#so idk if he's grateful or being a brat

[nyxypoo]

two yrs since i started putting up with this bs

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 15th. mattheo — brat taming / daddy kink.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: play bratty games, win…uh, your boyfriends cum down your throat?

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, glove kink, fingering under the table at a family dinner, dom!mattheo, denied orgasm, SLIGHT mutual masturbation, an absurd amount of dirty talk, daddy kink, ROAD HEAD (how tf does this man keep the car steady? idk), blowjob.

Malfoy Manor has always been stunning—the kind of stunning you've grown used to over the years of being with Mattheo, but that somehow still manages to take your breath away every time you step foot inside. It's perfect in a way that almost feels oppressive, the heavy weight of generational wealth clinging to everything.

The chandelier, the delicate flowers in the center of the table, even the soft scent of roses in the air—it's all so much. Too polished. Too grand.

You pick at your dinner, the taste lost on you.

On any other night, maybe you'd let the beauty sweep you up. But not tonight. Tonight, everything grates. The low hum of formal chatter, the fake, forced laughs that drift through the air—you hear it, sure, but you don't care. You can't care. You're too pissed off to care. It all sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

And the cause of your irritation? He's sitting right beside you, perfectly at ease. Mattheo's been charming the room for hours now, playing his part, all smooth smiles and well-placed comments. He was crafted for this. Moulded into it. He can waltz through these evenings like it's second nature, like he doesn't even have to try.

And that pisses you off too. Truthfully, everything about him tonight pisses you off.

But you sit there anyway, like the dutiful girlfriend you are, playing your role—smiling when you're supposed to, making small talk when you're supposed to—all while on the inside, irritation is bubbling, simmering just beneath your skin.

And maybe it's stupid—trivial—but you're mostly just mad that he dragged you here. Ignored your exhaustion. Dismissed it with that look of his, the one that said you'd survive, as if surviving was the same as being fine. And now, you're stuck in this perfectly orchestrated evening, playing a part you never wanted.

And you'd almost hate him for it—if it weren't for those fucking gloves.

Leather, black, soft and sleek. They move with him, something that masks his ruggedness and makes him almost look presentable—graceful—hiding cut knuckles and the strength within them as he picks up his glass, adjusts the napkin in his lap, brushing his fork like it's nothing.

You almost scowl in frustration of it all. Who the fuck let him wear those? You've been staring at them all night. You don't even want to, but it's like they've trapped your attention, pulled you in without asking.

You're mad at him. The gloves don't change that. But they do something. They make everything harder.

And still, you fight it.

It starts small. The attitude. A quiet, sharp kind of rebellion that only he'd catch onto. Your fingers tap your glass a little too hard when you set it down. Your words come out flat when he leans over to make some passing comment. You give him clipped responses, not looking at him, not giving him what he wants. You can feel the brittle edge of your smile, and you know he can too.

Mattheo notices everything. He always does.

After a while of this, a gloved hand slips under the table, brushing your knee.

A question without words; what are you doing?

You don't react. Not at first. You just shift your foot, barely nudging his ankle, pushing back in the smallest way. He tightens his grip on your knee—a warning, a silent conversation between the two of you, invisible to everyone else at the table.

"Dinner's been nice," he's prodding, testing, his voice smooth as ever. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You feel him watching, feel the weight of his gaze as he picks you apart, dissecting your mood. He knows you too well for this. You finally meet his eyes, and for a second, the room fades into the background. Just him and that damn hand on your knee, the soft leather brushing your skin in a way that makes your pulse stumble.

You try to shake it off, shrug it away like it's nothing.

"Hmm," you hum, pretending you're not affected. Your fingers tap your plate, and your eyes drift again—down to his other hand, resting on the table, playing with the edge of his glass. "I suppose."

His brow arches, just enough for you to catch it—another challenge posed to your audacity. He knows exactly what you're doing—you can see it in the way his lips twitch, the faintest hint of amusement. He's letting you play your game, but you know he's already winning.

"You're mad at me." His voice is low, slipping beneath the hum of dinner conversation.

You blink, keeping your gaze trained on the flicker of candlelight rather than him. It's not a question, not even a statement—he says it like a fact, just a certainty, a declaration dripping in the smugness that comes so naturally to him. And that pisses you off even more.

He’s always too goddamn sure about everything.

"Mm, no." You lift your glass, cool rim kissing your lips as you take a slow, languid sip, the taste biting your tongue. You let it hide the smirk threatening your face. "Nothing to be mad about."

His hand shifts higher, fingers tightening just enough to remind you he's there—dipping into your skin, the silent warning you can feel vibrating up your spine. You should be used to this by now, should be used to the way he takes you apart—but you aren't. How could you ever get used to this?

"Uh huh." He's not buying it. He never does.

His eyes flicker around the room, yours follow, mirroring his movements in a habit you loathe as you let him have that win. Everyone's busy—forks clinking, soft laughter bubbling up like champagne, far enough away to give him the nerve to push you harder. Your breath catches when you glance at his free hand again—black leather tapping idly against the tablecloth like it's got all the time in the world.

Gods, what's wrong with you tonight?

When had his gloves become the focus of your desire? They're just fucking gloves. Stupid, soft leather molding perfectly to those big hands—you’re chewing your lip without realizing it, and his eyes catch yours before you can look away—

Fuck.

"You keep staring at my hands," he's leaning in again, and your pulse skips, trips over itself like it's running from something. "Got something you'd like to say?"

The pit of your stomach tightens, twisting with a familiar dread, a sick kind of anticipation. Of course, he's noticed. The bastard catches everything. Nothing slides under his radar—not when it comes to breaking your attitude.

He likes to say he was born to tame brats—and you, of all people, make him prove it. Sometimes you hate him for it. Most times you don't.

"No, actually." You shift in your seat, trying to shake his hand off your knee, but he's relentless—doesn't budge, doesn't even flinch. "I don't."

Christ. His grip is ironclad, like those gloves were made for this kind of hold. For making you feel every fucking inch of them. You exhale as you gather yourself—you hate him tonight, hate him for dragging you here, for dismissing you so easily—and you want to let him know it. Want him to feel it.

"No?" His fingers slip higher. You glance down the length of the table, nausea curling at the edges of your vision when you spot Lucius' blond head gleaming under the chandelier. Mattheo's voice is low, just for you. "Nothing at all?"

"Mattheo." Your voice is a hiss now, strained, your composure hanging by a thread. You want to slap the smug look off his face, but you don't. You can't. "Leave me alone, okay? I'm here. For you. I'm not happy about it, but I'm here. Just let me be. You're being—"

He cuts you off with a tilt of his head, jaw clenching at the exact moment his hand slides further up your thigh.

Your words catch in your throat, suffocate on themselves, die there.

"Maybe you're being a brat because you want me to choke you, huh?" The words land heavy, like an accusation, but worse because it isn't a question. He knows. "Maybe that's why you keep staring at my hands?"

Your body goes hot—alive in ways it hasn't been all night. The room erupts into laughter, some joke you missed, but it only heightens the tension wrapping tight around the two of you. His fingertips are teasing dangerously close to where they shouldn't be, and you're suddenly very thankful for the tablecloth draped over your lap—

"No." The word slips from your lips, barely a breath, lacking conviction. "No, I—"

"A brat and a liar," he hums, not letting you finish. He's enjoying this now. "You're really racking up the bad decisions tonight."

Salazar save you—his fingers slip higher still, and you clamp your thighs shut, a last-ditch effort to keep him from pushing this into dangerous territory. He responds by hooking a foot around yours to spread you back open—you bite your lip so hard it hurts.

"Maybe I'm just annoyed because I had better plans for my evening," you can't let him win so you spit the words out, voice quiet, hoping he doesn't catch the tremor in it. “Not that you care.”

You don't look at him. You can't. More laughter fills the room. Drowns out the shake in your breath.

He huffs, wine breath brushing your ear. "Keep this up and you may just end up with the evening you deserve."

"And what evening is that?" You spit back, ignoring the way the leather sticks to the heat of your thigh. "The one where I'm stuck here, listening to Draco prattle on about his latest Quidditch practice? Or perhaps another mind-numbing dinner, this time with Dumbledore and friends?"

The flicker of irritation in his eyes is subtle, but you see it. Oh, he's seething now. Dread pools, thick like syrup. You drop your eyes to the table.

"Oh no, not even close," if anger was a voice, it'd be his. Right now, in your ear. "I was thinking more of the one where I keep you cuffed to the bed all night. How does that one sound?"

Your pulse hammers, too fast, too loud—you can feel everything—the candlelight burning your skin, the way the chandelier's glow twinkles overhead, the way his hand is still, still so high on your fucking leg.

No one at the table notices. No one cares. But the feeling is crushing you, pulling you deeper into this private hell of his creation.

"You lost the chance for that when you brought me here," you bite out, hand darting under the table to try and pry his fingers off your thigh.

But his grip only tightens, his foot hooking tighter around yours, keeping you in place. He's relentless. And you hate it. You hate how much you don't want him to stop.

"If you're going to act like a brat, just say so," he growls, his voice a low rumble, "you know I'll deal with you later."

You roll your eyes. "Promises, promises."

You can't help it. You're baiting him now, pushing him just as hard as he's pushing you. The inevitable looms over you, and you know you've already lost. He's not budging. He never does. And you know—God, you know—you're in for it.

If this is the hell of his creation, you were the muse.

"More than a promise," his patience is gone, you can feel it. You wonder just how close you are to him dragging you from the room by your hair, not caring who sees. "Count your blessings."

“Oh, I'm counting."

And with that, you reach for your wine glass again, taking another slow, deliberate sip, letting the bitter liquid slide down your throat—you're oblivious, don't even notice the line you've crossed until it's too late—

His hand moves fast, leather fingers slipping past the last scrap of dignity you were clinging to. You choke on the wine you'd barely had the chance to swallow, the world tipping, spinning, crumbling as his thick, gloved finger glides through your slick folds, sinking into your cunt without a moments hesitation. You hadn't worn panties tonight—a decision that felt normal in the beginning but now screams of poor foresight—but there's no time for regret.

Not now, not with your boyfriend fingering you under the table at a family fucking dinner.

"Quiet, brat," he mutters, eyes twinkling as you cover your mouth, still half-choking on your drink. "Keep making sounds and someone is going to notice.”

Your heart skips, the pulse between your legs responding to the threat, clenching involuntarily around him. You're soaked, the heat of it spreads shame across your cheeks, burning like wildfire in your veins. Why are you this wet? This shouldn't turn you on—it's humiliating, degrading—

"Then maybe don't make me make sounds," you hiss, gripping the table so hard you think the wood might crack. "This is on you—"

He cuts you off, slipping a second finger into your cunt—and the sentence dies in your throat, swallowed by a sharp whimper you disguise as another cough.

"I said quiet." His voice is thin, dangerous. His fingers slide deeper, knuckle deep, and the heat threatens to tear you apart. "Bite your tongue or so help me—"

You bite down, but on your lip instead, trying to school your expression into something neutral, something that won't betray the war raging inside you. You two haven't fucked in days—you're more sensitive than usual—and this forbidden thrill only makes it worse, heightening every nerve, every pulse, as his fingers move in slow, deliberate thrusts inside you.

"You can’t," you breathe, the words coming out weak, a poor imitation of protest.  "Mattheo—"

"Shhh," he replies, voice low, a quiet storm gathering in the pit of your stomach. He leans closer, his breath hot against your neck. "Keep your sounds for later."

You snuff a groan, mind racing a million miles a minute—eyes darting around the table in a panic, scanning the faces for any sign that someone might notice. But no one does. The conversation moves on, unaware, the oblivious hum of normalcy in stark contrast to the chaos brewing beneath your skin.

This is crazy. It’s crazy in a way that only Mattheo Riddle could manage and you’re so fucking lost in it you don’t ever want it to stop.

He's not even looking at you anymore, fingers moving steadily, thumb brushing over your clit with the kind of casual cruelty that makes your body shudder. He's laughing, speaking to Draco as though he's not knuckle-deep inside you. The audacity of it makes your head spin. You're teetering on the edge—so close, dangerously close—and if you fall now, if you let go, you'll be too loud—you won't be able to stop yourself—

"Mattheo—please," you whisper, your voice trembling, barely holding on. His thumb rolls over your clit again, teasing, torturing. "You're gonna make me—"

"Yeah," he hardly looks at you. "I am." He crooks his fingers, pumping in slow, agonizing drags that send your brain spiraling into static. "Gonna make you lose the attitude. Gonna make you be good.”

Oh, you loathe him right now, deliciously. "Matt—"

"And you’re going to take it, like it’s not killing you." He continues—leaning in slightly now, examining the way your breath is coming in shallow, broken gasps. “Just like I’ve had to take seeing you in that dress…and pretend it hasn’t been killing me.”

Your eyes flicker around the table again, still desperate for any sign that someone might notice, just to give him a reason to stop—but the conversation continues, oblivious. The leather of his gloves is slick with you now, a wet sound breaking through the steady hum of voices with every movement of his hand.

You part your lips to hiss another pathetic plea—a warning to stop before you explode—but he cuts you off—

“One more word and I'll make sure not a single person at this table leaves without hearing you scream.” He pulls his fingers out nice and slow, rubbing some of the wetness down your thigh before he moves back and pushes back in. “Do you want that?"

You shoot him a glare, but shake your head nonetheless.

"Didn't think so," he mutters, his voice dropping even lower, fingers working deeper, faster. "Look at them," he hisses in your ear, and your gaze flicks over the table again. "They don't even care. Too caught up in their own bullshit to notice, aren't they? But I see you. I see how flushed your chest is—" his thumb presses harder, sending a shockwave through you—"I know what that means."

"I'm not—" your thighs tremble, you’re denying it as though you have any power to stop it. He’s just too goddamn good at this. "I'm not going to—"

"You are," he whispers, and you almost let your eyes roll. "I can feel you soaking my hand. Little cunt is begging me to finish this, isn't it?" His fingers thrust deep, hitting a spot that makes you work to choke down a sob. "You and that fucking attitude can deny it all you want, but I feel how close you are.”

The room erupts into laughter, a sudden burst of noise that pulls all eyes to the other end of the table. Your breath comes out in a trembling exhale, letting out a whimper you know won’t be heard over the commotion—the distraction your only saving grace as you fight to keep still, to keep from rocking against his hand and giving him what he wants.

You lean into him, pleading. "Mattheo, please—if you don't stop, I'll—"

"You poor thing," he hums, his thumb circling slower now, torturously precise. "Sounds like a you problem, princess. Shouldn't have been such a brat tonight."

"I'm sorry," you choke out, words barely coherent but you see the flash in your boyfriend’s eyes. It’s the two words he’s been looking for all night. "Please, just—"

And then—his fingers slip out of you. As abrupt as a cold bucket of water over your head.

You blink, almost gasping at the loss, just as the table erupts into another fit of laughter and you're left aching, disoriented, while everyone begins to stand. Merlin help you—dinners over and you had no goddamn idea. You feel like a robot moving in slow motion as you watch Mattheo wipe his slick fingers off on his thigh, smirking. The room is a blur of goodbyes and handshakes, and before you can even catch your breath, he's got you by the wrist, pulling you away from the scene, dragging you out to the car.

The passenger door of his blacked-out Audi flies open, and you're urged inside, your legs trembling, the evidence of everything he's done to you still slick between your thighs. The leather seats beneath you remind you all too well of the feel of his gloves, of the fingers that had just been inside you, and your cunt clenches at the thought, still throbbing with unfulfilled need. Mattheo slides into the driver's seat, a silent inferno of fury, not sparing you a glance as he throws the car into drive, tearing out of the Malfoy estate.

His leather-gloved hand rests on the stick shift, and you stare at it, unable to look away.

"You're staring again," he breaks the tension, his voice tight.

"Yes." This time, you don't even bother denying it. Not after what he'd done. He’d long tamed your attitude. You can’t fight it anymore. “I am.”

His chest rises sharply, his grip on the gear shift tightening. You bite your lip, feeling your core throb painfully in response.

"Learned your lesson, I hope," he mutters, eyes focused on the dark road in front of you.

"I suppose," you murmur, still breathless. The wetness between your thighs is impossible to ignore, and so you reach for his hand—tracing your fingertips over the smooth leather before curling your fingers around two of his, stroking them. "I suppose I learned something."

His breath catches when you jerk his fingers, and he sucks in a shallow breath of air through his teeth. You clench at the sound of it. Oh, how you goddamn love being a little tease.

"Mm." His voice is gravel, rough and uneven—you notice the bulge in his pants, his cock straining against the expensive fabric. "You want to cum, don't you?"

You nod, your fingers still stroking his. "Yes."

"Yes?" His voice lowers, a prompt you recognize all too well.

"Yes, Mattheo—daddy—" you correct yourself, your breath hitching. God, you’ve been here so many times with him. You know what he’s looking for. "I want to cum."

His jaw tightens, and he wets his lips. "You want my cock. You need it."

"Yes, daddy," you repeat, the words spilling out easily, exactly what he wants to hear, and exactly what you want to say. "I want your cock. I need it."

"Then finish yourself off," he growls, his gaze flicking toward you for a brief moment, his eyes blazing. "Make your filthy little cunt cum, and if you’re a good girl, I'll let you suck me off."

The command sends an insatiable fucking thrill through you, and without a second thought, you move to obey him—night air biting your skin as you shift your dress up and your fingers find the slick mess between your thighs. A long, long over-suppressed moan escapes you the moment your fingers graze your clit, and Mattheo‘a eyes flash over, jaw working as he watches for a split second before focusing back on the road.

"Fuck," you groan as you push two fingers into your soaked cunt, your head falling back against the seat, back arching. "Oh, fuck—"

"That's it," he murmurs, free hand moving from the gear shift to palm his erection through his pants. You swear you hear him moan. "You wish it was me, don't you? Wish it was my cock inside you."

"Yes, daddy, I do," you whimper, your hips rocking against your hand, fingers fucking deeper into your pussy, lewd sounds filling the steamed space within the car. "I wish it was your cock…inside me."

"Fucking brat with a dirty mouth," he hisses, his fingers working at his belt, eyes darting between the road and you. "Cum for me. Show me how you’re good for me.”

You groan, unable to believe how fucking wet you are, slick coating your hand and thighs, dripping all over your boyfriends expensive leather seat—Gods, you’re so close, the edge that he'd left you teetering on earlier now drawing closer with full force. You add another finger, curling them against your throbbing walls, and Mattheo's breath stutters, his focus wavering as he watches you unravel.

"Look at you. So fucking shameless." His hand slips inside his pants, and he starts stroking himself, his cock already leaking. "I bet you wish I’d pull this car over right now, huh? Fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

You moan at how goddamn wrecked he sounds—forcing a smirk through your open mouth, words coming out shaky. "And how do I—ah—how do I deserve to be fucked, daddy?"

The car jerks, just slightly, Mattheo groans.

"Like the nasty little slut you are," his eyes flash to you again, his grip tightening on his cock, pumping faster. "Until you forget how to talk. Until you can't say anything but my fucking name."

Your world spins, orgasm roaring in. "Mattheo—daddy—oh fuck—"

"Earn it," he snarls, his voice raw. "Earn my cock."

One, two more deep pumps into your cunt and you erupt, finally—body seizing, orgasm crashing over you with violent force, leaving you gasping, your back arching off the seat as your wanton moans fill the steamy car. Mattheo watches you through hooded eyes, stroking his cock faster as you whimper and moan his name, orgasm intensified due to him edging you all through dinner—somehow managing to keep the car steady throughout all of this.

Part of you wonders if he’s charmed it.

"Good fucking girl—there we go," he purrs, and his hand reaches over, seizes the back of your head, urging you toward his lap. "Now take your reward."

You’re buzzing—breaths scattered, but there’s no hesitation, no argument. You shift to your knees on his seat, your mouth watering as you wrap a hand around the base of him, tongue teasing the tip before his hand in your hair directs you deeper—lips wrapping around his throbbing cock as he slides into your mouth, hot and heavy. He groans, his hips thrusting forward, just barely, and you gag slightly as he hits the back of your throat.

"Fuck, that's it," he grunts, his voice low and strained. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be choked on my cock. To be shut up like this."

You can't answer, your mouth too full of him as he directs your head to bob along him, as he thrusts into you, each movement deeper, harder. Tears prick your eyes, but you don't stop, your hands gripping his thighs as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks and drooling.

"Fuck—yeah, that’s it. Choke on it," he snarls, other hand keeping the car impossibly steady. "Wanna see those tears, baby. Wanna hear you gagging on it."

You moan around him at those words, the heat of them shooting straight to your still-soaked cunt, tears spilling from your eyes as his hips buck up, slamming the back of your throat. Mattheo is the most impatient man you’ve known, and it shows in moments like this, when he’s sick of your attitude—when he drops the seat back, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the wheel, his knee keeping it steady as he thrusts deep into your throat. You’re gagging and moaning, working your tongue along the length of him, until with a final grunt, he spills into your mouth and you swallow every drop, his shaking breaths and gutted groans filling the car as he rides out his release.

"Fuck. That’s my girl. My good fuckin’ girl," he pants, his voice rough with satisfaction as he releases you, your lips swollen and wet as you slump back in your seat. "You earned that."

You know you did.

[yuujispinkhair]

Had this silly little thirsty thing in my head for weeks and I have enough courage to say it skdh

Letting Yuji thighfuck you as his reward

Making Sukuna thighfuck you as his punishment

Idk- I feel like Yuji would love it.. cause he's so sweet and thinks you're cute all over *kicking my feet*

And- now idk how you'd make Kuna submit like that- although, that subby college kuna is on the mind yk hehe

anyway- that is all, ily and I'm loving the Hockey AU so far mwah 💗💕

AAAH RISA I LOVE THIS 🥵🥵 Thank you so much for sharing this with me!! 💗

Yuuji x Reader, Sukuna x Reader. 700 words. 18+. Smut. Thighfucking (Reader is sitting on a kitchen counter with her legs crossed). Praise kink, cum-eating in Yuuji's case. Degradation kink, overstimulation, squirting/piss in Sukuna's case. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact. Divider @/benkeibear

Yuuji is happy about anything you give him. He is so in love with you and your body it drives him crazy to push his leaking cock between your beautiful thighs. He walked into the kitchen, seeing you sitting on the counter in that short skirt, and he was instantly rock-hard. He laughed sheepishly and apologized for his dick, but you smiled at him and put a hand on the large tent in his grey sweatpants.

"It's ok Yuuji. I like how much you want me. Come here, baby."

The moment Yuuji realized what you had in mind, he was already pushing his sweats down eagerly, lips opening in a loud moan. It felt dirty, and that excited him.

Yuuji is always a nasty one. Cute but nasty and very horny. So he is all too happy and grateful that you let him rub his horny cock against your soft skin. It looks so hot how his swollen, wet mushroom head peeks out between your plush thighs, drooling pre-cum all over himself and smearing it between your sexy thighs when he fucks them. Things become more slippery with each horny thrust, and it makes Yuuji moan shamelessly.

You tell him to look at you, and when he does, you pet his hair and coo at him,

"You are so sweet, Yuuji. Such a good boy. I love you so much, baby."

And Yuuji nuts so hard 💗 His large hands dig into your thighs, his moans all high-pitched and cute, while his pretty cock throbs and shoots Yuuji's thick warm cum down your thighs.

You don't even have to tell him afterward that he should lick you clean. That sweet boy is already on his knees, caressing your calves with his large warm hands while he eagerly licks his cum off your thighs while moaning against your skin how much he loves you.

Sukuna (I also imagine fucktoy Sukuna from "Bad Boy - Good Toy" here) grits his teeth to hold back his moans and glares angrily at you while he ruts desperately against you. Angry at himself for being such a needy mess for you, who needs to touch you so bad that he is even ok with this!

He thought you would let him fuck you tonight, but you just grinned at him and laughed mockingly, telling him that bad boys don't deserve your pussy. "Next time, you better behave nicer throughout the day. You are such a brat, Kuna. I really have to put you in your place."

He hates how fucking hard he got when you talked to him like that and when you sat on the kitchen counter and pointed to your legs with that cruel smile on your pretty face.

"If you are so needy, you can put your pretty dick here, baby."

He hates that he didn't even hesitate but pulled his cock out immediately, slapped it against your thigh, and then pushed it between your crossed legs with an angry and horny hiss falling from his lips.

And now Sukuna is standing here in the kitchen with his jeans and boxer briefs pooling around his ankles, fucking your thighs like some dog in heat. Fast and desperate. Groaning anytime his throbbing cock glides through the tight warm gap between your thighs.

He feels his head spin as you milk drop after drop of pre-cum out of his aching cock, while taunting him about how excited he is. But fuck, it feels good, and the way you smile at him makes him feel so strange.

"Aww look at you, Kuna. You are so pathetic. You gonna hump yourself against me until you make a mess all over me? So cute. My little horny slut."

It's too much. Sukuna growls a needy-sounding "Shut up, brat!" even as he feels his muscles contract, unable to hold back the intense orgasm that makes his whole muscular body shake as he cums all over your legs and the kitchen floor like some little excited loser, shooting his milky seed everywhere.

You don't let him go, only press your thighs together tighter and squeeze his orgasming cock, forcing Sukuna to give you every last drop of cum he has in him. He is whining by the end, so over-stimulated that tears gather in his eyes, and he even squirts a little, hearing you laugh when the sticky mix of his warm piss and cum trickle out of his angry, swollen cockhead.

😵😵💗💗

Both of them drive me INSANE!! Yuuji is such a cutie, and I want to praise him all day!! And Kuna is my favorite little brat who brings out my sadistic side. I am so in love with both of them!!

Thank you so much for sending me this sexy idea!! 💗

I hope you enjoyed your little fun time with our boys ;) Who is your fave?

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

And if anyone wants to read more about this subby version of Sukuna, you can find two sexy stories about fucktoy Sukuna here: Bad Boy - Good Toy

[barleyo]

Consequence.

Adoptive Dad! Enji Todoroki X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: nobody asked for this but idc :3 i wrote this as a b-day present for myself!! i luv this old abusive man so bad oh my god!!! nasty old man who tries to be good but fails so miserably :3 old man who is just MEANT to be awful and abusive and gross!! luv it!!! i wanted to do a full on incest fic w him but idk if anybody would be interested >_< just let me know!!

Tags: adoptive-incest (daddy-daughter), age gap (18-50s), p in v, purity, sexual abuse mentions, loss of virginity, allusions to physical abuse, size difference, creampie, gross nasty stuff in general

Wordcount: 1.6k

Once all of his kids had given him a final 'fuck you' and left him on his own, Enji felt the pressure of loneliness crash down on him. Being on top in the hero rankings was worthless to him when he came home to an empty house. Every second he sat alone in his house, he realized that it was simply too big for just one man. It had never been a home, only a house where a fragmented family resided. Only once his kids fled did that realization hit him. 

He needed to fill the space and quick, and more than that, he needed to start over. He wanted to redeem himself somehow. Whole new family for a whole new man. 

But dating was hard at his age, and all the decent women were taken. Only fame-chasing whores were interested in him at this point, and he couldn't blame them. What the hell else did he have to offer? No woman would want to be with a tired, emotionally constipated, divorced, middle-aged man. Nor would any want to have kids with one, especially not at his age. 

Adoption it was. Simple enough. Plenty of kids in the system. Plenty of needy little brats that could benefit from his new-found, new-wave parenting tactics that he read up on in his abundant spare time. 'Don't abuse your kids.' Who would've thought it? Crazy. 'Top ten reasons why your kids won't visit you when you're in the nursing home.' Well, shit. 

He knew he had to go older. He would be absolutely damned if he would take in a toddler, or worse, a tween. He wasn't ready to raise anyone— he needed something already broken in for the most part. 

17? Yeah, that should be fine. He could do that. Old enough to take care of itself for the most part. Another body in the house was what he needed, not another responsibility. A girl? Yeah. Girls were supposed to be easier, right? Girls are sweet and grateful, always considerate and willing to help out. Girls are gentle and tender. 

Just his luck. He got the most clingy girl the foster care system had to offer. It was, at most, a bit irritating for the first few days when you were skittish and nervous around him all the time, but he understood. The problems occurred when you started to get comfortable.

He thought he wanted an affectionate little thing, especially considering the radio silence he received from his biological children, but this was just too much. Wherever he was, you needed to be. All day, all night. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, excluding when he was on patrol. 

Enji knew that adopted kids tended to have abandonment issues, or whatever, but did you have to be such a damn velcro child? It was cute, in a way, the first year or so of your stay with him. He kinda liked it, having some positive attention finally turned his way, but at a certain point it was just too much. 

Like when you turned 18 and decided that sleeping alone was no longer an option. Of course, he gave in. He tried to argue back, but the threat of tears from you was too much for his now mended heart. He was trying to change, damn it. He couldn't possibly not give you everything you ever asked for. 

'Oh, what's that? Sleeping in daddy's bed isn't enough? He has to spoon with you until you fall asleep? Honey, do you really think—? No, no, don't cry. Okay, okay, I'll do it.'

Or when spooning wasn't enough, and you needed to be massaged before falling asleep in Enji's arms, taking up his bed like nobody's business. 

'What's wrong, baby? Daddy's already rubbing your back, what else do you want? Touch you where? Baby— okay, since you said please.'

Every night, his thick fingers ran tight circles over your clit, strong arms holding you tight while you flailed and wriggled against him. You never seemed to get used to his touch. It was just too good. He split you open with his index and middle, curling into the spot you couldn't quite reach on your own. Every night, like clockwork. 

But, of course, you, the mouse who was given a cookie, asked for more. Fingers weren't enough. You needed more from daddy. Sleep didn't come easily enough for you after his skilled touches. You whined for him after every exchange, but he just couldn't give you what you wanted.

Daddy would do almost anything for his baby, anything you asked! Hell, if it made you happy, if it helped to ease the guilt he carried from his older four screw ups, why not? If it helped to mend the hole he created in his own heart, he'd pepper you in every kiss and suck and touch you as much as you wanted him to, but—

he really didn't think he could deflower you. 

The idea was too much, way too much. Kind of hypocritical of him. Finger banging and slurping on his adoptive daughter was well and good enough, but playing a little game of 'just the tip' was a line he didn't know if he could cross. 

It was tempting, and every time he turned you down he felt like a real douchebag, but he didn't trust himself with you. You were so small. He was anything but gentle. He had broken enough of his kids in other ways, he didn't exactly want to add to the score. 

Your cunt was swollen and drooling after your near nightly ritual with Enji. Crawl up into his bed, whine, scratch at him and beg for his sweet touch. You always got what you wanted, except for one thing.

"Why not?" you whined, gripping onto his forearm as he curled his fingers into you from his spot behind you, lazily acting as your big spoon. 

"This is enough." His teeth were gritted softly, trying to hold himself back. "You cum like this just fine."

You let your mouth hang open, shuddering silently at how he seemed to speed up and abuse your g-spot. "Not enough," you were finally able to make out, legs clenching in an attempt to force him to stop. 

Enji huffed, ignoring your whiny excuse. He hated when you locked him out like this, trying to keep your cunt from him like some type of half-assed punishment. Moving your legs back open, spread even further now, he continued fingering you with the same brutal, forceful pace. 

"You're being bratty, baby. I don't appreciate when you act like that," he said simply, looking down at your convulsing body. 

"You always say that," you said, pushing his arm as you tried to squirm away from him to pout. "You don't wanna 'cause you don't love me. Don't wanna get close t'me." 

That was his final straw. He had been holding himself back for your sake, but he could not handle the hurt tone in your voice, even if he knew you were faking just to get him to bite. 

He pulled his fingers out of your hole and pushed them into your mouth, stuffing the digits down your throat. He slipped his girthy cock out of his boxers, jamming the wide tip into your needy warmth. 

"You know that is not true," Enji said, already fucking into you without regard to how you were almost too tight. He'd fix that. Make you fit like a glove soon enough. "I spoil you enough, and you still want more?"

You moaned, sound coming out muffled from his fingers blocking your words. He pulled them out, strings of saliva coating your cheek as he brought his hand back to your clit. 

"Jus' wanna be closer to you 'nd feel you."

He scoffed, pushing down on your clit with too much force, bringing you to the edge of climax already. 

"No, you're a spoiled brat. I give you too much," he said, not meaning a damn word that came from his mouth. "Got used to getting whatever you want, huh? Selfish little pussy taking everything it can get." 

The pure euphoria you get from him being rough with you for once is unmatched. Daddy gave you what you wanted all the time, and you liked it, but he was too gentle with it. Like he was scared to mess up or make a mistake (again). You needed him to correct you, you'd wanted him to fuck some sense into you for so long.

You clenched the silky sheets on the bed, hands trembling while he pounding into you, hips cramming against yours spastically. 

God, he was ashamed. 

Not because he was fucking his daughter, hell, he came this far without problem. He just usually was much better in bed. Your gasps and shaky moans did little to appease him. Any other time, he'd be composed and sophisticated with his strokes, but he was sloppy and needy now. 

His cock kicked inside of you, twitching when he spilled his seed. He was so caught up in his own embarrassment that he hadn't realized how dangerously close he had gotten. 

"Daddy, did you—?"

Your question was interrupted by his hand covering your mouth, unstable thrusts continuing to fill your senses. You couldn't care that he came in you when he made you feel this good.

While your legs shook and your pussy gushed, one thing was made very apparent to both you and Enji:

This was the first time he let himself go and fucked you, but it would definitely not be the last.

[satorusdiary]

“mmm, i think i jus like them a little older.”

Dilf!Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Warnings: Toji and reader have an age gap (reader is 21, Toji’s in his late 30’s,) Toji has Megumi in this, kissing, making out, groping, sexual talk, cursing, fingering, orgasms, squirting, mentions of ‘daddy’ 2 times, idk anything else lmk

Summary: Just you being obsessed with your older boyfriend Toji :)

Toji

Hey baby, where are you? I’m parked at the front.

You

I’m coming out rn, my professor held me n my friend back to talk ab something

Sent 1:48 pm

“Y/n, i understand your boyfriend is ‘smoking hot’. But i didn’t think he was so scary! Also, he’s like twice your age..” Your friend Haruki mumbled out, rubbing her arm with her free hand.

You sighed, it’s the same comment your friends have given you whenever they had a chance to see your boyfriend. They would drool over him, then they would be shocked at how old he was. But you didn’t care, he’s your man. And he loves you.

“mmm, i think i jus like them a little older.” You smirked and pushed open the double doors that led outside. You instantly spotted the black tesla that was parked underneath the trees.

“He’s fucking rich too! You a lucky girl y/n.” Haruki hummed as she pulled out her phone. You laughed in response, adjusting your skirt along with your jacket. “He’s here, i’ll see you next time we come back?”

She nods her head and holds your hand, slightly drifting away as she goes her separate path. “Yup! see you thenn.” She waved and turned her back.

The closer you approached the car the better you were able to see your pretty boyfriend through the window. A grin appears on your face, cheek to cheek as you knocked on the window, signaling him to open the door.

He looked up at your side of the window and watched as you waved at him with one of the sweetest smiles he’s ever come upon on, making him unlock the door and wave back at you.

You opened the door, immediately sitting on your personal seat which no one else was allowed to sit on. Toji, who placed your seatbelt for you leaned over and pressed a sweet, long kiss on your glossy plump lips. Making you snicker when you feel his lips sucking on your bottom one.

“Hey old man.” You snickered once more, making Toji groan as he pulls away and starts the car. “Always givin me shit, the first’ second i see you again. Little brat.”

“—‘m the one whose payin’ your fuckin tuition, be grateful for me sweet girl.” He side eyes you and slithers his hand onto your bare inner thigh. His fingers ghosting over your underwear.

“I know.” You trailed off. “Thank you, daddy” you blurted the name as a joke. Knowing towards Toji, this “joke” was something that could push his buttons. Sexually that is.

Toji smirked and began messing around with the hem of your underwear fabric, pulling the small edges and letting it go just so it could slap agains your wet clit.

“Take off your underwear, baby.” He whispered, continuing to drive away from the college campus. You instantly did as he was told, holding both edges of your underwear and dragging it down to your feet. Toji had his hand out, waiting for you to hand over your underwear.

“Why do’ya need my underwear?” You questioned. Toji chuckled and looked over to you, caressing your soft doughy cheek. “So i can touch my baby, of course.” He mumbled, taking your underwear and stuffing it into his pocket.

“Y’know. Gumi really misses you, been whining about how he’s stuck with me while you go to school.” Toji rubs your clips making you grab onto his arm and take a deep breath in at the sudden contact.

“o-oh really? i miss my Gumi too, ‘m happy i get to see him soon.” You stuttered when Toji began sinking his fingers deep inside of your sobbing pussy, you were full and it wasn’t even because you were right, it was becasuse Toji’s fingers were massive.

The sharp turns Toji makes when he has to drive by a neighborhood to get to your guy’s home has you feeling like your on a roller coaster. But the feeling of his fingers slowly moving inside of you drives you even more crazy.

His pace gets faster, making your breathing get heavier and your moans get louder. Music to Tojis ears, more satisfying than the music playing on his radio. Your juices continue to leak onto Toji’s seats but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“ohh- toji please.. go faster.” You moaned, gripping on his arm trying to convince him to thrust into you faster. “Please who?” Toji questions.

“Please daddy.” You throw your head back more into the head cushion on your seat. A smirk appears on Tojis face, he stops at a red light and goes over to place a few kisses on your lips. Occasionally he would swipe his tongue over yours and massage your breast with his free hand.

He thrusts in faster and deeper inside of you, the small droplets of liquid spilling out of you the more aggressive he plunges his fingers inside your pussy. The coil in your stomach building up as you cry out even more. The man beside you is only grinning, noticing how much your clenching around his two massive fingers.

Even if it wasn’t his cock, his fingers did know how to please you as if he was using his cock. Like, how big it was, how fast he was able to thrust his fingers inside you, and how deep it was able to reach inside of you. Better than you ever expected it.

“You gonna come sweetheart? Cum around my fingers, c’mon make a mess for me darling.” He coo’s. “Godd.. Toji.” You wince as his fingers abuse your g-spot, driving you on edge as you chase your orgasm.

Before you knew it, you had squirted in his hand. You thought it was embarrassing, Toji on the other hand thought it was cute. What he did next left you flabbergasted.

He brought his hand from between your thighs and licked a strip of your juices, making you agap your mouth open and slap him lightly on his arm.

“Oh my gosh, Toji!” You shut your eyes and clenched your sticky wet thighs together. The heat in your cheeks getting hotter as you realize you don’t have your underwear no more.

“What’s wrong? ‘m in the wrong ‘for wanting to taste my sweet, innocent lil girlfriend?” Toji smirks.

You rolled your eyes and turned away from him to look out the window. “Let’s jus go home, i wanna’ go to bed already old man.” You abruptly jabber out.

“Ahem— i mean, toji..” You coughed out once you notice the older man’s glare towards you.

“That’s my girl, always so polite.”

Your wobbly legs were not helping you once you tried walking out of Toji’s tesla, that was parked outside of his garage. Luckily, before you could’ve fallen Tojis muscular arm had a hold around your waist, keeping you steady from falling.

“—t’s your fault old man! Your fingers so fucking massive, might as well break me in half huh.” You complained and held onto his other hand that wasn’t around your waist. A snort was let out from the older male beside you as he walked the both of you towards your home.

“I’m supposed to be sorry? fuckin brat. Be happy it wasn’t my dick, shit could’ve been a thousand times messy.” Toji grinned down at you, watching as you don’t meet his eyes and look away embarrassed.

“The silent treatment huh? You’re breaking my heart, sweet girl.” He hums, his hands getting lose as he tries to pull away once you and him make it to the front porch of your home.

“..’m sorry, Toji.” You mumbled and hugged his torso, placing your head on his muscular chest. The thin, tight black shirt that was over his torso just held his figure so well, you couldn’t help but awe over your pretty boyfriend.

“it’s okay, baby. Now let’s go inside? Gumi might still be watching tv.” He kissed your forehead.

You nodded your head and twisted the doorknob leading you inside the house. The first thing you noticed was a little boy sitting on the couch, with a crayon on hand, drawing on a blank piece of paper.

“Gumi?” You called out to the little boy. Toji was behind you locking the door, but still paid attention to when you would interact with his son.

Megumi looked back at the entrance, you could’ve sworn his eyes lit up when he saw you. He jumped out of the seat and ran over to you, his arms wide open as he wants to pull you in a big hug.

“y/n!” The four year old cooed, giving you a big hug making you kneel down. You smiled and nuzzled your face into his hair, massaging his back.

“Hey, megumi. You missed me?” You mumbled to him. It’s been a few days since you’ve been home, staying on campus for the whole week meant not being able to see your loved ones. Which was a pain when you couldn’t see Toji, or Megumi.

“missed you s’much. Dad has been nagging me ever since you left..” He clung onto your arm, signaling that he wants you to carry him on your hip. Which you did.

“no th’fuck i didn’t. He jus wants you to feel bad for him, don’t fall for it.” Toji tsked and made his way towards the kitchen, to grab a drink of water.

You snickered and placed Megumi back on the couch, leaving him to continue drawing and watching his cartoons. Toji, who was still in the kitchen was occupied opening a wine bottle.

Your hands snaked around his torso as you buried your head into his back, your cheek being smushed in the process.

“Shower with me, please” You mumbled. Toji stopped using the cork screw and looked back at you with a questionable expression.

“y’want my dick hm? jus couldn’t wait til we made it to the bedroom.” Toji chuckled and ruffled your hair, placing a kiss on your temple.

“maybe.. but i just want to shower for now.” You winked, pressing a kiss on his lips. After, you walk towards the stairs unbuttoning your top.

Right then and there, he’s convinced that he’s inlove. Toji never believed in love, until he met you. A young, innocent soul who was willing to patch him up when he was badly injured after getting into another battle.

If he were to ever talk about love, or the person he cherishes the most. He’d talk about you, and him together. And Megumi of course.

The sounds of the shower running comes into his senses, along with your voice yelling for him to join you. A grin appears on his features.

“yeah, ‘m coming sweetheart hold up.”

A/N: don’t mind errors

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

[lohotine]

AN: Def seems like the person to deny being sick, and act like a little bastard, and not take medicine, and just act whiney and clingy

Sick! Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader

Oneshot (headcanons below)

Warnings: idk, just a silly little post of our favorite trickster ☆☆☆

-Sick-

"Shadow Milk, you have to take the medicine or you're not going to get better!"

"I already told you- It's gross and I don't wanna!"

This back and forth had been going on for who knows how long.

You see, Shadow Milk had caught a cold, and you have been trying to get him to take medicine to recover. The only problem was, he was being a stubborn little brat.

"And I'm fine! It's just a cough. I'm not even sick-"

Oh, and there was that too. He kept insisting that he was fine when he clearly wasn't.

"You threw up an hour ago."

"That's unrelated."

You frowned.

"If you don't take it then I'm going to become sick. You would want that, right?"

He glared at you. "I don't like how you're using your own health against mine," he'd say.

"Fine, give it here," he reached his hand out for the bottle of medicine, to which you happily gave him.

Then he began to gulp it down by the bottle-full.

"MILKTHATSNOTHOWYOURESUPPOSEDTOTAKETHEMEDICINE-" You'd scream out in mild panic.

"Just be grateful I'm even taking it in the first place!" He'd hiss.

He finished the entire bottle.

"This stuff tastes gross. I don't know how you normal people do it," He'd stick out his tongue, and you would snatch the now empty bottle from his hands.

"That's because you're not supposed to drink all of it."

"Yada Yada, rules aren't really my thing, doll. Anyway, am I like.. not sick anymore?"

What a clueless, loveable, idiot.

"...No. You have to wait a while,"

He had a disgusted look on his face.

"Are you serious? I drank that whole bottle and it doesn't even cure me? That's such a scandal." He would cross his arms.

"Again, you weren't supposed to drink it all."

"Yeah yeah, my bad. Now hurry up and cuddle me. It's been much to long since I've last had you in my arms." He would reach his arms out for you, making grabbing hands and a pouting face.

"No way- I don't want to catch what you have."

He ignored your response and snatched you under the covers with him.

You were really stuck now. You both know that if Shadow Milk wants something, it's his. And in the current moment, he wanted your attention.

"If you do end up getting sick, then I'll be the one to take care of you."

It was going to be a long week.

Headcanons ☆

Runs around the house to avoid taking medicine

Denies being sick, even though he sneezes like every five seconds

Refuses to rest

Will get abnormaly warm, but will still complain about being cold

Will cuddle you in the night and you're legit overheating

He says sorry but doesn't do anything about it

Either takes all of the blankets from you, or puts ALL of the blankets on both of you

Either way, he uses all of the blankets

Ten times clingy, but he insists its for 'no reason in particular.'

Gets so whiney and needy

If he doesn't have your attention 24/7 he screams

Will 100% use his sick status to avoid responsibilities

Still a flirty bastard

If he ever seems to get randomly better, he'll say it's because of your love

One time has attempted to start an... interesting doctor and patient role play

You shut down the idea quickly and he wouldn't stop nagging you about it for the rest of the day

[beenbaanbuun]

punishment w/ poly!woosan

words - idk but it’s not long

genre - smut

warnings - degradation, thigh riding, dom!woosan, sub!reader, edging, dacryphilia, they’re mean

choking on my SPIT RN!!!!!!

like i’m sorry but san would just sit and watch wooyoung be literally so mean to you with a smirk on his face, and when you turn to him for help he’s just coo in the most condescending way I FEEL SICK AHHHHHHH.

like imagine, wooyoung just has you naked on his lap with his hands on your hips as he gets you to ride his thigh. you’ve been at it for ages now and every time you’re close to cumming, he just pins you in place and watches you squirm as your impending orgasm floats away into nothingness. you’re crying by this point, and all he can do it spit out his evil little words.

“fucking slut needs to learn a little patience,” he frowns as you let out a sob at yet another lost orgasm, “i’m serious. maybe we spoil you too much if this has you crying like a baby.”

you shake your head with a sniffle, completely denying his accusations even though you know it’s true. they’re too nice to you, even when you’re being a little brat. perhaps you flew a little too close to the sun today, thinking you’d get away with it. you should’ve known there’d be consequences sooner or later.

you let out another cry as wooyoung begins to guide your hips again, rubbing your bare pussy up and down the fabric of his pants. there’s barely any resistance anymore with how much of your wetness now coats it. the sound it makes as you rub up against it is humiliating, but wooyoung just smirks like it’s music to his ears.

“hear that sannie?” he calls out to the man who lays on the couch behind the two of you, simply grinning at you as he palms himself through his pants, “she’s so fucking wet right now, anyone would think she’s enjoying this punishment!”

you sob as wooyoung flexes his thigh against your oversensitive clit and san lets out a dark chuckle.

“poor little baby, hm?” his voice drips in sarcasm, “you don’t like it when we’re mean, do you? don’t like it when we have to take control because you think you’re too good to listen to us?” you nod in agreement. san just laughs, “your slick little cunt says different.”

you cry out as wooyoung speeds up, somehow knowing that another orgasm is quickly approaching. this time he shows no sign of slowing at all so maybe this time he’ll let you cum. you mentally cross your fingers as you place your palms flat on his chest and screw up the material of his shirt in your hands.

“maybe, if she hates it so much, she should’ve thought about that before she was bad,” wooyoung spits out as he watches your eyes roll into the back of your head and your jaw go slack. he listens carefully for the very start of a high pitched moan that he knows means you’ve reached your high, and then he stills. your orgasm comes crashing to the floor, once again abandoning you when you were right on the cusp.

you hiccup out a sob as you collapse onto wooyoung’s chest. he catches you in his arms, letting go of the harsh grasp he has on your hips, and his shirt catches your tears. you can only hope it’s not one of his expensive ones as you use it to wipe at your mess of a face.

“aw, babe,” san coos, “have you had enough now? does our precious girl need to cum?”

you nod as you sob into wooyoung’s chest, and you’re grateful for the way he pats your back, even though you can hear the chuckle that’s rumbling around his chest.

“go on then, baby,” he mumbles into your ear, “show us how bad you want it.”

[runningfrom2am]

the wedding // LTPF

summary: the wedding of the year, i can see it now.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. she's a bridezilla for REAL and i wish i included more of that energy, protective!coryo, idk people are drinking alcohol? (its a wedding, so duh), also TW for Livia and r's dad just existing p much.

based on this ask and this ask!

series masterlist // playlist

Everything was perfect. Absolutely everything you had dreamt of your whole life when it came to your wedding. Coryo had told you money was no object, and therefore, you spared no expense. You had a strong theory that your father was being sent every last bill, since you knew neither of you had anything more than what the Plinth's were providing for school, but that was the farthest thing from your problem. It was the least your father could do.

The hardest part of the whole thing, even before deciding who would give you away without your father, was deciding on your maid of honour. You didn't have many good friends, or friends at all, outside of your new husband. At one point, you wondered if had things gone differently, would you have chosen Lucy Gray?

Clemensia Dovecote was a fine enough choice. "Let me just say," Her speech began, hitting the side of her overfilled wine glass with a fork. "I have called this wedding for years, and no one believed me." She shot a smile over to you at the head table. "For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Clemensia. Y/N's Maid of Honour." She had just thrived on the title since you offered it to her which, while annoying, was good because she took her position very seriously. She was the perfect choice- she looked nice, presentable in a dress you had picked out, but the colour clashed with the yellow in the whites of her eyes and the few scales that were yet to fall off after the snake bite. She looked fine, but she also made you look better. "But like I said, I knew this would happen."

She was drunk, repeating things in a way that made you cringe internally but nevertheless, you had to watch. The lights spread across the large backyard of the Plinth's mansion lit up the night beautifully, bouncing off every white and red rose you had spread about. You were very grateful to them for allowing you to host the reception there. They had done a lot for you in the last year since you returned from Twelve.

Mrs. Plinth was very involved with planning the wedding- she loved the winter wedding and leaning into it as a theme. It worked out nicely because it gave her something to think about other than the death of her only child, and she was a tremendous help and support to you. You were truly grateful, but this day was hard on them without Sejanus there. She had mentioned on more than one occasion that Sejanus would have been the best man, and you only slightly doubted that. You wouldn't want it to be anyone else- but Coryo would have had different thoughts, you're sure.

"How much longer will this go on for?" Your now husband whispers in your ear, fake smile on his face as he also has to listen to Clem's rambling.

"I really don't know." You reply with the same fake smile, knowing that eyes were on you just as much as her.

"Some choice for a maid of honour." He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, a playful smile on your lips. "Oh, well, I would have gone with Arachne Crane but, you know..."

"Fair enough." He mumbles, sitting back in his seat. "Are you really the only woman in the Capitol who isn't insufferably annoying? You should have been your own maid of honour."

"Well it was her or Tigris, and Tigris is prettier than me so she wasn't really an option." You hum, grabbing his hand under the table as you keep your eyes focussed on Clemensia, not paying attention to a word she says.

Coryo laughs. "Tigris is not prettier than you."

"She's your cousin, your opinion is invalid." You shrug it off.

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm right." He argues, squeezing your hand.

You don't reply, and you let his hand go to clap once Clem is finally finished. You had already eaten, so now it was supposed to be the "fun part", as Clemensia so aptly put it in her speech. You found it rude, yes, but it wasn't a big deal and after tonight you wouldn't have to see her again for a while.

It was brisk out, being a winter wedding you should have expected that, but you still had another dress to change into so you excuse yourself from the table, kissing your husband goodbye as he gets up as well.

You hadn't allowed him to see any of your dresses, and this would be your third one today alone. He loved every one, and did not expect to be disappointed by the next. Or the one after that.

"Hey, congrats, Coriolanus." He tears his gaze away from your retreating figure to whoever was talking to him.

"Thank you, Hilarius." He nods, smiling politely at him and reaching out to shake his hand.

"I saw this one coming miles away." His classmate laughs. "You remember that though, right?"

"When you said that if I wasn't going to go after her you would?" Coryo asks, eyebrow raised. "I do remember that. It makes me wonder who let you in..." It's meant as a joke as he makes a point of looking past him toward the security they have at the entrance.

He furrows his brow when his eyes catch on your father standing there, arguing with one of the security guards, his wife by his side.

"If you would excuse me..." He says, walking toward them before Hilarius could even respond.

"Ugh, I know. Why did you even invite her, Y/N/N?" Clemensia complains as Tigris helps you step out of your gown.

"Who?" You ask, unsure what she was even talking about.

"Livia." She states, yet another glass of red wine in her hand.

"Oh, I kind of had to. Connections and all that." You shrug. You weren't Livia's biggest fan, she had a "greater than thou" attitude that drove you up the wall, but who in this city didn't?

"Ah, yes. Of course." She hums. "She had a lot of audacity to show up in that dress though..."

Your head whips around to look at her. "What dress?"

"You haven't seen her?" She gasps. "I thought you saw her! It's this white-based floral, really questionable for someone else's wedding. Looks like a tablecloth." She accentuates the statement with a sip from her glass.

Your jaw ticks and you look toward the door, already seeing red.

"Hey, Y/N, it's okay." Tigris rests her hands on your shoulders, prompting you to look at her. "We'll tell security, they can escort her out if that's what you want."

You take a breath, forcing a smile on your face. "Let's not bother them. I'll just go chat with her." You smile, stepping out of the dress in bare feet, quickly grabbing Clemensia's overfilled wine glass from her hand on your way out the door.

"Y/N, Wait! Don't!" Tigris calls after you, well aware of your notorious temper by now, but you don't listen.

You're in your white slip when you storm back out to the reception area through the back patio, immediately and quickly scanning the crowd for the guest in question. You know you have seconds before Tigris likely tries to stop you, but you know Clemensia won't. Then, you see her.

You're seething already. That's practically a wedding dress on its own. You would kill her.

You stomp across the ground, tunnel vision locked on her as she raises her glass to her lips, laughing, and talking with other guests, completely careless to what she had done wrong. Well, she would learn today.

"Livia Cardew!" You grin, walking up to her. "I don't recall sending you an invitation, but here you are!"

Immediately, she's taking in your appearance, giggling at your lack of appropriate attire and shoes. "Y/N! Congratulations." She says, eyes finally locking with yours again.

"May I have a word?" You ask, already grabbing her arm and pulling her away.

"Is there a problem here?" Coriolanus asks, addressing only his security as your father stands there, red-faced with anger.

"Yeah, they've got no invite." He nods, showing Coryo the list in his hands which he quickly pretends to look over.

"Oh! Sorry, yes. There you are..." He says, pointing down at the bottom and your father visibly relaxes. "Under the title there that says 'not welcome under any circumstances'... Well then." He looks at your father now for the first time, tilting his head at him.

"No, this is my daughter's wedding and we will be let in!" He demands, raising his voice.

Coryo clicks his tongue, slightly shaking his head. "No, sir, I thought we were clear on this."

"No, you said the wedding. This, if I'm not mistaken, is the reception. I made my sacrifice. Now, I'm here."

"And only about two hours late." Coryo hums uninterestedly, looking down at his watch. "Father of the year."

Your father's fuming, and it's hard for Coryo to not laugh in his face. "I paid for everything here! You can't deny us entry!"

"I can." Coryo says. "Well, actually, my apologies. Mrs. Y/L/N, you are welcome to come in, if you'd like." He smiles at her, polite demeanour flicked back on like a light switch.

Your father quickly pulls her back behind him. "It's both of us or neither of us. Go ask our daughter." He states, gripping tightly on her arm.

"Oh, no. I won't be ruining our wedding." Coryo shakes his head, firm in his decision. "I'll tell Y/N you send your love, Ma'am. Have a good night."

"No! You will let us in right now or-" Your father's tantrum is interrupted by a commotion across the yard, drawing Coryo's attention. People gasp in shock, and then he sees you, about to absolutely lay into Livia Cardew, who now has red wine all over her face and the front of her dress.

"I must be going, now." Coryo tells them, turning back to the security guard and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt to be able to roll up his sleeves. "If you don't mind, call for peacekeepers to escort him from the property. Thank you."

He doesn't have time to hear your father's angry disagreement as he walks away.

"So," You drop her arm, turning to face her. "I'm not sure if you are aware, but this isn't your wedding." You spit, gesturing to her dress. "And listen, I get it! You're jealous. That's fine, but it's extremely tacky and honestly embarrassing for you to wear a white dress to a wedding that's not yours."

Livia's lips fall open in shock, looking down at her dress before she laughs. "Y/N, come on. It really isn't that serious, you realize that, right?"

You stare at her for a moment, weighing your options. You could smash the glass over her head like you wanted to, demand that she leave immediately, or, you could 'accidentally' spill the glass on her. Before you complete the thought, you're throwing the contents of Clemensia's glass at the front of her dress, smiling as it splatters up over her face and in her hair, dripping down the front of her expensive-looking gown.

"Oops."

Livia gasps, wiping the red substance from around her eyes and flicking it off. "I thought that for one day you could be normal! God, you are vile!" She's practically screaming now.

"This is entirely your fault, you do realize that, right?" You tilt your head at her, a slight laugh under your tone. "If you wanted my husband just say that."

"I- ugh!" She groans in frustration and anger, swiping her hands over the liquid on her chest and flicking it all at you, staining the perfectly white satin of your slip. You look down at it, and then back at her. You were about to go through the roof.

The amount of people watching in the immediate vicinity is the only thing keeping you from grabbing her hair and shoving her head into the dirt. You decide to scream instead.

It turns into more of a wail, pumping angry tears into fake sad ones. Coryo is there in a second. "Darling, what's happened?" He asks, horrified as he looks between the two of you, grabbing your shoulders.

"I-" You sniff, pointing to the girl in front of you. "I just came to offer her something to change into because that is out of dress code and I tripped and-" You hiccup as he's rubbing up and down your bare arms. "It was an accident, and then she... It was just an accident! Now my dress is ruined and, and-"

He turns his gaze to Livia who just looks pissed while you ramble on about having had a little too much to drink, that was all. He's sure that's not what happened, he knows his wife better than that, but this show was not for him. He looks her up and down, visibly disgusted by her choice of dress. It honestly looks better now.

"Coriolanus that's not-" She chuckles with the shock of the accusation, shaking her head as she pleads with him.

"It's time for you to go." He tells her, looking toward a member of security who's not busy with your father, quickly waving him over.

Livia looks at the approaching security man in shock. "I didn't do anything!"

"That dress and causing a scene over it is more than enough." He states, wrapping an arm around your waist and wiping your tears from your cheeks. "Let's get you some water, Darling. It's okay..."

"It's not!" You cry, gesturing to the few small drops of wine on the front of your dress. "It's ruined! She ruined everything!"

Just as she's about to be escorted out, you make eye contact with her, offering a smug smile. She scoffs, which earns her a grab on the arm and a more forceful expulsion from the reception.

"Y/N!" Tigris is rushing across the lawn toward you, careful not to stumble in her shoes and bridesmaids' dress. "What happened?" She asks, addressing her cousin now.

"She's okay, there was just an accident with a glass of wine. We're just going to take a few minutes. I'll help her change." He explains to her.

She nods, looking worriedly down at the small stains in your dress. "I should be able to get this out, alright?" She assures you, rubbing a clean spot of the fabric between her fingers to make sure.

"Okay, thank you." You sniff, leaning into your husband's side as he guides you back up to the house.

You get inside and upstairs to what has become your dressing room and secondary bedroom over the last year. As soon as he shuts the door behind you, you can't hold your laughter back anymore. You're practically doubled over with it, and immediately Coryo understands. He chuckles, shaking his head at you.

"What a show..." He grins fondly, pulling you into a hug which you happily return.

"Oh, you liked it?" You giggle, coming down from your laughing fit.

"It was wonderful." He agrees, kissing the top of your head. "For a moment I was worried about you."

"Aw, really?" You look up at him, jutting your lip out in a pout.

"Definitely." He hums, kissing you softly. "Now come on, let's get you changed, huh?"

"Please." You nod, kissing him again before pulling back to pull your next dress from the closet. "I was supposed to wear this underneath, but now I can't." You sigh, hanging the full dress on the door before pulling the wine-stained one over your head.

"Just that will do, I suppose." Coryo mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you toss the slip onto the ground.

"Oh, you suppose, do you?" You chuckle, reaching up to pull the new dress from its hanger.

"Mhm." He nods, planting a kiss in the crook of your neck. "Makes my job easier later."

You laugh, blush spreading over your cheeks and flushing your chest while you unzip the back. You carefully balance as you step into the opening in the fabric, pulling it up around your waist.

"Don't rush, Darling. It will probably take you a while to recover before we can return to the party." He says, watching you adjust the skirt before you plan on zipping it up.

"Good point." You agree, but make no effort to stop until Coryo places his hand over yours.

"What should we do with all this time we have to kill, hm?" He's already leaning down to kiss over the back of your neck.

"I feel like you have an idea..." You mumble, tilting your head to adjust to his presence.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" He asks as he gently pushes the fabric back down to drop in a pool around your ankles.

"You may have mentioned it..." You turn under his palms as they land on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "And I love you too. More than you could ever imagine, Coryo."

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey ,  @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[gilverrwrites]

idk if this is too weird or dark but I’ve been thinking about Arkham Knight Jason and Slade ruining Jason’s replacement by brainwashing her or feeding her Ivy’s aphrodisiacs, so every time one of them walks in the room, you’re ready to please them. You learn to automatically open your legs or get on your knees when you hear heavy boots approaching wherever Jason’s keeping you. Jason films a lot of it too, like when Slade will find a spot on the floor and you’ll immediately move to straddle him, grinding a little as you lean down to suck the old man’s tongue.

Related posts: one, two, three, and four.

WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON, brainwashing, corruption, degradation, spit. Just, these two should come with one of those toxic waste symbols on their heads.

Oooohhhhhhhhh, Ivy’s aphrodisiacs but not telling/gaslighting you into believing it's all on you, you just want them so fucking bad. You're lucky to have them to take care of you. Your body isn't betraying you, it just knows better. It's your base instincts telling you you're not meant for heroism, you're meant for fucking these nasty, dirty men.

That's why you feel so flushed whenever they're in the same room as you, that's why you can't help opening your legs and bucking your hips when they look your way, that's why just the graze of their gloved fingers on your cheek makes you cry in frustration, makes you beg for more.

"You should be so fucking grateful, letting you ride our dicks." Jason likes to taunt, with his face buried in your bouncing tits, finger in the flesh of your hips. "Where would you be without us? Still at Batman's beck and call. Waste of a perfectly good slut."

There was a time when you would kick and scream whenever you were even left alone with Slade. He used to tease you, threatening to bind and gag you, knowing full well he much preferred the thrill of the fight, preferred taming you the hard way. Now, now he just whistles and you're at his feet like a good little bitch in heat.

"I don't think a minute goes by where you‘re not thinking about this cock being inside you. Is that right?" He'll coo as he holds you steady, cock pulsing in the back of your throat, making sure you choke on him until tears are streaming down your pretty face. When he finally lets you go, you know to say 'Yes, sir." If you want him to keep using you.

Also, anon, I gotta say, the image of Jason filming while you grind in Slade, sucking his tongue, fingering his silver chest hair, just being a good girl for that filthy old man is sending me and has been since I read this like WHAT.

Jason jacking off to the whole display, spitting the vilest shit while you grind a stain into Slade's pant leg with your disgustingly wet pussy. “You like that, you needy whore? Old mans barely even touched you and you're creaming all over him.

Feels good, right? Letting your body do what it wants, take what it needs?

Oh just you wait ‘til I get my hands on you baby, you're not gonna know a word that isn't ‘fuck’ and ‘please’ by the time I'm done.”

Slade doesn't even care when Jason calls him an ‘old man’, not when you're sitting pretty, drooling on his fingers and begging for a good fuck.

"You look so good getting fucked like that, pretty girl." "She feels fucking good, you like that don't ya?" "Yeah! Yeahyeahyeah yeah, please don't stop." "Oh, don't worry, you nasty slut, I'm not stopping anytime soon." "Now smile for the camera bat-brat, this is going out to all of Gotham. Say 'Hi Batman!' Ha, blow him a big kiss baby."

And you're so fucking out of it from the pheromones or just, the euphoria of being bent and twisted and praised and degraded and railed just right, or whatever reason, that you do exactly that; With Jason's fist in your hair, his spit on your face, a smile on your lips. You flutter your lashes, waving limply into the lens as you say 'H-hi Batman! MuWAH!'

Shit, what if when they're not around they have all the footage Jason took playing on a loop wherever they're holding you. Intermitted with clip/photos of you pre-capture To remind you of how far you've fallen.

[mixelation]

on sakura in reborn au

i was considering team 7 dynamics and going into it, minato & kakashi both assume the issues will be a sasuke-naruto thing. they annoy each other, and naruto considers sasuke a romantic rival and will actively pick fights with him, and sasuke is ready and willing to escalate those fights. minato & kakashi knows naruto likes sakura and sakura likes sasuke (because naruto won't shut up about it), but i don't think they've considered sakura's role in the dynamic beyond "idk, maybe she'll act weird around him"

i think a lot of sakura's canon annoyances with naruto were organic (as in, she just found him annoying, regardless of any social cues about how he was Bad News she was additionally picking up). aside from that one awful comment she made to sasuke, the only times we see sakura being "mean" to naruto are after he's been obnoxious to/around her. she tells him off for trying to prank kakashi because she's a teacher's pet, but she ALSO privately thinks this is funny. we also see multiple instances in part 1 of her actively trying to protect him. in the manga, she tackles naruto out of the way to save him from zabuza. she is ready and willing to tank her own promotion to chunin and sasuke's in order to protect naruto's dream of being hokage (she's told they can't retake the chunin exams if they fail the written test, but they CAN retake if they drop out, and even though she's confident she will pass, she starts to raise her hand to drop out so NARUTO will get a second shot). she gets beat up in the forest of death trying to protect naruto (and sasuke) and then afterwards attempts to protect naruto emotionally by telling him she cut her hair because she "felt like a change" and not explaining what happened (i don't think not telling him is a good call, but i do think she did it because she wanted to protect him). i think her awful comment about naruto not having parents was maybe something she felt was socially normal/acceptable to say because everyone did hate naruto, which was why she thoughtlessly blabbed it to sasuke. she'd maybe even heard other people saying similar things and thought this was just how she's supposed to think about him. but i don't think she ever truly hated him; she just found him kind of annoying

the point of all this is that i don't think sakura dislikes naruto the way some people write her to. but she doesn't like him hitting on her, and she doesn't like when he does crude stuff around her.

so, given that, now imagine a situation where there's not random society-wide shunning of naruto. he's still loud and obnoxious, so i think sakura would find him grating even if she secretly thinks some of his pranks are funny. she doesn't even consider returning his crush. that is not on the table for her. she still likes sasuke. she still breaks up with ino because i maintain that that was an act of sakura trying to make herself an independent agent from ino and not ino's sidekick. but. but. she has fewer overall problems with naruto. naruto is the class clown but he's not a pariah; he's the hokage's kid and he has social clout

so maybe. consider this. sakura does not return naruto's crush, but his attention is now sort of fun and exciting. she's twelve, after all-- this is new to her, and she's feeling out what she likes and she's not necessarily mature or emotionally aware enough to not be a huge brat. it's fun when naruto brings her flowers and she gets to turn him down in front of other people. it's fun that everyone knows the hokage's son is in love with her, and that she doesn't have to love him back to keep this attention on her.

it is extremely fun when naruto sees her sighing over sasuke and then goes to fight him and then sasuke escalates.

kakashi gets his team and is told there might be some typical twelve year old crush drama, but sakura's personality is predicted to balance out naruto and sasuke's tendency towards fist fights.

and then kakashi watches her intentionally goad them into a fight and then fucking preen and he's like. oh. oh no.

[babydollmarauders]

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (PART TWELVE)

notes: i’m finally caught up on this series! just in time for the last regular season game!

previous: eleven

next: thirteen

y/ndevils00

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y/ndevils00 if you’re allergic to sappiness, you may wanna keep scrolling tonight!

first of all, i’m so proud of ALL my boys tonight! all 5 of our goal scorers, the assisters, and the ones who just played their asses off tonight!

now is where it gets sappy!

my jacky: you broke a 22 year old franchise points record tonight. YOU did that. i always knew you would do it, and i’m so grateful that i was there to see it happen. you’re my (real) best friend, my love, my heart, the father to my cat, and the best hockey player i’ve ever seen (sorry boys). the talent that you possess is constantly leaving me awestruck, and i can’t wait to see what you achieve in the future. i can’t imagine the past 3 years without you, and i hope i never have to live a future without you either. i am so unbelievably proud of you. congratulations, my sweet boy. lil satan and i love you to pluto! <3

my lukey: my little (not so little) brother for the past 3 years. for some context, i met luke when he came to a devils game literally the same month i started working for the team. jack introduced me to him and lukey and i hit it off. i ended up sitting with him at the game, we exchanged numbers, and i adopted him as my own little brother very quickly. when luke was chosen in the 2021 draft, i cried tears of joy; but those tears were nothing compared to the ones i shed tonight. my baby brother made his nhl debut tonight and i couldn’t be happier for him. i look forward to seeing you absolutely kick ass and show everyone in this league how incredibly talented you are. congratulations on your debut, smush! i love you! <3

p.s. rasmus dahlin, i am in your walls. stay away from my boyfriend.

tagged jackhughes and lhughes_06

user did she just call luke “smush”?! that’s so cute, i need the reason asap

y/ndevils00 no real story behind it! we just smush/squish each others cheeks a lot! also, we watched finding nemo for our first facetime movie night and he took up calling me “squishy” like dory called the jellyfish.

john.marino97 they really do do it often. i’ve counted 12 times in the past 2 days

jackhughes i love you to pluto, sweet girl. thank you for being by my side to celebrate this achievement. i’m so thankful that i get to spend life with you ❤️

y/ndevils00 you’re so obsessed with me

jackhughes PARTS of you, for sure

y/ndevils00 you perv! there are innocent eyes present! @/lhughes_06

jackhughes i meant your heart!

lhughes_06 we have thin walls, i know you’re lying.

lhughes_06 @/y/ndevils00 also, why would you tag me?!

lhughes_06 thank you squishy! this was really sweet but can you stop crying now?

y/ndevils00 you didn’t say you love me, so no

lhughes_06 i love you!

y/ndevils00 well now it just seems forced. i hope you can sleep through my wails and tears

john.marino97 congrats hughesy! so happy for you! and congrats little hughesy! you did great!

jackhughes thanks bro!

lhughes_06 thanks man!

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes @/lhughes_06 yeah, you guys are so siblings

john.marino97 @/y/ndevils00 did you think they weren’t?

y/ndevils00 idk i was just kinda hoping that maybe ellen actually switched jack at birth and he’s not actually their son but i’m their daughter

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 that’s the oddest way to say you love my family. you’re such a little nutcase, i love you

lhughes_06 @/y/ndevils00 you weren’t even born in florida like jack…

y/ndevils00 @/lhughes_06 you’re a brat

dawson1417 LFG BRO! SO PROUD OF YOU HUGHESY!

jackhughes THANK YOU BRO! APPRECIATE IT!

dawson1417 congrats luke!! smashed it tonight, dude!

lhughes_06 thanks dude! looking forward to playing more games with you!

trevorzegras HOLY SHIT CONGRATS BRO’S! KILLING IT! can’t wait to play against you @/lhughes_06

y/ndevils00 no.

jackhughes thanks bro! hope your game goes well!

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes no.

lhughes_06 thanks z! excited to kick your ass next season 🔥

y/ndevils00 @/lhughes_06 yes.

y/ndevils00 @/trevorzegras is officially banned from my comments until he apologizes to me. any more comments about or from him will be deleted.

trevorzegras what did i do now?

y/ndevils00 @/trevorzegras it’s more what you WON’T do.

trevorzegras is this seriously because i won’t dress up as ken to see the barbie movie with you?

y/ndevils00 @/trevorzegras blocking you. deleting your number. lasering off our matching tattoo.

user63 they have matching tattoos?!

y/ndevils00 @/user63 not anymore.

lhughes_06 @/user63 yeah it’s the moon and saturn

user84 am i the only one who thought she and trevor just genuinely didn’t get along?

y/ndevils00 @/user84 i feel like a lot of people think that, so i’m only gonna say this once so he can’t use it against me: trevor is actually one of my closest friends! i love him very much and i THOUGHT he loved me. if you scroll back to the summer on my account you’ll actually find loads of posts with him! we just have a funny way of showing our love but i’m actually very grateful to have a friend like him 🖤

trevorzegras 📸

y/ndevils00 @/trevorzegras i take it all back. i hate you, troll doll.

trevorzegras did you just insult my hair?! TAKE IT BACK!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras she literally called you a “brainless bimbo” and “the human equivalent of cat zoomies” the other day on the group call and your HAIR is where you cross the line?

_quinnhughes so proud of the both of you 💙 congrats guys

lhughes_06 thank you quinner ❤️ love ya bro

jackhughes thanks quinny! love ya ❤️

y/ndevils00 my baby boys <3

jamie.drysdale i wanna know what was running through your mind when jack looked straight at you when you took the arrival picture

jackhughes she yelled “shit! fuck! abort mission!” and dove behind the equipment boxes

lhughes_06 she scared the actual photographer and almost made them break their camera

user37 why does luke look like he has no emotions in the third slide?

y/ndevils00 it’s the hughes dead eye stare! they can all do it VERY well because they’re all emotionally dead inside <3

nicohischier proud of you guys! excited to play with you more @/lhughes_06 and can’t wait to see if you’ll break your own record next season @/jackhughes

jackhughes thanks cap!

lhughes_06 thank you cap!

y/ndevils00 he will!

[soapssuds]

You thought, ignorantly so, that being able to have a cursed technique that allows you to see the future and even be able to change the future of something was a blessing.

You thought, whilst resting your small hands on Riko Amanai's head, that changing the future of her body would be something good. Even as the blood seeped from her head and into your palms started to disappear and her eyes fluttered open.

"Holy shit."

You wondered if Geto meant to say that as he sat next to you both. His mind reeling as he stared at you, a six year old snot nosed brat who (quite literally) brought someone back to life.

He questioned you, of course. And you tried to explain that you weren't changing the entirety of the future itself but merely a single thing. It was quite like changing the state of an object.

For example, an object at rest will stay at rest, or an object in motion will stay in motion unless a force acts upon it. In other words, you were just a "force" changing an object's state. You were making something to what it was before or what it could be.

Geto ... was able to understand some of what you were trying to say. You were still six years old after all.

It wasn't until you stood up and waved to them both, saying something along the lines of "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers" and taking your leave. You didn't quite leave though because you brought Toji Fushiguro back to. Was that a wise decision? You weren't sure, but when you watched Jujutsu Kaisen and saw him animated for the first time, you couldn't help but be a little selfish.

Which was exactly why you thought you were doing a good thing. I mean, you weren't exactly an ordinary six year old who could see the future. You were also a used-to-be twenty-something year old who quite liked Jujutsu Kaisen. And now that you were here with a literal life changing cursed technique? Well, who's to say you couldn't change a few things here and there?

Your favorite characters died after all. It was high time you changed that.

(And if your cursed technique was related to the fact that you weren't originally from this world, you weren't exactly sure... but you were definitely grateful.)

Note | this is .. just a thought of a future fic, idk if I want to go anywhere with it yet though lol

[atrueneutral]

"It was an insult to be ignored for so long!" Haarlep has so much cat energy. I can honestly picture them pushing (breakable) stuff off tables in retaliation for being ignored for too long while also making eye contact with Raphael the entire time.

"... and the infernal quill snapped." WHY IS THAT SO HOT?!?!?

"What was to happen if Raphael’s confrontation included an equally flustered, moaning, orgasming little mouse!" Now I really want to read a follow up piece following Raphael's perspective as he is torn between raging lust and just rage when he finds the little mouse desperate and moaning (maybe she even entreats Raphael for help idk - then Haarlep could be all, 'See? Don't say I never do anything for you, brat.').

[PART I] It was because of Korrilla’s constant reconnaissance that Raphael knew where his little mouse and her companions were hiding out and licking their wounds.

It was an encampment just outside of Rivington, and Raphael walked into it as if he owned the land and each little makeshift tent that was built upon it.

The vampire spawn was the first to notice his arrival.

“What the devil are you doing here?” His question, which had come out more with surprise than anger, caused other nearby members of the party to turn, look and see who the devil in question was.

Raphael’s eyes darted to count heads; everyone seemed to be accounted for, either standing beside their personal tent or waiting around for the late night dinner that was cooking over the fire.

Everyone was there - except for their mischievous wretch of a leader…

“I’d also like to know why you’re here, Raphael,” Mizora's pet said, stepping up with his hand on the hilt of his rapier.

The wizard was scrutinizing him from the fire as he stirred what smelled to be a stew of some kind, and Zariel’s rogue soldier was glaring at him from a distance.

He would ignore the rest.

“Where is she?” Raphael demanded of the vampire spawn; of them all, he had established a rapport with Astarion - established trust.

“She’s in her tent,” Astarion replied, staring at him sideways. “Said she wasn’t feeling well…”

“And which hovel is hers?”

Astarion took too long to decide what he wanted to say or do.

“I can deduce the answer on my own, but your assistance would make my visit shorter,” Raphael drawled.

“What do you want with Tav?” Mizora’s pet asked.

It was then that a stifled cry sounded out from elsewhere in the camp, and Raphael glanced at the vampire spawn with rage prickling under his skin.

“She’s ill, you say?” he inquired, knowing full well what ailed their leader. Then, to Mizora's pet, “I have business with her regarding the contract she signed, and I advise that you do not try to stop me from discussing matters with my client.”

With that, Raphael brushed past them and headed towards the source of the cry.

The tent was uniquely her; the exterior of the shelter was overflowing with a hodgepodge collection of stolen items ranging from useless to expensive. The lantern that would illuminate her area had been extinguished, and the canvas flap of the entrance was closed, but he could hear movement and strangled moans coming from inside.

She was not sleeping, or ill, and blood flowed to his cock.

Raphael was grateful most of her companions had, by now, gathered around the fire - likely to speculate what ‘business’ called him to their camp. To confirm his hunch, he could feel the gaze of a multitude of eyes at his back.

Raphael stepped to the tent’s entrance and ripped open the flap of his mouse’s tent without warning or care.

It was only a second, but the second was long enough for him to get a glimpse of her arched, spread legs and the fingers that pumped into her sex before her other hand slid out from underneath her tunic to frantically throw the blanket of her bedroll over herself.

The heady expression on her flushed features was quickly replaced with dawning recognition, and his mouse’s eyes widened.

The scent of her arousal permeated the tent, and a tent was rapidly being built in his breeches.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she whispered, startled by his unexpected appearance.

“What were you doing in my House?” Raphael challenged in return.

He inhaled her aroma as subtly (and deeply) as he could.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Raphael’s head tilted and his eyes bored into hers - doubting her ignorance when the repercussions of her tryst with his incubus were presently on display.

“Fine! I-” Her concession was interrupted when she bit her lip and choked down a moan. He could discern subtle movement underneath the blanket as her eyelids fluttered closed. “I was there… I wanted, ah - to see your House in person…”

“Are you fucking yourself as we speak?”

Her eyes opened and the sensuous look she gave him sent another wave of heat to his groin.

“No - that, mm, would be rude of me,” was his mouse’s brazen and breathless response.

Raphael entered the tent, flap closing behind him, and he tore the blanket away to find that his mouse was, unarguably, continuing to fuck herself while he was talking to her.

“What is the matter with you?” she shouted as quietly as she could while simultaneously pulling her glistening fingers out from her sex and clamping her legs closed. “And get out of my tent!”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account!” he retorted. “There’s no need for modesty when I could return to my House of Hope this very instant and look upon every inch of your body - it’s mine now.”

Her back arched as she was hit with what must have been a wave of pleasure. “Mm, well, I wouldn’t have - ah! Played around with Haarlep had I known this would happen - fuck!”

At this rate, he needed release just as much as she.

“Put your fingers back into your pretty little cunt,” he demanded, his voice becoming a lustful and low purr.

“No!” she exclaimed, indignant.

Vexing creature!

“You will do as I say, or I will go back out and tell your party the specifics of your situation - unless they already know?”

His mouse scowled. She slowly parted her legs and put her fingers back into her pretty-little-soaking-wet-cunt.

Raphael’s rage and reasoning for confronting her became consumed by lustful hunger; he was hypnotized - enraptured by the sight before him; his little mouse pleasuring herself with fingers that rhythmically disappeared into her, her body writhing and squirming with pert, hardened nipples that were visible through the thin material of her tunic, her face - the way her lips parted and the way her eyes stared into his with want…

“Mm, you’re still in my tent, Raphael…” she stated huskily.

Her scent overwhelmed his nostrils - his blood, already naturally hot, was on fire with desire.

His mouse bit back another cry as her slick fingers moved to the sensitive bud of her clit.

“My companions are going to talk…” Her eyes glanced at his crotch and traced the taut line that pushed against fabric. “Maybe a few of them will think we’re fucking.”

She was twisting him around her finger…

“Yes, I suppose they will,” he murmured as he watched her bite her lip and moan.

And he would let her.

“Do you want to fuck me, Raphael?”

His answer was automatic.

“Yes.”

She moaned again, as if his confirmation was something she had needed to hear.

“Since signing the contract, I’ve imagined you fucking me while you wear the Crown of Karsus on your head…”

A growl rumbled in his chest, and his fingers twitched while his cock yearned to ravage her.

Is that what she wanted? Did she want him to lose control? Did she want him to take her? 

“Haarlep’s been teasing me for awhile,” his mouse said. “And I can’t seem to come by myself…”

His mouth was dry.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Little Mouse?”

“Yes,” was her automatic response. She looked delirious (delicious).

Raphael nearly came then and there.

Her fingers were back in her cunt.

“Beg me to fuck you, Little Mouse, and I may oblige.”

“Please, fuck me, Archdevil Supreme Raphael - end my agony.”

And he would! Nine Hells, the strength and willpower - the control it took to not throw himself upon her! But a change in setting was necessary. For all the times he envisioned this scenario, none of them included taking the object of his desire on her unwashed bedroll that lay in the dirt of her tent of stolen goods while her companions were lingering outside waiting for any excuse to attack.

“Get up,” he ordered huskily.

She frowned, blinking at him as she stilled her movements; her sex-addled mind did not comprehend his meaning.

“We are going to the Devil’s Den. Unless you would like me to take you in this hovel?” he asked sarcastically. “I’m sure it’s been a fantasy of your party's; to eat while hearing the bliss-filled, melodic sound of their leader coming undone by a devil.”

Realization lit up somewhere behind her eyes.

“No…”

“Come along, Little Mouse,” he said. His eyes lingered between her thighs before they traveled up her body to meet her needful gaze. “And I shall give you what you’ve long desired.”

What he’s long desired…

Not needing to be told twice, she stood on shaky legs whilst grabbing the breeches that had been cast aside and hastily put them on. She then found a piece of parchment from her pack, scribbled a note, and placed it upon her bedroll.

“I’ve let them know that you haven’t kidnapped me - that we’re…” In a single step, his mouse was before him. “‘Discussing business’ elsewhere...”

She snaked a hand around his neck and pulled his head down to meet hers.

They disappeared from the tent with a burst of fire and embers.

[imagionationstation]

Hey again…I have more ideas for the 2012 Donnie raised by BM au thing, (If I’m being annoying w/ this tell me to stop and this’ll be my last ask about it.)

Hey again…I have more ideas for the 2012 Donnie raised by BM au thing, (If I’m being annoying w/ this tell me to stop and this’ll be my last ask about it.)

Rich, self-centered, spoiled brat who’s never been told no. Ever.

he’s rude, thinks (knows) he’s smarter than everyone else, doesn’t expect consequences for his actions, expects to be waited on hand and foot (probably cuz he has been by hotel staff), etc etc

the whole nine yards. He enjoys the battle nexus fights. He finds them a bit inhumane but…why should he care? They don’t impact him at all.

He does get better after meeting Leo and Splinter and stuff.

Idk, I think it’d be funny lol

— ♊️

(Sorry this took so long!)

Relates back to this Ask which has links to other Asks.

Rude? Yes. Stubborn? Yes. A bit narcissistic? Unfortunately.

Incapable of understanding that the world does not exist to serve his every whim? For a while, yes.

Well, he has been told no. But only by one person. Big Mama.

His entire life it was made very clear who controlled everything. His meals, his attire, his routine, his likes and dislikes, his studies and his hobbies- everything is a gift, and he’s eternally grateful.

Why shouldn’t he be? She’s given him everything.

He deserves as much as she’s willing to offer.

It makes him feel small, sometimes. Being so utterly dependent.

Donnie makes up for his insignificance by leaning on the one thing that she can’t control. His intelligence. His genius.

His ego is his wall against the insecurities that she’s programmed in. Something else that she intended, because very few people can tolerate him and his pride. And even less people can understand his interests and his rants. He is unintentionally isolating himself.

And that’s just fine with her.

See, now this is where our opinions separate.

I can’t imagine any kind of AU where a 2012Donnie is chill with a murder arena. I could be convinced that he’d kill because of loyalty or to protect his family, or even just because he sees it as the only way to survive. But this is senseless.

It’s a place where a great number of Yokai walk in while expecting most of them not to walk out. It’s a choice to walk into a situation where the rewards are a heavy payment and a champion title, and the price is their life. He doesn’t understand. There are so many other ways to get that kind of cash. Stealing, for instance. Fraud, with the right skills. Plain old scamming gets the goods.

He knows how smart he is, but he thinks this should be basic information. Even the most brainless of oafs know how to steal. So why would anyone in their right mind fight in the arena?

It confuses him. Him, Donatello, the genius. And he hates it.

He’d rather die than admit to anyone that he isn’t able to comprehend. So he simply pretends that he does when he’s working in the arena or brought to be shown off at Mother’s gatherings. He listens to what the others say and he repeats it as best he can.

He just doesn’t see why anyone needs to stoop to that level. It’s gory and disturbing and completely senseless. So much blood is spilled for a crowd of Yokai who cheer when faced with a life lost. It’s horrific, brutal violence that so many Yokai seem to crave.

It’s why he’s so interested in Raphael.

Yes, Raph fights and, yes, he kills- but not once has he needlessly splattered blood. Not once has he ripped a warrior apart or continued to harm after a life is lost. He doesn’t celebrate his victories or appreciate the roars of the crowd. He gives them just enough flair to keep them happy, and he does what he came to do.

It fascinates Donnie to no end. That he’s so much different than the other Yokai. That he doesn’t slaughter merely because he can, sparing his opponents lives even when the crowd calls for a bloodbath. Unless Big Mama gives the word, he is firm in mercy.

He only ever glares out at them, daring a single member to come make him take that life. Donnie secretly thinks that he hates the crowd more than his opponents.

When he fights, he’s holding back. It’s incredible to watch.

A small part of him itches to know what that’s like. To have that much power and skill and to be able to use it without bloodthirsty intent. Was it possible, to learn how to fight, but not become savage?

Of course, he never openly speaks to his Mother about any of this.

Eventually, Splinter and Leo do clear the air. Donnie finally gets to understand why he dislike the arena and why that was actually a good thing. He’s still struggling to understand that his Mother isn’t the saint that she appears, but the answer satisfies both his ego and consciousness. It helps him sleep at night.

At least, it does until he actually fights in the arena.

Then his nightmares take a different turn.

[persephone11110]

Three Chances

Bradley Bradshaw x Mitchell Reader

Warnings: past parental death, grief, someone dies, past funeral,mention of pneumonia—lung damage surgery ,childhood friends/ex bfs->almost lovers, unintentionally self harm?(bradley takes a scolding hot shower) mentions of catholic religion( in my story i gave a carole a catholic background), medical inaccuracy!!—i am not doctor

Summary: What thats saying again?— death pulls people apart and together. Together, after 10 years plus you and Bradley mends your relationship. Apparently it took death to draw you both back together.. unfortunately you both were to late. or 2 times bradley should’ve told the reader how much he loves her and one time he’s too late.

bradley calls her sunny

unfortunately mav still pulled bradley’s papers

AN: I needed to write a death fic, i honestly can’t help it, also summary sucks, i liked writing a 2+1 fic so im doing it again. also she dies right before the mission— tbh i read somewhere on google that people do typically tend to die from pneumonia if left undetected/untreated. Also also Idk if a nurse has the power to take someone off life support?

1. 1999

It’s hurts hurts, really fucking hurts— the last thing Bradley Bradshaw wanted to do during his summer vacation is bury his mom. The last thing he wanted to do is stand over her casket and say goodbye. He didn’t want to do this again, Bradley’s already done this, thirteen years his dad was the one being buried.

I can’t cry, I wouldn’t cry. Bradley thinks while sliding on his suit without thought, his eyes are raw from spending the last previous hours sobbing into pilliow. He hates how the suits clings to back— sinking into his burnt back. He took a hot scolding shower at midnight, attempting to rid the thoughts of his mothers fragile body , her last words. “I love you Bradley Bradshaw”, even in Carole’s weakened mindset she still recognized her son.

Bradley painfully rolls his shoulders back, memories of the sight of his dead father wasn’t something he needed right now. He’s walking into the church and he’s met with dozens of people yet the only face he can and wants to make out is you. Y/n Mitchell, a.k.a sunny.

He’s touched by many people—shoulder grabs, pats on the back: Uncle Maverick pressing a kiss into the side of his head, and Uncle Ice pulling him into tight hug. But you come from behind him, and tightly grabbing his hand with reassurance makes him teary eyed.

“Hey Sunny” Bradley bites his lips, shoving his emotins back down his throat. “Thanks for coming”.

You nodded solemnly, hating the reason you both were in church together. “Where else would I be Bradshaw”. you gripping his hand with yours.

“Kiddo”, Maverick come back to his godson and daughter— his own eyes red, the veins in his are more apparent you couldn’t tell if was exhaustion or sadness or both. “Hey Y/n”. he smiles sadly at you—the priest is ready when you are Brad”.

“I’m coming Uncle Mav, see you in a bit Sunny”. Bradley tightly grip’s your hand before walking away.

You twisted the rings on your fingers nervously, being a navy brat you’ve gotten accustomed to funerals. But seeing Aunt Carole in a casket wasn’t sight you needed or wanted to see. “Shut up Y/n, this isn’t about you”. you warned yourself, Bradley needs you, dad needs you. a thought rolled through your mind.

Bradley loved his mother to no end, but he’s grateful no asked for him to do the eulogy, he didn’t think anyone wanted to hear him sob in between words, hear him stutter through the whole speech. If he was being honest Bradley didn’t have the heart to do so. He didn’t have the guts to stand next to dead mother casket, spewing loving words about her.

“May Carole Anne Bradshaw rest in peace”.

You slip your hand back into Bradley’s hand.“Chicken”, you whispered into his ear, in return you earn a small smile.

“Sunshine”. he whispers back to you.

He so badly wanted to say something else, maybe the words I love you were to slipping from his lips.

I love Y/n Mitchell.

—

2. 2002

“Bullshit!”. You loved Bradley but ever since Aunt Carole died he gotten more angrier, his temper bubbling up like lava and exploding on everything around him including you. It’s not his fault the death of two parents can and will change someone inevitably, losing and burying your mother the end of freshman year isn’t fun. You just wished he wasn’t taking it out on you too.

“Shit Sunny I’m sorry I didn’t mean to snap at you”, he pulled you into his strong arms.

You step back from the kitchen doorway, after flinching from Bradley yelling you almost drop a box of old pictures.

“Bradley—”.

“Dont even go there with me, you allowed me to fall in love with the idea of flying all for you strip it from me!”. “I trusted you, I loved you how could you do this to me?”.

“You know thats not true”. Maverick tries to get through to him. “Baby Goose”.

“No, No! you don’t get to call me that not ever, and I don’t want your fucking lame ass excuses”. Bradley voice reaches to higher octave. You ponder if you should move in and stop what’s happening but you can’t. Your feet are glued to the floor.

“I fucking hate you!”, he yells, “I don’t what with you and Bradshaws and death— but i’m not dying either”. Your too astonished to move, and much to your dismay your dad doesn’t deny it.

He side steps dad, leaving him alone in the kitchen— leaving him to deal with the impact of his hurtful words.

Tears rapidly fall from your face,“Don’t go Bradshaw”, your voice is wobbly, too much sadness is rising in your throat.

He paused and almost turns around as if he thought about it.“Fuck you and Uncle Mav, why did I ever talk to you Y/n?”. A seconds passes and its all a blur as you watched Bradley leave and his pickup truck backfires.

A sob rips from your mouth, your knees buckled from under you. Your father strong arms instantly wrap around you as you sob into his chest. Your pretty sure this was first time you’ve seen dad cry so openly.

I fucking hate you Y/n Mitchell.

—

3. 2022

“Can you hang on for bit sweetheart?”, Maverick whispers, holding Sunny’s hand. “Bradley not here yet—he needs a chance to say goodbye”

This wasn’t supposed to happen, Maverick Mitchell wasn’t supposed be standing in a hospital with his unconscious daughter infront of him. He wished he could switch places with her.

The surgery was going to help her, it was going to remove the fluid from her lungs. Maverick thought back to when Sunny kept waving off her fluid induced cough.“Dad I’m fine, It’s just a little cough”.

It wasn’t a little cough, it wasn’t a small little cold either. Each and everytime you coughed your chest felt like it was rattling— your practically destroyed your voice from coughing so much.

“Y/n, sweetie don’t you think it’s time to visit a doctor?”, your dad eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Dad I’m going to be fine, I just need to keep taking medicine and I’ll be good as new in a week or two”.

Y/n wasn’t good as new, her stubborn streak kept her from being treated properly— it took her fainting from her collasped lungs to be in a hospital room.“Y/n what were you thinking?”, Maverick questioned his daughter for the millionth time.

“Captain Mitchell”, a gentle voice pulled him out of his thoughts.“A man by the name of Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw is here as a visitor”.

Maverick hastily wiped the tears from his face, “H-he can come in”.

“Uncle Mav”, Bradley starts— his voice to brittle for his liking.

“Baby Goose”.Maverick murmured and Bradley doesn’t dare and snap at him and tell him he hasn’t been baby goose in over twenty years. He doesn’t have the heart to yell at his griefing uncle— despite how angry he is at Maverick, he knows right now it isn’t the best time to dwell on their differences.

Maverick takes in his godson appearance, his hair is all over the place, purple eyebags under his eyelids— stained tear tracks. The one thing that stood the most out to Maverick was how much guilt was in Bradley’s eyes even in the way he stood.

“Oh God”, Bradley can’t reel in his emotions like he normally does. Too much guilt and anger is eating at him.“Im so sorry Sunny”. Bradley’s words are rolling off his tongue after holding them in for over a decade.

“Brad c’mere”, Maverick gently drops Y/n’s hand back down to her side. “It’s okay Baby Goose”. Maverick pulls Bradley into a hug.

“But Mav, I’ve never apologized to her, I never told her I loved her”. Maverick releases Bradley from his arms.

“Trust me kiddo, she knows— Y/n never faulted you”. Maverick stares at the machine next to him. Maverick knew—he knew Y/n was about to go home. He again let go of her hand and pressed the red button her bed.

The same nurse appears at the door. Bradley catches her name tag—Nurse June. “Captain Mitchell, Lieutenant Bradshaw— are we ready— Is she ready?”

“Yeah she is”. Maverick whispered to her.

“Ok”, Nurse June simply says with a small smile.

Bradley’s sitting on the bed to Y/n’s left— holding her hand. “I love you Sunny Mitchell”, he picks up her hand, and places a kiss onto it.

Maverick moves in a puts a kiss onto your head. “Your okay Y/n— I promise we’ll be okay”, Maverick swore to you.

The numbers on the machine start to drop— a sign that death is ready to take you. Both Bradley and Maverick drag their eyes from the machine— wanting to look you instead.

You looked so peaceful as you were finally able to relax.

“Welcome home kiddo”Uncle Ice pulls you into a tight hug.

I really loved you Y/n Mitchell.