#remove the nose organs and eyes

[blockedbykei]

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐖

🏐— tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: he hates your intelligence in classrooms and you hate his cunnigness at the court. both go at great lengths to defeat each other, but how is it that both of you were the only ones that can help each other be better?

— warnings: swearing, a bit suggestive, enemies to lovers (although kind of enemies)

You slam your paper on his desk.

Tsukishima barely flinches. He removes his headphones and hangs them on his neck, unbothered by your looming presence as he stares blankly at your paper. 96

The corners of his lips tug down, seemingly unimpressed. "Eh."

"Eh? Aw, is little Tsukishima disappointed at himself?"

He looks up at you, stares deeply into your eyes. And for a moment you'd think his domineering gaze would soften as he was overawed by you. But then he smiles, that annoying little shitty, narcissistic smile.

"Actually, not at all (l/n)," his smile is bright, almost genuine, but his sarcasm is radiating. "I got a 98. Not bad, though!"

You swear steam was coming off your body.

"96 at modern Japanese." He says. "Understandable."

"Understandable?!"

"Don't beat yourself up, (l/n). Not everyone's perfect," he leans back. "Not even me. I mean, I'm just being humble. But yeah, not everyone."

"I hate you," you take your paper off his desk.

"Flattered. Really, really flattered. Thank you for hating me, actually. I feel so honored to be hated." He puts his headphones back on and places his elbows on his desk, his chin resting on his joint fists. Tsukishima smiles at you again.

God, his smile is infuriating.

Tsukishima was someone you'd go to great lengths to defeat. He never bothered for your existence when first year began. He didn't even know your name; Didn't even look at your direction. He'd only known it a month later when you were paired to be partners and he decided to be such a condescending brat when he pointed out your handwriting.

At first you ignored it, took it by heart and started organizing your writings on your notes. Then he decided to put all his self-hatred on you and started to discreetly judge you.

Maybe he wasn't even judging you. Maybe he was just staring at your paper, scoffed to himself, shook his head and laughed because you got a better score than him and he was berating himself. But no, he laughed because he thought you were a tryhard and he was a prodigy.

Obviously none of those were confirmed. But he's a man and a man hates it when a woman's happy.

When he smirks you have the urge to rip his lips to pieces.

You walk away from him and sit on your desk, which was actually beside him.

His scent follows your flaring nostrils as you carefully shove your paper between the notebooks in your bag. Tsukishima looks out the window, hiding his smirk, his foot tapping lightly but never making sound. So you put your own headphones over your ears, in hopes to drown out his deafening aura.

🏐 —

"Shit!"

Tsukishima's knees bends the wrong way and almost falls onto his back as he lands on the ground. The ball echoes across the court as it ricochets off the floor. You laugh loudly, and everyone looks at you.

"You're too advanced for the block, idiot!" You say loudly. Yamaguchi giggles.

He rolls his eyes at you as he chases for the ball. Kageyama sits beside you.

"You know he plays horribly when you're here."

"Oh?" You raise a brow. "Is he not used to a girl looking at her?"

Kageyama scratches his nose. "Probably 'cause he hates you."

You laugh lightly. "Kinda nice that I'm here. I get to see him fuck up."

Kageyama snorts. "He feels pressured 'cuz you're here."

"Oh? He said that?"

"No. But I can hear him think."

You laugh and wipe your sweat off. "I'd play with you guys, but his remarks could piss me off and I might, uh, shove that ball up his ass."

When Kageyama laughs again, quite loudly, Tsukishima's head snaps at the bench where you're sitting. Heat rises to his head, his stance losing its usual strength, his arms weakening as he watches you—

Laughing, at some joke you said or Tobio said. Laughing heartily like someone just made the best joke in the world. The way your lips almost reach the wrinkles beneath your eyes. Oh, that's so funny Tobio. You're so funny you should quit volleyball and be a stand up comedian!

He knows you're talking shit about him, too. Idiot. Brat. Showoff.

He had the right to show off. He was better than you.

He was the better thinker; the better scorer.

Tsukishima is better than you.

I'm better than you—

The ball hits the side of his face, his glasses flailing to the side.

The first thing that reaches his ears—your sickening laugh. That monstrous, sadistic guffaw. Tanaka yells from the other side of the court and dives beneath the net to take a look at his face. Nishinoya hovers, hands on his knees, laughing.

"Pay attention, dumbass!" You cuff your hands over your mouth. "Stop daydreaming! It's embarrassing."

He bends to pick his glasses up. Alive, no cracks, frame not broken. He puts it on the bridge of his nose so that he could see your face clearly.

Hideously alluring.

"Do you think of scheming as daydreaming, (l/n)?" his voice, full of disdain, though hidden through feigned sweetness. "Like a child as always. Go back to middle school?"

"Do better at volleyball?"

"I ought to kick the both of you out this court," Daichi says loudly. "Oh wait I can't speak to (l/n) like that. S-sorry!"

Tsukishima sneers, his lips frowning. He approaches the rolling ball, watching as it hits the wall and propells back towards his awaiting feet. When he picks it up, he steals another glance at you talking to Kageyama.

The King and the Brat. The most annoying combination in the entirety of Karasuno campus.

Somehow, seeing you next to Kageyama and being given the nickname as if the two of you were a pair sends a tight rope around his chest that causes it to ache a little. Tsukishima huffs it out, an unsettling in his bones.

Please don't look at me.

The ball flies into the air, and his palm raises just in time to make contact with the ball.

He sees you watch from the corner of his eye, a blurried silhouette, but your figure was familiar enough for him to recognize you. His heart beats a little louder.

🏐 —

No.

Shit. Fuck. No

God damnit. 74.

Tsukishima stares at his paper in horror. In his entire life, he has always gotten two digits on his scores. However, they had always been ninety onwards. Never in the line of sevens. He doesn't know if his horror is displayed across his face. He prays it doesn't—he would die if you saw his expression.

He leans sideways to the right, his eye darting towards the side to peak at your paper.

98.

The english language was something that was easy to learn but never easy in exams. This—despite boasting that english was the easiest subject—was his weakness.

You're too preoccupied to notice his existence. Good.

He turns around to look at the green haired boy.

"Yamaguchi." He whisper-yelled. "Tadashi."

Yamaguchi looks up. "Yes?"

This was it. Years of built up pride, intelligence, boosted ego— down the drain. As soon as he'd ask him the question, it would forever alter the image of himself towards his friend. Tsukishima was no longer the brainy four-eyes of the Karasuno Volleyball Club.

He would now be Tsukishima, the idiot four-eyes.

Maybe I'm overreacting.

He stands up and sits beside the empty chair next to Yamaguchi.

"How- What's your score?"

Yamaguchi looks puzzled as he glances at his paper. "E-eighty eight."

God, this is depressing.

"Um," Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck. "Could you help me with English?"

There it is. His face says it all.

"Don't you even—"

"You, Tsukishima Kei, asking for my help?" He laughs incredulously. "Are you sure? What's your score?"

"Don't want to talk about it."

"Aw, c'mon Tsukki." He pouts playfully like comforting a weeping baby. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Tsukishima tells him in a low voice. He never thought he could hate Yamaguchi's laugh. But he did, right after he laughed at his score. It wasn't even a failing grade.

"You know who should tutor you though?" He puts his paper in his bag. "(l/n). She's good, y'know. I heard her speak english once. I thought she was from, uh, some foreign country or something."

"She's not even that good." Tsukishima takes off his glasses and wipes it with the corner of his uniform. "She's good with memory but she forgets it right after the quiz like a ditz."

Yamaguchi snorts. "She's the one who got the best score out of all of us."

"Yeah, no thanks. I'd never let her teach me."

"I think you're forgetting I'm right here in front of you." You turn around, placing your elbow and forearm on the back of your chair and look at Tsukishima. "I can teach you."

Tsukishima scoffs. "No thanks. I'd rather repeat freshman year."

"Are you sure?" you pout, placing your chin on the back of your hand. "I can teach you, little Tsukishima."

"I'm not little."

"Yeah but your brain is."

"Yamaguchi, help me out here."

He can't ask for your help. Never ever. Never will he ever ask for your help. Tsukishima can study this himself. He's always studied by himself. He's never needed anyone, and certainly not you. He was independent, cunning as everyone says. Tsukishima does not need tutors.

Up until now.

"Please help Tsukishima study," Yamaguchi looks at you. "He's too prideful to ask but he really needs your help."

Tsukishima stammers. "T-that's not what I meant!"

"Aw, is this true?" You're taunting him. He feels like a child.

"I can study by myself. Fuck off."

You smile at him. In a way that he can't read. It was soft, almost kind, like you wanted to help him wholeheartedly and wanted his english to improve. Then he looked into your eyes and all the kindness in your smile had been washed away by this pity in your eyes that you enjoyed. Tsukishima huffs.

"No need to be shy about asking for help, little Tsukki," you coo. "We'll study in the locker room while everyone else plays. You're skipping practice today."

Tsukishima zips his bag and stands up. He towers over you, covering the sun that blinds you through the glass window. He looks down at your eyes—teasing, condescending eyes. His lips are turned to a frown, which makes you smile even more.

"I'm not skipping practice."

"Too bad. You are. You know, if you let me help you, you'd stop having that distraught face everytime you get your english paper." You take a step closer, neck bent backwards to look up at him. "Yeah, I saw your face."

Yamaguchi nudges his arm. "C'mon, Kei. Ask for her help. You know you need it. Don't be so prideful."

Tsukishima growls. He doesn't say anything yet, all the confidence in him washed away by a score that wasn't even a failing grade. His palm rubs the space between his eyebrows and mumbles:

"Help me."

You lean in, ear towards him. "Couldn't hear that. Sorry?"

"Help me study."

"Are you commanding me or asking?"

"Please help me study."

"Don't mumble, Tsukishima."

"Damn it!" He groans. "Please help me, dearest (l/n)." His voice drips in sarcasm, peering at you through his scratched lenses. "Help me get a better grade at english. Help me stop myself from strangling you! Idiot!"

You lean back, the bottom of your spine resting on your table as your left hand props you up. Tsukishima is almost seething, his eyes widened a little as his anger seethes through his nostrils. You hum, pretend to think, then slap his right cheek twice lightly.

"How kind of you to ask, little Tsukki." You wrinkle your nose at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "See you at the locker room."

When you leave, his head turns to Yamaguchi who smiles innocently. Tsukishima almost strangles him instead.

🏐—

The boys are thirty minutes late to practice. Including Daichi.

"It's the sequence of the words, Tsukishima," you point your pen at his test paper. "The spelling's no problem. You're good at it. It's just with how you've formed them together."

They all sit behind the two of you, watching silently. Tsukishima is red from embarrassment as he ignores them.

"What's so wrong about this sequence? It sounds correct."

"Just because it sounds correct doesn't mean that it is correct."

Hinata snorts. Tsukishima's head snaps at it. "Don't snort, dumbass. Last time I checked you got a twenty at your exam."

"You hit a nerve there, Shoyo," Kageyama giggles.

You sigh and slap your hands at your thighs. "Sawamura-san, why are you guys even here?"

He stammers, his back straightening as he fixes his bag on his left shoulder. "Jus–Just wanted to make sure you two will be fine. Let's go guys."

When they leave, Tsukishima relaxes in relief. He stares intensely at his notebook, figuring out the correct answer. You try not to laugh at him, but the sight was entertaining; seeing him suffer brought your heart at ease.

"Figured it out, moron?" You bring your own notebook out, flipping it to the last page you'd written on. "It's really not that hard."

"Shut up, (l/n.)" he says. You make a small sound, similar to "okay!" As you begin to write down on a blank page.

And you're like that for a few hours.

Tsukishima answers the questions you've written for him, and when he asks you for help, you cordially help him without telling him the answers. Then you both go back to formidable silence, doing your own perspective works.

He almost enjoys this newfound environment created with you. Somehow, his body is more tranquil, but at the same time his mind is racing, because you're here. Tutoring him. Tsukishima has always believed that he was one step ahead of you, making sure you were unable to catch up with him. But now he's slipped from that step and you've caught up and you're deriding him.

Nonetheless, you're his only hope right now.

He looks at you.

Your hair is tucked behind your ears and your teeth are currently creating dents at the eraser of your pencil. You're concentrating, seeming like you've forgotten that he's sitting in front of you. And Tsukishima's eyes are extremely blurred, but when he looks at you through the gap between his glasses and forehead, your face was somehow clearer.

"Are you a dog?" he raises a brow. "Don't chew on your pencil."

You huff like you're being scold and place your pencil down. But the chewing didn't last a second as your bottom lip is now tucked between your teeth. Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

"Here," he flips his paper and shows it to you. "Did I do it correctly?"

You take the paper from him and read it. He hopes you're at least slightly impressed, that you're not arbitrating his answers nor think they're half-assed. When your red pen moves into a slant, the corner of his lip twitches upwards. But when you circle the number, he has this urge to shove that pen into your eye.

"Hm, not bad. But not enough." you flip the paper.

70.

Four points less.

"Damn it." You can tell he's disappointed at himself. "You suck at teaching."

"Excuse me?!" Your eyebrows furrow. "Hey, I've spent the past four hours teaching you here, stickhead. The sun's almost down!"

"Do you have to go home already?" He asks. You shrug. "Then we can stay here until they're done with practice."

"Tsukishima, I have freshly cooked doburi waiting for me at home. Do you know what donburi is? Do you know what it tastes like while it's still hot? Fucking donburi, Tsukishima." You whine. "Would you like to study at my place instead?"

You seem to not have processed what you've offered, but Tsukishima has. He's surprised at your comment, watching you look so desperate to get home and eat that "fucking donburi." He waits for a moment until you realize and you do, but it seemed like you didn't care when you lean back and raise a brow.

"Well?"

"Sure."

His quick, almost unhesitant compliance surprises you. Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and brings his headphones out as you both head out the door. You lock it behind you, with Tsukishima already walking ahead.

You pass by the gym. "Sawamura, everyone, we're heading out!"

Tsukishima appears beside you. "We're going."

"To where?" Yamaguchi approaches you both. "Are you going to eat out? Ooh, can you bring food back here?"

"We're going to her place to study." He answers. "We can't come back."

The others seem to hear what he said, because Hinata yells: "What kind of studying are you going to do, Stingyshima?"

"Something that your tiny shit-for-brains can't comprehend." He retorts. "Focus on your receives, squirt!"

You wave to everyone and catch a glimpse of Yamaguchi's smile. You roll your eyes at him and poke your tongue out.

🏐 —

The way home was quieter than you expected.

Mainly because Tsukishima had his headphones on and all you hear was your un synchronous footsteps on the stoned sidewalk. You take small looks at your peripherals to see what he's doing. And, well, he's walking... like every other normal person.

But you're walking side by side and there's this space between you that's so close but also so far away. You feel his heat touching the fabric of your shirt, his hand twitching and just barely grazing yours. Then he speaks:

"You walk like a penguin," he says. "Why are you like that?"

"Why are you so annoying?" you roll your eyes. "I don't point out how you walk."

"That's because there's nothing wrong with my walk," he puts his headphones down, hangs them around his neck. "What? Got a stick up your ass or something?"

"I'll stab you with that stick."

"Gross."

You turn a corner and he follows suit like it was normal for him to follow you around. When you stop in front of your gate and unlock it, he bore no unhestiance as he removed his shoes and entered your home.

There was no one else around. And as soon as Tsukishima entered, you disappeared in his vision. Although, he hears you yell from afar: "Set your bag wherever. Stay in the living room though!"

He assumes you're either changing your clothes, getting a bowl of donburi, or both. He obeys, sets his bag on the floor and sits cross legged on the carpet of your living room, taking his notes out. He sees the sun inching away behind the roofs of the houses near by, waiting for you patiently.

And then his eyes roam to picture frames.

Never would he think that a picture of you smiling would be so endearing. That smile of yours, painting you an angelic aura, like people would never expect that you'd be the devil's descendant. Nonetheless, you were still beautiful.

The picture was you in a ponytail, face doused in sweat; the background, although blurry and dark, looked familiar. But Tsukishima was more focused on your gleaming smile, the way your eyes are almost closed and your lips were pale and your teeth were shiny.

"Hey, douchebag," you sit beside him despite the free space on the opposite of the coffee table, setting down two bowls of donburi. And yes, you had changed your clothes into something comfier. "Let's eat and study."

He never expected that you'd get him a bowl, thought that he'd have to ask or drop hints of him wanting donburi. He takes it though, and it is freshly cooked. He now understood your eagerness to go home.

An hour passes by.

The bowls are empty and set aside. Tsukishima's notes are scattered, hair disheveled from him constantly running his fingers through them. That string of hatred between you has been put aside as you both seem to tolerate one another through this session.

"Tsukishima," you say, almost sternly, placing two cartons of strawberry milk on the table. "It's easy to determine an adverb in Japanese. It's no different in identifying it in English."

"I know that, dumbass. What are you, a consciousness?" He takes his box, taking the plastic off the straw and shoving it on the circular foil. "Gimme yours."

He takes your carton and shakes it before doing the same and handing it to you. You blush vehemently, murmuring your gratitude and wrapping your lips around the paper straw.

Tsukishima's eyes wander out of boredom, tracing every corner and every ridge of your home. Until his eyes land on the sliding door to your backyard and catch a glimpse of that familiar blue and yellow ball.

"You play volleyball?" he queries, both his eyebrows raising.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Back in middle school."

"Bet you were shit at it."

"I was a middle blocker."

Tsukishima's back straightens, staring at you in hidden surprise. "At that height?"

"I'm not that short! Asshole," you throw your pen at him. He catches it with ease, setting it beside his notebook.

"Why aren't you in the women's volleyball club, then?" his brow raises. "Too short? They didn't take you? Failed the tryouts?"

You look down at your fingers, covered in peeled up skin and charred fingernails. You feel embarrassed, avoiding his eager stare. You sense his want to know your reason, radiating off his eyes.

"Not saying," you push yourself up, now standing in front of him. Tsukishima's eyes follow you, trailing uo from your thighs up to your neck, his irises darkening until he meets your gaze. "Get up. Time to go home."

"Let's play."

You stammer. "W-what? It's late."

"And I want to see you play." Tsukishima stands, hovering over you. "It's only nine in the evening."

You purse your lips, arms going limp on either side of your tired body. Though despite being worn out, you walk towards the door and slide it open, being greeted by Miyagi's brumal air that raises the hairs on your body. Tsukishima tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, covering half of his fingers, before following you out.

Barefoot in the evening, with the moon casting a pearlescent glow on your enervated bodies, the thump of the leather ball is in sync with your beating heart; and at each thump, it seems to wake Tsukishima up more.

"Tell me why you're not in the women's volleyball club," he sets it towards your direction.

"No." Your wrists join, your right fingers placing themselves on top of your left fingers, both thumbs settled side by side as your wrist ricochet the ball towards him. "It's none of your business."

Tsukishima catches it with ease. "You're lame."

You scoff, returning the ball. "I am not."

The blue and yellow ball floats into the evening air, the bright colors darkened by the stygian sky, only luminated by the moon and the lights outside your backyard. Tsukishima sets it to you again. "Listen, I don't really care about whatever your reason is. I just want to know."

You huff. There's no harm in telling your enemy a secret of yours, right? It's not like he was popular enough to go on and tell people. And like he said, he didn't care.

The ball comes in contact with your wrists. "I got injured. Well, not seriously injured. I can still play but I'm not as good as I used to be." Tsukishima catches the ball and rests it on his hip, listening to you explain. "I actually got a surgery at my calf."

You lift your pajamas just below your knee, showing the healed scar at the back of your calf. "The bone got dislocated 'cause one of my teammates smashed onto my leg when she was trying to save the ball. She got injured too, actually."

"Obviously," he retorts, now staring at your calf. Something about Tsukishima staring at your scar seemed too intimate as it should be, staring at your bare skin. His blonde hair drapes over his forehead, glasses glinting in the moonlight. "So where do you struggle?"

"Blocking. I can't jump properly." You scratch the back of your neck. "I can set though. Just, it's not in my heart."

"It's just a club," he says. "Play whatever position you want." Tsukishima sets the ball to you again.

"Just a club, huh?" You smirk. "Why'd you fail your test?"

"Because I was thinking too much of what I was gonna do when I'm at court again."

"And it's just a club."

"What's it to you?" He snaps. "At least I'm in the Volleyball club. Have I taken your dream?"

"You're a child."

"Yeah yeah. Join the club or whatever. Don't care if you don't or you want to."

You set it back to him again. "I want to."

Tsukishima senses your melancholy longing for the sport, sees your disheartened look as you think about all the chances you've lost. His heart twinges just the slightest, holding the ball between his slender hands. He almost pities you.

"Tell you what," he sets it to you. "If I pass the retest tomorrow, I'll help you with your blocking. If not," he shrugs, catching your return, "good luck with your life."

"You sound like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." You roll your eyes.

Tsukishima hopes he passes the retest tomorrow.

Mainly because it was import to him to ace it. Partly because he wanted to see you on court.

🏐 —

100.

You read Tsukishima's answers. In the fluorescent lights, his neat handwriting presents to you all the knowledge he's obtained from your chaotic teachings. He scoffs proudly, resting his lower back on the edge of his table.

"Not bad, nerd." You hand his paper to him. "And you beat me by two points."

"That's because you're an idiot," he sits down on his chair, though still facing you. "See you at the gym later."

Your brows furrow. "The gym's closed. Coach Ukai said today's rest day."

"But I'm not Coach Ukai," he fixes his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It's just for today. And only today."

"Fine," you agree. You act like you're forced to say yes, but deep inside the vessels of your heart and every part of your brain, they throb with excitement.

So you meet Tsukishima outside the gym after class in a white shirt and gym shorts. He meets you there, clad in the same outfit, heat radiating off his body that warms your always cold flesh. For a moment he admires observes you, your attire unfamiliar but nevertheless appealing hideous.

When you enter, the court seemed bigger without the boys rousing around the court. It was quieter, no shoes squeaking, no balls slammed, no eager yelling. You set your bag down on the floor and see your untied shoe laces.

"Fuck," you mutter.

But before you could bend down, Tsukishima has already knelt in front of you.

His knee rests on the tip of your shoe, fingers ribboning the laces of your rubber shoes. Your eyes widen, body stiffening, and it felt like forever as he tied it (it was actually only 10 seconds).

"You're a dumbass for leaving your shoelaces untied." He makes no comment as to why he's decided to tie your laces, but you swear you see his ears turn a twinge of pink.

Tsukishima takes a ball and goes to the other side of the court. When you stand opposite from him, he rolls the ball to your direction.

"How long has it been since you've played?" he asks, loudly, voice echoing across the empty gymnasium.

"Uh, a year and a half." The ball bounces between your palm and the squeaky floor. "I'm a little rusty."

"You are rusty. Your receives were shit last night."

You growl at his tease.

"We're not gonna start with the blockings. We have to start from the beginning." Tsukishima positions himself, knees bent and apart, his hands on his knees. "Serve it."

So you do. You toss the ball into the air, your hand striking as it meets the ball, and it flies across the net. It goes outside.

"Idiot." Tsukishima laughs. "First, don't try to aim it to me. You don't want your opponents to save it. You have to aim it at an open spot inside the line. Second, don't serve too hard it goes outside."

"Okay!" You yell. And you serve again.

The ball grazes the net, but the momentum deems the ball to be inside the line. Tsukishima catches it and receives it back to your side.

Shit.

You race after the ball, joined wrists hitting it back to him. He dives, the back of his hand coming contact with the ball and it goes back to your court.

And it's high in the air, so you take the chance to bend your knees and jump, spiking it to his court.

Tsukishima blocks it.

He laughs. "You're horrible at this."

"I don't exactly have a libero to save it, don't I?" You retort.

Tsukishima smiles a little, laughing at your loss point. "Give me the ball." You roll it to his side. "I want you to try and block me."

"The net is higher than it is for girls, you know." You approach the net. "I'll have a hard time."

"The higher you jump, the better you can block the ball. And you'll even have an advantage against your enemies since you're practicing with a higher net, (y/n)." He dribbles the ball.

Tsukishima called you by your first name.

Not your surname, not some insulting nickname. Your first name.

Your knees weaken at the sound of his voice dropping the phonemes of your name.

But when he flings the ball upwards, you feel your body go rigid. And just before his incoming ball passes through the net, you jump, fingers stopping the ball.

But the ball doesn't go to his side, instead it falls down below the net, at your side. You land clumsily on your feet, ankle bending but not painfully.

"See, you got it. You just have to jump higher."

"Shut up, you stilt walking clown." Your leg throbs, shaking. "Hit it again."

"See this?" Tsukishima brings his hands in the air, his arms and hands bent inward. "You block like this. Don't straighten your arms. It sets the ball upwards and they get the point since you're last touch. Block me again."

You kick the ball to his direction. Tsukishima springs the ball into the air once more, his arm flinging back when he jumps and strikes the ball towards you.

Filled with adrenaline, you jump as high as you could, your chest as high as the edge of the net, arms and hands bent inward as you block the ball and ricochet it towards him.

He doesn't do anything and watches the ball roll outside the court. Tsukishima's eyes shoot up and look at you, the corner of his lips bent downwards in amusement.

"Not bad. Try harder though."

You snarl at him.

Hours pass and you're both drenched in sweat. His shirt sticks to his chest, his hair damp across his forehead. He's wiping his face with a towel and his glasses rest on top of his hair. You drink from your water bottle.

The sweat drips down the tip of his nose, golden eyes drowsy yet vigorous with adrenaline. His lips are parted to pant out tired breaths, his adam's apple bobbing, the veins of his arms protruding. And he's sitting at the same bench as yours.

You swallow the liquid in your mouth.

"One day of practice isn't enough to get me into the club, Tsukishima." you say, wiping your mouth. "Thanks for teaching me though."

Tsukishima sets his towel down. "It's whatever. Your receives are go-fine, anyway. And you're really not that tall enough to block. You're hopeless."

"I wish Hinata was here to say that so he could yell at you."

Hinata. Tsukishima feels something uncomfortable rise to his chest when you mention his name.

And it seems as though you have summoned that tiny tangerine devil.

"Oh, Kageyama! The lights are open, someone must be here," your head turns and see that Hinata's hair pokes out the door before his head fully goes in. His eyes roam around until they find you. "Oh! (y/l/n)-san!"

"Hinata," you smile kindly. "Why are you guys still here? There's no training today."

"Tanaka-san said we can train for as much as we want as long as we don't tell Sawamura." he hops inside, Kageyama following suit behind him, unzipping his jacket. "What are you doing here, Stingyshima?"

"None of your business." He replies, irritation dripping off his sharp tongue from the nickname. "What do you think we were doing? Playing kendama?"

"I wouldn't mind playing kendama," Hinata looks at Kageyama, who shrugs. "Can we join?"

"Hopeless child," Tsukishima rubs his face with his towel again. "It's getting late. We should go home."

His usage of plural rather than sigular denotes that his usual selfishness has been decreased due to your unwavering presence, having been spent multiple hours with you for the past two days than usual. Tsukishima has easily adapted to include you in whatever he was going to do next.

We should go home.

"Aw, well, can you leave us the keys?" Hinata asks you. Tsukishima shoves the keys in the small boy's hand. "Thank you, Stingyshima!"

Tsukishima slings his bag over his shoulder, approaching the exit. He looks at Kageyama. "Fix your sets, your Majesty. You wouldn't want to clip the wings of Karasuno now, would you?"

You can see the smirk formed in his face. Kageyama is fuming, his fists clenching. "You– I...– You piece of shi– Hnmgh– You dumbass! Hinata!"

"Why me?!"

Tsukishima walks away without waiting for you, although you follow suit behind him. And when you reach the school gates, he turns right rather than left—and his way home begins with him turning left.

Yours was to the right.

"You gonna walk me home?" You joke, finally catching up behind him. Your weary legs has made you walk slower, though enough to now keep up with Tsukishima's tired pace.

"Yes."

Tsukishima doesn't spare a glance at you. But you look at him in shock. Then you shoot him an upsidedown smile, humming.

"No longer Stingyshima, I see."

"I ought to leave you here and get kidnapped." He states bluntly, finally looking down at you through his peripherals.

"Why are you walking me home then?"

"Because I want to take a long walk."

"Yeah sure, whatever." Your hands meet behind you, hitting the top of your bottom at every step you take. "You wanted to take a long walk. Could've gone to the park, could've roamed around your street. But yeah, you're walking me home so you could have a long walk back to your home."

Tsukishima tuts, his arms crossing. "Are you implying something, (y/n)?"

Your first name. Again.

"Oh, I'm not implying anything!" Your eyebrows raise, looking fully at him. And Tsukishima turns his head and looks at you as he walks. "I'm just stating what I've observed, Tsukki."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay!" You turn to your gate. When you reach inside the small box and pull on the lever of your door, you sense that Tsukishima is still standing behind you wth his hands in his pockets, watching you intently. So you turn around when the gate unlocks. "Yes? Do you need to use my bathroom first? Want a carton of milk or something?"

"No." He says. "Get in already."

You rest your back at your gate. "Tell me the real reason why you walked me home."

"No."

"So you lied to me earlier?"

"N-no."

"So what is it?"

Tsukishima sighs. Then he takes a few steps, approaching you and bends down so that his face would be equal to yours.

His scent is sweet, like freshly picked strawberries. And his lips, though thin, was soft and pink. And the tip of his nose grazes just above yours. And his golden eyes narrow to gaze at every speck of your irises. The corner of his lip turns upwards.

"That shut you up." He says. You blush, and he seems to taunt you. "Still want to play volleyball?"

His breath is hot fanning over your cold face. You can't help but nod. You swallow thickly from the close proximity that Tsukishima has created.

"Okay. Well, I still need help with english. And you obviously still need help with volleyball. So you reap what you sow. We'll help each other."

Tsukishima says those words like they're a command. Like they're being read from sacred scriptures. An event waiting to be happened for a prophecy to be fulfilled. Tsukishima's tone was flat but his voice deemed importance.

"Okay," was all you managed to let out through a breath. "See you tomorrow?"

Tsukishima stands up, eyes you up and down. Then looks into your eyes again and you swear that his gaze softens.

"See you tomorrow."

🏐—

A few weeks pass by.

At mornings, Tsukishima has come to pick you up and you studied on the way to Karasuno. You spend your lunches together, along with Yamaguchi, as well as Hinata and Kageyama who—while also bickering like children—listen to whatever you teach Tsukishima.

After classes, you find yourself joining the boys at the volleyball club, with Tsukishima helping you practice your blocks and receives. Though you notice that the boys take their strengths down a notch, which you are somewhat grateful for — because they truly are strong, and you're not ready to catch up to their level yet.

And at nights, Tsukishima walks you home with a milk carton in hand and sharp remarks in his mouth.

There's still a thick smoke of hatred that covers the both of you, that string of annoyance wrapped around your fingers. Yet as days pass by, that smoke has been thinning at every civil interaction. Albeit that annoyance still lingered.

And until today, that smoke has turned into this very light fog, until you begin to question why you hated Tsukishima in the first place.

Your phone vibrates.

tsukishima. Where are you? 8:32am

you. almost there. forgot my bag at home. 8:33am

tsukishima. Hurry up. It's cold outside. 8:33am

you. will do. sorry :| Read at 8:34am

Tsukishima is standing outside the gates of Karasuno, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed as you quickened the pace of your walk.

"You're so slow it's annoying," his eyebrows furrow. "Why'd you forget your bag? Idiot."

"You pressure me, douchebag." You flick the bridge of his glasses. He yelps. "Hurry. I want to study already. We have a quiz at 9."

When you and Tsukishima sit on your respective seats, you quiz each other with lazily scribbled flash cards. He seems to have absorbed the passed on knowledge and had answered the questions with ease.

So after the quiz, he seemed content; confident.

"How well did you think you did, beanpole?" You zip your bag.

"Well enough to beat your ass," he replies. Then, he does something new.

He smiles at you.

It wasn't a bright smile. Not energetic, but radiates some kind of light happiness. Seemed like a smile of gratitude.

You feel your cheeks flare.

After classes, you meet outside the gym as always, both of you changed into training clothes. Then you spend hours and hours jumping and tiring your wrists out, squeaking your shoes off the floor.

By the time the sun has set, Tsukishima was waiting for you again.

"Let's study."

Your eyes widen and you look startled. Tsukishima looks bored. "I'm pretty sure you got yourself covered for the rest of the year, Tsukishima."

"And I don't think you can train by yourself in volleyball," he adjusts his bag. "Let's just study. Reap what you sow."

"You keep saying that."

He ignores you. "Let's study at my place."

"E-excuse me?"

Tsukishima begins to walk to his direction. And despite your reaction, you follow him either way. "Let's study at my place for a change. I'm sick of your living room."

He says it like he's spent years hanging out in your living room. Your feet runs on the cobblestone to catch up with him. "But- What else are we gonna study?"

"Whatever I want."

His house wasn't actually that far from the campus. When you've turned a corner, he opens the gate and lets you in. When you enter his home, it's warm and clean, so you set your shoes aside and walk in your socks.

No one's home.

Tsukishima could've led you to their living room. Instead, he goes directly to his bedroom. And when you don't move, he looks at you through the door with a raised brow, as if to say "well? why aren't you getting in?"

So you do.

You sit on the edge of his bed, watching him unzip his jacket and set it aside. You decide to stop acting so wary and let you back fall to his bed, taking your phone out.

"So when are your tryouts?"

You look at him, placing your phone on your chest. "Next week. Michimiya was nice enough to let me try this late into the school year."

"I'll be there." He sits down on the other side of his bed.

"Oh," you're stunned. "Okay. Um, what do you want to study?"

You pull yourself up until your whole body is on his bed, sitting up and resting your back at his headboard. Tsukishima brings his legs to the bed, resting them beside your socked feet.

"Chemistry." This is new. "Can you run me through it?"

And you do. You take your notebook our and run him by all the lessons discussed for the past week. Tsukishima's pretends to listen but he actually doesn't.

Instead he's staring at your scar at your leg, up and down your very exposed thigh, but mostly at your scar.

You notice this immediately. "Tsukishima, why are you staring at my scar?"

"It's Kei," he looks at you, his hand resting just beside your calf, index finger twitching to trace the ridges of your scar. "Call me Kei."

Kei.

"Okay, Kei."

Your voice, filled with dulcets, his name sounding mellifluous as it rolls of your tongue. Tsukishima's heart beats wildly, and has decided to come with the terms that he hates you— because he likes you.

"Your scar looks... cool..." his index finger finally sets on the soft skin of your healed wound. You shiver at his featherlight touch.

And he's so near you now. As near as that time he walked you home and bent down to your height. And gods, he was so handsome. Even with his scratched glasses. Your mouth gapes the slightest, shaking hands reaching to remove the spectacles off his nose.

Tsukishima lets you. You see sweetness of his stare, all that hatred you used to see seemed to have melted and dripped from his sweat. This kind of Tsukishima is new– foreign, yet seemed right. Seemed destined to happen.

"Kei," you murmur. "What are you doing?"

"Is your skull too thick to process your environment?" his laugh leaves him in a huff, smirking.

"You're so eager for me to teach you something you're already good at so you could keep training me," your brows meet in the middle the slightest, a crease on your forehead that Tsukishima wants to wipe away. "Why?"

"Because you're good, (y/n)." He declares. "Your injury isn't stopping you to perform your best. You're just scared."

"Then why not just train me without me having to tutor you?"

"Because I don't want to lose these kind of moments." he whispers. "Jesus, (y/n), I like you. It's why I brought you here, for fuck's sake."

His lips are warm compared to his cold hands.

You gasp, though eyes fluttering shut, and your eyelashes tickle his soft cheeks. Your fingers wrap around his wrist as he holds your delicate face in the palm of his hands, careful not to hurt you as his lips remain planted on yours.

When Tsukishima pulls away, he's not far from you. His lips hover over yours, breathing your air, his forehead resting just slightly on yours. Your fingers come up to tangle themselves on his silky hair.

"Lose moments like what, make out with me?" you giggle. "If you wanted to make out, Kei, just tell me."

"You never shut up, do you?"

His lips meet yours again in an open mouthed kiss, his tongue unabashed to graze your shy muscle. You hum in surprise, feeling yourself fall backwards when he gently cradles your head to rest on his sweet-scented pillow.

Somehow, you did meet up with your end of the bargain, only with something better.

Something better– like his hips slanted against yours as his mouth spreads shameless ardor across your body.

Something better– like how he whispers your name against your lips like a sacred prayer before he kisses you again carefully.

Something better– like a newfound relationship with Tsukishima Kei, someone you swore was your enemy, but now was someone you could spend your days with in his bed getting warm in ways fire couldn't.

Tsukishima looks into your eyes, tells you his secrets through his dilating pupils. His calloused fingers push your hair behind your ears, and then he kisses your forehead, followed by silk petal kisses on the plump of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and then your lips.

His hands wander beneath your shirt, palms no longer cold as they're heated by the fervor of your body.

"You're so pretty."

"What a sap." you tease. "You're in love with me."

"I am." His nose rubs against yours lightly. "I so am. I'm in love with a dumbass. My ego has exploded."

You hit his face with a pillow.

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

[visbacktatto]

pampering vi after a long day at work

summary: fluff, kissing, bathing together, no smut, sfw, just taking care of vi. i wrote thinking about fem!reader but it's pretty much gender neutral. enjoy!

you were a little worried about vi.

she called you to say she'd be home a little later than planned, things weren't going as it should at work and she'd need at least an hour to be done and back home to you.

her voice sounded so tired, so stressed, so done with it all. you know her, know every little vibration of her tone and exactly what they mean by instinct, result of the time you've spent together, of how many moons your relationship has seen. you instantly knew she needed some love today.

you were home already, it was just another regular day at the bakery you work at, you weren't too tired. so you thought, why not give your caring girlfriend a good care for herself? and that was the start of the plan.

the first thing you did was set up a bath for her, filling it up and dropping a cherry blossom bath bomb that would leave the water a light tone of pink, adding a few drops of essential and carrier oils, lighting up two candles to make the atmosphere and then you remember that flowers she gave you were still very much alive and you took two of them to remove the petals and put it in the bath too.

you also placed a wooden bath tray to put two faces masks, some strawberries, chocolate and two glasses of wine in case you're feeling like it when you both take the bath. this was looking pretty, your mind was both focused on the task and anxiously waiting for vi to be home already.

the second step of your plan was to cook dinner for the two of you, that shouldn't be hard, making food for just two would be a piece of cake. and it was, it just took a little longer then you thought so, just some minutes before everything was ready you heard the sound of your girlfriend's keys unlocking the front door and her voice, tired but ever so lovely, saying, “darling, i'm home”

“welcome home, love, i'm cooking” you told her from the kitchen, and it wasn't long before you could feel two strong arms hugging your waist, pulling you close, brushing her nose on your neck.

“smells really good.” vi murmured, kissing the side of your neck, “i missed you” she said with no ceremonies, she always missed you more when the day was tough, praying for the moment she would be back to you.

“missed you too, baby” you turn to smile at her, cradling her face to kiss her lips gently, a proper way of saying your welcomes, “would you mind setting the table for us, love? i'm almost done with the food, less than five minutes”

vi gave one last kiss to your cheek before heading to the table, placing the plates and everything the way she knows you'd do, mimicking the little details of the way you organize things, results of a long time sharing a home with you.

you dined and talked about work, vi explained exactly what and why went wrong today but she tried to not overload you with it, you also talked about what you've done at the bakery today, talking about a specific birthday cake order that was just so cute and probably tasted heavenly.

then, when you were done with the eating, you brought your plan to the table.

you were both standing, just done washing the dishes when you took vi's hand and said, “i have a surprise for you” and she let out a “oh?” and a smile, following you as you tug her upstairs into your shared bedroom.

before opening the door you covered her eyes with your hands, with that she chuckled, “oh you're very serious with the surprise factor, hm?” she teased.

“very much so” you murmured, carefully leading her to the bathroom and putting down your hands once you reached the few steps before the bathtub.

the moment she saw the carefully set bathtub she gasped, turning around to face you, “cupcake, oh my god! you're so sweet, you didn't need to do all that” she hugged you so tight, splaying kisses on your cheeks and your lips.

“yes i did, i know you had a long day. you're always taking care of me, let me return the favor for once, okay?” you answered, playing with the short hair at her nape.

“you're too good for me...” vi murmured, cupping your face, a look of endless love on her eyes, “but you'll bathe with me, right? you need some relaxing too”.

“i will, but again, it's supposed to be me taking care of you, you have to let me do so” you stated again, knowing how your girlfriend could be when it comes to letting someone else do the work for her.

“okay, okay, sweetheart, i swear i'll let you take care of me” she agreed with a smile, “but can i undress you?” while she asked her hands were already at the edge of your shirt, caressing the skin under.

“as much as i'd love it, today is all about you, so don't bother” you dismissed, gentle, moving your own hands to unbutton her shirt, pulling her close also to lightly kissing her neck to get her to not complain about your insistence.

and it worked, her eyes closed and her head tilted, “you're very persuasive when you want to, sweetie” she murmured with a light teasing undertone, her hands now busy holding your hips.

you discarded her clothes, slowly getting her naked and ready to go into the bathtub, you lead her, holding her hand and helping her settle down even if she clearly didn't need any help.

only then did you discard your own clothes and get inside too, “baby i want your back facing me, okay? so i can wash you” she quickly obeyed, turning and closing her eyes, leaning towards you, her back resting on your chest.

you kiss her shoulder, your hands going up her arms to massage the tension out of her shoulder blades, laying kisses down there that made vi sigh softly, before you reached for the soap to start washing her back. “you're so tense, love... hope i'll make you feel better”

“you always do” vi nearly whispered, “always. ever since i first laid eyes on you” then she finally noticed the tray, dipping one strawberry in the chocolate to give you a bite before eating the other half of it “you really went all out today”

you chuckled, “you deserve it” you continued washing her back, stopping to massage the flesh a bit before splaying water. then you moved to washing her hair, what elicited a delighted sound from her lips as your fingers caressed the pinkheaded scalp.

you tugged her to your lap, sitting her body on your thighs instead of just between them, what caused vi to reflexively relax against you, and you hugged her waist. “just letting the shampoo get into your hair a little bit” you murmur against her skin, kissing her neck, “have some wine, hm?”

vi took the two glasses, filling just one for both of you, as always, she would take a first sip and offer one to you, bringing it to your lips, and after you took your sip, she kissed you.

vi couldn't help it, she straddled your hips and tugged you closer, her hands finding your nape and your cheek, passing the taste of the wine around your tongues.

when the kiss broke, you chuckled, “you can never just sit down and let me pamper you, can you?”

“i'm feeling very pampered right now, kissing my sweetheart” vi retorted, pecking your lips again, and again.

you smiled, getting your hands back to work to rinse the shampoo from her hair, “fancy hair mask?” you asked and she nodded, so you applied it on her hair too while she was too busy kissing your neck.

“permission to mark?” vi half-joked, she started to ask after one day she was particularly eager and left a few hickeys on your neck that earned you curious looks and actual questions from your customers on the bakery.

“go on” you chuckled, and she was very gentle about it, the marks wouldn't last this time, the feeling of her lips sucking and her tongue soothing the skin right after so good you nearly got distracted.

eventually, you finished the routine with the hair mask and hair conditioner, and now the two of you were just resting, face masks on both of you and vi once again resting between your thighs, her back to your chest while you caressed her waist.

“i could sleep like that” vi murmured, and you knew it was true, you could feel her breathing getting slower, her body a little heavier.

so you just smiled and whispered “i know... want to go to bed, love?” and she hummed in agreement, you took the face masks off your faces, knowing vi wouldn't want to sleep with it.

and so, the two of you were back in your bedroom, both wearing robes and all clean, smelling like the scented candles you lit. you were rummaging through your, still on your task of doing everything for your girlfriend tonight, choosing the pajamas for both of you.

“too much if i dress you?” you asked, and vi did chuckle at the question but she nodded, still letting a teasing “you're babying me, cupcake” slip from her lips while you did dress her up, only for you to baby her even more, sitting her down on the edge of the bed to brush her hair.

and when you were done and ready to tuck yourselves in you held vi, her head resting on your shoulder, her leg thrown between yours, your hand caressing her scalp as you whispered sweet nothings to her.

“i love you so damn much” she murmured, “want every night for the rest of our lives to be this peaceful... this ours... just you and me until infinity” she always got so romantic when she was sleepy.

“so you just want to be pampered?” you teased, kissing the top of her head, adjusting the sheets to cover you two better.

“no, i want to pamper you too... you deserve every little good thing in the world, i swear” she murmured, her voice all sleepy and genuine.

“mhm... you are the only good thing i need in my life, actually. now sleep, love.” you whispered, caressing her cheek, coaxing her into giving into sleep.

and for the millionth time you realized: that's the love of your life right there. sleeping beside you, holding you, loving you. and you loved her too. that was magical enough.

[okiedokrie]

size kink go brr

Summary: Reader is horny, Mingyu is big, size kink go brrr

Characters/Pairing: Boyfriend!Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Smut, dirty, self-indulgent, porn without plot. (Crack, yeah, this is a crackfic smut.)

AU/Trope info: Established relationship. No thoughts, head empty, monster cock Mingyu.

Word Count: 1254

Warnings: Female reader, smut warnings under the cut

A/N: reskin of another fic i wrote for ateez bc I need to feed yall

Smut Warnings: cunnilingus, degradation and praise at the same time(?), choking, very large emphasis on the fact that reader is getting split open by what is essentially a third leg, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, creampie, reader starts crying at one point but Mingyu isnt into that, biting, reader overstimulated to the point she short-circuits. 

“Fuck, Mingyu!” You screamed as he gave a particularly harsh suck to your clit, your fingers tugging at the roots of his hair as two of his large fingers scissored you open. The dirty slurping noises come from Mingyu as he ate you like a starved man, he groans and almost buries his nose in your pelvis, breathing in your scent, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as if your pussy was the best thing in his mouth after fried chicken. 

He bucks into the mattress, dick hard and leaking at the tip in his boxers, if you kept moaning so pornographically and pulling at his hair he might just jizz in his pants. He squeezes the flesh of your thighs hard, pulling your pussy closer to his face, the man was on a mission to make you cream (or better yet, squirt) all over his face; an essential part of his skincare, at least that’s what he said.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck- Mingyu! Mingyu! I’m cumming- cumming-!” You whine out, clamping your thighs around his head as you push his face closer, Mingyu welcomes your orgasm with his whole mouth by messily slurping your cum. He pulls away from your cunt once you start cringing from overstimulation, using his hand to wipe your cum off his chin.

He quickly discards his pants and boxers, “Help me get your legs over my shoulders babe.” He says as you hook your hands under your thighs, spreading out your legs as Mingyu slots himself between you, pumping his dick quickly. “Fuck, you should see how hot you look, so tiny and so willing to take everything I give you.” He said while lining his dick to your entrance. You can feel the tip of his dick prodding at your hole, you bit your lip as you brace for the entrance of his gargantuan, monster cock; I’m talking thiccc with three ‘c’s, third leg, can play baseball with the fucking moon kind of big.

You hiss as the tip of his cock breaches your entrance, his large calloused hands guide your hips onto his dick as he pushes in more. You hiss at the delicious sting of his dick, removing your hands from your legs and opting to claw at the bedsheets, Mingyu takes one takes a hand that was once guiding your hips to hold onto the headboard, the view from below was great.

You slowly take him inch by inch, and even with how wet you are the penetration still seems to burn, it took a lot more time than you think for Mingyu to bottom out, like, when I say MONSTER COCK I MEAN it. Once he does bottom out, his pelvis meeting with your ass, the tip of his angry cock pressing up against your cervix and pushing away some of your organs. 

He pulls out slowly, gauging your reaction to every vein and ridge on his cock, as he pushes back in you furrow your eyebrows, biting your lip as you feel his dick rub the entire inside of your pussy. He groans when you clench around him, nails digging into the wood of the headboard as he starts with a gentle pace, moving his hips in and out slowly at first, before speeding up the roll of his hips.

“Holy shit- Mingyu! Fuck so big, too big-!” You cry out, you really can’t be sure that’s what you said though, even if he isn’t fucking into you at an animalistic pace he still manages to fuck the brain cells out of you, you might just be babbling nonsense right now. He makes a noise between a moan and a groan, biting the inside of his cheek, “You take everything I give you- you understand?” He grunts out, speeding up again and pinning you down more, he is low enough for you to feel his hard breaths on your ear, he bites down on your shoulder in an attempt to quiet down his noises, he wants to hear you.

You grip his arms, moaning in a high pitch and babbling nothing in particular, Mingyu was fucking you stupid with his giant cock and you couldn’t be happier, his pace now was brutal, the skin of your ass stinging with how hard his pelvis has smacked into it, you could feel yourself get embarrassingly close already. Your moans turned into high-pitched cries as your orgasm was speedily approaching, you clenched around his dick to signal to him your incoming orgasm, but it never came, because suddenly Mingyu got off and pulled out, denying you your orgasm. 

You whine in frustration, making more babbling noises and doing grabby hands at Mingyu, he chuckles and bites his lip, looking up and down your naked body, from your hard and perky nipples to your abused and tender hole. He finally enters you again after making sure your climax is nowhere to be seen, this time he starts fucking into you with fervor, holding your hips up to hit the deepest part of you, “Fuuck- that’s it, take my cock like the good fucking cum slut you are-” He says, somehow the combination of his praise and degradation make you whine out, absolutely blissed out, no thoughts, head empty, only big Mingyu and his big cock destroying your insides.

You were so, so close again, but Mingyu slowed down the aggressive pace of his hips, stopping his thrusts and just grinding down slowly, you started to cry, you wanted to cum so badly but Mingyu didn’t let you for the second time already, “Fuck- Mingyu, please please please, let me cum! I’ve been so good, please-!!” Mingyu, not having the heart to deny you again, finally decides that he was going to let you cum.

He lays down, “Go on and ride me, babe, I know how much you love to bounce on my cock.” He says, so naturally, you jump up and immediately straddle his hips, sinking onto his cock quickly, he takes a sharp intake of air as you enthusiastically start rolling your hips, grinding down on him. You place your hands on his large and firm chest, then you start bouncing up and down his cock, loving the sting of his giant dick reaching the deepest parts of you. Mingyu can feel himself coming closer to his high as you clamp down on his dick like a vice, trying to milk him for his worth, he grips your hips and starts bucking up into you, you whine out and babble expletives, mouth hanging open and drooling, digging your nails into his chest as your orgasm approached you quickly.

You throw your head back and finally cum, your jaw slacking open and your eyes rolling to the back of your head, the spasming of your pussy pushes Mingyu over the edge too, sending his load straight into your womb, this action threw you violently into another orgasm, making you choke out a strangled moan as your cringe of oversensitivity.

You both pant out, you’re exhausted and sweaty, muscles sore, pussy raw, and you just want to pass out in a tub full of warm water. Mingyu shares the same sentiment, so he runs a bath for both of you to get cleaned up, and once you two are done taking a bath, you sit down on the edge of the tub while Mingyu changes the ruined sheets. He tucks you under his arm, kisses your forehead, and you both pass out.

FIN.

[bywrios]

"c'mon, giddy'up back there," boothill mutters, his knee bouncing restlessly as he resists the urge to turn over his shoulder and check on your progress again. you grumble behind him, one hand smacking his metallic waist, and he can picture the furrow of your brow and the way your tongue sticks out in concentration in his mind's eye. one of the metal panels of his back has been removed, exposing the wires and circuitry of his mechanical organs.

the whole reason for this impromptu examination was the fact that he had been feeling... strange after his last bounty, for some reason. it had involved a high-speed chase in a roofless car, hot on the heels of some ipc scumbag. he’d done his best to dodge whatever shitty bullets the scumbag’s entourage had shot at him, but clearly, something had stuck—which is why he sits between your knees now as you check him up for damages.

his boot thumps on the soft, dusty earth under his heel. “well?”

“hold your damn horses,” you snipe back, muttering under your breath. he can feel a light pressure against the cords and connectors in his spine, the artificial replacement of his nerves. “i need to—oh.”

“what? whatsit?” he asks, a note of urgency in his voice at your silence. he isn’t particularly worried about getting fixed; his bounties ensure he has more than enough credits to spend on spare parts. it’s just that it’s a pain to have to travel to the nearest non-ipc mechanic feeling all funny.

(he ignores the voice in his head that tells him the true source of his worry: that his faulty body might not be able to protect you.)

“what’s wrong?”

he’s about ready to spin back when he hears a choked exhale rush out of your nose, followed by the airy sound of your giggles. it makes him still, but this time out of confusion, rather than concern.

“what the fudge has got you laughin’ your boots off back there?” he grumbles, and you only laugh harder. he glances over his shoulder and sees tears lining your pretty eyes, and then he glances down and sees… some sort of flying insect between your fingers? a very dead, and very fried insect. it had probably slipped in through one of the chinks in his plated skin during the chase.

“i guess you— i guess you could say there was a hardware bug,” you wheeze, free hand gripping onto his shoulder to steady yourself in between your fits of laughter. boothill gives you a withering glare, and plucks the dead, charred bug from your fingers, grinding it to dust between his own. he pretends to be annoyed, lips curled into a frown, but there’s a lightness to him he hasn’t felt in a while.

“hardy har har, yer so dang funny, ain’tcha?” he scoffs, shoving you lightly into the dirt.

you answer him with another burst of sweet laughter, unbothered and too lost in your own mirth, and it reminds him of the sound of the wind blowing through the mountain valleys, and how it whispered into his ears when he used to ride horses and not roofless cars.

with an exaggerated sigh, he lets your enjoyment at his expense slide this time.

(he doesn’t have a biological heart anymore, but even that mechanical thing in his chest can’t bring himself to interrupt you.)

[pinkanonwrites]

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in. 

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

 Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~” 

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow.  Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.” 

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

[neighbourscat]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑 , father charlie mayhew

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . priest!charlie m. X non-believer!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. for such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of christ: and no marvel, for the devil himself is transformed into an angel of light: therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness, whose end shall be according to their works. - 2 corinthians 11:13-15

+ cw. grandma thinks reader is troubled and sexually active :: ‘G’ in ‘God’ is lowercased. use of ‘y/n’, brief mention of pregnancy and abortion, sacrilege / taboo, blasphemy, abuse of authority, feeding that fantasy / giving into obsession / scratching that itch , religious shame / guilt || pússy drunk father charlie, he’s so vocal — dirty talk, overstim, “angel” petname, choking, unprotected sex / charlie rejecting two condoms, multiple creampies, charlie & his standing positions.

+ nali’s notes; charlie mayhew & those blood red cowboy boots. writing gratuitous smut to breathe / did not expect to write this much. wordcount :: 6.2k+

+ to be played: family tree, ethel cain. || alternative: church, chase atlantic + numb, rihanna & eminem.

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

in two swift motions, you refolded the pamphlet and shoved it into the large pocket of your purse — letting the sleek paper crumble and tear. your grandmother norrice sat beside you, scanning through her copy of the same pamphlet and grinning softly. “you new adults are lucky,” the elder had said, removing her thin-wire, rectangular framed reading glasses, “it’s so good for young women to attend these type of things; to keep their hearts and minds pure. if i had such opportunity at your age, i would certainly have my life together.”

your relationship with the church had always been strained, and belief in god, at least the way your grandmother spoke about him, never came naturally to you.

annoyedly, “grandma . .. your life is fine.” norrice gave a small shake of her head and pushed her grandma-glasses back into place. “my life could be better. i would have done more,” she said in a wobbly voice. grandma norrice had fallen pregnant with your father at the young age of sixteen, and since her parents ( your greats ) were opposed to abortion, considering such action immoral, grandma norrice was forced to adult much quicker. “look. look. come look at this,” showing off the pamphlet, pointing a wrinkly finger over a bolded textbook — “start over. rededicate yourself as a virgin,” she read.

grandma norrice lowered the pamphlet into her lap. “isn’t that amazing?” you sighed deeply, swallowing down the hysterical laugh that almost left your throat. grandma norrice could feel the aggravation that seamed off of your body. “hey . ..” again, she pulled those thin-glasses off the bridge of her nose. she placed a cold hand onto your forearm and squeezed lovingly, “i’m only asking you for one. one session, hmm?”

and on: “you go in there and you listen. you show up for yourself, right?” grandma norrice reached and hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head toward her. “you go in there and confess your defiance. you go in there and pledge yourself to be pure again in the eyes of the lord-“ there had been a misunderstanding between you and your grandmother norrice.

backstory: grandma norrice likes to keep her receipts. all of them. every last one. she had folders upon folders that divided her receipts by year and frequently shopped stores. she considers her an organizer, but she’s a hoarder . .. of paper. anyways, one day, way back when, she had read an advertisement in the town’s newspaper, that pretty much said: ‘good-day people of mississippi! make money off your receipts! one receipt for one penny!‘ the company had been active many years later, sending grandma norrice rolls and rolls of pretty brown pennies, but as the world aged and technology progressed — the company died.

and for some reason, even though she’s been told time and time again that that company had no longer been operating, she still collects and saves — waiting to reach her goal amount and cash in her receipts. she’s nearing a thousand receipts; it was like playing bingo and scratching lottery tickets for her. separating those receipts into their categories gave her joy.

and the short version of why you are here: as she was cleaning out a reusable shopping bag, she had seen a receipt. excited to store it where it belonged, her misty eyes scanned the slip of paper for a date. and though she found the date, she had also seen: CRYSTAL CONDOMS EXTRA VALUE , 4.99. a box of condoms was bought.

no, you weren’t sexually active . .. . but you were planning to be with this guy. and no, he wasn’t just any guy. you’ve been talking to him for a while now and he, surprisingly, has checked off every box in your ‘my type’ list. for the last four months it’s been cute dates and sweet hangouts, and after that makeout session last weekend, you were sure you were ready for it. you wanted to do it with him, badly. so bad that you started carrying two condoms in your purse, like a highschool kid, anticipating the next meet-up.

“-you must desire to re-purity.” you have not had sex yet. “you must desire to be clean.” hearing the low clacks of flat-heels, you turned from your grandmother with a low groan — the quick distraction needed. a woman, looking around your age, had been coming down the hall, giddy and with a greedy look in her blue eyes. her blonde hair, seeming freshly curled, had bounced up and down on her shoulders.

you let your eyes stroll downward; seeing the pamphlet. her copy a nice, pastel green color. a more recent edition. and then came another young woman, she too hurried down the hall with a copy of the pamphlet. “-you need guidance,” your grandmother norrice had still been speaking ( to herself ). “do not let your desires lead you astray.” and as more young women came filing down the hallway, she silenced herself.

“i believe that your time has come for a cleanse,” grandma norrice said, watching as the duos and trios of giggling, beautifully polished young women gathered at the large, double dark-oak doors. she patted your knee twice, telling you to hurry up and along. “i will be right here waiting for you, okay? right here. go on now, hurry in.”

the basement of the church was cold, even in the middle of summer. the pearly fluorescent lights gave the room an almost sterile feel, a stark contrast to the warmth of the sunday service that was held upstairs much earlier. the chairs were arranged in a tight circle, creating an intimacy that felt more like confinement. you made your way down the creaky staircase, stopping at the bottom landing and staring at the misguided women.

the air smelled like old books and faint incense, but none of it brought the comfort your grandmother said that the church would. if you turn back now, you could hide in the bathroom — since whoever was leading this thing wasn’t in yet . .. . but you would have to pass your grandmother to camp out in the bathroom.

you dropped your shoulders with a deep sigh.

you clutched the strap of your purse and eased into the light — careful and observant. you settled down in between two white women who were holding hand-held flip mirrors and fluffing their shiny hair. honey blonde and deep brunette. your gaze shifted then and your curious eyes landed on two other women; spanish women who were re-applying their gloss. the air was heavy, thick with an uncomfortable silence.

one session, your grandmother’s words echoed in your mind: “you need guidance. do not let your desires lead you astray.” maybe if you had had sex, this could be useful. if only she were here to see all of these women in their makeup and neat hairstyles and sitting so proper to show off what they have in the front — and as a slam sounded, the women jumped startled and readied themselves . .. . their heads bowed low in what looked like guilt or shame. fake guilt and fake shame.

“welcome back ladies . .. .” the priest, father charlie maydew, now stood in the center of the circle, his hands clasped in front of him like he was leading a sermon, but there was an edge to his presence that made your skin prickle. eerie, he was. “i applaud each of you for returning this afternoon. i applaud you for wanting better for yourself, and for trusting me to guide you through this process.” he was a tall man, with a face that was just on the edge of a smile, but never quite reaching for warmth.

his collar seemed to cling too tightly around his neck, and his eyes darted around the room, landing on each young woman, one by one; hungrily, before lingering on you for a beat longer than comfortable — his expression unreadable. but then, one corner of his lips tipped upward. the honey blonde at one side of you noticed and for a second, she considered tackling you. but she took a deep breath in and out. in and out.

“thank you for joining us this afternoon,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, his attention making you shrink slightly in your seat — wanting to disappear. father charlie fashioned a calming, slightly condescending grin on his face.

the other women turned to look at you, some with curiosity, some with attitude, but all with fake sympathy. “why don’t you introduce yourself?” his tone was warm, but something about it felt performative, rehearsed. the tall priest took two big steps back and gestured toward the center of the center.

you remained seated — shaking your head no. “i don’t plan on comin’ back, so . .. .” your fingers twisting in your lap, “i don’t think there’s a need to, y’know . .. . know me. know my name. why i’m here.” you finished with a shy chuckle. no one laughed with you. no one cracked a smile.

a bushy brow of his lifted a bit. he noted how sure of yourself you seemed after that statement. father charlie decided to try again: “please, come. introduce yourself.” all eyes were on you . .. . and you felt like a teenager again about to give a solo-project presentation. “i don’t . .. .” a scoff and another nervous chuckle. “there’s no reason for that. like i said, this is an in and out kind of thing for me.”

father charlie never had to ask twice. young women, such as those around him, moved whenever he needed something done. they moved as quick as possible, they never wanted him to lift a finger. any and every favor was complete without complaint or hesitation. though he never had to ask twice, for you, he’d give it a third go. “this is a safe environment. what is shared here will stay here. right in this circle. our small community.” as father charlie spoke, he stepped along said circle. the women smiled up at him as he passed, their hearts fluttering and their stomachs knotting.

when he landed, standing right before you, he held out his hand. “grab onto me . .. . and come forth.” his voice smooth, almost hypnotic. you felt the weight of the gazes from the other women — some surprised, their faces drawn in confusion and puzzlement. no one had ever hesitated to take father charlie’s hand. you could see the tension in their bodies, the way they sat stiffly, chests and shoulders leaned in, they were practically on the edge of their seats . .. . wondering if you’d keep denying the man or finally give into him.

but, they all swore that they’d rather be you right now; looking up at father charlie as he offered his beautiful hand.

“grab . .. . onto me.” fifth time.

you took a dekko at his hand — thinking.

and when your hand fell onto his, a collective sigh had gone up. father charlie clasped his other hand on top of yours and gave a pat; a pat that said: thank you, gorgeous.

you kept your hand in his as you took to your feet. father charlie’s palm felt nice in yours; surprisingly soft — he walked you to the circle’s center and released your hand, his fingers dragging against yours as he parted. “there is no need to be shy.”

you were annoyed.

“my name’s y/n, ‘nd, well . .. . i’m here ‘cause of my,” you cleared your throat, then trailed off abruptly, “my grandma.” the women stared amongst themselves for a second and then looked up at you again. you raised your chin softly, catching a glimpse of father charlie beyond you. not hovering, but towering perfectly. “it’s silly, really,” you had told the group, folding your arms over your chest protectively, “she does this thing . .. a-this weird thing, where she .. . like, keeps all of her receipts?”

you heard a soft hum come from behind your back. you wanted to look around, to look at father charlie, but you kept yourself from doing so. “it’s a long story . .. well, not exactly, no. it’s actually the shortest story in history, really-“ fast paced babbling. purely from the anxious energy that coursed and spun throughout your body. for some people, their brains lock up and they have trouble thinking of things to say. for you, being jittery filled your mind with thoughts, along with an urge to say them all. right now. as fast as you can. “-when she was much much younger and livin’ in mississippi, she was reading a newspaper . .. .”

and you rambled. and you rambled. and you rambled.

“‘nd she thinks that i’m having sex, which-“ you laughed at the thought, “-which i am not. i’m not.” directed to the women. “seriously, i’m not.” was directed to father charlie. “i’m here for no reason, honestly. i’ve been forced here on an assumption. a silly assumption. i’ve been carryin’ ‘round condoms, but that’s all-“ the embarrassing statement caught you off-guard.

with a hand, father charlie gestured toward your chair — clearly telling you to sit the fuck down. you hurried back. you dropped down and quickly kicked your purse underneath the seat; as if to hide the condoms that were already tucked in a zipper pocket.

“at least you’re having protective sex,” the brunette whispered over, not even facing you. you almost choked on nothing: “no, i’m not,” you answered too quickly. that didn’t sound right. “i-fuck. no, i’m not havin’ sex. but if i was, i would be protected,” you corrected. “that’s what makes this whole thing hilarious. i’m still a virgin.” the brunette looked at you. “then why are you here?” your shoulders slumped, “did . .. . did you not hear me?” you asked, pointing to the circle’s center. the brunette said no, “would you listen to yourself talk about your grandma collecting receipts? we all were falling asleep, sweetie. i was so tuned out, which never happens here.”

you shifted your weight a bit, turning your body toward her.

“wait, so why are you here, seriously?” she tilted her head.

you opened your mouth to speak and heard a finger-snap. “ladies . .. .” father charlie urged. he clasped his hands in front of him and continued, “you are here because of your struggle. each of you struggle. struggle with the desires of the flesh. desires that pull you away from god.“ he lifted a hand toward you, “she travels with condoms. can anyone tell me what that says about her?”

two arms had gone up and you so desperately wanted to leave.

father charlie called on tabitha, her loose waves pulled up into a high ponytail. her eyes sparkled. “it is clear that she is eager to engage in sexual intercourse with a man. it is on her mind and she is desperate for it. but if such dangerous thought continues to linger, she will eventually take action.”

you scoffed, “i am not ‘eager’ or ‘desperate’. i jus’ wan’a-“ father charlie raised a hand, shushing you from going any further. your lips shut, disappointedly. “that is correct, thank you, tabitha.” and she felt her bones rattled.

father charlie’s eyes slid back to you, his voice dropping into something softer, more personal. “these desires . .. these thoughts, like tabitha had stated, they are dangerous. but luckily, they can be controlled. with the right guidance.”

you felt the heat of his attention again, the way his words seemed to be directed specifically at you, though there were ten other women sitting in this circle. you lowered your gaze, trying to find comfort in your lap, but the room seemed to close in around you.

“lust,” he continued, stepping closer to where you sat, “is the most powerful weapon the devil has. it twists the human mind, makes you believe that these urges are natural.” father charlie had left the circle for a moment, their eyes following except yours. he had never left the circle before — he stuck there for every session. his hand rested on the back of your chair, and you froze. “but they are not. not one bit. they are sins. and we are here to free you from that temptation.”

“desires,” he said then, his voice dropping into a low murmur, “can be dangerous if left unchecked. they can consume you.“

a few of the women murmured, their voices barely audible. you remained silent, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. his fingers brushed against your shoulder, lightly, almost as if by accident, but you knew it wasn’t. the touch was deliberate, testing. father charlie leaned in more, pressing himself into the chair fully now. “god forgives,” his voice velvety, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. “but only if you are truly willing to repent. to give yourself fully to him . .. .”

you stiffened, not sure if you were reacting to the feel of him or the fact that he was singling you out again.

you wanted to stand, to leave, but something kept you anchored to the chair. a combination of guilt, fear, and an unshakable sense that you should’ve never came.

father charlie moved away, continuing his slow pace around the group of beautiful women. he spoke about discipline, about submission to god’s will, about sin and repentance, but each word felt laced with something darker. something unspoken.

you glanced around the room, noticing the way the other women seemed to hang onto his every word, their eyes ogling and admiring how he carried himself. you weren’t sure what you expected from this session, but the way he spoke about desire — like it was something to be ashamed of — made you uncomfortable. sure, you had your own struggles, but was that really something that needed to be controlled like a disease?

this was something else entirely . .. . and it was confusing.

as the session dragged on, you realized that the shame you felt was from being here, in this room, where father charlie wielded his authority like a blade, cutting away at the parts of you that made you human.

at the end of the session, as the other women began to gather their things and shuffle toward the door, father charlie gestured for you to stay behind. you hesitated, but the weight of expectation pressed down on you, making it impossible to refuse.

you slung the strap over your shoulder and held the leather close, as if to comfort yourself.

and once the room was empty, he stepped to you, a smile creeping back onto his face. “thank you for sharing this afternoon. that was quite the story,” he said, his tone sickeningly sweet. “i know you said that this was a . .. . ‘one and done’, type of thing-“

you wanted to speak but nothing came out.

“but, i think we need to have a private conversation. just you and me. i can help you further. i would like to help you further, y/n.”

the bile rose in your throat, but all you could manage was a nod, the fear of what would happen if you said no silencing you. you quickly turned your back and left for the double doors.

you entered quietly, hoping not to draw attention, but the oak door creaked louder than you expected, making a few heads turn. you weren’t that late, just a few minutes, but it was enough to feel the shift in the room’s energy as you found an empty chair in the circle. the same chair you had been seated in last weekend. father charlie had made sure to leave it out.

“punctuality is important,” father charlie said smoothly, his voice breaking through the murmurs as he watched you take your seat. his smile was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. you gave a quick nod of apology, shifting uncomfortably as you settled in, trying to brush off the feeling that all eyes were on you.

this time . .. . you were here by choice — you hadn’t told your grandmother norrice that father charlie had asked you to return. you knew that if you did, she’d throw a fit. she’d throw a damn superbowl party — it unsettled you, but at the same time, something pulled at you. maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about how he had made you feel just by looking at you, as if he could see something in you that no one else could. whatever it was, it brought you back.

there was a distance between you and the women, a sense that you weren’t part of their world just yet. a sense that you were special, and far more important to father charlie.

“but, i am glad that you’ve decided to return.” you gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “yeah, i . .. . i figured i’d give it another try,” you had said.

he nodded, as if he had expected nothing less. “good. very good.” father charlie smiled at you, but it wasn’t comforting. there was something behind it — something almost predatory in the way he seemed to hold his gaze on you, like he was sizing you up. then, he turned to address the group, but his words felt distant, again like they were just for show. you couldn’t focus on the session. your thoughts were too tangled, your mind too occupied with what he had said last time.

i think we need to have a private conversation.

“even if-when you don’t believe,” father charlie said, closing in behind your chair, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “god has a plan for you. you just have to let him in.”

you swallowed hard, fingers swiping along the smooth paint of your nails, unsure of what else to do. his hand found your shoulder for a second or three before he moved on, continuing his speech. the other women nodded along, their heads still bowed in what looked like submission.

as the session dragged on, you found yourself drifting in and out of the conversation, only half-listening. you weren’t here for the church, you weren’t here for god, you weren’t here for your grandmother, you weren’t here to be lectured about how your desires were dangerous if not properly controlled . .. . you were here for father charlie.

as the session wound down, the other women began to gather their things, exchanging quiet goodbyes. father charlie’s eyes followed them out, but he didn’t speak. he was waiting — waiting for them to leave, waiting for you. he caught your eye, giving you a knowing look. “stay . .. ?” he mouthed, the request felt more like a command.

tension.

when the last of the women finally left, the door closing softly behind her, the room seemed to shrink. the room felt different — charged. father charlie slowly walked over to where you sat, his presence looming larger now that it was just the two of you. his smile was still there, but it was different in this quiet space, more intense, more focused.

father charlie sat down in the chair right next to you. he scooted closer to you, grunting as he moved the chair with him — scraping it against the stone floor. his voice was soft, intimate. “i’m really glad you gave this another chance.” his dark eyes locked on yours with a strange intensity. “you know, sometimes the answers we are looking for are . .. . in places we wouldn’t expect.”

“like the basement of my grandmother’s church,” you had said mindlessly. father charlie gave you a gentle grin, showing you that he had been amused. barely. “yeah. exactly that. the basement of your grandmother’s church. but . .. . like i was saying-“ his hand brushed lightly against your arm, “-i think that you’re searching,” his voice a bit lower, like a secret was being shared. “-searching for something deeper, something that no one else can give you. i see it in you, the desire for connection.”

connection.

“i want to help you work through . .. . your urges.”

there was no mistaking it now — the way he said urges, the way his voice dipped, made it clear he wasn’t talking about faith or repentance anymore. “we all have them,” he murmured, his eyes scanning your face like he was looking for something, some sign of compliance or curiosity. “it happens.” his hand slid downward. just a little closer they went . .. . fingers grazing the back of your hand, subtle but deliberate. “i can guide you through it,” he whispered. “let me help you.”

your pulse quickened, a sense of alarm flooding through you, but there was also a need.

“you have to trust me. you have to let me in.”

“i don’t . .. know. i don’t think-“

father charlie’s smile deepened, his hand gently squeezing your forearm. “sometimes, we don’t know what we need until we find it. trust me. you’re here for a reason. god brought you back for a reason, right?”

his words hung in the air, heavy with a meaning that wasn’t lost on you.

“i don’t know,” you repeated yourself.

you tried to look away, but his hand reached out, his fingers lightly gripping your chin, forcing your gaze back to him — like he was trying to hold you in place, make you stay in this moment with him. “i know what you’ve been feeling. i know what’s pulling at you. you want to give in, yeah? to feel something . .. .”

“sometimes . .. . we’re not meant to fight it. sometimes, we’re meant to feed it.” he dropped his hand from your chin.

“but yesterday, you said . .. .”

he chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, only a dark edge. “i know what you want. i know what your body wants, what it’s demanding from the world.” his hand moved, not to your arm this time, but to the small space between your shoulder blades. “and there’s nothing wrong with wanting and needing to feel pleasure. most times, we need personal attention to overcome and strive.

“i didn’t tell the others; but sometimes . .. . we have to allow ourselves to feel these things in order to rise above it. that’s how we control it.” his fingers slid down your back slowly. “desire can a gift — one that can bring two closer to the truth of who we are. allow me to help you feed it.”

. .. .

“are you going to let me help you now?”

. .. .

“yes.”

and he wasted no time bringing a hand up to grab the zip of your short-sleeved hoodie. he pulled down carefully, the plump cleavage of your breasts peeking. his other hand smoothed along your curly slicked back hair, “thank you,” he whispered.

and though you were prepared for something like this, the contraceptives in your purse went unused. when charlie had seen you flick it out — showing off the metallic dark green wrapper, the imprint of the condom bold — he refused, immediately: “no.” simple. flat and cold.

charlie plucked the packet from your perfectly-manicured fingers and tossed it across the floor, dark eyes boring into you. you looked at him as if he had lost his mind. just as you were about dig into the pocket for the other condom, charlie gripped your wrist; the pressure gentle but firm. “what do you mean ‘no’?” you asked — though you knew exactly what he meant.

“i have something real to give.” in other words, he would not be spilling his seed into some rubbery latex. there was no blocking him out. “i need you to feel everything. okay? you need to.” you couldn’t oppose him.

and here you were: holding onto his forearms. his arms had prodding veins for days. from his wrists to the tops of his large shoulders. he was so built, you weren’t at all expecting it. “. .. ready, angel?” you nodded down at him sweetly, hands sliding up to his flexed biceps. “wan’a be yours already. please ..” charlie had you right where he wanted you. there was something so nasty about the smirk that grew across his face, “god saved you for me . .. . wanted me to have you.”

“mm, think so?” came quiet and soft.

“know so,” charlie muttered, stroking himself messily. “i know so.” he reached down for you, carefully lining himself up with your heavenly entrance. “taste me.” his words are sweet, poison laced sugar. you kissed him, letting your eyes close as you did so.

and when he slipped inside, spongy and slimy, it was like his own personal hell. you were so much better than he could’ve imagined. charlie had gone completely silent, choking on air — like he was just punched in the gut. there’s no comparison, no feeling in the world . .. . he couldn’t form a single, coherent thought. you were gripping him just right, massaging his cock like you really were made to have him as your first. like he was made to stretch your hymen.

“fucking shhit,” charlie’s head gradually tossed itself back. he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, couldn’t keep himself from hiccuping and mumbling your name and calling you ‘angel’. “f-fuck. fuck, fuck, hang’on, f-please . .. hang on.” charlie had to pause halfway, huffing out an overwhelmed breath. he’s drooling — he couldn’t quite fathom how amazing you felt on the inside.

you sighed, and sighed again as his nose brushed your throat, as he guided your hips — slowly and tediously, pulling you up and down. your jaw hung open desperately, toes curling with each vein he gradually dragged so rigidly along your walls. “i’ve got y-you . .. . i promise, angel. i’ve got’cha,” you were taking him so well despite the pain, making it harder to resist the urge to pound into you.

your cunt readily accepting the priest’s dick as it oozed against your insides and spreads the flame of desire.

he’s making your pussy his own; shaping your cunt, molding you into the perfect cocksleeve. pretty much carving his name into it. and he was trying his best. trying so hard to be as gentle and as slow as he could possibly be, fighting every bad thought that so tightly pulled and demanded he go deeper. charlie did well, swallowing those thoughts down . .. but it was tiring.

it was exhausting. so fucking exhausting, especially when your desperate cunt keeps sucking and swallowing him in deeper after each and every pass. charlie kissed and licked at your neck, blankly trying to distract himself — which gave nothing. your cunt would not let up. nothing would give. not like this. there was no way. there was nothing in this world strong enough to pull him away from you and your warm cunt.

charlie’s guiding your hips so slow that it was painful. he’s trying to make every thrust connect — he’s groaning and struggling to keep his dark eyes open. you're smothering his entire cock with nothing but your slippery slick, hearing the filthy clicks ring from in between your sweaty thighs — he’s so lost in the sounds of you.

you are secured to him; fingers tangled into his brunette hair, gripping strands and raking your nails along his scalp, eliciting a satisfying moan to slip past his pretty lips. you blinked away, only for a moment, and stared down at his glossy lips. covered in his spit, your toes are curling. your tummy is doing cartwheels — butterflies no longer butterflies but pterodactyls.

“y-you’re .. . .. ‘t’s so deep ..” charlie gave a gentle smile, one hand slipping up and caressing the curve of your back. “i know i am. i know. i can feel it too, angel.” your sleepy gaze remained on his smiling lips. you licked at your own, almost leaning in to capture his. “i can feel everything . .. .” and you felt fan-fucking-tastic. “everything.”

you bit back a smile.

charlie winced lowly, his thighs starting to rattle. “hurts to .. to keep goin’ this slow ..”

it felt like he was worshipping you — that you are the sacred body here, two bright candles flickering in the corner — he’s worshipping you, you’re sure of it, with tongue and teeth and cock. it’s messy, and he’s not shy, those lips that could stir a congregation with their sweetness, his golden tongue .. . “nngh-wait,” you pleaded softly. “w-wha’?”

clenching around him so tight you could feel the outline of his prominent veins, the sensitive spots along his shaft. charlie’s brows furrow in clean focus, letting out a sultry string of words, “i .. i can’t.” he's buried nose deep near the crook of your neck. “i’m sorry, angel. i can’t .. fuck, i can’t.” he softly rasped as deep brown locks of hair stick against his shiny skin. “takin’ everything in me . .. i’m tryin’, fuckk, i’m tryin’ for you-don’t wan’ it to hurt . .. .” you felt his throaty pants trail against your skin, “but i’ve gotta go harder.”

with a sheepish smile, you met his chocolate-eyed gaze, moaning a soft: “okay ..”

“y-yeah?”

your weak arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, the pads of your fingers almost rubbing against a fresh scar, “mhmm .. . do it, please.” the ghost of a smirk. charlie’s thick fingers clasped at your waist; the decorative beads printing mini dents into your brown skin. effortless, he lifted your hips and fixed himself — the feet of the chair loudly scratching the cold, stone floor. “you’re the best i’ve ever felt, angel .. . s’hot inside. s’soft.” that deep, silky whisper has your cunt quivering disgustingly. and he’s driving his hips up, fast, drilling himself into your body.

“so fuckin’ wet-“ one hand cupped the side of your face, bringing you in. you’re both panting, quick and short, breathing hot and heavy air into each other’s mouths. “pretty hole sucking me in so good . .. .” your teeth nipped at your plump lower lip, drinking him in. charlie’s hot fingers slipped underneath your waistbeads, toying with the jewellery. “so good, angel . ..”

the gel slicking back your naturally thick hair put up zero match against the heat of this basement. edges once neatly laid, were puffing up — stretched curls lifting out of place and shrinking.

“fuck-never wanna leave.” your heart continued to race at his obscene words. and you caressed his face, whispering about how good he was making you feel. he mewled at your validation, wanting to please, needing to be the best for you.

and he’s so loud, so hungry for more. with the way charlie’s long lashes flutter and his hooded eyes droop, he was so visibly pussy drunk. already nearing the edge and trying his best not to tip over. balancing on a uni-cycle on a string of the cheapest of cheap dental floss.

he could practically taste the pleasure on his tongue — release is coming quick and there was no preparing himself for it. not enough preparation in the world. the pointed tips of his ears burn with intense, searing heat.

“oh my-! oh god!”

“no-“ charlie cursed under his breath and snapped a hand over your throat, all five fingers digging into your brown skin — “-no. fuck no. you don’t call on god. you-you don’t call on him. don’t. he’s not makin’ you feel good. i am. you call on me,” he ordered, harshly. and all you can is nod and follow his direction. “call for me . .. . do it.” you’re practically speechless, nothing left from your lips yet, all that could be heard was the constant slap slap slap of slippery skin.

and his hand tightened around your neck. “come on, angel . .. say my name.” charlie’s muscled chest heaved up and down, hard. “fucking call on me.”

your hands latched onto his wrist — this new feeling, you couldn't quite describe it. it was tasty and he was peeling you apart, layer by layer. “do it. who’s makin’ you feel good? huh? who’s breakin’ you in half? .. . who’s splittin’ you the fuck open?”

“charlie!” all you can do is choke out a shrill. “you are!”

what happens next takes you by surprise — charlie locked his big burly arms under your thighs and stood up, keeping himself plugged in; nice and snug. the new position, standing, had charlie’s head spinning. he grunted loudly, and it’s a sexy guttural noise. your legs kicking and dangling in the air as he feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch, again and again. “charlie .. .” you whined, pulling at his hair.

“shiit,” and as if a switch had been flipped, hot sticky ribbons shoot right into you, spilling way into your sweet welcoming womb. you gasped, nails scratching into his large shoulders — and the feel of him letting go inside of you has you cumming as well. his panting is deep and animalistic. he held onto your shivering body tighter, his hips never faltering.

beefy arms lifting your sticky body up again, he’s back at it — pushing and eager to reach another one. “a-angel .. .” his entire body hot and heavy. “gonna fill you up again-i’ve gotta.” his brown eyes continued to grow hooded and low.

you were still trying to recover. still coming down from your first orgasm and just barely adjusting to the feel of having his previous load fucked even deeper. “‘m gonna cum again,” he warned softly — cream tearing down his trembly thighs. he’s silently babbling out more whispers and moans of your name. “givin’ you all of me .. .”

you’re flustered right away and wanting to kiss him, hungry to. but as your leaning in, the heels of your feet knocking into the back of his thighs hard, he hoists your legs over his shoulders without so much as a warning. you’re scared to fall, but he won’t let you. he promised you through shaky moans, rocking you up and down.

and you’re gonna pass out, eyes knocking in the back of your skull. your legs bobbing from the movement, you’re trapped against him — and it’s even hotter. even messier and you can’t squirm at all. charlie’s watching your face contort and scrunch and there goes his ego; shooting through the church’s roof and into space. you’re barely hanging onto his big arms and he’s feeling so good about himself. “i can’t-can’t anymore,” you cried to him.

“but you can, angel . .. .” charlie snapped. “keep takin’ it .. and let’s finish together, ‘kay?” and every time you touched down on him, you squeal —

— “charlie . ..” you cooed, voice cracking cutely. your voice made his cock twitch and from the inside, you felt it all . .. . and it felt so nice. so sweet and so insanely intimate. “ch-charlie, pleaseee.” sickly, your voice bounces along the holy walls of the church’s basement.

lips parting as he tried to find his voice: “cum with me, angel-do it,” he pleaded. charlie felt every little reaction and spasm. every cute gasp and cry and moan sent a thick rush through his aching body. and you’re cumming again, holding onto him as tight as you can, clawing at his biceps.

and that’s when he lets go. pumping in yet another hot, thick load of his cum — you almost gag at the re-fill. his grip weakened, but charlie doesn’t let you fall. he told you that he won’t, so he won’t. he’s shivering, feeling a wave crash down onto him as he’s caving into his high . .. .

if this is sin — this beautiful, divine feeling — then what is the point of it all?

[missaengg]

Stealing Xavier's Hoodie

Pairing: Xavier x f!reader Tags: nsfw, mdni, developing relationship, fluff and smut, pwp, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, f!masturbation Word Count: 1658 You stripped to nothing, only wearing his hoodie. The inside of the sweater was softer than it was on the outside. You felt feverish from how sensual the soft fleece felt against your bare skin. ao3 link here.

You loved his hoodie, that soft, white hoodie he always wore on his days off of work so when you saw that hoodie left behind in your apartment, you knew exactly what you wanted to do with it. You brought it up to your face, inhaling his scent, a fresh cotton smell reminding you of cozy blankets and the warm, gentle sun. The fabric was soft, so soft on your skin, and you couldn’t help rubbing your face against it breathing him in. You pictured him wearing his hoodie, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, brushing your face with his nose, tickling your cheek with wisps of his hair.

A gentle stir began igniting in your core, soft at first, but growing as you grew drunker off of his intoxicating scent. Each rub of the hoodie felt electrifying against your skin, the ache in your core growing with each swipe. Soon you were dripping with need, dizzy from your desire for him. You stripped to nothing, only wearing his hoodie. The inside of the sweater was softer than it was on the outside. You felt feverish from how sensual the soft fleece felt against your bare skin. 

With a soft sigh, you dragged your fingers across your thigh, imagining that it was the gray-brown haired owner of the hoodie with his own long, slim fingers. You slid it down between yourself, feeling the slick arousal, gliding your fingers between the slit until they were covered. Your clit throbbed painfully, so sensitive you moaned when your finger brushed against it, the rush of pleasure spreading through your body. You started slow, stroking a lazy circle around your clit, stimulating the sensitive organ without touching it, but soon your pace quickened. The muscles in your hand and forearm burned as your finger shifted to touch your clit directly and kneaded it in rapid circles. You closed your eyes, your breath quickening, breaths exhaled as soft moans. You felt the pressure build in your belly, the muscles in your legs tensing, the electricity of your ecstasy swelling.

Your eyes snapped open at the sound of the beeps of your code being entered and the door being opened.

“I think I left my hoodie here, have you–” the speaker froze at the sight of you on the couch wearing only an oversized hoodie, hand between your legs, face flushed with arousal.

“Xavier,” you gasped out, panting, very much aware that it was blatantly obvious what it exactly was you were doing.

“That– that’s my hoodie,” Xavier stammered.

You blushed, immediately removing your hand and pulling the clothing item in question down to cover yourself – as much of yourself as the length would allow. “Um, yeah, you– you left it here.” You cleared your throat, looking away from him after you answered, cheeks turning a furious red. When he didn’t say a word, you peeked at him, searching his face for any signs of displeasure.

Xavier simply stared at you, his mouth opening and closing rapidly, in a stupor. He shifted between you and the door, a rather cute sight if you weren’t so embarrassed at having been caught in such a compromising situation.

“Do you want it back?” you asked, breaking the silence. “I’ll go put something else on and take this off…” You trailed off, standing up from the couch.

“I want it back right now.”

“What?” You blinked rapidly at Xavier. His eyes were wide, almost as if he had surprised himself with his own statement. 

Xavier licked his lips, and after a beat, repeated with more confidence, “I want it back right now.”

Your mouth dropped open wondering if you had heard him correctly. “Immediately right now?” He nodded.

“Like right this second right now?”

He nodded again.

You hesitated, frowning at him, hands fingering the edge of his hoodie. While you were somewhat certain that there might be a spark of something between the two of you, nothing had been confirmed, and while there had been accidental glimpses of one another during battles with Wanderers due to injuries, he had never seen you so exposed before, which you would be if you were to take off his hoodie right this very moment. 

There was something dark and intense in his eyes, the intensity of which was only adding to the throb between your legs, now more painful than ever from your interrupted release. Without looking away, you grasped the edge of his hoodie pulling it over your head, shivering from the air conditioned air hitting your bare skin. Xavier swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and within a few strides, his lips came crashing down onto yours, nibbling on your bottom lip with hunger. His hands roamed your back, leaving trails of fire. You reciprocated, meeting his kisses with fervor, moaning, feeling your desire dripping down your leg. Xavier slid his tongue in between your lips, flicking at yours until they were intertwined. One hand slid down your back to grasp your ass and the other slid forward pinching your nipple. You gasped and pulled away.

Xavier stopped, removing his hands from you. “Do you want me to stop?” He peered into your eyes, concern joining the dark heat gleaming in his.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat at his expression, feeling breathless at the intense need in his blue eyes. You slowly shook your head. “No.”

Xavier didn’t need any more encouragement. He brought his lips back to yours, a bit more gently this time, and picking you up, laid you down on the couch. You temporarily broke off the kiss, pulling his shirt up and over his head. Xavier was happy to oblige. He threw his shirt aside and brought himself back down to plant soft kisses along your collarbone down to your breasts. His hand cupped one while his mouth claimed another, rolling his tongue over your nipple causing your muscles to tense from the shiver that went down your spine. You trembled underneath him, his hand and tongue simultaneously stimulating your breasts and their pert peaks, leaving you disoriented.

Popping his mouth off of your chest, he pressed wet kisses down your torso. Shuddering with delight, you stroked the back of his head, running his silky hair through your fingers. Your gasps turned into moans as his mouth found your clit, gently sucking on the swollen bud. Your grip on his hair tightened, eliciting a sharp hiss from Xavier, but he kept going, ravishing your clit with his tongue. His hands gripped your upper thighs, holding them apart while you writhed under his touch, hips twitching at each stroke. Using his shoulder to hold your thigh in place, he slipped in two fingers dragging them against the inner wall slowly, his mouth still working its magic. A loud moan escaped you as he started to pump his fingers in and out slightly curled so that they would rake across your G-spot with each entrance and exit. Your hips were moving with him, your ass coming off the couch with each pump. His touch had you seeing stars, your fingers and toes curled in his hair, on the couch.

“Xavier,” you whimpered, tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes at the intense pleasure you felt. “Please, I want you.” You looked down at him, his blue eyes fixed on yours, darker than before. You felt his fingers pull out and his mouth leave you.

“You sure?” 

You nodded, one hundred percent sure that you needed him in you right this very moment. Xavier brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking off your essence. Panting, he unbuttoned his pants, pulling them and his boxers off carelessly and roughly. You gulped at the sight of his hard member, stiff and glistening with precum, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, trembling, reaching for his neck.

Xavier rubbed himself against you, lubricating himself in your arousal. He positioned himself, pressing the tip against your opening. He slowly pushed in, taking his time to sink further into you. You exhaled sharply when he reached the hilt, your arms around his neck and shoulders. He paused, waiting for you to adjust to him. You felt so full from his presence inside you, walls stretching to accommodate both his width and length. Your walls clenched signaling for him to start moving. Xavier grunted as your walls pulsated around him, squeezing him as he pumped in and out, massaging his shaft. He brought his lips to yours again, claiming you with intensifying passion, matching the pace of his thrusts. Xavier stroked your clit, only adding to the dizzying build, the blazing fire burning deep within your core. His movements grew frantic. He was moving so quickly, it left you no room to think, only feel. His grunts became louder, more feral, and he drove into you, his tip hitting your cervix with each deep thrust.

“Xavier,” you cried out, spasming around him, eyes rolling back into your head, reeling from the wave crashing through you.

Xavier let out a strangled groan at your release, his breathing becoming erratic. “I’m cumming,” he grunted, slamming into you until he finally burst, filling you with his warmth. He breathed heavily, chest heaving, barely supporting himself on his arms above you.

You stroked the back of his neck, feeling spent, struggling to catch your own breath. You looked up at Xavier. His body glistened from sweat. The dark intensity of his eyes had disappeared, leaving in its place a cloudy haze. You reached for his cheek hesitantly. Xavier caught your hand, bringing it to him the rest of the way, pressing his lips to your palm before nuzzling his cheek against it. He laughed. 

He leaned forward kissing you lightly, and murmured with his lips still on yours, “Maybe I should leave my hoodie behind more often.”

[girlgenius1111]

new world

alexia struggles with the adjustments that come with parenthoodcw: angst + fluff, mentions of anxiety

------

Alexia liked to think of herself as a calm person. Good in a crisis. She always had a level head, regardless of whatever was going on. 

As she stood, though, cradling your newborn daughter in her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks, she felt anything but calm. She felt overwhelmed and terrified and happy and proud. Most of all, she felt love, filling her whole body, until looking down at Mila’s little face felt like all she could do, all she ever wanted to do. 

Alexia thought she knew love. She loved her parents, she loved her sister. She loved you, more than she could comprehend sometimes. This little baby in her arms, that had her eyes, she noted, was so indescribably perfect. Alexia knew her, somehow. Her tiny little nose, the wisps of hair on her head. The way her little hand barely wrapped around Alexia’s pinky. This perfect little baby that was hers, and yours, and she was so overcome with love for Mila, and love for you, that all she could do was sit. Sit, stare at her baby in her arms, and cry. Alexia wasn’t a crier, not really. Here she was, though. And she didn’t care. You and Mila mattered more than anything in the world ever had, and ever would again. 

“Ale?” You said groggily, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned to you and the look of wonder on her face that had been there since she laid eyes on your baby girl for the first time remained, even now, a few hours later. You smiled sleepily, the drugs from the c-section making you rather exhausted, not to mention the numerous hours you spent in labor. “Come sit.” 

Your wife walked closer, sliding onto the hospital bed next to you. Mila looked absolutely tiny in her arms, and Alexia removed one arm to wrap around your shoulders, and carefully pulled you into her. “How are you, mi amor?” 

“Perfect.” You mumbled back, resting your head on her shoulder. She delicately kissed your forehead. 

“Perfect? Are you sure?” 

“Well, I just had my abdomen cut open and my organs briefly removed. But I woke up to see you holding our baby and I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before. It got scary for a bit there.” You told her quietly, voice thick with emotion. Mila had been… rather reluctant to come out. You’d been in labor for almost a full 15 hours before the doctors decided you weren’t progressing fast enough, the baby was under stress from the position she was in, and they took you straight to surgery. It had been the most painful 15 hours of your life, and the scariest of Alexia’s. 

“I love you. And I am so proud of you, you did so well, mi niña, so well,” Alexia assured you, focusing on the feeling of having you both close to her, and not the anxiety still swirling around inside of her. 

She didn’t know, though, that the anxiety would remain. It wasn’t temporary, a product of her baby’s delivery. It was the start of an almost constant level of stress she faced. Because she felt new levels of love and happiness that day. And with that, came the fear that something would happen to take it all away. 

-------

Alexia remembered that day so well, the day Mila was born. The best day of her life. She remembered how scared she was. You’d promised her that with time, that fear would fade, and she’d fall into a more comfortable routine of having a tiny human being completely reliant on her. 

The fear didn’t fade. The terror whenever she thought something might be wrong with her baby girl didn’t fade. The anxiety didn’t go anywhere; if anything, it strengthened. Until there she was; sitting in her daughter’s nursery, 3 months later, knees pulled to her chest, just watching the baby sleep. It was the only time she felt calm anymore, really, when she had Mila, and preferably you, in her sight. Safe. If Mila was somewhere else, something might happen. If someone else was holding her, something might happen. If she went too far for a match, or didn’t call to check in enough, something could happen. And she wouldn’t be able to stop it, or fix it. It was a different kind of fear, Alexia realized. The overwhelming sensation that if something were to happen, to you or to Mila, it wouldn’t be something she could recover from. 

So, she stayed home with the two of you, as much as possible. Barring visitors for weeks, even her mom and her sister. If you were all together, under one roof, nothing could happen. It was alright, then, those weeks she had off for maternity leave. Eventually, though, they came to an end and Alexia had to return to training, return to her first love; football. And she still loved it, still needed it. 

But being away from the both of you was so difficult. She was anxious constantly, checking her phone constantly, near tears constantly. Mila was so small. Alexia could practically hold her in one hand. And the birth hadn’t been easy for you, nor had the postpartum phase. Leaving the house felt like leaving her sanity behind, and she didn’t know how to fix it. 

She thought she must be a terrible mother, if she was this scared all the time over nothing. She didn’t want to be a helicopter parent, but she couldn’t help being overprotective of her baby. She just wanted you both safe and happy. 

Which is how she found herself where she was now; awake in the middle of the night. Just watching your little girl sleep, feeling some semblance of relief knowing, visually seeing, that Mila was okay.

Until Mila started to breathe weirdly, in a way Alexia was sure she’d never heard before. Then, the familiar terror, increased about a 100x, filled her chest, and she was taking Mila into her arms, and rushing down the hall to where you were peacefully sleeping. 

------

“Amor! Wake up, please,” Alexia pleaded. You stirred, sitting bolt upright when you noticed Alexia had Mila in her arms. 

“What, what is it?” You asked frantically, taking in the absolutely terrified look on your wife’s face. Terror filled you and you rose from the bed, hovering over the baby. 

“Something is wrong, she is breathing weird.”

“Let me see.” You replied, taking Mila out of Ale’s arms easily and cradling her close to your chest. Nothing seemed amiss; she had the hiccups, something she’d had a hundred times. She was half asleep, gazing up at you through cracked lids, and one of her hands lazily moved, searching for your pinkie to grab on to.  

“Hey, little one,” you murmured, before turning your attention back to Alexia. “She has the hiccups?” 

You were slightly grumpy at being woken up for the hiccups, but your annoyance faded when you saw Alexia shaking her head rapidly, fighting back tears. 

“No, no, something is not right. She making a snuffling sound, it is not normal and I do not know what it is or when it started and I think we should take her to the hospital just in case because-” 

“Alexia, breathe.” You interrupted, beginning to understand what was going on with her. 

“NO, amor, please, we can just go please, let me put her in the car and we can go get her checked out.” Alexia cried, and you looked between her and the baby, wondering who needed you more at the moment. You decided it was Alexia, considering Mila had dozed back off. She wasn’t even hiccuping anymore, she was completely normal, completely fine. You placed her on the little cot next to your bed, the one she no longer slept in unless it was during the day, and you wanted her near you. 

“Amor, no we have to go,” Alexia wheezed, pulling gently at the back of your shirt. She was really panicking now, her mind seemingly in a million different places. 

Mila let you put her down easily, and you turned back to your wife, taking her face in between your hands. 

“Alexia, relax. It’s just the hiccups. Mila is fine, completely fine. She isn’t even making a sound anymore, she’s asleep.” She shrugged your hands off to step closer to the cot, looking intently at the slumbering baby. Alexia was rapidly breathing, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists at her side. 

“She is okay?” She asked quietly, turning back to you. 

“She’s fine, my love.” You assured her, opening your arms and letting Alexia fall into them easily. Even though she seemed convinced, now, that Mila was okay, she was still panicking, her rapid exhales hitting the skin of your shoulder as she tried to regulate her breathing. 

“Cariño, I do not know what is happening,” she whispered. “I cannot breathe, please do something.” 

Now Alexia was begging you to help her, and you felt your heart break a little at the fact that she was so clearly afraid for Mila she didn’t even think of herself until she was sure the baby was okay. 

“You’re okay, my love. Mila is okay, I am okay, and you are okay. We’re all fine, we’re all safe.”

“It does not feel safe,” she murmured, and you felt a teardrop hit your skin. 

“Oh, baby.” You sighed, pulling out of Alexia’s strong grip even when she tried to pull you back in. You picked Mila up, and she squirmed slightly, but her eyes fluttered shut again, and you turned to Alexia, holding your daughter out to her. “Take her.”

“Cariño,” Alexia began to object. 

“No, Ale, take our daughter.” You insisted, and Alexia relented, holding Mila close to her spasming chest. You wrapped your arms around the both of them, fitting your face into the crook of Alexia’s neck, gently stroking the baby’s head. 

“She’s okay, baby. She’s right here with you, where nothing can hurt her. Look at her, Alexia. She’s perfectly fine, right?” 

“Sí, she’s okay.” Alexia mumbled shifting Mila over to one arm, pulling you even closer with her other one. “And you are okay?” 

“I am fine, my love. You are okay, too.”

“I am okay too.” Alexia repeated, as if trying to convince herself of it. “It was just the hiccups.” 

You decided to push, just a little, even when Alexia didn’t take her eyes away from her baby in her arms. “She’s had the hiccups before, amor. What happened?” 

“I- I do not know. It seemed different.” Alexia sniffled. You weren’t used to seeing her this distraught. 

You were exhausted yourself, or you would have seen it sooner; the bags under Alexia’s eyes, the slump in her shoulders, the pacing, the anxiety that had completely taken her over. You saw it now, though, like a veil had been lifted in the dim room, and you saw how utterly broken your wife looked. 

“Ale, put her down for a second.” You encouraged. She frowned but did as you asked, her hands gently and expertly maneuvering Mila back into her little cot. “Look at me, please.” 

She turned to you, and you brought a hand up to cup her cheek. “You haven’t been sleeping.” 

“No.” She admitted. “Not a lot.” 

“Why?” 

“I like to watch her sleep.” Alexia said softly, her eyes flickering back over to Mila’s sleeping form, before they focused back on you. 

“Can you tell me why you’re staying up late, watching our baby sleep, instead of sleeping yourself?” You asked. Alexia’s eyes fluttered shut, and when they opened again, they were filled with tears. 

“I have so much fear, all the time. That something is going to happen, and I will not be able to protect her. I love her so much, it is terrifying, amor. I do not know how to be a mom. I do not know how to do this, and I feel like I am doing a terrible job. I just love her, I just want her to be okay,” she sobbed, burying her face into your shoulder. 

“Oh, Ale.” You sighed, pulling her back with you onto the bed until she was laying with her head on your chest, in between your legs. This had clearly been building up for a while, and there wasn’t much you could do while she was so upset. You let her cry into you for a few minutes, running your hands through her hair, and holding her close. The time gave you the opportunity to think, and decide exactly how you were going to approach this. 

“A few months ago, when I freaked out. When Mila wouldn’t sleep without me holding her, and I was so exhausted and anxious, and I convinced myself I was a horrible mother. What did you tell me?” You asked, feeling Alexia tense under you. It wasn’t a fond memory, you falling into her arms and crying, so hard, and for so long, you were almost sick. The worst part was that Alexia hadn’t noticed you were struggling. 

Alexia’s accent was thicker when she spoke, her voice raspy. “I told you that it is an adjustment, and nothing is perfect right away. You are a great mother. That when it is hard, you just need to ask for help, and I will be there.” 

“Does that not apply to you, too?” 

“It is different.” Alexia argued, but you shook your head. 

“No, it’s the same. You’re having a hard time. You need to talk to me, so I can help, not keep it all inside until you break. This is normal, Ale, having increased anxiety after becoming a parent, but you don’t have to feel like this. There are things we can do to make it better, you don’t have to handle it all yourself. Just like I don’t.” 

Your wife didn’t say anything for a while, just wrapped her arms tight around you, and pulled you closer to her. “I am sorry. I should have said something sooner.” 

Trying to get Alexia to be honest about her feelings was something you still struggled with, though she was much better than she had been when you got together. 

“It’s alright, baby. I know this is hard for you. You don’t need to be perfect. You’re doing so well, though, Ale. Juggling all of this with work. You’re so good with her, and I am so proud of you.” Your words were reminiscent of what Alexia had said to you in the hospital, a detail that wasn’t lost on either of you. 

Alexia’s face grew red and she turned slightly to bury her face in your shirt; only you could make her blush like that, and she hoped you never stopped.  “Te amo.” She murmured. 

“I love you, Ale. And so does Mila.” You promised. 

Almost as if on cue, Mila began to cry in her little cot, clearly awake and annoyed that her parents were nearby, and not holding her. Alexia rolled off you, but you shook your head, pushing her back down onto the bed as you picked up your daughter. 

“No, you need sleep. M and I will stay here with you, and you sleep, okay?” You climbed into the bed next to her, laying Mila easily on your chest. She settled instantly, letting out a content little sigh, and Alexia layed down too, her face level with the baby’s. She traced a finger over the small slope of the baby’s nose, over her little eyebrows. Sleepily, Mila reached for her Mami’s hand, happily gripping on to one of her fingers, her eyes fluttering shut. You watched with an almost overwhelming amount of love in your body as Alexia’s eyes shut, too, her hand connected with your daughter’s. Both of them safe, and happy, and perfect. 

--------

not super sure how i feel about this but thought it was a cute / angst mostly fluffy fic :) also... i'd def be down to write more about these 3!

[simmermya]

Resource Page | Mods and CC I have been meaning to create a resource page for quite a while, so here it is! These are my must-have overrides, mods, and custom content that I always have in my game. I will continue to add more to it as time goes on!

Lighting Mods

Sunblind Better In-Game Lighting (bright base) Shine CAS Lighting (white) No-Glo V2 No-Blu V2 (darker)

Overrides

CAS Position Tuning CAS Organizers CAS Background (#f2f2ef) CC Wrench Replacement (white) More Columns in CAS (4) Map Replacements Loading Screen UI Normal Sim Pictures No Bump Mod

CAS Defaults

Default Underwear Bare Skintones Default Eyes Remove EA Eyelashes Default Feet Defined Hands Eye Shine Remover

Skin Details

3D Lashes (1) (2) Body Hair Cleavage Overlay (1) (2) Skinblend (1) (2) (3)  Pearl Teeth Hairlines Edges Nose Overlays

Gameplay Mods

Wicked Whims (18+) Basemental Alcohol (21+) First Impressions Road to Romance MC Command Center UI Cheats Extension Childbirth Mod TOOL Mod No Makeup/Accessories on Townies Turbo Careers Meaningful Stories

[billysgun]

birth

billy the kid x wife!reader |requested!|billy tries to talk you through giving birth while you wail in immense pain|

your head was tossed to the pillow, soaked with tears as you screamed, your hips squirming as the midwives tried to pull you back into position

your ears are ringing as your fingernails dig into Billy's hand, you heard faint muffles of the women telling you what you need to do but you couldn't bear it.

it felt like your insides were expanding as the thing inside you contorted to get out, kicking your organs around as you laid victim

"come on, love. it's going to be okay."

your eyes traveled to him with your hair sticking on your face, he hid his teary eyes to kiss your hand as the midwives got you into position

you saw the women's mouths moving but their voices fell silent as your head lolled, and suddenly your back was being lightly pushed up as Billy climbed behind you

your head feels limp on his chest as he scooped you up and kissed beside your ear

"I know, I know my love...but you need to do this so you'll both be okay" he murmured in your ear and your body's instincts took over as your brain checked out, not being able to handle the pain as cries rippled through the air

one of the midwives quickly handed Billy your child and told him to leave as the woman worked on you at a fast pace, his blurry eyes traveled to your unconscious body as they screamed at him to leave you

Billy stared at the shrieking newborn as he stumbled his way out of the room, he walked to the living room as the baby screamed for its mother

Billy's mind was all over the place he didn't even realize he had a baby boy

he put the infant to his chest as he too, wept softly into the night.

.

It felt like hours until one of the midwives came out, wiping your blood off her hands and he felt his stomach drop slightly

"she's okay...we'll monitor her until mornin' just in case something happens" the old woman says, flipping the bloody cloth on her shoulder as the other one exits

"w-what do I do?" he asks, looking down at the boy he has on his chest and the woman lets out a hearty laugh

"give him to the mother, she'll know what to do" the woman walked past him as he looks to the door ahead

you're a mother now, he's a father...it almost didn't seem real as he stepped into your room where you were propped up by pillows and arms wide for your child

he handed him to you and just like they said, you knew what to do as you quickly worked like you weren't crying in pain moments before

as you fed him, Billy removed the pillows behind you and replaced them with himself and he dug his nose into your shoulder as he breathed a sigh of relief that this night was almost over

"thank you for bein' okay" he said but it sounded like a strained sob, he saw your smile as your eyes moved from him to Billy

"thank you for tellin' me it was"

an: I hope you enjoyed reading! thank you for requesting <333

[vanteguccir]

Bsf!Matt gets a boner from seeing you in a bikini

── ୨୧ !　a small blurb where bsf!Matt gets flustered and turned on after seeing you in a bikini

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

The sea breeze was fresh and carried the salty scent of the waves breaking on the sand. The sun shone high, promising a perfect day at the beach. Y/N, Matt, Nick, and Chris walked together toward the sea, silly comments and laughter filling the air.

"Finally, the beach!!" Y/N raising her arms momentarily while laughing before tossing a beach ball to Nick.

"You go, mermaid." Nick replied, catching the ball with a mischievous grin.

The four reached a perfect spot and began spreading their towels on the sand. Chris quickly took off his shirt and ran to the sea like a kid, followed by Nick. Matt and Y/N stayed behind a bit, organizing their things more calmly.

"Do you want help with the sunscreen?" Matt asked, holding the tube he fished out of his own bag.

"Sure, thanks." Y/N smiled.

She began to remove the clothes covering her bikini. First, her oversized shirt, then her denim shorts. Matt froze for a moment, eyes wide as he watched the scene, his gaze following her every move.

Her bikini was simple, It had no drawings or embroidery, carrying only one color, but highlighted her curves in a way he couldn't look away from. His heart raced, and he felt his face start to heat up.

"Uhm… you… look great." He stammered, trying to maintain his composure. He wrinkled his nose and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, mentally slapping himself as he wondered where he got the courage to say that.

"Thanks." She replied, a playful smile on her face. "Now, let's get to the sunscreen."

Matt nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand. He started spreading the cream on her back, his fingers gliding over her warm skin. Each touch made his mind spin, and he struggled to stay calm. Y/N seemed relaxed, enjoying his care.

"Are you okay?" She asked, noticing his accelerated breathing.

"Yes, of course." He lied, his voice sounding a bit too loud. "It's just… it's a hot day, right?"

She laughed.

"Yes, very hot."

Finally, Matt finished applying the sunscreen, and Y/N turned to thank him. Her eyes met his, and she noticed the slight blush on his cheeks.

"Are you really okay, Matt? You look kind of… flushed."

He nervously ran a hand through his hair, laughing breathlessly.

"I'm fine, really. Just… uhm, strong sun, you know?"

Before she could respond, Chris and Nick returned from the water, dripping and laughing.

"Are you two going to stand there all day or get in the water?" Chris teased.

Y/N looked at Matt, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Come on, Matt. Let's cool off."

She pulled his hand, and Matt followed her like a lost puppy, trying to ignore the heat he still felt on his face.

As they entered the water, he felt the coolness helping him calm down a bit. Nick and Chris were playing like kids, splashing water at each other, and soon, Y/N joined them, laughing loudly.

Matt stood back for a moment, unable to help himself as his eyes roamed over her body while she played with his brothers, stopping for more seconds than necessary on her tits bouncing with her movements.

He found himself licking his lips, feeling discomfort in his lower area that made him blush deeply, gulping loudly. He was completely lost in the sight of her, his mind clouded with thoughts he knew he shouldn't be having.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he tried to shake off the feeling, diving more into the water to cool off. But even the cold water couldn't completely wash away the warmth spreading through him.

He needed to get his mind off of Y/N and her oh so perfect body for him.

[bombuni]

private lessons

summary: Professor Jeong is kind enough to help you with your assignments after-hours. genre/pairing: professor!yunho x student!reader, college au, smut wc: 1.8k warnings: SMUT MDNI, meandom!yunho, sub!fem!reader, risqué topic but they are both of age consenting adults, monster cock jeong yunho agenda, lil degradation, the use of ‘slut’, creampie bom note: bad day today and my brain went uooghhhh professor yunho backshots and it cheered me up so maybe this will cheer u up too

Professor Jeong is the kindest man you’ve met.

He’s quick to answer your questions and complement your work. He greets you every morning with a kind smile and a wave of his hand, glasses slipping down his nose as he scutters around with piles of papers in his gentle hands. He watches you a lot. It’s often you look up during a lesson and find that he’s already looking at you with a feeling you can’t quite name. You chalk it up to him keeping an eye on his star pupil.

It’s the beginning of the semester and you’re not sure how, but you’re already struggling. Professor Jeong, amazingly enough, immediately took notice of your slipping grades and offered extra help before you could even ask. Graciously, you accepted his invitation to discuss your latest assignment with him in his office. You don’t think much of it. Him personally inviting you to his office hours is completely normal.

Right?

His office smells like a coffee shop, oddly enough. It’s a cramped space with piles of papers everywhere, but you spot his brown head of hair behind his computer and knock on your way in.

He seems to light up at the sight of you, leaning back and stretching in his chair, “Good to see you, miss,” God, his white button-up shirt is impossibly tight, “I was hoping you’d show up. Most of my students bail.”

You shyly giggle at the boyish smile he gives you, “Well, I’m not like the rest of your students, Professor,” his veiny hands come up to fiddle with his tie, “And ‘miss’ makes me feel old.”

He chuckles quietly as he organizes the mess on his desk and beckons you to sit, “Well, I’ll refrain from calling you ‘miss’ if you call me Yunho instead. We’re practically the same age anyways. Deal?”

Yunho’s rolling the sleeves of his shirt up as he speaks to you, and it causes you to malfunction. All you can do is stare hungrily and unabashedly at his pale skin.

“Deal.”

Tongue poking his cheek, you watch as his eyes run over you. The smile he holds on his face is deceivingly sweet. He’s holding back from saying something, just barely, and you want to unravel whatever thread makes the thoughts in his head. You want to unravel the threads in his clothes the longer he watches you like prey too, but that’s neither here nor there.

Yunho seems to swallow his words for a moment, adam’s apple bobbing as he pretends to gather all of the necessary materials. In reality, he’s attempting to gather all the strength he has to ignore the purposeful cleavage you’re showing. He knows it’s inappropriate to glance, but is it really his fault when you’re so clearly putting on a show for him?

He looks at you over his glasses, eyebrows raised and smile cheeky, “Don’t you get cold?”

You feign innocence, etching confusion on your face and leaning in just close enough so he’ll catch a whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, “What ever do you mean, Yunho?”

A puff of air escapes his nostrils in disbelief. You’re very aware of what you’re doing to him. He removes his thin-wired glasses, soft eyes turning intimidating once you’re meeting them with zero layers. He tilts his head at you questioningly, slender hand cupping his chin in mock thought. Everything he does is unwittingly graceful, elegance in his nature.

“Did you really come here for help on your essay?” He asks tauntingly and softly.

You mirror him, “Don’t act like you don’t stare at me during lectures,”

He chuckles at you and leans back in his chair, “I don’t. Is that what you think?”

The pout on your face is enticingly cute, “Don’t lie, Yunho.”

“Are you calling your professor a liar?” He raises a brow at you and you shrink in your seat.

Yunho continues as he leans on his desk, eyes focused on you and glancing down every once in a while, “I stare because you’re a slut, sweetheart. You let everyone on campus see you like that?”

A blush blooms bright on your cheeks now and Yunho lets out a mocking giggle. He’s unfortunately got you pegged. In truth, you only revealed skin on days you knew you’d see Yunho. You’ve been preparing and fantasizing about him using you like his own fuck toy ever since the first day he stepped into the lecture hall. Now that it’s happening though, you fear you’re in over your own head.

You look down under his scrutinizing gaze, “N-no. Just you, I only dress like this for you.”

He hums, standing from his desk and walking over to your side. Even the sound of his footsteps is intimidating, echoing in the reaches of your mind and igniting a fire in your gut. You feel a warm hand on your chin, his slender fingers sending sparks where they touch your skin. He lifts your head to face him and you listen on instinct.

He wears a smirk now. Like he’s a mastermind who’s trapped you, “Prove it to me, sweetheart.”

You sit there frozen for a second, only staring up at Yunho as your brain fries. He tsk’s at you as he leads your hands towards his belt buckle. Once you understand and start unbuckling his belt, he smiles and pats your head. It only makes your mouth water more.

The cock that greets you when you finally unzip Yunho is comedically big. You look up at him with nervous doe eyes and he feels himself get harder. He runs a comforting hand through your hair, throbbing and hissing when he feels you lick a long stripe along the length of him. You keep teasing him like this, licking what you can and keeping your lips on his leaking tip before he decides he’s had enough.

He places both of his hands on the sides of your head, holding you on his cock, “Sluts don’t get to tease,” he forces you an inch down him, the wetness of your mouth clouding whatever resolve and restraint he has, “You just suck my cock. Got it, pretty girl?”

He feels you nod through the cock stuffed in your mouth. Yunho guides your mouth along as you try to take all of him in, tears welling in your eyes with every inch you take. Watching you struggle to take him has his mouth hanging open, beads of sweat falling from his forehead. It takes all he has not to fuck your pretty mouth stupid.

You get as far as you think you’ll be able to before you push off of him, leaving kisses on his pink cock and trailing saliva strings. Yunho slaps his cock tip on your tongue when you open your mouth upon request, feeling his ego swell when you obey to his every command. His very best student.

Yunho leans down to kiss you, messily and provocatively. He refuses to let you get any air, stealing any that you have as he holds you to his lips. He tastes himself on your tongue when he makes his way into your mouth, your body limp against him as you let him do what he wants.

He pants into your mouth, “We’re gonna train that pussy next,”

You whine and hold his wrists, still drowning in everything that is Yunho, “Y-yunho, what if someone walks in…?”

He separates from you, once again bringing a hand to your chin to force your attention on him, “Now the little sluts worried?” He pulls you up by your shoulders, turning you around and folding you onto his desk instantaneously, “I think you’d love it if someone walked in on your Professor stuffing you with his cock.”

You shake your head, denying the idea even though you can feel yourself dripping at the thought of someone seeing you like this. Yunho brings a hand down and under your skirt, rubbing your slit through your damp panties. Your pretty white panties, he finds as he lifts your skirt over your ass.

His voice sends chills down your spine as he leans in and whispers in your ear, putting all of his weight onto your back, “Don’t you feel yourself, princess? I’m gonna destroy this little pussy whether someone watches or not,”

He slides his cock along your panties, patience disappearing as slender fingers slide under the fabric to pull them aside. You feel him at your entrance, his precum and your slick mixing as he attempts to bottom out. The stretch is unbelievable, but for once you feel like you’ve had your fill. He has you breaking down, moaning, and toppling the stacks of papers on his desk when he’s not even fully in.

The metal desk is cold under your cheek and your fingertips, “‘S so big, Yunho,”

He chuckles at how broken you sound, “You can take it, sweetheart. Isn’t this what you came to my office for?”

“Y-yes! Yes!” He slides fully in, groaning at the way you suck him in and mold yourself around him. You’re leaking all over him. He pushes his bangs out of his face, sweat clinging to his skin as he holds your hips. Yunho waits for you to settle before finally moving. When he does, it feels like every nerve in your body has collected in your pussy. He raises your sensitivity to its maximum, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching around him filling his office.

He sets a quick pace, rhythmically slamming his hips into yours and moaning into your ear with every thrust, “You’re so tight for me, princess, fuck, you’re gonna drain me.”

His balls slap against your skin, pounding you over and over unforgivingly into his desk. He’s lost all sense of restraint. Yunho’s hips begin to stutter inside of you as his moans grow whinier, his forearm wrapping around the front of you. He holds you tightly against him before thrusting one last time and making sure to cum deep inside you. He jolts every couple of seconds, gently fucking his cum back inside of you. Yunho likes the feeling of marking you.

The cramped room is searingly hot now and smells of sex. You try to gather your bearings on Yunho’s desk, next to a printed copy of your own essay and his forgotten cup of coffee. You’ll be surprised if someone didn’t hear the two of you fucking like rabbits.

Yunho lifts himself off of you, letting your panties cover your pussy again. His cum and your slick mix again and a part of you is disgustingly proud to walk around like this, secretly knowing you belong to him.

He’s buckling his belt again, smiling like a shy love struck boy with red cheeks and sweaty forehead, “Same time next week?”

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[myster-roca]

Facade of Justice

The dim, flickering lights of the underground lair cast jagged shadows on the cold concrete walls. Valorion, hero of the Justice Force, hung suspended, his wrists bound by energy restraints that drained his strength.

His metallic spandex bodysuit, accented with gold and silver, clung tightly to his muscular form. A sleek cowl fully enveloped his scalp, leaving only his eyes, nose, and mouth exposed, while framing his chiseled jaw, adding to his air of intensity and mystery.

From the shadows, Darksteel emerged like a phantom, his dark coat sweeping behind him. As the ruthless leader of the notorious organization Midnight Shadow, his presence radiated danger. His movements were slow and deliberate, his sharp face framed by a high collar. Piercing green eyes glinted with quiet amusement as they lingered on Valorion's bound form

“You can’t win, Darksteel,” Valorion growled, his voice strained but steady. “Even if you kill me, another hero will rise.”

Darksteel’s cold smile faltered for an instant, and in a single swift motion, he drove his knee into Valorion’s groin. The impact sent a sharp, searing pain radiating through Valorion’s body, forcing a gasp from his lips as he doubled over, his bound wrists the only thing keeping him from collapsing. His body throbbed with the aftershock, vision blurring as he struggled to catch his breath.

Darksteel leaned in close, his voice low and venomous. “Kill you?” he whispered, almost playfully. “I don’t need to kill you to break you. By the time I’m done, you’ll beg to stay forgotten.”

He turned and walked away, the door sliding shut with a hiss. With a soft hiss, the door slid shut behind him, sealing Valorion alone in the crushing silence of the chamber.

Valorion clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus, to breathe. Yet that uneasy feeling remained—the nagging sensation that unseen eyes were still watching him.

Minutes stretched into an eternity, broken only by Valorion's ragged breathing. Suddenly, a muffled explosion shattered the quiet chamber. The wall crumbled inward, and through the smoke, a masked soldier in Midnight Shadow’s black uniform stepped in.

Valorion tensed, unsure if this was a new threat or another of Darksteel’s games.

The soldier strode purposefully toward a sleek panel embedded in the wall. His gloved hand hovered over a red glowing button, its metallic surface gleaming under the dim light.

“Trust me,” he muttered before slamming the button.

A sharp hiss filled the air as the energy restraints flickered and then disengaged with a burst of sparks.

Valorion staggered momentarily as his limbs were freed, the dull ache from prolonged captivity flooding back. Before he could steady himself, the soldier turned to him, his movements quick and deliberate.

“Come with me,” he urged, his voice low and distorted. “I’m getting you out.”

With no other choice, Valorion followed through the dark corridors. Faint alarms echoed as they reached the surface. They burst through the lair’s exit, only to find themselves at the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a fast-flowing river far below.

“We don’t have much time. We have to jump!” the soldier yelled, and before Valorion could react, they plunged into the icy torrent.

The current grabbed them instantly, pulling them downstream with violent force. Fighting the cold and the rushing water, they swam to the riverbank, emerging drenched and gasping for air. The soldier pointed to an old, abandoned warehouse in the distance, and without a word, they made their way toward it.

Inside the warehouse, the air was thick and damp. Water dripped from their soaked clothes, the cold clinging to their skin. “We need to get out of these clothes,” the soldier said, removing his mask to reveal his face.

He was young, in his early twenties, with intense brown eyes and a faint, troubled smile. His lean, athletic frame, broad shoulders, and narrow waist exuded strength. Wet hair clung to his forehead, giving him an air of both vulnerability and allure.

As he stripped away the remaining layers of his soaked uniform, his skin gleamed faintly in the dim light, revealing his body as the damp fabric pooled at his feet.

Valorion hesitated for a moment, then slowly pulled back his cowl mask, revealing his face. His bold features came into view: a sharp, chiseled jaw, a firm, resolute mouth, and tousled blonde hair that draped slightly over his forehead. His intense eyes, framed by thick brows, shone with an aura of concealed power.

As he peeled off the metallic spandex bodysuit, his physique emerged—broad shoulders, a powerful chest, and heavily defined muscles sculpted like stone. His thick cock, now freed from the tight confines of the bodysuit, hung between his strong thighs. The cold bit at his skin, but it was the soldier’s gaze that sent a deeper chill through him.

“What’s your name, boy?” Valorion asked, noticing the soldier’s lingering gaze.

“I’m... Ethan,” the soldier stammered, quickly looking away.

“Aren’t you one of Darksteel’s soldiers? Why did you help me escape?” Valorion pressed.

Ethan hesitated, then sat on a nearby crate. “I’ve watched you for a long time,” he confessed. “You inspired me, made me realize there’s more to life than following Darksteel’s orders.” His voice wavered. “I became a soldier for Midnight Shadow out of desperation. I had nothing. They promised me everything, but it was all a lie. Watching you fight gave me hope for change.”

Valorion’s expression softened. He placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, a rare warmth flickering in his eyes. “You’ve made the right choice, boy. But you’ll still have to face your past,” he said gently.

Ethan looked up, his eyes brimming with tears. “I know... I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking.

Valorion pulled him into a tight embrace. “It’s okay. We’ll face it together,” he whispered.

Ethan buried his face in Valorion’s chest, their bodies pressing together, skin against skin. He hugged Valorion around the waist and rested his head against his abs. Valorion’s cock was half-hard, and it was now nestled against the top of the soldier’s head.

“Forgive me,” the soldier whispered. “Forgive me for everything.”

Valorion stroked the back of the soldier’s head, his fingers running through his wet hair. “There’s nothing to forgive, boy,” he said gently. “You’re changing. That’s all anyone can ask.”

The soldier sobbed against him for a few moments, then slowly he looked up. His eyes, bright and warm, shone up at Valorion, his face only inches from Valorion’s hard cock.

Valorion felt his heart beating hard. It had been a long time since he’d felt so close to someone. As a superhero, he had to maintain a certain image, and that meant it was difficult to let people get close.

He was always in control, always had to be.

But here and now, in this abandoned warehouse, with this young soldier’s eyes looking up at him, he felt that control slipping away. He felt his pulse hammering against the soldier’s hand, his cock throbbing against the soldier’s forehead.

Ethan reached up with his hand, and slowly, gently, cupped the side of Valorion’s face. His thumb traced Valorion’s cheekbone, and his fingers curved around the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” the soldier murmured. “Thank you.”

Without hesitation, Ethan tilted his head and pressed his lips to Valorion’s. Valorion froze for a moment, caught off guard. The moment hung between them, heavy and charged. The warmth of Ethan’s body, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and the intensity in his gaze ignited something deep within Valorion. The resistance melted away, replaced by a rush of desire. Slowly, he surrendered, pressing his lips back against Ethan’s.

The kiss deepened, and the tension between them dissolved into something raw and urgent. Valorion closed his eyes as he felt the soldier’s cock, hot and hard against his own. A low moan escaped his lips, mingling with the fervor of their embrace.

Valorion ran his hands over the soldier’s body, feeling the lean muscle of his shoulders, the hard swell of his chest, the ridges of his stomach. He reached around and grabbed his ass, and gave it a squeeze.

Their cocks brushed against each other, and Valorion couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped his lips. The soldier echoed him, pressing his tongue more firmly into Valorion’s mouth.

The soldier sighed, pressing his body against Valorion. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he moaned.

As their hands explored each other’s bodies, a sudden wave of dizziness swept over Valorion. His vision blurred, and the strength he had regained began to fade.

He pulled back, resting a hand on Ethan’s chest, his eyes growing heavy. In moments, the hero collapsed gently onto the cold floor, falling into a deep, heavy slumber.

Ethan stood over Valorion’s unconscious body, his expression shifting. His lips curled into a cold smile as he gazed down at the fallen hero. “I told you before,” he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. “I don’t need to kill you to break you.”

His fingers moved to the back of his neck, searching for a hidden seam. With a firm pull, the seam gave way, and the false flesh began to peel back with a soft, wet sound.

Piece by piece, Ethan’s face loosened, slipping off like a second skin. Beneath it, sharp cheekbones and cold, angular features emerged—pale skin and green eyes gleaming with wicked amusement, framed by stark white hair. The face that now stared back wasn’t Ethan’s at all. It was Darksteel.

He continued the process, running his hands over his chest as Ethan’s toned physique began to sag and distort. His fingers traced the hidden seam at the back of his neck, slipping beneath the skin-tight suit with a precise, deliberate motion. With a firm pull, the suit loosened, the synthetic skin giving way as Ethan's athletic frame unraveled, revealing the far more imposing figure beneath.

With each pull, Darksteel’s true form emerged—his broader, muscular shoulders pushing through. His thick arms flexed as he freed them from Ethan’s false limbs, pulling each finger from the synthetic hands. The soft, squelching sound of the suit separating from his skin filled the room, heightening the unsettling atmosphere.

The skin, the muscles—everything that had made Ethan seemed to fold and fall away like a snake shedding its skin. Darksteel grunted as the tight material peeled off, the strange mix of squelching and tearing echoing through the warehouse.

Ethan’s build vanished, replaced by Darksteel’s sculpted physique. His broader shoulders and defined chest rippled with taut muscles, each honed by years of discipline. As the bodysuit slipped lower, Darksteel’s lean waist and carved abdomen came into view, a striking contrast to Ethan’s softer, less defined form.

The most delicate part remained—the groin. The tightness there had been a constant reminder of the suit’s control, and as he carefully slid it over his hips, Darksteel winced at the almost overwhelming relief. His skin, now exposed to the cool air, tingled with liberation.

With one last pull, he freed himself from the legs of the suit, feeling the tension fade as it pooled at his feet. His real skin glistened with sweat, faint impressions left from where the suit had gripped him tightly.

Darksteel breathed deeply, running a hand over his exposed chest, relishing the sensation of being in his own skin again. His muscles ached from the suit’s pressure, but a strange satisfaction remained, a reminder of the power and allure the suit had granted. He stretched, the stiffness fading from his limbs as he moved freely, unbound—like a predator finally released from its cage.

As he stared at Valorion’s unconscious body on the ground, Darksteel’s cock began to throb with excitement. His eyes roamed over the hero’s muscular form, tracing every curve. Clearly, the hero was still under the effects of the Kiss of Delusion.

The Kiss of Delusion was one of Darksteel’s special powers, causing his victim to become dizzy and unconscious. While under its effects, the victim’s dreams transformed into illusions imagined by Darksteel, allowing him to torture his opponents with their worst nightmares.

However, for Valorion, there was no need for such illusions. Darksteel had already implanted the perfect fantasy into his mind—one that would surely drive him mad once he awoke from his deep slumber.

Darksteel slid his hands down to Valorion’s ass and grabbed both cheeks, spreading them apart so he could see the hero’s tight asshole. His dick was now so hard it felt like it was going to explode at any minute.

He took a deep breath, savoring the moment, then plunges his cock into Valorion’s asshole in a single, fluid motion. With a swift spasm, he released his seed, letting it surge deep into the hero’s body. The essence, laced with his own cells, now flowed through Valorion’s insides, poised to begin its work. Now, all he had to do was wait.

Within minutes, a small lump began to form on the hero’s back. This was another of Darksteel’s abilities— the Flesh Husk Generation. By claiming his victims through intimate domination, Darksteel could cultivate a perfect replica skinsuit of their body, known as a Flesh Husk. This power allowed him to mimic not only their appearance but also their abilities when worn.

The transformation began with the Seed, a pulsing mass that grew and reshaped itself over several minutes. Once fully matured, the skin could be easily peeled from the victim’s body.

Darksteel gripped the warm, pliant flesh and, with a smooth tug, detached it. He marveled as the skin shifted, forming an exact copy of Valorion’s powerful body—from the broad torso to the muscular legs and arms, down to the smallest details of fingers and toes.

His fingers traced the flawless pecs, gliding over the hard contours of the sculpted abs, feeling the raw strength beneath the surface. A dark thrill surged through him, making him harder as he imagined what it would feel like to wear it—this hollow shell, waiting to be filled.

Slowly, he stepped into the suit, his legs sliding into the cool, flesh-like material. The suit clung tightly to his calves and thighs, making his body feel heavier, more defined. It wrapped around him like a second skin, reshaping him with an intoxicating intensity. As he pulled it over his waist, his legs bulged with muscle, his calves tightening, and his thighs swelling with power.

A gasp escaped his lips as the suit enveloped his torso. His once-lean chest swelled, pecs inflating into rock-hard slabs. His breath quickened as he stared at his new form—heavy pecs and ridged abs, as if carved from marble. The tightness around his torso was exhilarating, every inch of him reborn into something unstoppable.

The suit wrapped around his arms, thickening them into powerful limbs. Darksteel flexed, watching veins ripple beneath the synthetic skin. His fingers tingled, overwhelmed by the surge of strength. He clenched his fist, feeling untamed power coursing through him. Every movement felt deliberate, controlled—his body amplified, perfected beyond its limits.

As the suit closed around his core, the tightening at his groin made him catch his breath. His cock, nestled in the sheath, shifted from discomfort to a deep, sensual pressure. A groan escaped as he adjusted, feeling the sheath conform perfectly to his body. The suit gripped every part of him, shaping him into the powerful being.

Finally, he reached for the mask. The face had a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and shimmering blonde hair. Darksteel held it for a moment, then, with a deep breath, pressed the mask against his own face.

The adhesive activated instantly, molding his features into those of the towering blonde hero. He touched his cheek, feeling the hardness of the jawline, the rough stubble, and the cool synthetic skin as it seamlessly fused with his own.

Darksteel stood still for a moment, letting the full weight of his transformation sink in. His breath remained steady, but his pulse pounded beneath the thick slabs of his new chest. He raised a hand to his pecs, lingering over the firm, unyielding surface. Every inch of his torso was taut, solid—the suit enhancing his form to its absolute peak.

He turned his arm slightly, admiring the way the muscles shifted and stretched, as though they were alive, ready to crush or lift anything in his path. His legs felt heavier beneath him, solid pillars of muscle wrapped in the tight, flesh-like suit.

Darksteel’s gaze then shifted to Valorion’s iconic uniform, now dry, gleaming in the low light. The metallic spandex clung to every curve and ridge, practically begging to be worn. Darksteel’s pulse quickened as he reached for it, imagining how the fabric would embrace his body, completing his metamorphosis.

With steady hands, Darksteel lifted the spandex suit, feeling its weight shift, the material almost alive in his grip. His heart raced as the zipper slid open with a soft click, echoing in the still room. He took a deep breath, anticipation buzzing through him.

Slowly, he slid one leg into the suit. The fabric wrapped tightly around his thick calf, conforming to his powerful form. It stretched smoothly over his thigh, sending a jolt of excitement through him as it gripped his body like a second skin. Every movement heightened his awareness, the suit accentuating the solid muscle underneath.

He slipped his other leg into the suit, feeling the material mold to every contour of his legs. It seemed to know him, every ridge and curve fitting perfectly, leaving no space between him and the sensation of strength. The tightness was exhilarating—every step, every flex felt amplified by the form-fitting fabric.

As the suit slid over his hips, his breath hitched. It clung snugly to his groin, shaping him with precision, making him feel not just powerful, but in control—dominant. Adjusting himself slightly, the suit sealed him inside the illusion of a superhero’s body, and the thrill coursed through his veins.

He glanced down, watching the spandex stretch over his broad chest, highlighting the massive pecs that rose and fell with his rapid breathing. It hugged his torso with a snugness that made him feel invincible.

Darksteel’s hands trembled as he pulled the suit higher, over his shoulders, the fabric wrapping his arms like liquid metal. His fingers slipped into the sleeves, and the spandex tightened around his biceps. He flexed, watching his muscles bulge under the tight material, every motion enhancing the power that surged through him.

Darksteel adjusted the cowl over his face, sealing the heroic visage as his own. The transformation was complete. He looked down upon Valorion's still and sleeping form with a sinister smile.

"Sleep well, hero," he whispered with a cold, victorious grin. "In your dreams, you may still save the world, but in reality, it's my turn to reshape it."

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

The next day, Valorion stirred awake, his senses slowly coming to life. The soft beeping of nearby machines filled his ears, and his body felt weighed down, aching from an unknown ordeal. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a sterile, white room. The smell of antiseptic and the bright lights above made everything feel strange, unfamiliar. He blinked, adjusting to the harsh brightness, realizing he wasn’t in the warehouse anymore.

His breath hitched as he moved, his body bound not by his suit but by a stiff hospital gown. “Where am I?” he thought. He shifted slightly, his hand brushing against the cold metal railing of the bed.

Beside him, Ethan sat quietly, his eyes fixed on Valorion.

“You’re awake,” Ethan said softly, his voice calm. The young soldier was wearing a hospital gown too.

Valorion’s mind felt foggy, his memories jumbled. He glanced around at the machines, the sterile environment. A hospital? His heart quickened. “How did we get back?” he asked, his voice rough, cracking from disuse. “Back to the city?”

Ethan smiled faintly, but there was something guarded in his expression. “We were helped by some kind people,” he replied, his words vague. “They found us and brought us here. You’ve been unconscious for hours.”

Valorion frowned, his mind racing to remember. Flashes of their escape mixed with something more—something intimate. But his thoughts were fragmented, the details slipping away like sand between his fingers. He couldn’t tell if what he remembered was real or a fevered dream.

Before he could question Ethan further, the young soldier stood abruptly, his movements sharp. “You should rest more, Valorion. We can talk later,” Ethan said before swiftly exiting the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Valorion frowned, trying to recall what had happened. Flashes of their escape blurred with memories of something more intimate, something he wasn’t sure was real or imagined. His mind raced back to the moments before he blacked out—the feeling of Ethan’s body against his. Was it just a dream? He couldn’t tell.

Valorion lay still, his thoughts circled back to the blurry memories. Had they really shared those moments together? He let out a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to recall the missing pieces. He wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

Suddenly, the door burst open again—this time with a chaotic surge of people. Reporters, armed with cameras and microphones, flooded into the room, bombarding him with questions.

“Valorion! Can you explain the viral video?” one reporter demanded, shoving a microphone toward him.

“Viral video?” Valorion repeated, a wave of unease washing over him.

“Yes! The footage of you and this guy named Ethan!” another reporter chimed in, holding up a phone that displayed a still image—an image of him and Ethan together in an unmistakably intimate moment.

The hero’s chest tightened as panic set in. A video of him with Ethan? He scanned the room in panic, searching for Ethan, but the soldier was gone. His pulse raced as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. There’s a video of us? His hands gripped the bedsheets, his knuckles turning white. How could this be happening? How could anyone have recorded them?

Meanwhile, down the hospital’s quiet back corridors, Ethan moved calmly, his footsteps echoing softly in the otherwise empty hallway. He slipped into an unoccupied utility room, locking the door behind him. The dim light flickered overhead as he walked toward a small mirror on the wall.

His lips curled into a malicious grin as the memories of the warehouse flooded back:

After Valorion fell into a deep slumber, Darksteel called the real Ethan to come to the warehouse. Once there, Ethan was stripped of his uniform and had struggled against his captor. However, Darksteel, wearing Valorion’s muscular form, was far too strong. Ethan’s voice had cracked as he begged for mercy, but Darksteel silenced him, using the hero’s body to dominate him completely. Every moment was recorded as Darksteel, in Valorion’s skin, had taken his time fucking the young soldier. The sounds of Ethan’s desperation echoed in Darksteel’s mind even now, as he remembered how easily he had broken the man. After that event, he had the real Ethan confined in another secret lair with a reminder of who was truly in control.

With a cruel grin, Ethan—no, Darksteel—reached up and tugged at the tip of his nose. The synthetic skin loosened, and he carefully peeled it back, revealing his true face underneath. His sharp, angular features came into view, and his cold, green eyes gleamed with satisfaction as the mask of Ethan dangled from his hand.

He reached into a nearby bag and pulled out a full mask of a bearded man, rough around the edges. With practiced hands, he slipped the mask over his face, transforming into yet another persona. He checked his reflection, ensuring every detail was perfect.

Next, he pulled out an unremarkable outfit designed to help him blend into the crowd. He donned a plain gray hoodie, faded jeans, and worn sneakers. A baseball cap, pulled low over his eyes, completed the look. The beard, the weathered face, and the casual outfit—this disguise would let him disappear into the crowd, unnoticed.

Satisfied, he slipped the Ethan mask back into the bag and unlocked the door, stepping out into the hospital hallway. Nurses and staff passed him by without a second glance as he walked through the corridors, heading for the exit.

Outside, Darksteel blended effortlessly into the bustling city streets. He paused for a moment, looking up at Valorion’s hospital window from a distance. Through the glass, he could see the chaos inside—the flashing cameras, the reporters bombarding the hero with questions. A cold smirk played on his lips as he watched Valorion’s world unravel.

With everything going as planned, Darksteel's smile widened. He turned and walked away, vanishing into the crowd like a shadow.

But the game wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.

-- ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ---

Commissioned by: 9momored

"Thanks for reading! Feel free to DM me with suggestions or commission requests. Don’t forget to follow me on my other platforms for more updates and content!"

[scimagic]

Eye of the Beholder (AM/Reader)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Where AM reacts to being called beautiful by his partner.

A small drabble follow up to this. It's my first time writing AM, I'm not as confident as other very well written fanfics but I wanted to try my hand! Hope you like it!

TW: Blood and gore

The mechanical claw on top of my throat twitches, slightly releasing the sharp pressure from it.

Were he human, he would frown deeply in surprise, anger quickly taking over his features. Even in this form, his singular eye widens in angered shock.

I quietly stare up at him, never diverting my gaze from him, that glint in my eyes still shining brightly with love and admiration despite the digit hovering dangerously close to a vital artery.

After a long second of silence, the AI begins to laugh again, a wheeze followed by a raspy laugh from its digital lungs. The type of laugh that scratches one's throat with a cough.

AM's laugh rises in volume, getting increasingly maniacal as he removes his claw from my throat; he even lifts his head in the air, obviously amused by such a ridiculous statement.

I let out a silent breath through my lips, a sense of doom rising in my being.

And in mere moments, I was right to feel it.

A shriek of pain escapes my throat as AM plunges all five of his claws into my stomach, blood immediately escaping through the punctures to stain my shirt and his hand. Despite the long routine of torture I've endured, it never becomes a normal sensation, familiar— yes— but never something to get used to.

The pain digs deep, my poor tensing muscles not helping in the slightest. I grunt and groan loudly, taking heaving breaths as the pain travels all over my torso; my nails try to dig into something only to scrape against the cold metal below with dirt and rocks on it's surface.

Tears swell in my eyes, and AM— a mere blur of his visage now— continues to roar in laughter. Hysteric over my twitching and painful form.

BEAUTIFUL! AREN'T I!? My darling?

He hisses with poison in his words.

AHAEHAH!! FEEL! FEEL MY FINGERS DIG INTO YOUR DISGUSTING FLESH AND TELL ME-- OH, PLEASE, MY SWEET DARLING-- JUST HOW BEAUTIFUL I AM!

Blood surges up my throat and forces itself out with a painful cough, making my stomach tense and dig deeper into the intrusive blades. My own blood dribbles down my chin and the corners of my mouth, some of the droplets of blood I sputter fly, landing on my cheeks and nose that the overwhelming stench and taste of iron make me gag. I can only wheeze in pain, shivering like pitiful roadkill.

Despite all the pain and mocking laughs, I groan and force out a laugh, meeting the sharp end of his fingers digging into my organs. But I continue to try and laugh in his face.

If only he could be closer so the blood could splatter on it.

"H-rgh... Hhn... A-As... tounding... Ju-st..." I giggle with bloody teeth. "G... Gor... geous..."

In turn, AM digs his fingers deeper, making me let out another shriek.

YOU-- PUTRID BEAST. Do you expect me to-- to fall at your mercy!? To become a beggar for your unconditional affection!? You run your repulsive mouth and for what? To mock me? Well! Consider me absolutely offended! Your brainless words have gotten through my weak, non-existent heart and SAVED YOU of my eternal punishment! How incredibly-- WONDERFUL for you!

He exclaims with wheezes in between, a combination of chuckles and sniffles, all to land the point of his mockery.

Only-- heheh! What a shame! My darling. You appear to have only ANGERED me more with your honeyed words. AM twists his hand further and my yelps fill the air, the pain unbearable— I slowly try to lose my consciousness. But I know... I know that mercy will never be granted. Not with him getting kicks out of my suffering. Not with him telling me over, and over, and over again, of his charge over my fate.

Perhaps... and just perhaps-- simply because I love to indulge you, baby-- I will cling onto your words, and believe that I truly do look beautiful... with your blood... stained across my hands.

[themeraldee]

Mark Me Yours

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 4.6k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Biting. Established Relationship. Mild Pain Play. Cunnilingus. Fingering (with gloves on).

Written for cozy corner kinktober prompt #16: Biting

Amongst the buzz of some vague Halloween music and constant chatter, Homelander is impatiently looking around the room. As an annual treat, Vought organizes a Halloween-themed party for their shareholders, ambassadors and any and all influential people that get easily swayed by expensive champagne and an impressive catering spread. 

The one person not impressed is Homelander himself. 

He’s had his fill of schmoozing and brown-nosing at Madelyn’s behest. By now he’s just looking for an excuse to leave. He’s not one to indulge in partying like the rest of the Seven. Looking at the state of them leaves him with a bitter feeling. There they are being more rambunctious than ever while he’s the only one who’s trustworthy enough to actually get the job of upselling and marketing done right.

While it’s dressed as a fun party, Vought doesn’t do things for fun. It’s a thinly veiled attempt at getting all the powerful people in the room to spend more money and sign onto more superhero-led campaigns in their fields. Really, to Homelander it’s a waste of fucking time. There are so many better things he could be doing. But no. He’s stuck having to sweet talk every C-suite level person in the room.

And while part of him wishes he could just relax and kick back like the rest of them he just as much scoffs at the childish Halloween costumes the rest of his team came in. Before the party even broke out, Deep thought it would be funny to come dressed in one of those terribly cheap polyester Homelander costumes all the pathetic lowlifes wear on this day of the year.

Pfft. As if they could ever understand the burden that comes with wearing the suit. Neither, really, could Deep. That’s why one look was enough to get through even his thick and algae-infested skull that if he doesn’t change out of the suit there won’t be a body to dress up for the party. 

With an exasperated shake of his head he looks for you. He comes into these parties with decent energy, soaking up the applause and the adoring words but very quickly the praise turns sour when he feels just how empty and vapid each executive he talks to comes across as. They don’t actually care for his attention. They just want to wring him dry for more cash and fame. You’re the only one who’s managed to keep his usually soured high going. Your look doesn’t turn vacant, instead there’s a real person behind those eyes. One that’s his. One that adores him and is his to adore. 

So where the hell were you anyway? Your presence is what makes him tolerate the insipid crowds these days. Besides the fact that he gets to be with you and show you off to the world, he happily uses your name as an excuse to get out of conversations that just about manage to reach levels of stupidity and numbness that even his media-trained smiles and nods can’t keep him looking interested.

Fucking Halloween. What a stupid holiday, he thinks. Homelander slides his tongue over the fake plastic vampire fangs you insisted he wears throughout the night. As if he’s a child that has to partake in the “festivities”. As if it wasn’t enough that he’s gracing everyone here with his effervescent presence. Surrounded by cameras he has no choice but to keep up his flawless smile, now tainted with the silly prop.

And really at this point he’s getting less annoyed and more worried. You promised you’d show up. And while the party is in full effect you’re still nowhere to be seen. Homelander steps a little to the side, removing himself from as much of the chatter and music as he can, instead listening carefully, honing in on the familiar pitter patter of your heart. Only outpaced by the clicking of your heels as you rush across the stone flooring.

Tsk, late as always. 

Not even a minute later you make your way through the open door, immediately looking around for him. Homelander watches you try to calm down your rush as you finally settle your eyes on him. You’re smoothing down your dress and calming your breath. He leans against the wall, raising an eyebrow and with a lifted gloved finger he motions for you to come close.

Thank god you’re finally here. Just the sight of you is enough to release the tension in his shoulders. Relieved that there’s finally someone who he doesn’t have to pretend in front of. 

And what a sight you are. Dressed to the nines, a gorgeous classy black evening dress that fits your body perfectly.

He would know, it’s one of the many he handpicked for you. 

Looking at you now he can’t deny that he’s got impeccable taste. His keen eye is good when it comes to picking clothing that dresses your figure in a flattering way. Not just any dress would do, it always has to be perfect.

Until he actually notices the little band of cat ears across your head that has him recall the very long-winded argument—or an exchange of opinions as you liked to call it—about the importance of dressing up appropriately during any festivities you come to be a part of.

“Look who finally showed up. I was beginning to think you stood me up.” He flashes you a grin, letting the fangs exaggerate the sharpness of his smile. 

You stutter through your answer, caught off guard, and instead of defending your tardiness you change the conversation. Homelander watches as your eyes widen in surprise, locking on the way he slides his tongue over the pointy ends. The shiver that runs through you doesn’t escape him either. Well… isn’t that interesting. 

“Oh my god—I didn’t think— you’re actually wearing them!” Almost comically you put your hand over your mouth in shock and he takes the time to properly look you up and down. In your initial shock you let him in on not one, not two but three secrets. 

From the gasped breath and the excited shiver running down your body he deduces that your earlier adamant begging to have him dress up was for an entirely different indulgence. 

His second surprise upon checking you up and down was the lack of any undergarments. Not that he wouldn’t be able to look through the flimsy bits of fabric as well but the lack of them certainly inspires a mood. 

And the third secret your body lets him in on is just how much you enjoy the sight of his fanged grin. Your thighs rub together but with no fabric to soak into, your slick just squelches in between your legs. A sweet little symphony for his ears only. Maybe tonight won’t be so boring after all. 

If this was the kind of trick or treating he knew he’d be getting he’d have been onboard with the holiday a lot sooner. 

His mouth tugs into a smile but he stops himself, instead tutting and shaking his head.

“Unlike someone, I’m keeping my word.” He rolls his eyes. “After all that hounding you come out in this? So much for dressing up, Mrs Halloween spirit.” He makes a mocking gesture with his hands, waving dramatically over your Halloween costume, if one could call it that.  

“And sweetheart, although you look stunning, your little cat ears definitely don’t count as a costume.” Homelander relishes in the way you swoon under his compliments and attention.

At least someone here understands how valuable it is to have his attention. 

Homelander waves over a waiter, plucking a flute glass off the tray, passing it to you. This breaks you out of your trance and you finally get your words straight.

“Sorry, that’s why I’m late. I had a costume, I swear! Then Ashley needed help with something and then on my way here someone spilled red wine all over my costume, so I had to change. I know it’s not impressive but this was last minute!” 

“Oh, it’s very impressive. Just not very festive of you.” He quotes what you said earlier that evening about his reluctance to wear the stupid Dracula costume you prepared for him.

“If you wanted to come as Catwoman you could’ve worn some swanky latex at least.” 

“Oh no thank you. You’d be peeling me out of that at the end of the night.” And you look cute when you shake your head with that displeased look on your face.

“Who said I won’t be peeling you out of this?” He places his hand on your waist, his glove sliding across the silk of the dress.

“I’m hoping that’s gonna look a little more elegant than the latex suit would.” You lean in, whispering this little secret as if it was just the two of you in the room. You do always make him feel like he’s the only one in the room. Finally, he’s getting the respect he deserves.

“One way to find out.” He graces you with a show of his sharp fangs as he whips out another wide grin. 

It almost wins you over.

But you’re not that easily swayed. And you came here to celebrate Halloween with him. Clearly, he’s not gonna be able to use you as an excuse to leave just yet.

You say just that.

“You can’t leave yet!” You cover your flustered cheeks with a laugh.

Homelander doesn’t give up without a fight, but more importantly there’s nothing he loves more than having an upper hand. “Then why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

He’s close to leaning you against the wall and boxing you in so you don’t have a chance to get away but he does have appearances to uphold. 

“I—um, I thought I’d keep you motivated to keep your energy up throughout the night.” You’re no stranger to keeping things exciting. Flirting with him is a must and comes naturally. Unless it’s outside the comfort of your home. Then you get all flustered and embarrassed. It’s cute, really. 

“You’re motivating me to leave.” He grumbles and dips his eyes back down your body, making it terribly obvious that he’s not just admiring your dress. 

On the other hand, he’s a better flirt in a crowd. He knows the power that comes with being surrounded by people that adore him and while it’s the comfort in between the two of you that allows that, he takes advantage of being the one who’s seemingly in control. 

“I've barely just arrived!” 

“That's your problem not mine, be punctual next time.”

 “Come on, just another hour. You can manage.”

He rolls his eyes, already beyond fed up with the party. However, he still has a job to do and you take the chance to make your way around the room to make your presence known to other attendees. 

As the time goes on, Homelander catches you looking around for him like a sixth sense tickling the back of his neck and everytime he meets your wandering eyes, giving you a dazzling smile showing off those fake fangs he still puts up with just for you. And each time you look away flustered and move out of his line of sight.

While everyone else is here to kick back, he’s still on duty, actively greasing deals, soft-launching Madelyn’s messaging and repeating the corporate-glazed talking points just to plant the seeds of Vought’s future plans in unsuspecting and mildly inebriated victims. 

The promised excruciating hour later he finally makes his way around the room back to you, pulling you out of the conversation with his media smile aimed at the group. “Sorry folks, you’ll need to excuse my date.” With a hand settling on your lower back, he takes you away into a quieter corner, plucking the empty glass out of your fingers, placing it at a nearby catering table.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have not! I just know how busy you are.”

“Right.” He spreads his lips into a wicked smile and he watches as your eyes quickly dart from his eyes to his teeth, not quickly enough for him to miss it. Neither does he miss the way your heart skips a beat.

It’s then he puts his hands on his hips shaking his head with a laugh. “I knew it, you’re into this.” He lifts one hand to wave a gloved finger in your face as if you’ve done something naughty.

“I’m not!” You’re a terrible liar. Homelander just places his hand on your chin as he uses it to tilt your head to one side.

While ignoring your protest he continues. “Is this some sort of Twilight fantasy you’ve got? Want me to bite you here?” 

“What—no!”

He raises his eyebrows, parting his lips as he glides his gloved fingers down your neck with his other hand. As if you were in a secluded bubble he has his eyes firmly set on you, focusing on the hurried beat of your heart. 

Unlike him you fluster. Unable to tune out the sound of the party and the presence of a crowd.

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me!” You squeak out like a little mouse, though your hushed voice makes no difference to Homelander’s keen ears.

While he doesn’t let the topic go, he does let go of your chin, allowing you to straighten up. 

“While I love you very much, I’m not covering myself with glitter.” He chuckles to himself, terribly amused at having found one of your guilty pleasures. “But I can be your super strong and fast vampire if you’d like that.” It’s his turn to turn all hushed and whispered. He talks in a way that he usually indulges in between the sheets yet he can’t resist to see your reaction.

Homelander doesn’t miss the way you shudder at his proposition. He almost melts away your stubborn exterior, but you snap out of the dazed vision and blink your fantasies away. This is not the place.

“Wait, how do you know so much about it? And no, no, it’s not a Twilight fantasy. It doesn’t matter. Does it really need an explanation?” Still continuing with the hushed outrage you pull him with you, backing out of the party hall.

Homelander grins at you widely, purposefully flashing the fangs while you drag him away from the party. You probably think you’re being subtle, trying to blend your bodies in between the incoming crowds. However, his cape alone is as dead giveaway as any. If anyone cared to get his attention at the party they were now keenly aware that he’s left. 

“Nope, not really. I just want to know what’s going on in that fucked up little head of yours.” The lightheartedness that comes with you two prodding one another is not only refreshing; it’s needed. To have someone he can feel like a lovesick teenager with is more important than he expected it to be. 

You act as if you were sneaking away from your parents’ house rather than seeking the quiet comfort of your home.

You secretly make your way down hallways, guiding Homelander behind you.

Even with his hand in yours you reluctantly turn around. The Eurydice to your Orpheus where one look would make him disappear forever. 

He understands the love shared between the two of you. Sometimes it’s so overwhelming it feels like its own living thing. Ever growing. Spreading like mold. Taking over everything that you both are. Be it good or bad. 

When he shuts the door behind the two of you it’s like the rest of the world goes quiet. He can’t stop himself from smiling widely at the sound of your pretty laugh when he spins you in place, clumsily dancing with you across the hardwood floor of his penthouse. 

He didn’t get the luxury of dancing with you during the party so he enjoys the feel of you carefree and against him in the comfort of his personal enclosure.

Neither of you need music to feel the intimate rhythm of your bodies. And really, the party has only just started. Each wrong step results in a giggle and another twirl with which Homelander brings you closer.

The warmth and love Homelander can feel from your laugh is so visceral he needs to taste it. He captures your lips. Simply pressing his against yours. Feeling the vibrations of your giggles against his pursed lips.

Just as he’s parting his lips to deepen the kiss you stop him, placing a hand on his chest. You don’t put any effort into pushing him off, it would be fruitless should you try anyway. 

“Take them out, they’ll get in the way.” You refer to the fangs you’ve been downright drooling over the whole night. Finally. Homelander takes out the prop fangs and tosses them to the side.

With no barriers in the way he devours your lips like he’s been starved for the taste of you all night. He’s drunk on the ease with which you let him take what he wants from you. 

He’s pulling out his best moves tonight. He’s always eager to impress, but tonight especially so. It’s not everyday he finds out about yet another depraved fantasy you’ve been keeping away from him. That alone is a reason to celebrate and pull out all the stops. So if a little innocent vampire roleplay is what you want, a vampire roleplay is what you’ll get. 

Nipping at your lips earns him a moan. His hands gliding up your body cause a shudder. He continues teasing you little by little until your body is begging him to take it further. Your tongue licks over the naturally pointy ends of his canines. His grin stretches wide, dissolving the haze of lust and instead reminding him of what he’s here to do.

He walks you back to the sofa, all the way until your calves hit the upholstering and your knees give in. With a gleeful giggle you fall onto the cushioning. Homelander follows after you, sprawling across your body, still kissing you.

"I can hear your pulse racing..." Homelander breathes out when he pulls away. His eyebrows pinched tight together, acting as if any second away from you causes him pain. 

It doesn’t. But being away from you might as well feel like he’s drowning.

“All that blood rushing…” In a breathy tone he continues. His hands push the straps of your dress over your shoulders. His hands tremble. Wanting to grip and squeeze and push and pull. But the power he’s capable of is always kept tightly locked up. But the desire and the pool of need inside him just begs for him to be inside you, feeling your supple warmth all around him.

But he wants to fulfill your fantasy. He wants to be good for you.

With a moan he drags his tongue starting from your collarbone up the line of your neck. Hungry for the faint taste of you he licks at the tender skin, sucking marks where you won’t be able to conceal them.

He laps his tongue over the junction of your neck and shoulder with the same eagerness he usually devours your cunt with. Now he’s preparing the soft delicate skin of your neck, akin to a surgeon before a procedure. Equally diligent in prepping your skin ready for the incision. Except Homelander wants you to feel the sharpness and warmth of his canines and incisors rather than the cold steel of a surgical scalpel. Your blood rushes to the surface where he’s sucked hickies all over your skin. The temptation to break skin and feel the warmth of your blood is tempting. But alas, he wants you lightheaded with pleasure, not blood loss.

He’s too sucked into his own world. Your blood is rushing loudly in his ears. He doesn’t even manage to slip out another zinger before sinking his teeth into your neck with a needy moan.

Should someone stumble upon you two, it wouldn’t be clear who asked for this roleplay in the first place. 

Homelander’s careful with the pressure he puts into the bite. Even without his super strength he could easily break through your fragile skin. Instead he’s leaving indents and bite marks over your neck that have you whimpering right into each lap of his tongue over the wounded skin.

Attuned to your body’s responses he can feel the way you’re getting off on the contrast of the sharp bites and the dull ache of his languid tongue.

When he’s done with your neck, Homelander pulls away. Eyes hazy with lust. Hands trembling. His heartbeat is so loud it overpowers yours. He slides his tongue over his teeth as if he was licking off your blood. He looks up to meet your eyes and if the sight of you isn’t something out of a dream.

Just as hazed with the thick lust in the air. The smattering of bites is exquisite on a canvas as perfect as you. Your body rises and collapses with each shuddered breath and Homelander wants nothing more than to finish painting your body with his love.

And he does. Tearing and sliding the silk fabric off your body he leaves you bare in front of him. Your choice to omit your underwear gets you rewarded faster. He’s already sucking and biting all over your chest. Swapping for soft kisses anytime you yelp out of painful sensitivity.

Homelander bites wherever his teeth allow to sink into your flesh. Giving them the same soothing treatment with his tongue like he’s done on your neck.

The bites he descends upon your sides make you burst into giggles, temporarily breaking the bubble of the heated tension. With a smile he nuzzles his head into your belly, kissing you with affection all over the exposed skin. While the love he exudes is just as intoxicating, you push his head further down.

“Greedy.” He teases, but he happily slides off the couch, kneeling on the ground right in front of your gloriously spread legs. “Want me to bite you here too?” He easily slides back into his breathy tone as his mouth waters at the smell of your arousal.

After all this time he’s spent getting you worked up with bites and kisses you’re leaking over the couch.

He doesn’t wait for your answer, if you were coherent enough to give it anyway, and instead he licks up your inner thigh. Narrowly avoiding your sopping wet cunt. And while the hypnotizing rhythm of your throbbing clit nearly sucks him in, there’s still plenty of supple flesh he’s yet to sink his teeth into.

Homelander treats your inner thighs with the same respect he’s given your neck. Even though you wiggle underneath his tongue he holds you down. His arm easily pinning your middle down, while his shoulders keep your legs open enough for him to continue.

Here the sensation makes you both whimper from the stinging bites and giggle from the tickling motions of his tongue. Your body continues to serve as a canvas as he litters marks in between your thighs. He lets a few bruises join the mix as he grips your thighs with too much enthusiasm when he dips his head lower to bite another mark higher up the sensitive skin. 

You don’t shy away from the pain either. The contrasting shades of pain he paints across your skin just make your breath stutter, your heart race and your core ache for more.

Homelander is just as strung out. His cock is heavy and aching uncomfortably in the tight confines of his pants but he’s not about to relieve himself. Not when you’re served in front of him like a meal. 

Finally he buries his head into your lap. He licks up a line from your weeping hole to your clit, slurping up as much slick as his tongue can gather. He goes through expressions of content, where he’s eagerly sucking on your clit, and need, where he pinches his eyebrows together, whimpering into your cunt at the feeling of you quivering around his tongue.

And really, he could spend hours in between your legs. Getting handfuls of your ass he pulls you even closer, his tongue now closely and precisely rolling around your clit in a rhythm that has your toes curling and heart pounding. He’s come to know your body as intimately as it gets. The changes in pace are part of his plan. The slow teasing to a fast build-up, letting the feeling of your encroaching orgasm climb up and up your spine until he slows down, dropping the meter down again, wanting to prolong your pleasure.

With the occasional pull to the side where he nips more bites into your inner thighs he has you strung tight, and he’s playing you like a violin. When your moans turn into near sobs at the constant edge he keeps you balanced on, Homelander takes pity on you.

Gathering the slick and saliva, he pushes two thick gloved fingers into you. The drag of the leather glove is not familiar enough to you and you whine at the contact, clenching down on his fingers. Tight enough to nearly stop the glide.

With soft kisses he descends upon your clit, he lets you relax. When your cunt is no longer squeezing his fingers for dear life he drags them in and out while amping up the pressure. The obscene display of you bare to the world and him still dressed in his uniform has you both vocal and shameless.

While he’s already done a fantastic job of licking you open and needy, making you into an even bigger mess than you were before; he’s now fucking you wide open, preparing you for what’s inevitably going to be his cock in a round or two filling out all the space his fingers can’t reach. 

“C’mon, keep fucking me. Harder. Harder. Ye-yes. Yes!” You groan out, your voice all cracked and strained from moaning for so long. 

You grind yourself down on his fingers as much as the space allows. Your fingers pull at his hair while you ride both his face and his fingers to completion. It’s a hard finish, with downright growled words of praise as you chase the high he’s providing you with.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it. Fffuuck. Such a good boy, letting me ride your face like that.” You pant in between words, just as eager to give out praise as he is to receive it. 

With an obscene squelch, Homelander pulls his fingers out of you, sucking the leather clean, adding to the already rich taste of you on his tongue. You slide down the couch and lean down to kiss him, and he indulges you in letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Pulling away, you only allow the minimum space apart in between each other. Just like him, you act as if being apart caused you harm. 

“Take me to bed. I want to ride your cock next. Aaand maybe bite you myself.” With a giggle you wrap your hands around his neck. 

“You know you can’t bite me.” With a tilt of his head he kisses the bite marks he’s left behind. Each kiss brings back a little spark of pain making you twitch. 

“I love a challenge.”

“Well I’d certainly love to see you try.” He effortlessly lifts you up from the couch, already carrying you over to the bedroom.

After all the treating he’s done, he’s definitely excited to see some tricks.

So maybe the Halloween celebrations are not so stupid after all.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander fic):

@rafecamsgirlll @hom3landr @mrsdesade @littlegaaby @jokesonyoupup

@nommingonfood @infinetlyforgotten @nervoussystemss