake, climb in after you’re asleep, when I stay late—”

He doesn’t have it in him to carry on when you whimper out a hum and deflate. It compels him to close the distance by shuffling to you, cupping your face.

“How long are you going to let me get away with hurting you like this?”

At times Spencer feels the skin he inhabits isn’t his own. He doesn’t recognise the face he grew up with and although he can avoid his reflection, he can’t escape reminders of his deteriorated mental performance. There’s no running from the shame he feels every time his team looks to him for answers that he doesn’t have anymore. Solutions take a significantly longer time to reach and oftentimes the realisation of the fact hits him sooner. Being ‘the genius’ is his only value, he doesn’t have anything else to offer. 

He also doesn’t have the strength to outright tell you to walk away. Even if logically, he knows you deserve better than him. Somebody who can be there to laugh with you, hold you when you cry, talk to you about anything and everything. The way he once could. You deserve a person who makes you smile out of genuine happiness. Someone who can offer you pure, whole love. It pains him that he can’t be that for you anymore. 

“I’m sorry.” He smooths your hair, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry. My sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

His lips brush against yours and both of you melt. Bandaid over gash.

You sniffle and instantly inhale, breaking out of his grasp. “You’re drunk. It’s late. Let’s just—let’s go to bed. Okay?”

He knows that you can’t avoid the reality for long, but he’ll let you try, for now. So he nods, smiling half-heartedly. You use his shoulders to push yourself to stand, helping pull him up after you. Your hands intertwine, gripping tightly and only letting go when you reach the bedroom. Both of you enter a slight dissociative state to cope with the heaviness of the situation. He sits you down on the bed, falling to his knees before you. At first, you mistake his intentions as lustful. He guides your ankle to his knee and starts to remove your shoes. The bitterness is fleeting and dissipates into disgust with yourself for thinking so lowly of Spencer. Your Spencer. 

Comfort.

He motions for you to stand so you do. Naturally, he takes care of you before himself. He works to rid you of your pants, sliding them down your legs. You don’t question him this time. His hands trail up your bare legs, skimming past your clothed hips and stopping at your waist. He buries his face in the soft of your belly, squeezing your sides and exhaling deeply. You card his hair, holding him. To any third party, it’s an entirely romantic scene, but you suppose Romeo and Juliet’s corpses appeared just as romantic tangled together. Star-crossed lovers. A regrettable cliché for sure. 

The moment passes and Spencer stands, removing your shirt and leading you towards the bathroom. He opens the door for you, but doesn’t follow you inside, allowing you some space to carry on your night routine. Tonight’s routine consists of you staring in the mirror for god knows how long before splashing cold water on your face. You’re not sure whether to be surprised when you exit the bathroom to see your favourite pajamas laid out for you. Current or old, drunk or sober, you suppose Spencer’s attention to detail is the one constant thing about him. You slip into the pajamas and find your place next to him on the bed, but not before setting some water and pain relief on his side table.

You give him one last glance before turning off your lamp. He’s facing away from you, messy brown curls splayed out against his pillow. Darkness surrounds you temporarily before the dim light from the moon sets in. You’re about to set your head down when he speaks. 

“I…I wish I could go back.”

“Hmm?”

He rolls over and you reach to stroke his cheek. It’s cold, wet. He’s been crying.

“To being him.”

“Baby…”

“I can see the way you look at me sometimes. It’s the same look I see in the mirror every morning.” He takes hold of your wrist.

You shuffle closer, placing a chaste kiss on his nose. Maybe if you had any energy left you’d try to deny it, but right now you don’t have a better response to give. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you left, you know.”

“Shhhhh.” You can’t bear the idea. Just him raising it enough to flood tears to your eyes. 

Silence takes over and you pull him closer into your arms, resting his head against your chest. A sob racks through him, his hands scrunching the sides of your shirt. It’s jarring to see him cry so openly to you. You’ve never seen this version of him so vulnerable. You can feel the ghost slipping away. 

“Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have left of him.”

It’s entirely contradictory. A conflict between morality and desire uttered so breathlessly that you almost miss it. It shatters your soul. 

“I won't.” You reply in an even quieter voice, doing your best to hold back your own sob.

Comfort.

You’ll wait for it to come around again. For now, you wrap yourself tighter around him, both your faces drenched in tears, too afraid to let go. In all your grief you failed to notice something hidden in plain sight. If anybody misses Spencer Reid more than you, it’s Spencer Reid himself.

“Don’t go.”

You can’t say who the words come from, but you know that they’re not for you. They’re meant for somebody who’s no longer with you.

Spoilers: Post-prison Spencer, established relationship, fluff, hurt with (kind of) comfort, angst, ambiguous-ish ending. Idk I wasn’t present when I wrote it tbh.

AN - Heyyyy I know it’s been like over 5 months but in my defence. Also this could have been better, but writing literally hates me, so you get what you get. Guys please don’t worry about the grammar, I was in a mood and it’s all very dramatic and correct because I’m right and English is wrong. Also, I was bullied, blackmailed and emotionally coerced into posting this.

Okay, so I will see you soon or like in another 5 or more months maybe who knows?

Thanks for reading!