#unless i find some that fit what i have in mind :]

[bayetea]

there are many things about hazel's povs that have an intensely de-racialized vibe to them (read: divorced from the black girl experience) but I think any black person will tell you that the most obvious sign is the complete lack of attention paid to her hair

like firstly:

she's from the 1930s her hair was definitely getting permed and straightened (it was not acceptable to just wear your natural hair out back then. optics + cultural assimilation/you'll be hard pressed to find photos of black american girls with unstraightened hair in that time period unless they're from like..... harlem)

I do believe that marie was straightening it for her For A Time but then she became more neglectful and stopped so hazel had to do it herself. I'm almost positive that hazel wouldn't have even been permitted to set foot in her school building without straightening it because that's just how much of an expectation it was

ok she comes back from the dead. what's she doing to her hair now bc it's not just gonna be cutesy effortless curls falling over her shoulder no matter what the length is

how does she feel about living in a time period where natural black hair is more accepted (read: more, absolutely not fully)

there are no black people around her At All. in fact she's around a lot of white people on the argo (+nico) so that would probably be giving her some intense feelings of double consciousness (look this term up if you don't know what it means) and that would inform how she feels about her hair

theoretically she ought to be wearing her hair in braids for simplicity's sake but I think it's more likely that she would cling to what she knows (perming/straightening) because it's not easy for a 14 year old girl to go from assimilating to deeply-ingrained white hair beauty standards to just proudly wearing a distinctly black hairstyle all by herself (mind you black women and girls can do whatever they want with their hair and straightening/perming it does not always/have to come from a place of self-hatred or whatever but in this particular case back then straightening one's hair was political And a survival tactic. it was as normal as brushing your teeth. it was enforced through dominant cultural messagings about the Absolute Necessity of conforming to white conventions of beauty. if you don't understand then think of it similarly to how you'd think of 1930s women needing to be perpetually dolled up and modestly dressed in order to be considered "good women") and anyways I'm just saying that this would be a lot to unpack for a 14 year old girl so hazel's probably just continuing to do this impractical thing (straightening her hair all the time) like 60% out of habit and 20% out of shame and 20% she doesn't know what else to do

something something about a missed potential character arc regarding all of this and in general there's so little mind paid to race in hazel's povs which is just ridiculous to me because a black girl from the jim crow era should have at least a few feelings about where she fits into modern society even if that society is camp jupiter. rick demonstrates his capacity to talk about how his characters feel about their race most notably in the kane chronicles so I don't think was too much to ask for. see this quote from an early son of neptune chapter:

^ like....... hazel's feelings of out-of-place-ness are There in the text and important to take note of when understanding her character (note that she's been there for like a year already and she still feels like she doesn't belong) but the emphasis is always put on her Being from a different time or Being undead and is never put on her out-of-place-ness regarding her race as a black girl from segregation times who is literally so out-of-place in this weird post-racial camp jupiter society. it feels like such an obvious thing to consider so its glaring absence really bugs me when I reread her povs and it bugs me when her hair is never talked about by extension because It Matters

you might be thinking "well she had a lot going on and she's not a superficial person maybe she just didn't care what was going on with her hair" and my response is simply that Black girls don't get to "not care" about their hair it is not the same thing as a white person going to school with bedhead it's not the same thing At All (if you aren't black then chances are you've never actually seen what untouched black hair looks like in the morning), especially when it's been beaten into your head for your entire life that your hair is ugly and you have to "do something to it" for it to be acceptable (and again...... she's from the 1930s so that feeling is magnified like 50x over). remember that perpetually dolled up modest 1930s woman I mentioned previously. picture her time traveling to camp jupiter of all places in 2010 and struggling to drop all of her makeup/hairstyling routines and internalized misogyny and conceptualizations of what women are "supposed" to be. this is the kind of fascinating character exploration that we really missed out on with hazel (and tbh regardless of her race she was never believably written as someone from the 1930s. I don't think rick even really tried to be honest)

you might also be wondering "how was rick supposed to know/attempt to portray any of that" and then my second answer is that If you're going to write a character who is not the same race as you then you should do some research and we have the internet now so research has never been easier 👍 this would be especially important to do if that person is a poc from the jim crow era I think! (he could have at least googled black hair 1930s)

anyways what I choose to believe (this is pure fanfiction) is that during hazel's first year at camp jupiter (remember that she was there for about a year before son started) nico would have helped her figure something out after observing her distress over her hair c: like they both secretly watched youtube videos on black hairstyles circa 2010 and then they got attacked by monsters for using a laptop (neither of them know how to use a laptop but he's trying his best for her) but then after killing them he helped her do her hair as something she likes that is easy to maintain <3 (I could also see reyna doing this because she surely knows a thing or two from her spa days)

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Okay I admit I don’t think I would have read this unless I already knew and loved your writing for Sauron but I did and. Um. Holy shit👀

Usually when he drew close, you could feel a warmth deep in your soul, like embers stoked in a neglected fire, made to dance and blaze again with renewed vigour whenever he returned to you.

AAAAAAH I love this sentence it’s so beautiful and poetic and perfectly describes that feeling of connection.

It doesn't take long before his whines of pain become pleasurable, enjoying your touch and the cool water on his skin. His mind is less fraught now, more present, and before long he begins to panic. His sweet wife, his innocent wife, had seen him for what he truly is, a Lord of Beasts, monstrous and terrifying to behold, and here she was, running her gentle fingers over him as if he was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen.

I too would lovingly pet big doggie Sauron and cherish him with all my heart🥺

I have many ideas, precious one, all you need to do is lie there and relax for me...

He rolls you over, encircling you wholly with his powerful frame. He is so massive that he dwarfs you twice, thrice over. You look down and your eyes widen, blood rushing to your cheeks; how is that going to fit?

It was at this moment that I put down my phone, questioned my sanity for finding this hot af, and dove head first into the Sauron monster-fucking I didn’t know I needed.

Terror grips you, hand in hand with arousal, and the fresh wetness between your legs spurs him on, groaning at the scent of you, all he can think of as you writhe beneath him. You try to get a better look at the flesh that is about to ravage you, but it is hidden in his fur. Perhaps that is for the best, you muse, far-off in your thoughts now, waiting for him to ruin you.

*barely breathing* His flesh is... in his fur. It’s in his fur. He’s a wolf. Why am I... why is this hot...? Fuck...? I need him...? Now...? Help...??

He licks the tears from your face gently, still engulfed in your wet heat, unwilling to be parted just yet. He rears up to get a look at how well you take him, to see how you stretch and mould for him.

That is all he wants after all, for you to be moulded by him, for him.

I am baby. I’m all fucking yours. Fuck. I have no words.

"Forced? What do you mean, forced?" Even in your shell-shocked anger, the notion of your husband forced to do anything hurts you deeply.

"I hardly serve Him willingly, my love, no one does. His will is..." he searches for the right word, the word that will convince you, "insurmountable."

My poor little tortured husband LEAVE HIM ALONE😭😭😭 damn it gets me every time.

"One does not simply leave Melkor's service." His tongue picks over the words carefully, watching for your reaction.

Hehe a little meme reference to lighten the mood. Nice touch.

Yeah, so um... this is beautifully written and scalding hot and it broke me and I loved it. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go touch some grass and scream into the void for the next 3 to 5 business days😳

The Number of the Beast (Sauron/F!Reader)

After his frankly embarrassing defeat at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Sauron seeks you out;

You discover his werewolf form and press him for the whole truth and nothing but

Sequel to Wicked Game // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Animals by Maroon 5, Closer by Nine Inch Nails (obviously Sauron's jam), Teeth by Lady Gaga

Warnings: 18+! Werewolf!Sauron, smut (smh we cannot keep it clean for 5 minutes!!) werewolf sex (I'm sorry!! It's not a lot!! Idk!!!), P in V sex, oral sex (female receiving), dubcon (he is not in control of himself and even though you are up for it, you're still terrified of him and his uhhh size), size kink/size difference, hurt/comfort, manipulation (it's Sauron, he sucks guys idk), angst towards the end

A/N: y'know what, I warned you all this was going to happen. Sauron is a werewolf, and things get interesting weird. Idk I don't feel like it's overwhelmingly filthy, maybe y'all won't mind 😂🙈 there is actual plot to this one, and it will be fairly pertinent to the rest of the story, but you can skip the smut if it's not your cup of tea, I get it!! (Skip the section marked by ***)

Word Count: 4.9k!

Writing playlist here if so inclined 😅

Translation note: Amarië means 'goodness', Uthaessel means "tempting girl' as far as I can tell!

A nameless terror has been stalking your kin in these woods for years, and you are eager for your husband's embrace as you delve further into the woods, heart racing at every tiny rustle in the trees. He would never let anything happen to you, but he was not here, at least not as far as you could tell.

Usually when he drew close, you could feel a warmth deep in your soul, like embers stoked in a neglected fire, made to dance and blaze again with renewed vigour whenever he returned to you. But for the moment all you feel is an icy cold fear in the pit of your stomach; you should not be out here alone.

You think to turn back, to run back to the safety of your fledgling city, but you press on. He promised he would be here, and you cannot disappoint him, not after the long months he has spent in the north craving your touch.

The forest is so quiet as you make your way to the glade that has become so sacred to you and your husband. You keep as silent as you can, footsteps making no rustle in the leaves underfoot; the air is too still, the silence deafening where there should be sounds of birds and insects conducting their nightly business.

You are not far from your meeting place now as even the wind falls still. You breathe a sigh of relief as you catch sight of the rushing water that will lead you to safety. He will be there to assuage all your silly fears, the thought giving you the strength to keep moving.

A sharp howl, long and guttural, pierces the air, and you freeze. It sounded far off, or maybe closer than you think; your head is in a spin as you try to judge what could have possibly made such an unearthly sound. It didn't sound like any wolf you've ever heard; it had an almost sorrowful lilt that drew you to it. Shaking it off, you creep into the glade, expecting to see him there.

Disappointment washes through you; you are alone, and now you hear another howl, closer than before.

He will understand, you think, let's go home.

You start to take the winding path back to the thick treeline, but hear cracking branches, heavy footfall, ragged breath, from the dark undergrowth.

You back up, starting to shake and sweat. You are not made for this, never have you had to protect yourself from such a beast. You look around for anything with which to defend yourself, landing on a large broken branch that looks like it might be lethal in the right hands. Shame then, that your hands have never seen combat.

Dragging your makeshift weapon, you look for somewhere to hide, terrified that the beast might have already caught your scent.

~

He doesn't know why he's here, why he would put you through the horror of seeing him in his bestial glory; all he knows is that defeat has pushed him into your radiant embrace, to soothe the heavy losses he had suffered and prepare the fortitude of his mind to face his master's wrath.

His defeat at the hands of some Elf-Maia and her dog had shamed him; he could not go back to Angband now, not now Tol-in-Gaurhoth was lost, and all he craved was your touch, for you to wash away all his ills.

He pads through the forest, trailing a silent darkness in his wake, all birds and beasts fleeing before him. His black blood drips and pools in the undergrowth, scorching the earth.

His mind is clouded with pain and shame, something with which he is not familiar, and would not suffer again given the option, how it turns his stomach, and makes him crave nothing but your sweet embrace. Where are you? He can think of nothing else, having travelled so far in search of salvation.

The breeze betrays you, carrying the sweet scent of the berries you love to eat, the oils you use on your skin, and he groans, a deep visceral sound that would usually shake the foundations of Middle Earth, if only he were not so deeply tired.

He follows your scent, instinctively, unthinking as to how you might receive him. As he gets closer, his soul sings for you, his heart swells, and he can think of nothing else.

Exhausted, he reaches out to you, tendrils of his mind softly caressing yours. He hears your soft sigh and follows the sweet sound to your doom.

~

The forest around you turns deathly silent, the very air robbed of its oxygen in a split second. You hear only the crack of fallen branches and the heavy movement of something massive in the dark.

You should be terrified, why do you not run?

Quaking in your hiding spot, you find yourself rooted to the spot, crouching and unable to move, doomed to listen to the beast in the dark.

You feel it then; a darkness in your mind, touching your thoughts, and the terror grows. The scent of sweat dripping down your back only helps him find you sooner, and as you hear him approach, the tremor in your fingers grows.

If you can only stay quiet, perhaps it will ignore you, perhaps you will be blessed tonight. You screw your eyes shut and pray.

Alas, a hot huff of breath sweeps the side of your face, and you scream, you can't help but keep screaming, even after you've picked up your weapon and blindly struck the great beast, before you roll out from under it and run as fast as your legs can carry you.

He shakes his head, blind rage now overtaking him, even as he sees you, scents you, wants nothing more than to cover and embrace you.

The pair of you race through the forest; you know it as well as any of your people, all the shortcuts and secret places. But your quick light tread is vastly outmatched by his sheer ferocity, and in your panic, you take a wrong turn, meeting a sharp cliff face where you were sure there was a waterfall you might have lost the beast in. You curse your folly and spin around, awaiting your fate.

Two great paws come to rest either side of you, as its wolven face bears its teeth and snarls, black blood dripping from the gash you inflicted on its temple.

You can do nothing but shut your eyes, shaking in terror as the beast takes you in, sniffing at you and panting. Any moment now, this will all be over...

Amarië... love... need you...

The unspoken voice you hear is somehow familiar, deeper and more guttural, and yet...

You reach out your hand, offering your soothing touch freely. Baleful golden eyes watch you carefully as he closes the gap and leans in to your trembling touch. You should run.

"Mairon..." The beast's eyes soften as you look up at him, and you realise a terrible sorcery is at play here.

You feel his mind caress yours and you relax, easing into the unfamiliar feeling of fur beneath your fingers. You trace the sinewy muscle of his neck a while, assuring him in hushed tones that you've got him, that everything will be alright, that you're here, his horrors are over.

"Oh, my love..." You run your fingers over him, suddenly mindful of the wound you'd inflicted yourself only moments ago.

In your inspection, you find many more, deep gouges and bitemarks that have festered, and your heart aches for him. How could this have happened? Who did this to him?

"Come, love, I have you now," you grasp his fur on his neck and lead him back to the river, careful not to touch the open sores in his sides yet.

He staggers into the rushing current, clear water turning black as he submerges, washing off his defeat and returning little by little to you.

You wade in after him, ripping a strip off your hem; how times had changed since last you did this for him, having now ruined two dresses to tend his wounds.

You soak the fabric and begin to dab away the grime and viscera, so that you can start to heal him with every spell your people know for such injuries.

It doesn't take long before his whines of pain become pleasurable, enjoying your touch and the cool water on his skin. His mind is less fraught now, more present, and before long he begins to panic. His sweet wife, his innocent wife, had seen him for what he truly is, a Lord of Beasts, monstrous and terrifying to behold, and here she was, running her gentle fingers over him as if he was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen.

You notice his panic and immediately go to soothe him, rubbing circles over his muzzle, trying not to overthink just how strange the situation had become.

"It's okay, love, I'm here, you're okay," you whisper softly, "who did this to you, love?"

Trying to soothe him was proving difficult as anger begins to bubble in the pit of your stomach; who was responsible for this sorcery? You would rip them limb from limb, your gentle nature be damned.

That blasted Elf-Maia hybrid and her brute of a dog, he thinks bitterly, reliving his utter defeat once more.

"My darling, you can tell me, who did this to you? Transformed you this way?" Surely it was a curse that could be broken, that you could face together.

Oh. Oh, no. His blood runs cold. Yes, of course, that's what you mean; how were you to know he could transform himself at will, that this was a form he liked to take in battle. Used to like. It might be a while before he chose a wolfish form again, given everything that had happened with Lúthien.

He goes to stand, to leave the river and avoid your questioning, but his legs give out from under him. Your heart wrenches at the sight of your beloved suffering so, how it pained you.

"I have you, don't move yet," you say softly with an encouraging smile. "I've got you."

More murmuring in Quenya, pressing your hands to his wounds, feeling your energy flow into him, all of your efforts were enough to finally restore him, and you both emerge from the river into the cool night air, sodden and freezing.

He collapses on the river bank, with you quick to follow; your healing had taken a lot out of you. Shivering, you lean into him for his furnace-like warmth, blessedly finding him already nearly dry.

You're so tired, your questions can wait until after you've rested, and so you do.

~

It is still hours before dawn when you wake to the unfamiliar sensation of warm silky fur on your cheek, lining your body, encompassing you in a blissful heat.

Fear jolts any sleepiness from your mind, and you try to stand. But his great limbs keep you from moving, and he rumbles his disapproval deep in his chest.

Suddenly you remember.

"Mairon?" You whisper, "darling, how do you feel?"

I was fine. His words are still unspoken, heard directly in your mind.

"Was? Can I help, love?" You worry that your work is not done, that perhaps there are ills that you have not yet healed.

Go back to sleep, your presence is soothing, my sweet.

"I can soothe you while awake!" Your tone is indignant and his chest quakes with what sounds like laughter, if you're not mistaken.

I didn't say you could not, but now you're awake, there are other urges I'd rather have you satisfy, Uthaessel.

Other urges... you blush as you realise what he means. He only calls you by that epithet when he craves you so particularly, that nothing else might sate him but hours between your thighs. 'Temptation', indeed.

"Well, you've recovered quickly." You laugh, brushing his side and finding his gaping wounds already healed over.

"And while you're like this, my darling, I'm not quite sure how that would work." You do have an idea, but it might be... uncomfortable.

He groans, deep in his chest, making your whole body vibrate with it; maybe a little discomfort wouldn't be so bad?

I have many ideas, precious one, all you need to do is lie there and relax for me...

He rolls you over, encircling you wholly with his powerful frame. He is so massive that he dwarfs you twice, thrice over. You look down and your eyes widen, blood rushing to your cheeks; how is that going to fit?

In an effort to slow him down, you ask him again, "how did this happen, love? You couldn't tell me before, would you tell me now?"

He sighs, a massive huff of breath that seems to scold you for disrupting his conquest of you.

It is no curse, that much you do not have to fear.

"If it is no curse, then what happened? Love, this is hardly natural, unless I am missing something important?" You laugh a little, nervously, wishing for him to assuage your anxiety.

He simply stares down at you with those bottomless golden eyes, concocting some explanation that will appease you.

How would you react, he wonders, if he told you he told you he is in fact Lord of Beasts and Werewolves, able to take on any form he wishes? Or would you prefer a simple lie, or the wiping of it from your mind altogether?

You are his wife, you are bound together in a way no force can sunder, you could not reject him if you tried. But he fears your disgust, would do anything to avoid it.

But the truth would set him free. No more lies, no more deception, he could truly be himself with you. The freedom that would afford, the burdens he would no longer have to carry alone.

So for once, he settles on the truth, mostly.

This is simply one of the forms I can take. You know I am no Elf, I can do things your kind could only dream of.

He nuzzles your neck, licking a long stripe up the sensitive flesh between your ear and your collarbone.

"I know that," you whimper, his rough tongue laving your throat, making your toes curl into the dirt. "But this is new, this is-" a whine escapes your lips as he nips at your neck- "unnatural."

You feel his song in the depths of your soul, how sweetly he pines for you. Your soul cannot help but answer, harmonising with his every touch, until you are squirming under his iron embrace, pupils blown, arousal overtaking you quicker than it ever has before.

*******

His massive limbs cage you in, and panic begins to set in again; surely your husband would never hurt you, but in this state you weren't sure he had the control to keep his nature at bay.

"I need to know-" You brace against him, trying with all your might to release yourself from his roaming tongue, rasping over your skin; sharp teeth snared in your dress pull in one fluid motion and you're left bare under his gaze.

Need to know what, my pet? His tone is adoring as ever, but impatient; he knows what plagues your thoughts and he still isn't sure he wants you to know.

"Need to know... need to know who you are." You force out the words as he seeks out where to lick, where to bite, trying to swallow your pleas; he cocks his head, as if your question is a mystery.

You know who I am, love. His length begins to prod at you insistently, and you clench your thighs together, nervous at the thought of him claiming you like this, stalling for time even as the melody of his fëa seduces you.

"No... no, I don't think I do," You pant, fingers clutching at his neck, drawing him in and pulling him away, your body betraying your mind as you become more and more unsure of what you want from him.

"How? How can you change your face like that? Your entire being? I don't understand..." You trail off with a whine as he begins to worship your body with his tongue, covering your breasts with a swipe, dragging slowly lower until he finds your mound, gods you smell divine.

The bestial part of his mind begins to take over, ignoring your questioning, wrapped in the scent of you, the soft flesh under his tongue that he could so easily ruin with a drag of his teeth if he desired, your panting lips forming words that fall on deaf ears; the only sounds he now listens for are your moans and pleas.

"Mairon... I need to know..." You realise far too late that this is no longer your husband, and that the beast before you is going to rut you into the earth without pity.

Terror grips you, hand in hand with arousal, and the fresh wetness between your legs spurs him on, groaning at the scent of you, all he can think of as you writhe beneath him. You try to get a better look at the flesh that is about to ravage you, but it is hidden in his fur. Perhaps that is for the best, you muse, far-off in your thoughts now, waiting for him to ruin you.

He sniffs at the dampness between your thighs, a groan rumbling through him as he bears his sharp canines, dangerous and gleaming even in the dark of the night; perhaps especially so. Even with the forest at your fingertips, all you can smell is him, musk and smoke and iron, he smells like himself but stronger, every inch of him reeking of the man you love but more pungent, inescapable; a heady mix that does nothing to dispel the coil in your abdomen that he will delight to spring.

"My love, darling, please, Mairon..." you try every which way to get his attention, to bring him back to you.

You shiver as he laps at you, tasting you every which way, your nipples peaking as he runs his tongue over them before letting them chill in the night's cool breeze. He lowers himself slightly to wrap himself around you more completely, your soft skin now pressed against his thick fur, the perfect companion to stave off the chill.

You feel him pant against your neck, his thick length weeping against your legs, firmly pressed shut as you rock slightly to relieve the terrible pressure he has built in your clit.

You bury your face in the green foliage under your head, still pressing your thighs together as if he will yet be denied. He noses at your jaw, demanding your attention; pressing his long teeth against your throat, demanding your obedience.

The inhuman face gazing down on you does nothing to dispel the visceral fear that grips you. This is your husband, the man you love, whose soul you share; but none of this seems to matter now, as empty golden eyes stare you down, awaiting the inevitable.

Tears of fear begin to fall unbidden as your heart hammers in your chest, as you realise that despite every instinct in you telling you to run, you still want him, and he knows it.

The second you loosen your thigh muscles, he is there with his tongue, licking and sucking and making your toes curl. He is too rough, too fast, and before long a tiny nip at your clit sends stars behind your eyes, warmth exploding and cascading through you.

With you distracted at your peak, he takes his opportunity.

Hot breath on your face, soft fur under your fingers, giving you purchase, grounding you, a white hot pain at your mound-

Your scream echoes through the forest as he buries himself within you, no gentleness, just brutal force.

He allows you a moment to accommodate him, but it would take many more to truly adjust to his monstrous size. He pulls back, your tiny sigh of relief cut short as he thrusts back in, deeper, longer, stroking every inch of you.

You feel a tendril of his mind caress yours, and you reach for it, cling to it, make his power your own as you channel every intelligible thought into not being spilt apart.

As his power and your healing magic do their work, the blazing pain lessens, relieved to a dull ache, that only invites him to do his worst.

He would tear you apart, put you back together, over and over if he could. As he reaches the height of his pleasure, he is merciless, rutting you like a mindless animal, emptying and filling you quicker than you can draw breath, gasping around the sheer inhuman size of him.

And you enjoy it.

As the pain recedes, all you can think is of his cock filling you over and over, tongue rasping everywhere he can reach, guttural groans punctuating every thrust, as you drag your nails down his forearms, desperate to ground yourself in any sensation not emanating from your heated core.

With an unearthly growl, his thick hot seed paints your insides, filling you to bursting, and the coil in your abdomen does indeed spring again; as he comes down from his own high, his mind returns to him piece by piece, and he realises what he has put you through. You quake around him, whimpering and clinging to him, nails deep in his heavily muscled back.

He licks the tears from your face gently, still engulfed in your wet heat, unwilling to be parted just yet. He rears up to get a look at how well you take him, to see how you stretch and mould for him.

That is all he wants after all, for you to be moulded by him, for him.

He nuzzles your neck as you lie exhausted underneath him.

Love... precious girl... my Uthaessel... did so well for me...

You give him a sleepy smile, idly running your fingers through the fur on his chest, suddenly overcome with the urge to sleep for a week.

When he can, he slips out of you, curling you into his side, as his seed drips between your thighs. He'll clean you up later, he thinks, but perhaps for now he'll just watch you sleep.

*******

When you wake, he has already transformed himself, smooth skin and golden hair that you love so much, but your sticky thighs remind you uncomfortably of what happened last night.

You crane your neck to look at him, to assure yourself it is really him. He gives you that same gentle adoring smile he always does; your heart melts as you can't help but return it, but your questions still plague you. He had never told you he could take the guise of a beast, and you worry that something wicked lies under that glorious visage.

"Mairon..." You try to keep your tone neutral, but he knows your heart too well.

"I know, love," he gathers you to him, resting his chin on your head. "Can we not? At least for now."

You do wonder whether to indulge him, but the suspicions gnawing at your gut will not cease.

"I want to know... I need to know what happened."

You expect him to fight you on it tooth and nail, but he vowed to himself last night, the truth would out. Mostly.

And so he tells you. His humiliation at the hands of Lúthien and Huan, his command over beasts and vampires, even where he really comes from. Your eyes widen and your breath shallows with each detail, reaching a crescendo as he tells you of Morgoth, his voice low as if his master could hear him even here.

"A servant of Morgoth?" You can't catch your breath, you've long stood up, pacing and wringing your hands more urgently the longer you let him speak.

"Why are you telling me this?" You stop still and ask sharply, making him wince at the tone you've never used on him before.

"You asked, my love," he looks confused, as if the truth weren't more horrifying than your husband simply liking to spend time in wolf's clothing.

"But why are you telling me now? You could have continued your vile deception? Kept me in the dark?" Your stomach drops as you wonder aloud his intentions.

"You've had everything you wanted from me, that must be it. And now you tell me you are a servant of the Enemy-" your thoughts are interrupted as he now stands and moves to take your hands in his.

A churning fear overtakes your anger as you realise he is the one your people only speak of in hushed whispers, his very name accursed to the tongue: Sauron.

"You... you are the terror my people fear in these woods. You have plagued them, stolen them, and then you come to me and ply me with your sweetness and lies?"

"You misjudge me, my love. I will never stop wanting you," he implores, as he takes your face in his hand, willing you to be silent and listen.

"My appetite for you will never be sated, such is my devotion. I could never cast you aside, could never let you leave me." He sounds so damn sincere, your heart pleads with you to listen while your head tells you to run.

"You wanted the truth, so I gave it to you. If I did not think you could handle it, I would not have troubled you with such evils." His eyes search yours for any sign you understand his plight. "I told you my name, I never lied to you. But I could not tell you about Melkor in the beginning, how could I, when you would have scorned me?"

"You don't know that," you mutter, still shell-shocked, world in pieces, but offended by the accusation all the same.

"If this is your reaction, then I am sure you would."

"Are you blaming me? Lies by omission are still lies!" Your indignation stirs you a little, your mind screaming at you to fight back.

He does you the courtesy to look mollified slightly, before grasping your hands once more, tracing circles in your palm with his thumb.

"Amarië, my sweet, even your name is too good for me, how could I have won you if you had known the company I am forced to keep?"

It's that imploring look, the gentle tone, and-

"Forced? What do you mean, forced?" Even in your shell-shocked anger, the notion of your husband forced to do anything hurts you deeply.

"I hardly serve Him willingly, my love, no one does. His will is..." he searches for the right word, the word that will convince you, "insurmountable."

You take a deep breath through your nose, finding nothing in your mind but the sweet scent of smoke and musk and iron, the scent of your husband that softens your heart once more.

Your deep exhale releases much of the tension within you; of course, he is but an unwilling participant in Morgoth's designs, of course.

"This is your one chance, Mairon, you have one chance to tell me everything, no lies, no deceit." You raise your eyebrows at him, daring him to argue, but he simply sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I have done, love, you know everything."

"No. Details, and lots of them, now."

It takes from sunrise to sunset, but he tells you everything. How Morgoth seduced him to his will; how He alone has the power to change Middle Earth in the way your lover has planned; how Sauron realised far too late that His destruction was not the balance he craved.

"And you cannot leave Him?" Your voice is hoarse after so much time spent listening, but you have to ask.

Sauron grimaces, an expression that twists his pretty face, makes it almost unrecognisable.

"One does not simply leave Melkor's service." His tongue picks over the words carefully, watching for your reaction.

"Morgoth." You interject, "his name is Morgoth." After all the heartbreak and destruction He has wrought on your kind, you cannot stand to hear his divine name spoken once more.

"Forgive me, love, it is... difficult to break the habit when He himself would flay me for even thinking the name your people have given him." He cannot help but smirk a moment when your face drops, and you reach for him as if to comfort him.

He takes you in his golden embrace, holding you tightly as if you'd leave him the moment you were free.

"I was so afeared that you would reject my affections, I could not possibly tell you, and as time passed, I could not bear to ruin what we share." He nuzzles your neck affectionately, as if he has already won you over.

You are so torn, your heart and head fighting a losing battle. If he truly is an unwilling accomplice, then he needs you now more than ever to face the darkness. But the darkness was a terror you never planned on witnessing in all its treachery.

It is a long time before you can forgive his lies, but the truth will indeed set you both free.

[phoenix-clan]

currently, i have exactly half of the pages done. i've been busy with irl arrangements but i should be free tomorrow and the next day so i will be working hard to finish the remaining pages :)

[cherrylight]

hi. im super tired. ive been up for too long e_e buuuuut i also finally created something and actually did something :D

i wanted to do fake tweets again ^^ but never gotten the motivation to really do it until now! i wanted it to be selfship related too ;u;

im creating the accounts now its gonna take a while but i made mine / sonas account so here ! i wanna show you it because i think its pretty

i might edit it later but yay ...

i think it came out nice :D

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 28th. theodore nott. lorenzo berkshire — humiliation / degradation

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: never let enzo berkshire find out about one of your kinks. unless….

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, halloween ghostface costumes, threesome, fwb!theo, bestfriend!enzo, reader is involved in a bet unbeknownst to her, mask kink, humiliation on high, degradation, fingering, denied orgasm, oral m!rec, PIV, dirty talk, manipulation.

"Black cat mask?"

You shake your head, barely sparing the thing a glance.

"Mm, no. Too unoriginal."

"Right," Enzo sucks his teeth, tossing the mask back into the bin you're both half-heartedly rifling through. "Orange cat, then? That's far more fitting for you anyways."

"Enzo—no cats, please," you mutter, running a hand through your hair, staring down at the disheveled heap of plastic. None of it catches your eye, none of it sparks anything. "It's Halloween. I want something...scarier."

"Of course. Only day of the year you get to pretend you're as terrifying as me." He croons—half-laughing through the words. The tease itches in your mind, and you're halfway to some retort when he's already holding up another mask. "How about this one?"

You glance up, ready to dismiss whatever nonsense he's holding this time, but the sight of it stills the air in your lungs. A Ghostface mask. Stark white, hollow eyes staring back at you—it's grimace cast in a faded glow under tired shop lights. It's nothing—just a mask, just a piece of cheap plastic in Enzo’s hand—but your heart skips, stumbles, clutches at your ribs, and you can't look away.

And there's no goddamn reason for it, no logic—but you're already seeing it, aren't you? Your current fwb—Theo, standing over you; his face hidden, mask in place of those half-lidded eyes that you’ve learned to read so well. And you know—you know the thought is fucking absurd—yet, it knots something in your stomach, spreading heat like a fuse just lit.

"You alright there?" Enzo's teasing pulls you out of your thoughts, and you realize he'd been staring at you that entire time. "You're looking a little...hot."

Hot. Right. Of course he'd notice—of course your best friend would notice the way you went still, frozen in place as if someone struck you with Glacius. You're no good at lying to him, not even on a good day—and right now, your mind is in shambles, already too far gone into the fantasy and—

No. No more of this.

You tear away, fumbling for the edge of a cloak that suddenly seems like the most fascinating thing you've ever seen, your fingers tracing the fabric as if it can save you.

"It's...fine—it's nice," you blurt out, too quickly, too forced, the words tumbling over themselves. "Just—no, not really my thing."

But Enzo knows better. He can spot your lies from miles away. You hear him shift, the quiet rustle of the mask in his hands—and then, he's pulling it over his face, tilting his head just to spite you.

You don't have to look to know he's smirking behind it.

"Bullshit." He steps closer, casually closing the distance, but you know it's deliberate. "You're into this, aren't you?"

The warmth on your face feels like fire now, prickling heat across your skin. He shifts closer again, and for a moment you consider jinxing him—mind scattering into dark, unbidden places—filthy, wild things, flashing behind your eyes, too real. Enzo tilts his head the other way now, letting the mask catch the light, letting it grin.

"Should I get it?" He asks, as innocent as a serial killer. "For Nott, of course."

"No."

It scrapes out of your throat, barely audible, far too small to hold truth. You’re sure he can read you right now—all your depraved thoughts in the rasp of your voice, painfully transparent.

There’s a huff, a snort of sorts. "Are you sure? I think he'd love it."

Despite his insufferableness, he’s probably right. Theo has never shied away from indulging your kinks before. That’s what no strings is about. Maybe he would love it, you know you certainly would—gods how you’d love it—even if you’d rather die before admitting it.

The cloak—you focus on the deep purple velvet, the dark lace edging. "I'm sure. Put it back."

"You don't sound so sure." Gods, he's such an asshole—point only proved further as he takes another step closer. "Does this...does this turn you on?"

"Enzo—For Godric's sake, stop." The humiliation is suffocating. This is just a glimpse at your future should you ever decide to disclose this information to him. Relentless and bloody insufferable. "Let's just—pick something and go. Please?"

A pause, then, and you don't dare look up. The mask slips from his face with another soft, satisfied hum—you don't need to see him to feel the damage done. He knows.

"Sure, angel," he says, trailing as he turns. "Whatever you want."

————

"Matt—have you seen Theo?"

"Uh—not since earlier." Mattheo replies without even looking up, his focus on pouring another dangerous looking drink rather than on you. "He's probably just out for a smoke."

Yeah. Right. Forsure—because his smoke breaks last all bloody day. Doubt twists your stomach, but you nod anyway, grabbing your own drink—something bubbling, far too bright a green to be safe, but it burns down easy all the same. The room spins in a foggy haze, lights bleeding together over costumes, wizard and Muggle and something in between—and you struggle to tell who's who.

Theo had refused to tell you what he was dressing up as—claimed he wanted it to be a surprise. Now, that surprise is nowhere to be found.

"What are you supposed to be?" You raise a brow at Mattheo's striped inmate costume. “Your future?"

Riddle's eye flash as he pretends to be offended for about two seconds until his gaze drops to your own costume and his tongue darts over his lips, taking it in. Beer-maid, tight bodice, shorter than preferred. It's not what you were going for, not in the slightest, but it's all Pansy had in her closet to save you after you and Enzo failed to find anything interesting at the shop the other day.

"Maybe. But you definitely aren't dressed as yours." His attention shifts back to the crowd, a failed attempt at hiding his grin. "Way too much fabric."

You scoff, but that's just how Mattheo is—always a sly comment, always pushing. You roll your eyes and swat at him, but he sticks his tongue out at you and steps back, slipping off into the crowd with a final goodbye wink—and just as you lose track of him, Draco saddles up next to you, prattling on about something you don't care to listen to.

Great, that’s two annoying Slytherins accounted for. Where the fuck is Theo?

Five seconds into pretending to be interested in whatever Malfoy is babbling on about, you give up, turning back to the drink table and skimming over the options when someone new brushes up behind you—

"Enzo told me," the words barely register before you feel it—a hand settling low at your hip. "About your kink."

With lightening speed you twist your neck, glancing over your shoulder—only to fucking gasp at what you find there. That mask. The mask. The Ghostface one from the shop; the one Enzo hasn't let you forget, hasn't stopped teasing you about—you blink, your heart barrelling out of the room, fingers tightening around your cup until it hurts—

The mask tilts, just slightly. "Looks like he was right."

"Theo—"

"Go." His voice is muffled, but sweet Merlin—the sound of it makes your knees threaten to buckle right then and there. His hand slips lower, teasing against the ruffles of your dress. "Run, Bella. Let's play."

Your body locks up, muscles tense and poised on the edge of something feral. You can't look away. Can't think. Can't breathe. His fingers slip lower, lower, until you feel it—cold leather against the heat of your skin and your throat tightens, words dying dead on your tongue.

Run.

A slight lean, and the mask brushes your neck. "Now."

He steps back, a slow retreat, but it feels like he's tugging you with him. You spin to face him, smirking, your voice barely above a whisper—

"And when you catch me?"

"Find out." His head tilts toward the door. It's your cue.

Your feet move before your mind even catches up, slipping through the rowdy crowd, darting through the half-drunk revelers in their costumes—everything blurring into an afterthought as you push past the cobwebs, pumpkins, fake spiders, all the other Halloween decor filling the fogged ballroom. Your fingertips buzz from the adrenaline—pulse echoing in your ears as you dart down one hall after another, not quite sure where you're going, but knowing you need to keep moving.

Theo told you to run—so you run.

You sprint through the castle, the corridors empty save for your hurried footsteps and the scattered Halloween decorations lunging at you from the shadows. You round a corner, making for the dungeons. It's as good a place as any, right? Dark, quiet, somewhere to hide.

Few more minutes and you make it, lungs burning as you stumble into the dreary main hall. You realize the detention room is empty—and it's perfect. You take two steps inside, already thinking you'll be able to catch your breath when—

You slam headlong into something solid.

Head swirling, your vision barely refocuses before you feel a grip on your wrists, pulling you forward with enough force to make you gasp. Everything happens so fast you don't have enough time to process what's occurring before you're forced to focus on the thing you're seeing—ghostface. Staring down at you with those empty, gaping eyes. Unreadable.

It's then that you realize you're caught.

Something shifts behind the mask, an almost imperceptible movement of his head. You'd almost think you imagined it but given that there's nothing else to look at you know it's impossible. The silence is ballooning and you wonder if this is part of the game, if Theo is just savouring the moment, relishing in your reaction. The way you're trembling, your breath stuttering, the way you've gone still—waiting.

You swallow, throat drier than the Sahara, but something about this has you emboldened, the fact he's playing into your fantasy like this—so you decide to tease him, breaking the silence with a soft, breathless laugh as you pull one of your hands free from his grip.

He wanted to play. It's your turn to act the part.

"Looks like you caught me...Mr. Ghostface..." you purr—the silence sticks heavy, making the space between you feel thick, electric. All you can feel are his eyes devouring you. "And now...now that you've caught me...what are you gonna' do with me...hm?"

Gods—the thrill of this is so real, one your certain is more addictive than any drug. An adrenaline rush—not knowing what he's thinking, what he's about to do. Not being able to read him like you normally could. It makes your thighs quake—and there’s half a second where you wonder how much Enzo would pay to see this, how much he’d fucking taunt you for it.

But just as quickly as it came, you shake that thought—focused on Theo, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and sink to your knees, fingertips teasing from his chest to his abdomen, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes.

"...please don't punish me." You giggle—and the debauched absurdity of it all makes you nearly choke. "I'll be so good—I'll do anything, Theo—"

You feel him huff, tense, and when your fingers graze the front of his pants—just barely touching his crotch— his hand snaps down like a vice, gripping your wrist, stopping you dead in your tracks.

And then, you hear it. "Salazar sakes—shit—"

Your heart plummets. That voice—it's like being thrown into ice-cold water. No, that's not—it can't be—

"Enzo?"

Your voice cracks as you all but screech, your head whipping up so fast you feel dizzy. No, no, no—

Enzo, who you previously thought was Theo, pulls the mask off and all but verbally confirms it. Your nightmare born to life. Spooling to fruition right in front of you. He smiles, lips curled into something thoroughly entertained, and gods, how his eyes glint with pure assholery—you could fucking kill him.

"Enzo—" you stammer, horror flushing through you, burning through the mortification lodged in your throat. "Gods—what the fuck—"

"Surprise," he breathes, like this is the most casual thing in the world to him.

You scramble back, knees scraping against cold stone—mind spiralling in every direction at once—shame collides with shock and it all burns under your skin, the kind of heat that never settles. You know Theo's voice. You could never mistake it. You know for a fact that was him back at the party— but this, this makes no sense.

"What...what the hell-" your voice stumbles like you're trying to outrun the words. "Why would you—what were you—"

"Relax," he is all too fucking calm. "It was a prank."

"A prank?" You're still on the floor, and for some reason that makes everything worse. "You call that a prank? A—a funny little joke?"

"That's usually the definition—"

"No." You hiss between clenched teeth, anger strangling any hope for composure. "What were you doing in here? This— this isn't—you were trying to-"

"Trying to what?" He sounds so goddamn innocent but you know better. He's toying with you, making sure you know it. He's been your best friend since you were kids but you never said it was by choice. He steps closer. "I was trying to what, angel?"

Your blood boils, the heat spreading fast—pooling low in your core against all specks of your sanity. He's relishing this, drinking in your mortification like it's fine wine—and for some reason, it makes you weak.

"You—" words die with another one of his steps, the toes of his shoes brushing against your skin as he crouches down in front of you, elbows resting casually on his knees. You sit back, ass meeting cold stone. "Enzo—"

"Yeah?" He cocks an eyebrow. "You just gonna' parrot my name all night? Maybe you're too embarrassed to speak?"

The constant mocking feels like ice and you want to slap that smug look right off his face but instead your fucking thighs tense. You have nothing to say—can only stare at him, lungs seizing further as you notice the smirk fading from his lips, something darker replacing it—

"You didn't even know who was under that mask, and you were ready to suck me off," he's whispering, but he may as well be screaming. "You'd do anything for anyone with a mask, huh? I wish I knew about this kink of yours sooner."

He leans in closer, his knees pushing yours apart—you and Enzo had never been strangers to toying the line of friendship one too many times while drunk, but this—

You blink. Staring at him. "You...you're enjoying this way too much."

"Guilty as charged." His smile spreads wider, cockier, his eyes dipping to your lips, then lower. You shiver involuntarily. "I know I should have stopped you sooner, but seeing you on your knees...in front of me...I just..."

He shakes his head before he slowly stands back up—and his eyes flicker to your chest, lingering on your fucking tits and not even trying to be subtle about it.

Then, there’s a sound—the sound of the door creaking open.

You barely hear it, the faint shuffle of footsteps, but it's enough to pull the grin from Enzo's face as he looks up. You're not sure your heart can handle anymore of this—plummeting to the stone beneath you as Theo steps into the room, dressed just like Enzo—black robes, black gloves, Ghostface mask.

"Nott." Enzo's voice is too casual, too easy. "Great timing, mate."

Theo’s silent as he takes in the scene. You—still on the floor, dress hitched up, legs spread. Enzo standing over you, smug, unbothered. Theo's presence fills the room as he shuts the door behind him and locks it, stoking your humiliation into something even hotter, something impossible to escape.

Theo's voice is flat, his tone too even. "Looks like you got caught."

Wait—

"You—" your gaze jumps between them, a wild panic bubbling up inside you. You're so fucking confused. "What is this? You two—"

"Like I said, a prank." Enzo says as he steps toward Theo, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "A bet, really.”

Theo doesn't respond. He doesn't move. He doesn't look away from you.

"A bet?" You choke out, trying to piece everything together. "What bet?"

"Well, you see, angel," Enzo pushes away from Theo and slumps down into a chair just off to the side of you. You feel the dread rolling in like a storm. "I bet big Theo here you'd get so weak in the knees over the mask, you wouldn't even notice the switch. As usual, I was right."

Andddd, there’s the dread. Yup. As expected whenever Enzo is fucking involved in anything.

"Oh, wow—" you'd laugh if you weren't this utterly mortified by the entire situation. "You guys are—gods. You’re going after a whole new high score in the prick olympics, aren't you—"

"Oh, I don't know if you believe that, topolina...I think you're just being shy." Theo cuts through your rambling and you flinch at the sound of his voice. "It's clear this is a fantasy of yours."

Your head tilts up, eyes widening as they meet the empty, hollow eyes of the mask drawing closer.

"I bet you're just embarrassed," Theo's pressing—he's fucking pressing and you don’t think you’ve breathed since he walked in. "Embarrassed that you got on your knees for your best friend...or maybe you're afraid I'd be mad." He pauses, and his gaze sweeps down over you. "Which, to that I'd have to say, I'm far from."

You swallow hard, your mouth dry. "You're...you're not mad?"

Perhaps you were afraid of that—even if you and Theo are unofficial in every aspect.

His answer is instant. "No."

He crouches in front of you, gloved fingers finding your chin, tipping your head up so he can look at you— really look at you.

"In fact...I think you should let him watch..." his thumb ghosts over your lower lip, so soft, so slow—without thinking, your tongue flicks out, barely grazing the leather covered tip, and you hear the soft exhale he releases in response. "After all, this was his idea. He deserves some fun too, don't you think?"

Heat floods your cunt, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You glance at Enzo, sitting back now with his mask on—legs spread wide, leather hands clasped, calm—you wanted to kill him five minutes ago, but now—

Oh gods—you're really losing it.

"Yeah," you whisper, barely managing the word. "He probably does."

Theo's hand slides down to your thigh, leather fingers curling into the soft skin, pulling your legs open further.

"Mhm." He mutters. "You like being watched, don't you?"

Your breath catches, your pulse thundering in your ears as you nod, your eyes glued to Enzo. "Yes..."

"Say it." His fingers trail higher, teasing the soft skin beneath your dress, fingertips grazing closer—too close—just below the lace hem of your panties.

Salazar save you.

You bite your lip, and the air between you feels like it's thickening, growing too dense to breathe in. That fucking mask. You've fantasized over it. And now, there's two of them. Two sets of eyes—faceless, emotionless, and watching you. It's like something out of your fucking dreams.

"I—I like being watched," you manage to whisper, voice breaking between building lust.

"Louder," Theo growls this time like he's pulling it from somewhere deep in his chest—it sends liquid heat spilling through you. "Louder, topolina. He can't hear you if you're whispering."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and Enzo—gods, Enzo is still watching—stays silent, the mask concealing whatever reaction he might have, but his posture speaks volumes. Stillness, dark fabric of his trousers tight across his thighs, a coiled tension that radiates off him, permeates the space between you.

"I—fuck—" a breathless moan cracks through your words as Theo's leather-clad fingers slip under your panties, grazing your slick slit. "—love it. I love being watched."

Theo hums, the sound vibrating low in his throat, and rewards you by pushing two fingers into your dripping heat. So slow, the pace of his strokes torturous—slick sounds of leather working you open filling the room, mingling with your quiet, shuddering breaths. His thumb brushes your clit, teasing over it until you moan—hard and shameless—

"So loud," Theo mocks, your spine arching into him as his fingers curl inside you. "Eager, filthy little thing. You love being on display, don't you?"

A whimper catches in your throat, your gaze still locked on Enzo, watching him watch you.

You're shaking. You're close. Too close.

Your voice cracks again, nothing more than a whisper caught in a moan. "Theo...fuck—"

"You're so wet, bellissima," Theo breathes behind the mask. You're burning, every nerve sizzling. "You want to cum, don't you?"

You can't speak. Words don't exist anymore, only the pressure—only the way Theo's fingers curl inside you, the way your thighs tremble and ache from holding yourself open, from being watched, from being this goddamn humiliated.

"Y-yes," you choke out, desperate. "Yes, please, I—"

"Ask him." Theo's cuts you off. "Ask Enzo to let you cum."

The room spins. The air thickens into something cloying.

Ask him. Ask Enzo—

You swallow hard, your eyes darting between the two masks. Enzo is silent, still motionless, but he tilts his head slightly, the only indication that he's heard. That he's waiting.

"Please, Enzo—" the humiliation is sickening but you force past it. It’s a broken prayer, vulnerability in verbal form. "Please...let me cum—please—"

Time stretches. It feels like hours, an eternity where nothing exists but the weight of their hidden eyes on you, the way Enzo's fingers twitch, curl over the thick ridge at his crotch, leather knuckles tensing as if he's restraining himself from something primal. You're being devoured whole by this moment—by the unbearable tension, by Theo's fingers inside you, relentless in their assault, and gods—you're going to die if they don't let you—

"Yeah," Enzo finally murmurs, breaking the silence. Theo's gaze flickers to him, waiting. "Yeah, you can cum, angel…”

But as he says it, he shakes his head, and Theo—the absolute bastard—pulls his fingers out without a word.

"…just not yet." Enzo finishes.

The sound that leaves your throat isn't even human, some guttural, helpless whine torn straight from your throbbing, empty cunt. Theo shushes you.

"You'll get to cum, Bella," he coos, standing up slowly. "It'll be soon."

They're toying with you, playing you like a goddamn puppet on strings and it's infuriating in its deliciousness. You've known these men for years, yet it's almost laughable—the way they feel so foreign, so terrifyingly new.

"Oh, Enzo," you sigh, feeling your arousal cool, your body suddenly aware of the icy stone beneath you, of the wet heat slicking down your thighs. "I'm going to kill you tomorrow."

Enzo snorts. "You're welcome to try."

Theo exhales a half-chuckle, helping you off the floor and onto a desk, his hands firm on your thighs as he spreads you open like he's done a hundred times within the last few months.

A moment passes before he moves to loosen his belt and you realize just how close Enzo is now—his chair right beside the desk, his hand palming the bulge in his pants, shameless in his observation. The sight makes you fucking dizzy with filth. Surely, you've lost your mind. This is madness. Every line between friendship and lust—between restraint and indulgence—has blurred and bled into something you can't define, and the thrill of it is intoxicating.

"This is insane," you hiss, breathless, feeling the way Theo's gloves scrape over your skin, two thick digits dragging in your slick. "You're both fucking insane."

"Too much talking," Theo mutters, so infuriatingly calm, even as he drags the head of his dick over your folds, teasing your clit. "So much attitude for someone dripping down their thighs. You want to stop?" The silence stretches, your eyes locked on his, and you can feel the smirk behind the mask. He nods. "That's what I thought. Now shut up and let me fuck this wet cunt."

His hands grip either side of the desk, his body looming over you—the scene from your fantasy you've envisioned a million times. Ghostface—dominant and rough—gods, you want it. So bad it fucking hurts.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes immediately finding Enzo's again—forgetting for half a second that he was even there. His jeans are unbuttoned now, his hand moving rhythmically beneath the denim, mask locked onto you with a single-minded focus that makes your breath stutter.

"Enz-ohhh—" you go to say something to him, but then Theo pushes into you—no warning, no slow build—just a deep, unforgiving thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs, and your voice cracks on his name, the syllables lost in the moan that spills out of you.

"Shit." Enzo groans in response. "Did you just—"

"She did," Theo snarls, his grip on your hips punishing as he slams into you again, harder this time. "The little slut just moaned your name."

There's cursing, from both of them, but it's all a blur in your ears, drowned out by the sound of Theo's hips slamming into yours, the fevered slap of skin on skin, the obscene sounds you can't help but make—

"Yeah, I noticed," Enzo mutters, and fuck, he sounds ruined, completely lost in the sight of you—his best friend, getting fucked by his other best friend. "Fuck."

Theo's hand finds your jaw, forcing your head back to face him, Ghostface mask looming above you like a delicious nightmare.

"Who's fucking you?" His voice is caught somewhere between a snarl and a purr. "Is it Enzo?"

"N-no—" you manage, trembling with every thrust.

"Of course it's not," Theo hisses, driving into you with punctual thrusts to make you feel him, making you cry out when he slams your cervix. "So why'd you moan his name? When it's—fuck—my cock inside you?"

"I—I didn't mean—" you whimper, eyes squeezed shut, but there's no escape. Not from the relentless pace of Theo's dick, not from the way Enzo's eyes never leave you, burning into you like fire. You can't form words.

"Mm—don't be shy now, topolina," Theo purrs, his voice thick with effort. His hips snap forward, and your back arches, a broken sound escaping you. "I think you just love having him in your mouth—his name, his—"

"Fuck, Nott, shut up," Enzo cuts in, his head thrown back, chest tense. "I don't want to hear your voice—"

You can hear the strain, the way he's barely holding it together—

"Look at him," Theo ignores Enzo's words. He lets go of your jaw. "He wants you. He's always wanted you."

Your eyes dart between them, head spinning, unable to form a coherent thought—Theo's fucking relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge—and every time you glance at Enzo, you see the way he's breaking, hand moving faster, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths—

"I never knew you were such a voyeur, Nott," Enzo spits, trying to sound casual. "Never took you for being such a filthy bastard."

"What can I say?" Theo groans in response, propping your legs up over his shoulders to drive into you deeper. "Just discovered a new interest, you should try it sometime."

They're still bantering, like this is some kind of fucked-up competition, like you're not about to shatter into a million fucking pieces while your best friend watches—after he got you here and humiliated you with a fucking bet—gods, you'd laugh if you weren't so utterly lost to the pleasure ripping through you.

"And watch you get off on it?" Enzo spits back, voice rough. "I'll—"

Theo snorts, cutting him off. "I think there's more than one person getting off on—"

"Shut the-fffuck up—please-" you manage to moan, the words barely intelligible. You look to Enzo, eyes wide and pleading. "Enz...come here."

"Yeah...?" Enzo breathes out, his voice catching, tipping his head back forward to look at you. “What?”

"Come here," you moan again, trembling, fraying under the pleasure that's building inside you from Theo’s insistent dick. "Let me help you."

For a moment, he hesitates, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking because the goddamn mask hides everything. He's always been the calm one between you—always stopping your drunk kisses, always refraining from taking things too far. But tonight, there’s no more of that calm left in him—

He stands.

Each step he takes feels like a lifetime, but when he's standing next to your head on the desk, towering above where you're laid out like a feast, you don't know whether it's the mask or the situation itself that has your pulse racing. Erotic and terrifying, the not-knowing—a power exchange in its purest form. Theo growls infront of you, his thrusts growing harder, more vicious, as you reach out to pull Enzo's hips closer.

You're already eyeing the throbbing bulge in his jeans, your mouth practically watering as you stare.

"Go on," you rasp, lips parting as you look up through your lashes. "Take it out."

The breath Enzo sucks in is sharp, a hitch in the darkness. His fingers tremble, just barely, as he pushes his pants down his thighs, and the noise that escapes him when his cock slips out and smacks his stomach—low, strangled—makes you moan and clench in response—he's huge.

Your breath catches, a soft exhale of, "oh, fuck."

And the words are barely out of your mouth before both Theo and Enzo respond—low growls and breathless groans that echo in the shadowed room, vibrating through you like electricity.

"Open your pretty mouth," Enzo whispers and you obey without hesitation, tongue slipping out, wanting, eager. His breath shudders, and you wish you could see his eyes. "Good girl."

And then he's pushing into you, sliding hot and thick over your tongue, and at that exact moment, Theo thrusts harder, deeper, and suddenly you're overwhelmed—both of them inside you, filling you, consuming every breath. Moans ripple through the dungeon air, a chorus of sin, and you shake with the sheer intensity of it all.

Theo's thumb finds your clit, starts swirling over it, and you keen—eyes rolling back in your head, Enzo’s leather hands in your hair to hold you still. Tears stream down your face as you gag, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, but neither of them stop—if anything, they're both lost in it, in the wrecked, messy beauty of it all. Your hands claw at the desk, desperate for something to hold on to as the pleasure builds, tightens, spirals out of control.

Time collapses. It's been moments—it's been hours.

And then it happens—all three of you tipping over the edge at once, crashing into a release so fierce it shatters you. Your climax rips through you, violent, leaving you shaking, milking Theo until he's spent—until he's pouring his cum deep inside your cunt at the same time Enzo groans deep and spills his own over your tongue. A moment passes, and then Theo is the first to pull away, panting, tearing off his mask and dropping into the chair beside the desk, and Enzo follows, tugging his jeans back up before slumping into another chair, mask still on—

Both of them are sprawled there, utterly spent, just as wrecked as you.

And then, after a few long, tense moments, you hear it—the clink of Galleons exchanged. You don't even need to look up for it to register. Theo tosses the coins into Enzo’s greedy palm because he was the true fucking winner here. The sound cuts through the stillness, and with it, that smug, unmistakable sneer in Enzo's voice.

"Told you she'd love it."

Asshole.

You roll your eyes. Your limbs feel like they're moving through molasses as you stand, your hands mechanically fixing your costume, adjusting the fabric against your thighs.

"You know, Enzo, if you wanted to watch Theo fuck me that bad, all you had to do was ask."

"What can I say," he shrugs, lazy, like he's discussing the weather. "I enjoy a bit of gambling."

Theo snorts, adjusting his collar, as if none of this fazes him. His eyes flick from you to Enzo. "Next time you'll be paying me."

"Next time?" You cock an eyebrow. "How generous of you."

"There will be a next time," Enzo says, flipping one of the Galleons between his fingers, that same smirk playing on his lips. "And I'll get my turn."

Your pulse quickens at the sheer arrogance of it, the way he says it like it's not even up for debate. You hate how much you like this side of him.

"Maybe next time you should."

They nod, both of them wearing their smirks like crowns. "Until next time, then."

[alexaloraetheris]

Oh boy, I feel like it's time for a post nobody will like.

We all know clothes are getting worse. Recently I found some jeans I bought in high school, and since I lost weight recently I tried them on and they fit, so I'll be wearing them once we get out of the Hell season.

But I took them and compared them to the most recent pair of jeans I bought, and... Honestly the difference in quality is so fucking stark it made me want to give up on life. The jeans I wore in high school have gone through everything. I'm talking half of Europe here, because one of our teachers was pretty big on school trips everywhere she could get the money for. They've been washed, tumbled, survived an actual car crash and they're still good.

The most recent pair I machine-washed ONCE, everything else was hand-wash only. I babied them to the max because they made my ass look like was on Instagram. Do you know what they look like now?

They're full of fixes like these. They lasted less than a year on their own. I got another decent year out of them SOLELY because I kept fixing them. And fixing them again. The crotch alone I had to fix SEVEN TIMES. I COUNTED.

And these weren't cheap jeans! C&A jeans tend to be around 40$ these days, and I got these for about 30 with a discount. I expected them to last me AT LEAST a few years, because those high school jeans? THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING BRAND.

Considering this was the quality I was getting for nearly 40$ I figured I might as well get the same quality for 15$ and downloaded SHEIN. I didn't get jeans from them but I got some light, fluttery summer pants in the style that, honestly, I fucking love. I got three pairs for the price of one C&A jeans, and I am aware I will have to baby them even more, because out of the five pairs of pants in total I have bought on SHEIN only ONE is made of the fabric that I might be brave enough to machine wash. And with SHEIN continually getting sued for using sweatshops I probably won't be getting those pants again.

So what to do with that shitfuck situation?

I am insanely lucky my grandma knew how to sew really well and didn't mind me looking over her shoulder as long as I was quiet. I am aware that's not a skill everyone has, but quite frankly? When nobody has any money and even paying big bucks for clothes does not guarantee any kind of quality, and even fucking THRIFT STORES are full of just junk now, I think it's time to face the facts.

You need to learn how to sew.

I'm not talking about sewing your own clothes, though if you can and you have the time and patience, it's probably the best option (good luck finding decent fabric, because we can't even find THAT anymore unless you're ordering from fucking Belgium). I'm talking about fixing up seams and sewing on a patch, little repairs that make your clothes last. It might be junk, but with sewing you can make it last twice as long for the price of a spool of thread.

Now that I've pissed off everyone who is, for some reason, morally opposed to learning how to sew because it's a 'girly hobby' or 'supporting the patriarchy' (a take that left me baffled like nothing else) I'm going to piss off everyone who already knows how to sew.

I recommend getting this little guy.

It's called a stapler sewing machine, for obvious reasons. If I recall correctly, it was invented to fix clothes on the go for fashion shows and/or cosplay. It does only a chain stitch and needs to be pushed manually, but if you need to, like, hem your trousers and you don't want to spend half an hour on doing it manually (and don't already have an actual sewing machine) this is a lifesaver.

Here's a tutorial how it operates:

Now, why am I recommending this? Because it will only set you back six bucks. I got two right off the bat because I was banking on one not working (and I was right) and so I could use it for spare parts. The one in the video (Spring Come) is the one I have as well, and it's the one that actually works. I can't vouch for any unmarked ones, but the blue one works. It IS a little temperamental, but with a bit of practice it makes things so much easier.

The reason I'm not recommending an electric machine of any kind, even the one that costs 18$, is because, if you're a beginner, then an automatic sewing machine becomes a machine that exponentially speeds up the rate at which you make mistakes, and if it breaks down, good luck fixing it unless you have a dad/uncle/friend who knows his electronics. This thing can be fixed with a screwdriver, and takes the same needles as an ordinary sewing machine.

You can buy a bundle of needles just about anywhere for any price and they'll be decent as long as they're steel, but I would recommend looking for some actual better quality thread. Everywhere else, you can pinch pennies, but the thread itself is what's holding your clothes together, so this should be the part where you're looking for quality instead of price.

Alright, those of you who didn't scroll past with a derisive scoff at my take, I hope I've been helpful.

[tbaluver]

Spending Halloween With Them- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre/ tags: fluff, slightly silly, might be ooc maybe a/n: hi everyone! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ��˶ ა happy halloween! are any of you all dressing up? :o what are you guys plans! lmk <3 i apologize if im late i know it might not even be halloween for some of you when i post this but i hope you still enjoy ! if you don't celebrate it, i hope you still have a happy day <3

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Xavier didn’t celebrate or see the appeal of Halloween before until he saw on his phone of couples doing festive activities together. Whether it was you or him that suggested doing anything for this month, he wanted to spend these experiences with you this season and every single one in the future.

Peanut Butter and Jelly Costumes. He might accidentally misread your text and accidentally dress up as an actual peanut costume while you dress up as a jar of jelly.

Honey and Bear Costume. This was his idea because you’re his ‘honey’ so it was very fitting for him to dress up as a bear well because-

Prince and Princess Costume. He would definitely look good as a Prince but he’s not dressing up by himself without his princess. Unless you had a different costume in mind, he doesn’t mind wearing the prince costume by himself

He wouldn’t mind giving out candy or doing trick or treating with you but he most prefers cuddling with you while watching a spooky movie. Does not flinch when a scary scene comes up but he’ll make sure to pull up the blanket over you when you’re scared.

If you two were to go trick or treating he'll make sure to give you all your favorite sweets on your pile and will take the ones you don't want.

Zayne:

Doctor Costume. Not just any doctor, a neurosurgeon doctor. He would explain to you that being a neurosurgeon is a costume because it’s different from his job and that he already had his costume set up. Of course he does. You would have to explain to him that he needs to find a different costume that’s not a doctor. A costume that doesn’t involve him similarly from his real job.

Vampire Costume. When he finally caves, which didn’t take that long, he took your suggestion on being a vampire. A vampire usually looks very sophisticated and elegant which was already fitting for him so all he needed was the cape and some fake fangs

Before you both started to give out candy, you both took a stroll around your neighborhood to appreciate the decorated neighborhood in the area.

Your shared home would be decorated for Halloween. Just right outside your door would be the pumpkins you both lovingly carved and selected together from the pumpkin patch. They all sit together with a candlelight flickering inside them to illuminate the intricate designs you both made.

It wasn’t even close to midnight and almost all of your fun size candy and chocolates are gone. Until you found the culprit in the kitchen caught red-handed as he was about to unwrap the next one in his hand. You guys might have to visit the dentist next week.

Rafayel:

Rafayel didn't really understand why humans dress up and beg random people for candy on this day so he's never really done anything for it. But if you wanted to do something with him for Halloween, with no hesitation he try to do anything with you.

He’s either the type to dress up with the most intricate and well thought out costume that he had made throughout the year with you. It would either be dramatic and some high quality costume or he’s the type to dress up as something very specific. Like a random scenario specific to mess with you. “I’m you when you slipped in the shower.” or he’ll dress up as a silly looking fish and say that it’s you.

He would have SO many ideas of what costumes you both could do or what would look good on you that he ended up making all the costumes in the end. I think he would love dressing you up as Lemurian the most, thinking you would look embody the beauty. So the whole day was just a fun little dress up day for you both and many many photos of you saved with your beautiful or silly costumes.

He would also definitely uses his artistic skills to carve out the most beautiful pumpkins with you.

Sylus:

Vampire Costume. Do I need to say more? Kids would ask, if they weren't scared of him, if his crimson eyes were real and he would definitely act the part and play vampire.

Red Riding Hood and The "Big Bad" Wolf costume. He loves the color red on you and the way the corset of your dress compliments your figure.

Devil and Angel Costume. A little basic costume if you two didn't have enough time to prepare a matching one. Although he does love seeing the color red on you, you are his angel and his dove so he doesn't mind being the devil.

You two would enjoy the evening by the cozy fireplace as you wait for the trick-or-treaters to knock on your door. He would pour you a cup of your favorite drink before he pours himself a glass of wine.

He’s definitely the house known for handing out the biggest candy bars and secretly loves it when he hears how children think his home is the coolest because of the mountains of candy he’s given them.

He does give out a little too much but he wants to make sure every kid leaves with an overflowing bag. Honestly he probably bought a warehouse full of candy so you don’t run out for the night.

[goldsbitch]

Open your eyes

Everyone is self-conscious about their body sometimes. For Y/N's it's always been her small boobs, living in the belief that this would make her unattractive. Can her best friend help out?

warning: light smut, nipple play, blindfold

this one is for the flat chested girlies out there

If only teenagers knew how all of their peers are just as insecure as they are. Might have saved a lot of trouble, sleepless nights and maybe even stop everyone from overthinking and living more of a "just finally kiss me" life.

//

It was a sunny summer afternoon, as per usual, these two late teens, would spend it in a room with all windows covered up, eyes glued to the screen and hands gripping gaming consoles. They grew up as close friends, in fact he was the only one she ever potentially felt comfortable enough to admit her insecurities.

"Still don't get it why you said no," he noted, once again, to the situation where one of his racing friends asked for her number and she declined without providing a reason.

She ignored him the first time he'd address it, hoping he'd just let it go. It was frustrating how much invested he was in that. With a big sigh, she replied the same as she did before. "We are just not the right fit."

Lando, a teenage guy with a massive crush he had yet to decipher, was not satisfied with that answer.

"Don't get it," he said nonchalantly as he blew her head off in the game they were playing.

"Fine!" she responded and nearly threw away her console. She locked eyes with him, still not sure if she wanted to share her deepest insecurity.

He knew her, in the light reflected from her screen he could see on her face that the mood in the room has changed drastically. No more casual fun and games.

"Spill it," he dared, perhaps realizing for the first time why he craved her presence so much. "Was this it?"

She took a deep breath, trying to somehow ignore Lando's intense stare. She would always closed her eyes when something "scary" was in front of her. With her eyes shut, she finally spoke. "It's, um...You know," she said, vaguely pointing around her chest. Poor Lando was so caught of guard he forgot to breathe for a moment. "What?" he said, confused as ever.

Another annoyed sigh. "Don't make me say it, Norris."

"Well, you're really bad at pantomima thing, so I'm afraid you'll have to," he said, keen on not letting this go, his mind trying to ignore his inner disappointment.

"Fine. But promise we will never address this again."

"Promise."

"He just, he seems like the kind of guy who would want a more developed girl..?" she said, still not sure how to communicate it.

"As in all the braincells? I see your point now," he couldn't help himself from teasing her. Ever.

"Dickhead. My boobs," he almost bursted, once again gesturing to her chest. "They are so small. Why would someone like him find that attractive?"

Now, he was truly taken of guard, no idea how to respond, because he could hardly understand. It made the wheels in his head spin. Only at that moment realizing he'd do anything to see her small boobs one day. Y/N mistook his surprised silence as a confirmation of her own insecurities.

//

Once his brain processed the newly found information, Lando understood, as best as he could, where Y/N's insecurity regarding her boobs came from. While he'd never admit it, he often wondered whether he himself was "developed" enough. He had always been smaller than guys his age, something that is hard to hide. Same with breasts, unless you really wanna fake it, you can just tell from the outside.

Ever since that summer afternoon, he started to notice things he did not before. How could he not hear the subtle comments she made so often?

He was hanging out in her room, the last evening before he parted to several races. They were suppose to meet some friends later, so he stopped by, expecting her to be ready, while she was busy trying on a seventh top and still not liking it.

"This one has just too low of a v-neck," she whispered, perhaps more to herself, but ultimately, he did hear her. It's been weeks since the first and last time they spoke about it, Lando managed to pass many comments she made about herself.

But, fuck it this time. It was bothering him endlessly that she was insecure like that.

"That's it, Y/N. You know that the size of the boobs does not matter, right? Guys don't care about that," he stood behind her, locking eyes with her through the mirror she was standing in front of.

She froze, staying silent.

He continued. "Tell me, did a guy ever complain when you slept together?" They would usually share stories of their "achievements" in the past, so he was aware that she was sexually active. It was just that recently, that thought became sort of uncomfortable. Other guys touching her.

She snapped back. "Well, they never complained, but the also never even looked at them, so how could they know!"

"What does that mean?" he asked, once again confused.

She wished her mouth would wait for her brain to approve sometimes. Especially with Lando. There goes nothing. "'I've always kept a shirt on."

Baffled Lando wondered how could those other guys allow it. "So you've never shown your tits to a guy?" he said, almost astonished.

"No...It's not my asset and I know it. My, um...my ass is pretty good?" she defended and he had to try so hard not to picture her, on all knees, spine bending and her ass perked up towards him.

He swallowed, barely believing the words he was about to hear coming from his mouth. "Then show them to me."

Her eyes went wide. "Lando!" They had a close friendship, but not the kind where walk around naked in front of each other.

He held his arms up in defense. "No, I mean...hey, you know me. You have to show them to a guy one day anyway. And I promise I'll tell you the truth. No bullshit." He knew he crossed a line. Which was why he almost did not believe her next word.

"Ok."

To be fair, it did make some sense. If you really look for it. But while he was crushing on her without realizing, she had been crushing on him for months, fully aware of it. There was a tingling in her stomach when he made this suggestion. Unfamiliar, exciting tension. As if she wanted him to stare at her tits, no matter how insecure she felt about them.

"But I can't watch you," she added, turning around to face him. "I'd be too embarassed."

"So close your eyes?" he noted the obvious.

"No, you gotta tie my eyes," she said, making his cock twitch in his pants.

//

It was hard for Lando to wrap around his head what exactly was happening. As he was tieing up a band around Y/N eyes, she accidentally touched his hands when she was checking it.

"It is too tight?" he asked softly, waiting for her to deny it.

"All good."

He stepped away and turned her around so that she would stand face-to-face with him.

"Um, whenever you're ready, I guess," he announced. Part of him could not believe what was happening, another part of his was scared she's back out and another was terrified of himself. And how much he craved to see her.

She took a deep breath and tried to block all her thoughts. And boy, were there many. The strangest one was the excitement.

With one swift move she took her shirt off. Lando's pupils were wide and he probably didn't blink for minutes now. She bit her lower lip and turned around to face him. He had seen her in a bikini before, why was this so much better. She put her hands back and finally took her bra off.

He should have never suggested it. He knew he'd not forget the sight of her small, perky boobs with perfect nipples anytime soon. It was better when he did not know. He stared in silence, while she stood there, blindfolded, nervously rubbing her fingers.

"Gosh, say something, please," she pleaded impatiently.

"Um...No, um," he said, getting his voice stuck for a moment.

"Oh shit, it's bad, right?" she asked, while her heart sank in.

"No!," he immediately reacted, somewhat coming back to Earth. "They are...nice," he said, trying to downplay his own excitement. "Small, but nice. Firm...I guess."

She sighed. "Ok..."

He shifted himself, gaining more presence again. He was aware that what he said would affect her deeply, so his plan was to fix his initial reaction, not to make her wonder. "Seriously. If a girl I was on a date with had your boobs, I'd be more than happy. Trust me."

She relaxed a bit and instinctively went to somewhat cover herself up again with her hands. "That's good to know. Thank you."

He wanted more. To see more. His hormones acted before he did, shooting the boldest test of their friendship.

"There is one thing my sister mentioned few times..." he said before he managed to stop himself. "Apparently...if you massage them, it helps the blood flow and helps them grow," he stated, almost ashamed of himself for making things up like that. It was wrong. He should have just tell her upfront just how much he wants ti touch her.

She knew well enough that was some bullshit. But it was a chance. To know what if feels like when a guy like Lando touches you.

"Um, this might sound weird, but, um, can you show me?" she asked, blinfold giving her the courage she normally lacked.

He could not believe he had standing in front of him, bare-chested, blindfolded and oh so innocent. This sight was awakening parts of him he did not know existed. At that point, he was hard as a rock.

"Yeah, I guess I could do that. But, you should probably lie down," he suggested and took her hand in his, leading her slowly to her bed. She could already feel the fire of his touch when he touched her shoulder. Lando shamelessly watched her nipples harden once he did. The blindfold was a miracle.

He laid her down on her back and popped himself up on his elbows on her left side. Now that they were on the bed, he started to feel more at ease and all of it felt less wrong. She couldn't see him, but his warmth radiated on her naked chest and his intoxicating cologne hit her nose once he put her down.

What she couldn't see was the way he smiled softly at the sights in front of him, taking his time to create as much imagery in his memory as possible. She shivered with cold.

"You should start, I'm getting cold," she said impatiently.

"Anything you want, baby" he replied absentmindedly, not noticing the way he addressed her. The word would ring in her ears for days on. Lando completely forgot what game he was suppose to play. His brain left the conversation a while ago and he was fully focused on the picture in front if him. He had lying down and waiting for his touch.

He started with her left nipple, lightly, feathery, almost non existent touch. His eyes were flashing between watching her chest rise up and down and her face. She bit her lower lip, as if she was trying to hide the way it affected her. He couldn't help but smile and lick his lips. He began tracing little figured of eight on the top of her nipple and when he was sure he got her sensitive enough, he pinched her for the first time. A soft, surprised sigh escaped her mouth. He did not have think about his actions at all, it was all so natural and easy. He pinched her nipple once again, harder this time, before he moved onto cupping her breast and giving it a squeeze, while watching her attentively. She pulled her head back a bit and he knew he had her. Afraid to speak, he continued to squeeze her and then traced her up and down, making sure not to miss her nipple anytime he did.

"The other one," she whispered so quietly he nearly missed it. But he didn't. With a smirk, he kept his hand on her left nipple, and reached over to her right breast. All of the adrenaline hitting up, he leaned over and when his mouth was almost touching her, then carefully licked her nipple. He watched her, half expecting her to freak out and send him away. To his satisfaction, she flinched in a way he never saw he before. There was something sensual, primal about the way air exited her mouth. Still blindfolded, she had no idea his eyes were glued on her face. If they weren't, he'd probably miss out on her soft "More...". He started kissing and gently biting the rest of her boobs, painting pictures with red bruises. She arched up a bit, as if her body was trying to get closer to him. First moan escaped her lips like a shy whisper. The rest that followed were unfiltered, mindless proof that she was fully in the moment. He got more and more excited, his cock hard as a rock, begging to get released. But he was afraid anything more would cause her to back off. So he continued with this actions, switching up between her nipples, breasts and sometimes roamed over to the neck. To get carried away was the easiest thing ever. As he tasted her skin, he got intoxicated. She surprised him when her hands reached out to his own body, done playing the passenger and joining on action. First she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing him more to her chest and then her soft fingers reached over to his shirt, movement suggesting to pull it off. This sort of woke him up back again. He pulled his shirt off and watched her smile when she noticed his bare chest.

"Now we're even," she commented and with no shame touched all around his muscles. A small alarm was going off in Lando's head. He was enjoying this a little too much. The realization that the line that got crossed was out of sight at that point hit him. So he chose to try and get even further. He leaned over to her face and licked the line of neck, stopping right at her ears. Then he bit her earlobe before wetting it with his tongue and blowing lightly on it. The shivers again. He could watch that all day. She melted into his embrace, arching towards him once again. Lando placed slow kisses on her cheek, one by one, until he got so close to her lips he could feel her breath mixing with his own. He hovered, prolonging this moment, the last seconds before it inevitably all fell down. Her chest was rising up and down rapidly. "Do it," she whispered, their lips almost touching accidentally. He waited for few moments, biting his own lip while wishing it was hers. "Not like this," he said, catching her off guard. Before she had a chance to respond, he reached over to her blindfold and removed it. Their eyes met for what felt like the first time. He saw high, excitement and a hint of fear, as she adjusted to the light and to the sight of him being so close. Reality check.

"Can I kiss you now?" he pleaded softly, staring at her, desperate for her answer.

It was all very different and very much real when she could see him. She gulped before taking the leap, falling into the trap that were his incredibly blueish green eyes.

"Yes."

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Three) (18+) / Part One | Part Two

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 6.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Dinner is a tense affair, but by the end of it it feels less like walking on eggshells and more like walking around hard boiled eggs on the floor. There won’t be a goopy mess if you step wrong, but no one wants a squashed egg.

You and Jake seem to be getting on as friends, as long as you ignore all of the blatantly romantic elements of your current situation. You’re unfortunately subjected to a man beside you fingering his roommate beneath the table cloth, and you’re glad that Jake also agrees that despite being on a sex boat, that kind of thing is better done in private.

“Unless, of course, everyone’s into that,” He shoots you another one of his patented winks, and you delight in reaching across the table to steal the cherry off of his black forest cake.

“Hey! Oh, whatever,” He scoffs at your triumphant grin, reaching for his glass of wine. There’s not much left in the bottle; he’s a heavy pour and you didn’t bother counting his glasses- you just know he’s had more than one. His cheeks are just the slightest shade of pink, and you plan on snapping as many pictures as you can as soon as you can get him hazy enough to let you. 

“Here, Hangman,” You feign kindness, taking hold of the bottle and trying to line the neck up with the rim of his glass despite him pulling away, “There’s only a little bit left, finish it off so you don’t waste your money.”

“No, ‘can’t.” He insists, gulping the rest of what’s in his glass in a manner rather contradictory to his words, “Gotta sober up again if we’re going out tonight.”

“I’m going out tonight,” You remind him firmly, finding woozy, pliant Jake much easier to talk to than sharp-as-a-tack Hangman, “You were all set to head to bed earlier; I thought you were some sort of kissing fiend on wine.”

“That’s why I’m soberin’ up, darlin’.” Jake drawls, and though he’s blinking slower than normal, his tone indicates that you’re the stupid one.

“Can’t be much of a security guard if my eyes are goin’ all dizzy,” He says, his tongue lazing into a southern twang that’s sharper when he’s oiled up with booze.

“Security guard?” You echo incredulously, “Hangman, what possessed you to think I’d need a security guard? I’m in the Navy, we both know how to aim between the eyes.”

“No, you know how to aim between the legs,” Jake licks the bitter wine residue from his lips, most likely tasting a sweet tinge of chocolate there, too, “I just don’t feel right leavin’ you with that Daniel guy.”

“He’s nice.” You speak with a tight clench to your teeth, and though you have to separate them to fit your dessert fork into your mouth, they still feel tense. You supplement the need to snap at him by grinding the pastry dough on your tongue into shreds with your molars. Perhaps you’re brutalizing your pie instead of enjoying it, but you’re not in much of a state to enjoy anything right now, except maybe liquor.

“If you’re not gonna drink this, I will,” You secede, waving the bottle at him, “If I’ve gotta spend the night with you I don’t wanna remember it.”

“Finally,” He scoffs, reaching now for his water glass where it’s sweating on the table cloth. His cold, calculating smooth-talk has been reduced to a petulant fit, “Only reason I bought the damn wine was for you, ‘then you had to make a big fuss about it, ‘n all of a sudden you’re suckin’ it down just ‘cause I’m gonna crash your little date later.”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very unfair, Hangman,” You drawl, the only thing stopping you from drinking straight from the bottle being the elegant setting around you, “I’m unreasonable and I think you should ask someone to switch roommates because you can’t stand me.”

“Oh, nice try,” He levels you with a glare, water beading at the corners of his lips as his hand trembles slightly around the glass, “That’s that reverse psychology bullshit. Nah, I can handle you. You jus’ need a good kiss, that’s all.”

Annoyance prickles in your chest; he’d been shaming you for kissing earlier, now he’s prescribing it?

“Oh, really? Do tell.”

“Mhm.” He nods, his eyes slipping shut as he braces his hand against his forehead, elbow on the table to support his weight. He looks pitiful- like he’d worked 14 hours and not like a man on vacation. Perhaps the water is working, loosening the effects of the sweet wine and leaving him drained in its wake.

“It would calm you down, I think.” He mumbles, somewhere hazy between sleep and wake, “Jus’ gotta arm wrestle Damien for it.”

“Daniel.”

“Whatever.”

--

Jake has mostly sobered up by the time that you’re all four bathed in multicolored strobe lighting one deck down from the restaurant. He’s sticking to strictly water now which is bringing his awareness back, but he has to take trips to the bathroom every ten minutes. You don’t mind- you appreciate having the time alone with Daniel.

“So,” He hums, hands framing your waist and chest pressed to your own, “He’s a little protective, isn’t he? You guys have a thing going on?”

“No thing.” You snap, “There’s no thing going on between us.”

“He acts like there is,” Daniel muses, and it’s somewhere between disappointed and resentful. But his hands never stray from your skin, so you hope it’s not directed at you.

“He just- he likes to be the best in everything,” You explain, the words escaping in a sigh, “You should see him in the cockpit, he’s insufferable. ‘Always has to win. I think that’s all it is, Daniel. And- for him to win, I’d have to lose. So I think he’s trying to bully you away from me, then he can boast about how I’m lonely and he’s not. He does it all the time back home.”

Daniel’s face curves into a frown, “He seems like a douche. ‘Like the kinda guy you should stay away from.”

“Trust me, I’m trying to stay away from him,” You scoff, tucking your nose against Daniel’s chest while the music lulls into a more heartfelt melody, “But for the next seven days we’re stuck on a boat together.”

“At least Danica likes him. Maybe we can unofficially swap.” Daniel nods towards his roommate, who’s now offering Jake a beer where he’s just exited the restroom. 

You watch as he grins charmingly- the same one he’d leveled at you during dinner only an hour before, “No thanks, darlin’. I’ve gotta keep an eye on that one over there.”

The pair glance at you when Jake gestures, and you realize they’ve caught you staring when you hadn’t even realized you were doing it yourself. You press your face back against Daniel’s chest, a strange breed of embarrassment heating your cheeks. 

“You can drink,” You call to Jake, agonizing as you’d rather keep your voice to a low murmur against Daniel’s ear, “I don’t need to be babysat.”

At that exact moment the four shots you’d done of something they’d promised you was mild all flood to your ankle and weaken it so that it gives out under your weight. You stumble, your foot bending awkwardly as you shriek, gravity trying its best to drag you down to the scuffed floor.

Daniel’s eyes widen but he works quickly, and his strong arms brace against your back as he keeps you pressed tight to his chest. He glances over your shoulder at Jake who’d lunged forwards to catch you, and there’s a tightness in his jaw, a hardness in his eyes as he straightens up that spells irritation close to bursting. Daniel smirks at him.

“What were you saying?,” Daniel chuckles, letting you ease your hands off of him where you’d gripped tight to his biceps, “I’d make a ‘falling for me’ joke but it’d be so bad I’d throw myself overboard afterwards.”

“Sorry,” You bemoan the surely stinging handprints on Daniel’s toned biceps, “I didn’t mean to- aah,” You hiss, gingerly raising your tweaked ankle, “I rolled it or something, I’ll- ooh, I’ll be back. Just gonna ask the bartender for some ice.”

Both men step forwards to brace your weight against theirs- even Danica offers her hand, but you wave them off with a sheepish laugh.

“I’m okay, guys, really. I can walk, it just-” You wince, a twinge of pain shooting through your ankle, “It just hurts a bit. I’m gonna go sit in the bathroom for a minute with the ice on it, ‘see what that does.”

Daniel looks hesitant to leave you, but he lets you hobble to the counter. The bartender looks suspicious of your request at first, like you’re somehow cheating him out of profit by asking for six ice cubes in a plastic bag. But one glance down at your elevated ankle gets him moving, and he wraps it once in a paper towel before passing it over the counter.

The bathroom counter is not an ideal resting spot, but it does give you a chance to glance at your makeup in the mirror. It’s mostly in-tact, but you note that your lipstick has faded some, partially from pressing it to the rim of your glass and partially from pressing it to Daniel’s own mouth. You’d shared a few more dizzying kisses on the dance floor, and they make your rolled ankle worth it a thousand times over.

The ice bleeds condensation through the towel after only a few minutes, and you turn the package so the dry side is now pressed to your sore limb. You hear footsteps and you ensure that your dress is draped over your lap- sure it’s a sex cruise but no one wants to see you on display, and glance at the doorway to see who’d come in through the hall.

It’s Jake.

In the women’s bathroom.

“Hey!” You scoff, glaring at him while your fingers numb with cold, “Get out of here, you creep. This is the women’s bathroom.”

“I know. But you’re treating it like a hospital, so I’m gonna do the same. How’s your ankle?” He glances towards your foot braced on the counter, “Dalton can’t be that good of a dancer if he’s steppin’ on your feet the whole time.”

“First off, it’s Daniel. Second, I didn’t roll my ankle because he stepped on me, I rolled it because I’m drunk.”

A satisfied smile flits over Jake’s face, “So you do need babysitting, then?”

You neglect to respond verbally in favor of trying to melt his face off with your glare. It doesn’t work- in fact, his own expression only gets brighter.

“So, whaddya say we just drop right down on the tile and go for it?” He offers, gesturing towards the dingy bathroom floor, “Or- this counter might work,” He leans forwards to brace his biceps against it, shaking to no avail as the fixture stays tight.

“Oh, yes, that would be very comfortable,” You gripe.

“It could be.”

“Get out, Hangman.” You grimace, shifting the ice against your ankle, “I just wanna freeze this pain away and get back out there, and I think your presence is somehow making it hurt worse.”

“You really know how to make a man feel special,” He cocks his head slightly, leaning against the counter and glancing at your ankle, “Is it throbbing?”

“No. Just stings a bit.” You grumble, keeping your eyes off of his dress shirt and the way he’s rolled the sleeves up. It’s a pretty color, nice against his tan skin.

“Right.” He murmurs, voice similarly soft as the music leaks in muffled through the walls.

“You can go,” You nod towards the door, “I think Danica really likes you. Which is weird, because she’s heard you open your big fat mouth, and that’s usually what sends ‘em running.”

Jake rolls his eyes in an excellent impression of Penny’s daughter Amelia now that she’s in the throes of teenagedom. 

“Anyways, you should go and drink with her. Have fun,” You offer, hesitantly kind to him, “You might as well get lucky even if you got stuck with a prudish roommate.”

“You’re not prudish,” He narrows his eyes at you, “You and Devon dry-humped in an elevator.”

“Daniel!”

“You didn’t even deny it,” Jake mock-gasps, “I bet the two of you were rubbin’ up on each other-”

“Get out.”

“-from decks 1-8. Hey, what’s that Ed Sheeran line that Rooster likes? Up and comin’ like I’m fuckin’ in an elevator?”

“Get out!”

Your ice pack doubles as an excellent projectile, but Jake was raised with older sisters, and is fantastic at dodging things flying towards his face.

He catches it with that infuriating grin he’s always shooting at you, and he tosses it into the trash while extending his other hand as an offering towards you.

“C’mon, Roger Clemens, let’s get back out there, shall we? Or are you too drunk to stand?”

“I can stand,” You insist, ignoring his hand and sliding off of the counter onto your feet, though one protests the weight with a sharp jolt of pain up your leg.

“Sure,” He scoffs, once more rolling his eyes skyward as he grabs hold of your bicep anyways, hoisting part of your weight onto him, “Let’s just get outta here before a gaggle of you ladies decide they’re all going to the bathroom together. Why do you do that, by the way?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because men have a habit of wandering in despite the clear sign on the door that says Women’s.” You glare up at him, but you let him help you hobble out of the bathroom.

“I go where I’m needed. You needed a medic,” He shrugs, angling you towards one of the barstools so that you can rest your weight again, “And you needed someone to tell you to stay away from that David guy.”

You snap your eyes shut instead of correcting Jake yet again, instead focusing on why he’s being particularly dickish this evening.

“Why do you care so much? He’s a nice man, why are you so angry that we’re connecting?”

“Because I don’t think he’s a nice man,” Jake’s face scrunches in a frown packed with judgment, “He defiled you in an elevator and he’s leaving his roommate high and dry.”

“No he’s not,” You scoff, “They’re dancing right now!” 

You jab a finger towards the pair now pressed together on the dance floor, ignoring the newly familiar tinge of jealousy in your chest when you see Daniel’s hands pressed to Danica’s waist just the same as they’d been to yours. It’s fine. You’re on a sex cruise; he signed a lot of contracts but monogamy wasn’t one of them.

“That’s worse,” Jake sneers, his hand sliding from your bicep to your back to steady you on the barstool, “He’s not loyal to either of you.”

“I don’t need his loyalty.”

“That’s not right. You should want loyalty. You don’t see me chatting up everyone’s roommates, do you?”

“You’re certainly friendly with Danica! And I don’t need your loyalty either, Jake!” You gush, voice raising, “Loyalty is for relationships! This is sex! Heated, messy, sloppy, dirty sex!”

Jake’s eyes dim of their usual fire, but you wouldn’t know it by the way his grin stays plastered in place. Then, slowly, bitterly, it fades, and he looks away towards a water ring on the surface of the bar, “Sex ain’t all there is in life. One day you’ll want loyalty.”

Your indignant laugh comes immediately, “Hangman, I can’t believe you of all people are lecturing me on loyalty. You’ve cycled through every tourist that makes the unfortunate mistake of wandering too close to the naval base. You’re not even loyal to your friends, why do you think we call you Hangman?”

The fire in his eyes is back, but it’s hot and not warm. Low blow. Maybe if you weren’t so drunk you wouldn’t have said it.

His jaw is tight when it opens for him to spit, “That’s ‘cause I ain’t got a girl I wanna be loyal to. And- and that Hangman shit is old, I don’t leave you hanging anymore. Not in the air, and not on the ground. Not after-”

Neither of you say it, but you both remember the sheer terror you’d felt when Bradley had gone down trying to save Maverick. How Jake had begged to be launched in a search and rescue, how they’d held him back until they were certain the two pilots were already on their way back. Like they didn’t want to risk one man to save two. Like Jake’s pleading wasn’t proof enough that they were more than just soldiers, more than just numbers, that they were people, too. You owe him that; he’d shown loyalty there, even if his pride had been hurt. Perhaps that proves his ego doesn’t win out, even if its what he likes to display.

“Fine.” You murmur, biting your cheek, “But- but just stay out of this, okay? If I wanna fool around with someone then I can, doesn’t matter if he won’t be here after this cruise is over.”

Jake’s face sours impossibly further, “Fine.”

He storms off through the crowd, and there’s a handprint-shaped cold spot on your back. 

You scoff at his dramatic display, but before the bartender serves you the drink you order in a huff, Daniel comes weaving towards you through the crowd.

“He asked to swap,” Daniel informs you, “And he called you my ‘side chick’.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” You take a bitter sip of your drink, eyes widening at the strength, “Oh, god, if I can even aim.”

“Aim?” Daniel asks, slight trepidation clouding his features, “You gonna punch him?”

“Nah, I’ll shoot him down in a fighter jet.”

It draws a laugh out of Daniel, and you enjoy the rich, warm sound. It sounds a little how your drink tastes, but it’s not as sour.

It’s just as intoxicating, though, and you let it make you dizzy as he takes your hands and spins you on the barstool to the rhythm of the music, dancing with you as much as you’re capable of.

--

“I think she’s one drink away from falling off of that stool,” Danica muses, and Jake’s eyes snap to her own where her head reaches his shoulder.

“What? Y/N?”

“Yeah. You’ve been staring at her for the last six songs.”

“Sorry.” Jake grimaces, “I didn’t mean to zone out.”

“It’s fine.” She pats his chest and god, it’s pathetic and oozing with pity, “She was giving you a hard time earlier?”

“She’s always giving me a hard time. Can’t just let me help her, she’s gotta make a big stink of everything.”

“Mm-hm,” She nods along, and Hangman begins wondering if this is how people feel when they speak to him. Patronized and condescended.

“Well, I don’t think she’s capable of giving you a hard time anymore,” She narrows in on the way you’re slumped against Daniel’s shoulder, face stretched into a permanent lazy grin, “You wanna head out for the night and get her to bed before she passes out?”

“I dunno,” Jake shrugs, but his eyes never leave your slouched frame, “I’m having a nice time dancing with you, doll.”

“No you’re not.”

He turns to her, brows furrowed, “What?”

“No,” She repeats, but there’s mirth in her voice instead of reprimand, “You’re not. You’re worried about her. You two are friends?”

“Something like that.” Jake hums, but pointedly never denies her accusations, “She’s just- pardon me for speaking ill of your roommate, Danica, but I don’t want him messing around with her.”

“Mm. So you’re her father?”

“No,” Jake’s face wrinkles, and he tugs his arm an inch tighter around her waist, “We’re friends like you said. Sort of. The kind of friends that are always at each other’s throats, y’know the type.”

“Oh. So fuckbuddies.”

“No,” Jake laughs, and it eases out some of the worrisome creases in his face, puts new, happier ones in his skin instead, “See, I suggested that this cruise partnership was a work’a fate, that it’d give us a chance to blow off some of our steam, but she won’t have it. So now I’m just a glorified babysitter.”

“Ooh, so you’re not even in the friendzone,” Danica grimaces, a dry smile on her face, “Well, Jake, for what it’s worth, I think she’s lucky to have you as a roommate. And as whatever sort of friend you are to her.”

Jake nods tersely, head still turned to watch the way Daniel keeps you upright with an arm around your waist. 

“She said-” Jake starts, then remembers he’s talking to a woman he barely knows, then remembers he’s got nothing to lose, “She said all this shit earlier about me not being loyal. Reliable, trustworthy, all that. And- I wasn’t, okay? I was a… not so great person. For longer than I’d like to admit. But,” His throat feels tight now, and it tenses in his jaw as Danica listens, “I’m not like that anymore. And I haven’t been for long enough for her to notice. If she’s lookin’, that is. Which- I guess she’s not. But I just thought maybe- I thought maybe she’d see it and we could be different. I still wanna tease her, of course. But at dinner she told me she thought I was just trying to ruin this for her. And I’m not,” His eyes gleam, not with tears but with something close and soulful as he blinks into Danica’s eyes, “I’m trying to make it better. I’m trying to make it the week of her life. The week of both of our lives. I’m just…” He hesitates, weighing the word on his tongue, “I’m afraid she won’t let me.”

Danica squeezes gently at his bicep through his dress shirt, and briefly mourns that the beefiest man on this ship is 100%, prime-time in love with you. She’d have loved to spend a night with him, but she kisses her chances goodbye as she smiles sweetly at Jake.

“You’re a good friend. You’re a very good friend, Jake. You’re trying to be very good at being much more than a friend. But she’s not seeing it, right?”

Jake nods, and she mimics the action, “So you need to show her. Show, not tell. Even if she’s resistant, even if she tries to gripe at you, it’s because she’s still seeing the man you used to be. And hey, maybe she won’t want the man you’ve become, even if you worked hard on becoming him. But there’s no reason to throw up your hands now, is there? Let her see the real you, then she’ll decide whether she’s willing to have you. Be patient. It’s all up to her in the end, so be this new-and-improved version of yourself, and she’ll take care of the rest. Okay? Remember, you’re a good friend.”

Jake nods at her reassuring words, steeling himself for a week of patience that he doesn’t typically possess.

Danica continues through the silence, “Aaand a good friend would make sure she gets back to her cabin before she blows chunks all over her hookup’s shoes, right?”

“Oh.” Jake’s eyes widen momentarily as his head jerks towards you - he’s only ever seen you upchuck twice before, both times after rowdy nights out with the group, but he is noticing a familiar pudge to your cheeks that can’t spell anything good. He’s tempted to let you ralph all over Daniel, teach you a lesson about mouthing off to people that are only trying to be nice- but that’s what pre-dagger squad Hangman would have thought. That’s old Hangman, the aviator who’d have sold his wingman out for fame and glory. Now he’s an entirely different Hangman, the one with a rope around his neck that tightens each time Daniel squeezes the pudge of your hip.

“Thanks, Danica,” He breaks away from her embrace with a kind, chaste smile, none of his usual toothy sleaze, “Hey, uh- enjoy your night with Daniel. Careful, though: I’ve heard he does terrible things in elevators.”

“I’ll keep it in mind!” She calls, her voice a melodious laugh as she waves goodbye at him, “Straight to bed, Jake! And leave water on the nightstand!”

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” He’s happy to let his southern drawl take over, nodding at her with a wink before spinning around to face you.

Daniel glances up at him, and his attempt at keeping a neutral expression over his face is valiant, but some of the wariness seeps through in the way that his arm tightens almost imperceptibly around your shoulders. Your eyes are desperately trying to stay open but they still lock onto Jake no problem, and you raise both of your eyebrows in what Jake is certain was an attempt to only raise one.

“Yes, Hangman?” You ask, your voice thick with booze, “You need somethin’?”

“You look like you’re about to need a trashcan,” Jake tentatively reaches for you, “C’mon, it’s gettin’ late. We should head back to the cabin for the night.”

Jake expects another jab about the nature of the cruise, but what he gets is drunken compliance, an easy reach of your hand for his own and a mumbled, ‘kay’.

“Hold on,” Daniel catches your waist, keeping you suspended between them, “You sure you can get her back okay?”

There’s a sharp tilt to his brow that makes Jake think Daniel’s not questioning whether he’s strong enough to carry you. The thought both offends and disgusts Jake, and he takes pleasure in swatting Daniel’s arm away from your hips to tug you into his embrace.

“She’s safe with me,” Jake scoffs, “But your roommate’s gettin’ lonely out there, Dallas.”

“It’s Dominic,” You gripe, the stench of liquor hitting Jake full-force now that your face is only inches away from his own, your forehead bumping his jaw.

Daniel hadn’t found Jake’s jab to be very funny, but a smile quirks the corners of his mouth at your slip-up, and he finally lets you go with a pat to the hip.

“You can call me any name you want, Y/N,” He offers, but his eyes pass darkly over Jake’s tense face, “So long as it’s not Jake.”

“No, no, he’s- he’s Jake.” You jab a sharp finger into Jake’s chest and he flinches back slightly, hissing at the contact.

“Good memory, darlin’.” Jake commends you, “Now let’s head for the elevators, m’kay?”

“I love elevators,” You sigh, no doubt remembering the feverish embrace you’d shared in one only hours prior, “Daniel, are you coming too?”

His face turns down in visible pain and he shakes his head, “No, I’m not. I’m gonna go find Danica - she’s probably looking for me.”

“She’s probably found someone else by now,” Jake laughs, haughty and biting, “I wouldn’t wait around for someone if they were hellbent on fooling around with someone else.”

“Really?” Daniel speaks like he’s snapping at Jake, gnashing and snarling like a fighting dog, “It seems like that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

The weight of your head slumped in the juncture between Jake’s neck and shoulder feels like shackles. 

For a moment the two men stare at each other, and if you weren’t slowly losing consciousness between them, they might have given into their tension-fueled urge to scrap like feisty teens. But you release a soft, tender sigh against Jake’s chest, and he hikes his arm up under your thighs instead.

“‘Gonna lift you, darlin’.” He informs you, waiting only a second before he scoops you into a bridal hold. Your head is quick to loll backwards at a grotesque angle, and before Jake can balance you out, Daniel reaches over to assist.

“Here, honey,” The man croons, nestling your head against Jake’s bicep, and he watches in abject horror as Daniel leans down to press his lips to your forehead, “We’ll see each other tomorrow, okay? I’ll find you.”

Jake is desperate to know whether your responding smile is dreamy from the liquor or from the sight of his face, “Mm, okay, g’night.”

“Night,” Daniel murmurs fondly, and Jake is all too happy to drag you away from him. 

“Slow down,” You plead when Jake is ten steps out of the bar and beelining for the elevators, “I’m gonna spew.”

“Not on me, please,” Jake jolts to a stop in the middle of the hallway, noting the rhythmic rocking motion of the boat and cringing, “Can I go for the elevator?”

“Slowly,” You mumble, and evidently you hadn’t heard his begging by the way you nestle your nose into his chest.

Upon hearing the ding of the elevator your eyes snap open, and you seem horrified despite having heard the word mere seconds before.

“Wait. No elevator.”

“What?”

“No elevator. Please, I can’t- ugh,” You groan, leaning away from Jake to hang your face over the ground beside him, “I can’t take the pressure of moving up in an enclosed space.”

“Well we’re one floor away from our room, how do you expect me to get you up there?” Jake gripes.

Approximately thirty seconds later he’s hauling you up a flight of agonizingly shallow stairs.

“This is bullshit.” Jake scoffs, “Should’ve had Daniel do this.”

“Dean,” You correct him, “His name is Dean.”

“No it’s not!” Jake laughs incredulously, rounding the corner to the second half of the staircase, “See, if you can’t even remember his name, you shouldn’t be foolin’ around with the guy.”

“What’s the name of the last woman you took home, Hangman?” You shoot him a glare with narrowed eyes where you’re still held in his arms, and he stops in his tracks to shoot you a menacing glance of his own while his chest heaves from exertion.

“Touche. That’s why I stopped foolin’ around with her, though. Couldn’t care enough to remember.”

“You never care,” You grumble groggily, and Jake tugs the both of you up the remaining four steps until he’s on your cabin’s level.

Your words are slashing relentlessly at a wound that’s been gaping for longer than Jake can remember. He thinks it's worse when you’re drunk- you’re shitfaced enough to forget your new boytoy’s name, but you still remember how shallow and vapid of a person Jake used to be.

“Right now, I care very deeply that you’ve got your room key with you. Or that you can reach mine; whichever works. You got it on you, darlin’?”

“This dress doesn’t have pockets,” You lament, “Where’s yours?”

“Uh.” Hangman glances over his shoulder, “Back pocket.”

Alcohol courses through your veins in the same quantity blood does when you reach with no inhibition for Hangman’s ass.

Jake’s eyes widen as he feels your fingers prodding and poking liberally around his dress pants, finally finding the pocket and slipping inside. He stays frozen solid at the door while you root around for his phone, finally pulling it out and squinting to focus on it as you bring it towards your face.

“Room key,” You pull out one of his debit cards out of the sleeve on the back, handing it to him expectantly.

“Uh- no, not exactly,” He strains to keep you suspended- he’s starting to wonder if you’ve got more muscle mass than he does, “The red one in the front, Y/N, that’s the room key. And I don’t have a hand to unlock the door with, so you’ll have to do that yourself.”

You toss his debit card onto the floor like it’s garbage.

“Hey! That’s- oh, just get the key.” He kicks it forwards, keeping it propped against the toe of his shoe while he waits for the door to open.

“Got it,” You drawl, and this time you’re right. You lean forwards without waiting for Hangman to move with you, and he nearly drops you where you’re aiming the keycard for the slot on the lock.

“Jesus, just- stick it in!” Hangman snaps, eyes on his debit card still discarded on the floor, “Let’s hope you never use a strap-on, you’ve got terrible aim.”

“I got it,” You grunt and a green light flashes while the lock clicks open. You manage to jiggle the door handle until the heavy slab of wood swings open, and Hangman is glad you’d remembered to leave a light on before you’d left.

He takes his final steps towards the bed and sets you down on the side he’d left open earlier. You’re too shitfaced to remember that you were vehemently opposed to sleeping in the bed earlier, and he’s glad for it when you sink willingly into the mattress, eyes fluttering closed, lashes resting over your cheeks.

“Hang on, ‘gonna get you some water. You- uh, change while I’m gone.”

He ambles off to the bathroom, and when he hears rustling outside the door he shuts himself inside to give you privacy. He decides to change into his own sleeping clothes, but it’s less of an outfit and more of a strip tease until he’s standing on the cool tile floor in nothing but boxers. He hadn’t planned on wearing much of anything for the entire week, and he definitely hadn’t packed sleeping clothes.

He fills a glass of water and knocks briefly on the inside of the bathroom door, “Hey Y/N, I’m coming out, m’kay?”

There’s no reply.

He assumes you’d shout at him if he tried barging in on you changing- in fact, you had only hours prior. He takes your silence as permission to exit the bathroom, but when he finds you curled up in bed, your dress is still on.

Evidently you hadn’t been changing.

“Y/N,” He groans, reaching out to prod tentatively at your shoulder, “No, don’t do this to me. Wake up, c’mon.”

Your eyes are firmly shut, glued there by booze.

“Shit.”

Jake sets the water on your square nightstand, ankles sturdy despite the rocking motions of the boat. He’s well used to being at sea, and it doesn’t make him unstable as he leans over to inspect your sleeping face. He can see your eyes flitting this way and that, barely covered by the thin skin of your lids, and he marvels at your drunken ability to knock out like you’ve been concussed mere minutes after hitting the mattress.

He lifts your arm and when he lets go it falls pathetically over your chest - there’s no waking you.

“Okay,” Jake grimaces, reaching for one of the straps of your dress, “For the record, I don’t wanna be doin’ this.”

“If you were awake you’d be yellin’ at me for breathing towards you,'' Jake rambles, a running dialogue making him feel slightly better about stripping you naked in your sleep, “But if you wake up tomorrow in this deathtrap you’re gonna be pissed, so I’m doin’ what I think is best. I swear it’s not a ploy to stick my hand down your shirt.”

And- speaking of sticking his hand down your shirt, he has to ruck the fabric of your dress up and over your breasts to slide it off of your head, “Aaand, there they are, and they’re out now, and that bra looks really uncomfortable, so I’m gonna-”

Jake slides his hands beneath your back, locating the series of clasps easily. 

“Please don’t kill me,” Jake begs, blinking up at the ceiling as his neck aches with the way he cranes his head upwards, “I’m not lookin’, I swear.”

He peels your pushup bra off of your chest, and the fabric is warm where he tosses it in the vague direction of your suitcase. He wants nothing more than to linger on that, to press his hand to the pad that had just cupped your flesh and let the warmth travel south. But he is a Southern gentleman, and you’re sleeping, and the bra remains discarded in the hallway.

“Right. Now the pajamas,” He continues his stream of consciousness if only to reassure himself that he’s not a creeping perv in the darkness of your cabin, “For both of our sakes, Y/N, I hope you packed better nightwear than I did.”

Upon discovering nothing but lacy chemises neatly folded among your other clothes, he gnaws at the inside of his cheek.

“Okay. Don’t go gripin’ at me in the morning for sticking you in one of these things. It was your poor packing skills that led us here.”

He plunges a hand into your suitcase and comes out with a red lacy contraption. He feels, to his own incredulity, a blush rising over his cheeks, as if he’s a teenage boy thumbing through a porn mag and not a decorated naval aviator. He drops the red thing, and reaches for something less sinful. What he finds next is a softer pink garment, silky and longer than the red- though he’s sure it’ll only barely cover your ass. All he wants is to cover his own, though, to make sure he won’t be in trouble for cramming you into a sexy getup while you’re passed out drunk, and the pink is looking better than the red for that purpose. Although- Jake has to admit, the pink is sexy in its own right. It’s soft, and smooth, and delicate, and he’s getting uncomfortable down south so he really needs to stop staring at it.

“Pink it is, darlin’.” He hums, “Hope you don’t mind. Maybe when we dock you can find something a little more conservative. Up you go,” He slides a hand beneath your back, his eyes trained dutifully on your forehead and absolutely nothing down below, “Hope y’don’t mind your hair getting a little messy. I think you scruffed it up when you hit that banister earlier, anyways.” Technically, that had been equal parts yours and his fault. He’d been carrying you, so he could have been a little more careful about swinging you this way and that as he’d navigated the ships’ halls, but you kept reaching out to touch things, and you’d collided square with a metal post in your curiosity. He bunches up the chemise and slides it over your head, careful not to scrape the lace over what little of your lip gloss remains. He doesn’t want to add staining your clothes to the list you’ve surely got of all his transgressions against you.

It’s rather hard to dress you blindly, and his hand does accidentally dip between your tits as he tries settling the material against your skin. He jerks it away like it’s burnt, hissing as his eyes widen where they’re staring at a particularly boring ceiling light.

“Accident. It was an accident. I swear.” He vows, hoping against hope that you’ll stay sleeping as he clumsily dresses you.

“Christ,” He yanks the material down your thighs, settling the chemise into place, “‘Knew how easy it was to take one off’a woman, never knew how hard it was to put it on. I think,” He muses, blinking long and hard before peering down carefully at you. You’re fully clothed, “That’s good. Okay. Done.”

The silence in the room is deafening now that he doesn’t need to keep up a stream of dialogue to soothe his fraying nerves, and his footsteps seem to pound against the cabin floor as he rounds the bed to his own side. There’s plenty of room, but he still feels like he’s sinning - crawling into bed beside your sleep-limp, pink satin-swathed form in nothing but his boxers.

With one click of the remote beside his bed the lights turn off, and there’s no sound besides the ship’s motor to distract him from the gentle inhales and exhales of your peaceful breathing. He licks his lips, settles into his typical sleeping position, sniffles briefly, fiddles with his hands, lifts a leg up to stretch his muscles, readjusts his neck on the pillow, clears his throat, wriggles his toes beneath the blankets, itches his nose, and comes to terms with the fact that he’s unable to sleep. Something’s not right, and he thinks little before he turns to his opposite side to see if sleep will meet him there.

It doesn’t, but your face does.

His neck stiffens and he nearly rears his head back when his nose brushes against your own, your warm breath fanning over his face. He snaps his eyes shut and breathes deeply himself, lashes fluttering when he deems himself brave enough to open his eyes again.

You’re there, looking like sleep was made for you the way it lulls your face into peace and erases the wrinkles Jake puts around your nose and mouth. There’s no longer the prominent frown lines that you’re always sporting around him, and your lips are blessedly relaxed, almost pouting with the way your cheek is squished into the pillow instead of disapprovingly downturned in his direction.

The silence suffocates him, rushing into Jake’s ears and clogging them until tv static fills his brain. The only words he can form, the only thing he’s capable of doing is murmuring a gentle, “Goodnight, Y/N,” In a voice far softer than he’s ever aimed towards you before.

Then he turns, rolling back onto a shoulder that aches from carrying your phantom weight, and shuts his eyes for the night.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[wolverigrl]

The talk

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

Previous Part

A/N: Enjoy this part 3! I hope you like it! In this story, Blake and Ryan have been married since 2010 and therefore had their children earlier. I changed the age of the children to make it fit.

Warnings: maybe some swearing here and there, a bit angsty and fluff, mentions of alcohol

---------------------------------------------------

I couldn’t sleep last night. I’d been tossing and turning for hours, staring at the digital clock that blinked back at me relentlessly. When 6 a.m. finally rolled around, I gave up, threw back the covers, and dragged myself out of bed. I needed something to ground me, to keep my mind from spiraling, so I rolled out my yoga mat in front of the massive window that looked out over the New York skyline. The city was still half-asleep, but I could already feel its energy buzzing in the distance.

After a quick, but calming, yoga session, I snapped a selfie. I sat on the mat in my sports bra and leggings, my hair a messy bun, and the sunrise just starting to peek through the buildings behind me. My face looked peaceful, but inside, my stomach was a knot of nerves. Still, I posted it on Instagram, hoping the positivity from my followers might lift me a bit.

Within minutes, comments flooded in. Mostly love and support, people saying how they wished they could be as dedicated to early morning yoga as I was. But some of them worried about me. There were a few messages asking if I was okay, mentioning the paparazzi photos of yesterday. Apparently, walking through the city with Blake after the premiere turned into a full-on hangover spectacle, and people noticed. They always notice everything.

I sighed and decided to call Blake.

“Heyyy!” she greeted cheerfully, her voice always so full of life.

“Hey, Blake!"I replied, trying to sound less anxious than I felt.

I hesitated. I didn’t really want to unload on her again.

“I, uh, I’ve got Hugh coming over soon. I… I don’t know, I’m kinda nervous about it. We need to talk, and I just—I don’t know how it’s going to go.”

I heard in her voice that she was smiling. “Listen, you and Hugh will be fine. He’s a great guy. If he didn’t care about you, he wouldn’t be flirting with you so much in public. Trust me, I’ve known him for years—he doesn’t do that unless he means it.”

I bit my lip, feeling my anxiety twist and turn. “But what if… ahh.. nevermind. I’m just so confused.”

“That’s okay. As I already told you, you don’t have to figure it all out in one day. Just talk to him, be honest, and see where it goes. You’ve got this.”

Her words helped, if only a little. I thanked her, and after hanging up, I busied myself around the apartment, waiting for the knock on the door.

When it finally came, I almost jumped out of my skin. I opened the door to find Hugh standing there with a bag of bagels in one hand and two coffees in the other.

“Good morning. I brought us breakfast." he said with that charming smile of his.

We exchanged small talk as we sat down at the kitchen counter, nibbling on our food. He complimented the view, asked about my morning, and I tried to stay calm, but the tension between us was impossible to ignore. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of dancing around the subject, I took a deep breath and started the conversation I’d been dreading.

“Hugh,” I began softly, setting my half-eaten bagel down. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’m feeling. About us, I mean.”

He nodded slowly, looking at me with that warm, steady gaze that always seemed to calm me, even when I was a mess inside.

“I like you, y/n. A lot. And I’m not asking you to have all the answers right now. But I’d like to figure it out together if that’s something you want to.”

My chest tightened. “But the age thing… your kids… Hugh, it’s a lot. I don’t know if I’m ready for something so complicated.”

Hugh leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I’ve already talked to my son about it, actually. Oscar asked me about you, and I told him the truth—that I’m happy when I’m with you. And he said that as long as I’m happy, that’s all that matters to him. Ava feels the same way, I’m sure.”

I felt tears pricking the corners of my eyes. The relief I felt, knowing that he’d already had that conversation with his son, was overwhelming. But at the same time, the weight of everything else crashed over me, and I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, wiping at my eyes as the tears fell.

Hugh got up and pulled me up from the chair so that I stood in front of him. His arms wrapped me in a soft hug, and his fingers tilted my chin up slightly so he could kiss the tip of my nose. It was a soft, sweet gesture that made my heart skip.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured. “We’ll take it slow. One step at a time. We don’t need to rush anything.”

I nodded, sniffling a bit. “Slow sounds good. Maybe we could… you know, go on real dates? But keep things quiet for now.”

He smiled again, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah, Blake and Ryan can know, but no one else. At least for now.”

We finished breakfast and cleaned up, and soon we found ourselves on the couch. Hugh wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close. For a while, we just sat there, the silence comforting, our worries temporarily pushed to the side.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “Did you… did you mean it? That kiss in the gym?”

Hugh chuckled, glancing down at me with that familiar playful spark in his eyes. “Was that not obvious?”

I felt my face heat up, a slow blush spreading across my cheeks. I shrugged, trying to play it off, but the vulnerability in my voice betrayed me. “I had other things on my mind.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and infectious, and I found myself smiling despite the butterflies in my stomach. There was something so disarming about him, the way he could make me feel at ease even when my heart was racing. His gaze held mine, the tension between us thickening, and suddenly, I couldn’t resist any longer.

Without thinking, I leaned in, brushing my lips against his. It was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but the moment he responded, everything else faded away. His lips were soft and warm, moving gently against mine, and the kiss quickly deepened, growing more intense with each passing second.

My heart pounded in my chest, the heat between us rising as my hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping them tightly. Hugh’s arms circled my waist, pulling me closer until I was practically sitting on his lap. His hands were firm yet tender, one resting on the small of my back, the other moving up to cradle the side of my face as the kiss continued to build in intensity.

I felt my breath hitch as his lips trailed from mine to the corner of my mouth, then along my jawline, his stubble grazing my skin in the most delicious way. My pulse quickened as I let out a soft sigh, my fingers tangling in his short, soft hair. The sensation of his lips on my neck sent shivers down my spine, my entire body humming with anticipation.

Hugh's hand slid down to my back, pulling me closer to him. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the hard lines of his body pressing against mine, and it sent my mind spinning. His touch was gentle but sure, his fingers tracing small circles on my lower back, grounding me even as everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

His mouth returned to mine, the kiss now slow and deliberate, as if we had all the time in the world. His tongue teased my lips, and I opened up to him, the kiss deepening as our breaths mingled, the air between us growing hotter. Every nerve in my body was on fire, the warmth of his touch, the weight of his hands, the way he held me, as if I were something precious. I felt safe and reckless all at once, the thrill of being so close to him coursing through me like electricity.

Hugh’s grip tightened on my waist, his hands sliding down to my hips, and I could feel the heat pooling low in my stomach, a heady mix of desire and disbelief that this was actually happening. His lips parted from mine just long enough for me to catch a shaky breath, my eyes fluttering open to meet his. His gaze was dark, intense, and filled with the same want that was swirling inside me.

I couldn’t stop myself. I leaned back in, kissing him with more urgency this time, my hands slipping from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath my fingertips. His body was firm under my touch, and the sensation sent another rush of heat through me. I pressed closer to him, my lips hungry for more, and he responded in kind, his hands roaming over my back.

My pulse raced, and I felt the world narrowing down to just the two of us—the heat of our bodies, the taste of his lips, the way his hands moved over me, every touch igniting something deeper, something I couldn’t control.

Then, out of nowhere, his phone buzzed.

We both froze, breathless, still tangled together. I pulled back just slightly, still feeling the heat of his breath on my lips. "You should get that," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper, my heart pounding in my ears.

Hugh let out a low groan of frustration but reluctantly reached for his phone. He glanced at the screen and sighed. “It’s Ryan.”

I smirked, trying to catch my breath. Of course, it was Ryan.

Hugh answered, still holding me close as if he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. “Hey, mate.” he greeted casually, though I could hear the slight edge of impatience in his voice.

Ryan’s voice was loud enough that I could hear him through the phone. “So, dinner at our place today? You and y/n should come by.”

Hugh blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard. “How do you know y/n's with me?”

Ryan’s laugh was almost smug. “Call it a hunch.”

Hugh shook his head, glancing at me with a playful smile. “You in?”

I nodded, still a bit breathless, my fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of his t-shirt. “Sure.”

He confirmed with Ryan and then hung up, looking back at me with a soft smile. “Let’s go for a walk before dinner.”

I grinned. The idea of sneaking through the streets with him was somehow exciting. But then reality hit. “You should probably… go get changed." I suggested, glancing down at the clothes he was wearing. "Something more undercover."

Hugh nodded, gently setting me next to him and standing up. "I'll swing by my place and change. Give me a few minutes, and I'll come back for you."

He pressed one more quick kiss to my forehead before heading out the door, leaving me sitting there, my heart still racing from the kiss. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to calm the fire that was still burning inside me. It was impossible to believe that just a few moments ago, I had been straddling Hugh Jackman in my living room, kissing him like my life depended on it.

True to his word, Hugh returned not long after, dressed down in a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a hoodie, looking like a celebrity who's trying to avoid attention. I slipped on a casual jacket and sunglasses, and we headed out, blending into the afternoon crowds as we walked through the streets of New York.

As we wandered, the conversation flowed easily. We talked about work—how his latest project was going, how I was handling mine. We shared stories and joked about the craziness of the industry, but somewhere along the way, the conversation grew more personal. Hugh asked me about my childhood, about the things that made me who I was, and I found myself opening up to him in a way I hadn’t expected.

He told me stories about his kids, about how Oscar was so curious about everything, how Ava was growing into her own person, full of ideas and opinions. Hearing him talk about them made me see another side of him—so caring, so deeply connected to his family. It only made me like him more.

We asked each other questions that weren’t surface level, diving into the things that really mattered, like what we wanted in life, what we were afraid of. The more we talked, the more I realized again how easy it was to be with him, how natural it felt.

Before I knew it, hours had passed, and the sun was beginning to dip low in the sky. We made our way back to my apartment, where Hugh dropped me off so I could get ready for dinner at Blake and Ryan’s. He gave me one short peck before heading back to his place to change.

As I stood in front of my mirror, touching up my makeup and fixing my hair, I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, about how right it had felt. Today had been full of surprises, but for the first time, I wasn’t scared of where this might lead. Hugh and I were taking it slow, figuring things out as we went, and somehow, that was enough for now.

When Hugh came back to pick me up, we were both ready for whatever the rest of the day had in store. We were in this together.

The moment we stepped through the door at Blake and Ryan’s, the familiar sound of tiny feet pattering across the floor reached my ears. Before I knew it, all three of their daughters—James, Betty, and Inez—came running toward us, their faces lighting up in excitement.

“Y/n! Hugh!” they squealed in unison, their voices high-pitched with joy.

I couldn’t help but grin as I bent down to greet them, enveloping each one of them in a warm hug. Hugh followed suit, gently embracing them, his face soft with affection. Ryan stood in the doorway, arms crossed with a playful smile on his face.

“I swear, they get more excited when you two show up than when Blake and I come home." Ryan quipped, shaking his head as if the betrayal was real.

I chuckled, ruffling Betty’s hair as she beamed up at me. “Well, I mean, we are the fun ones.”

Blake walked up behind him, smirking as she shrugged her shoulders. “Can you really blame them?” she said, giving Ryan a teasing nudge.

Before I could respond, the seven-year-old James grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the living room. “Come on, y/n! I want to show you something!”

I let her guide me into the cozy room, where Penny and Baxter, the two dogs, were lounging lazily on the floor. James hurried over to a corner piled high with toys and grabbed two Barbie dolls, her excitement radiating off her.

“Look!” she said, holding up the first Barbie. “This one looks just like you!” The doll was dressed in sporty clothes that reminded me of what I’d worn in my recent Instagram post. “And this one." she added, grabbing the second doll, “looks like Mommy.”

I laughed softly, touched by her creativity. “Wow, you nailed it! I can totally see the resemblance.”

As I sat down with her to admire her Barbie collection, I noticed Hugh standing in the doorway, his smile widening as he watched us. But before he could come over, Betty and Inez had already ambushed him, grabbing onto his legs and giggling uncontrollably.

“Hugh! Hugh!” Inez exclaimed, her arms wrapped tightly around one of his legs. “Can we watch the Minions again? Please? Pleeease?”

Betty chimed in, nodding with equal enthusiasm. “Yeah, can we?”

Ryan strolled into the room, laughing as he leaned against the doorframe. “Again? How many times have you guys watched that now? Fifty? Sixty?”

Hugh chuckled, ruffling Betty’s hair. “Maybe after dinner, alright? You two might know it better than I do at this point.”

Just then, Blake called out from the dining room, “Okay, everyone, dinner’s ready! Let’s give Hugh a break and get some food in your bellies first.”

We all made our way to the dining room, and as I sat down at the beautifully set table, I couldn’t help but admire the spread. Blake had outdone herself again.

“This looks incredible!" I commented as I took my seat, glancing appreciatively at the dishes laid out before us.

Blake smiled, waving off the compliment. “Ah, it’s nothing. Ryan helped, too.”

Ryan straightened in his chair, pretending to be the world’s greatest chef. “Yeah, I practically made the entire thing,” he boasted, earning a playful elbow to the side from Blake.

While we ate and talked about today's events, I noticed that James, Betty, and Inez had already finished their meals. The three of them looked up at Blake and Ryan with wide, pleading eyes.

"Mom, Dad, can we go play with Penny and Baxter now? Please?" James asked, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement.

Ryan exchanged a glance with Blake before nodding. "Alright, you three can go. Just don’t feed the dogs under the table again." he added with a mock sternness that made the girls giggle.

The kids squealed and scrambled out of their chairs, racing back toward the living room where the dogs were waiting for them. Blake shook her head fondly as she watched them go, and we all settled back into the conversation.

I was right in the middle of talking about something funny that had happened at work when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I excused myself, stepping outside to take the call. When I saw Chris Evans’ name on the screen, I smiled.

“Hey, Chris!” I greeted, leaning against the side of the house.

“Y/n!" Chris’s voice came through with its usual warmth. “I’m heading down to New York tomorrow. Wanna grab a beer?”

I smiled. “Absolutely! Let’s meet at the pub we always go to. How’s 7 p.m.?”

“Perfect!" Chris replied. “Looking forward to catching up.”

We wrapped up the conversation, and I headed back inside. As I slipped into my seat, Hugh gave me a gentle smile and placed his hand on my leg under the table, his touch grounding me.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly, his thumb stroking my thigh in a way that sent a small wave of comfort through me.

I nodded, returning his smile. “Yeah, all good. Just Chris Evans. He’s coming to New York tomorrow, so we’re grabbing a drink.”

Ryan’s ears perked up immediately, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, Captain America, huh? Should Hugh be worried?”

Blake chuckled beside him, clearly in on the joke. I rolled my eyes, laughing. “No, no need to worry. Chris is like an older brother to me.”

Hugh looked intrigued, glancing between Ryan and me. “You and Chris go way back?”

I nodded, leaning back in my chair as I began to explain. “Yeah, Chris, Scarlett Johansson, and I studied together in New York when we were both starting out. They were a few years ahead of me, but we ended up in the same acting workshops. We hit it off and became good friends.”

Blake leaned forward, curiosity written all over her face. “Oh, you never told me your stories of university! You must have some great ones.”

Ryan grinned. “Come on, spill! Any embarrassing moments with Captain America and Black Widow?”

I laughed. “Oh, tons. Like the time they got lost in Central Park for two hours and missed class. Scarlett shook it off, but Chris was so mortified, and we all gave him a hard time for it.”

Ryan cracked up at the image, and Hugh smiled, though I could tell he was focused on every word. “That sounds like him." Ryan said. “Always such a big goof.”

Blake leaned closer, clearly digging for more. “Didn’t you two do a movie together a few years back? Weren’t there some pretty steamy scenes in that one?”

I felt my cheeks warm slightly at the memory. “Yeah, we did." I admitted, chuckling. “It was a bit... awkward, though, because by then, Chris really did feel more like a brother to me.”

Ryan, however, wasn’t about to let me off the hook that easily. “Wait, so it wasn’t always that way?”

I hesitated for a beat, then shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “Well.. back when we were in school, we might’ve had a little... thing. You know, one of those fleeting ‘we’re young and in New York’ flings. But it didn’t last long. Now, he’s definitely more of a brother figure.”

Blake’s eyes widened in shock, her hand flying to her mouth as she burst out laughing. “Y/n! You never told me you and Chris had a fling!”

Ryan nearly doubled over in laughter, slapping the table. “Oh my god, Hugh, you hearing this? Captain America and y/n!”

Hugh laughed, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and I noticed the slight tension in his jaw. He gave a half-hearted chuckle, glancing at me with a mix of amusement and something else—something I couldn’t quite place.

Blake continued to laugh, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you kept that from me!”

I shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed but laughing along with them. “It was a long time ago! And honestly, when we filmed that movie, it just felt... weird. I mean, trying to be sexy with someone who you now see as a brother? Not the easiest thing.”

Ryan wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “I bet those scenes were really uncomfortable to shoot.”

“They were." I admitted, rolling my eyes good-naturedly. “But Chris was a total professional about it.”

Hugh remained quiet for a moment, still smiling, but I could tell something about the story didn’t sit quite right with him.

“So, what was it like studying here in New York? It sounds like it was a pretty wild time.” Blake wiggled with her eyebrows.

I grinned, thinking back to those chaotic, exciting days. “It definitely had its moments. The city was also back then a constant whirlwind. We were all broke, doing odd jobs between auditions, but somehow, it was the best time of my life.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, I bet. Was it all method acting and deep emotional discovery, or were you guys just trying to out-party each other?”

I laughed. “A little bit of both, honestly. There were definitely nights when we all showed up to class with way too little sleep.”

Ryan smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “And Captain America was part of those late-night adventures?”

I rolled my eyes. “Chris was usually the responsible one, believe it or not. He’d be the guy dragging everyone out of some dive bar at 2 a.m., telling us we had early classes. Of course, he wasn’t always that responsible...”

Hugh’s interest was piqued, his eyes twinkling. “You and Chris really went through it together, huh?”

I nodded, smiling at the memories. “Yeah, we had a lot of fun. We’d rehearse scenes together, mess around in the park, just being broke, and ambitious kids trying to make it.”

Ryan, never missing a beat, chimed in again. “So what you’re saying is, if Chris wasn’t Captain America, he could’ve been, I dunno, some Shakespearean actor, dragging everyone through intense rehearsals and then buying them all hot dogs afterward?”

I laughed. “Exactly! The perfect balance of intense and laid-back.”

"What other stories do you have up your sleeve?" Ryan grinned and put his arm around his wife.

“Well.. while studying, I also worked as a barista, and believe me, I was a terrible barista.” I started, chuckling at the memory.

Blake raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Wait, you worked at a coffee shop?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I needed to pay rent somehow, so I got a job at this little café near campus. It was my first day, and I was already a nervous wreck. The owner was this sweet, older man—kind of like a grandpa figure to everyone. But I was so jittery that when he came over to check how I was doing, I somehow managed to spill an entire tray of coffee and raspberry cake all over him.”

Everyone at the table burst into laughter, especially Ryan, who wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Oh, that’s priceless. What did he do?”

I grinned at the memory. “He just stood there for a second, covered in coffee, and then he started laughing. He looked at me and said, ‘Well, at least you didn’t burn me.’ From then on, he teased me about it every single shift. He’d walk past me and say, ‘Careful, y/n, hot beverages on the loose!’ It was actually really sweet.”

Blake smiled, shaking her head. “Sounds like he was a good guy.”

“Yeah, he was the best." I agreed. “Honestly, he was one of the reasons I stuck around for so long.”

Hugh, who had been listening intently, suddenly leaned forward with a small smile. “Well, since we’re sharing job stories… the ladies might not know this, but before I became an actor, I was a P.E. teacher in England.”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait, what? You were a teacher? That’s crazy!”

Ryan immediately jumped in with a wide grin. “Oh man, y/n, can you imagine if Hugh had been your teacher back then? You would’ve been the star student in P.E., right?”

I felt my cheeks flush, laughing at the absurd thought. “Honestly, if Hugh had been my teacher, I think I would’ve suddenly developed an intense love for sports.”

Blake burst out laughing while Hugh chuckled, shaking his head at our comments. “Yeah, I can’t imagine that would’ve been appropriate,” Hugh said, still smiling, though his ears were a little pink.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “Hey, you never know. Maybe you’d have inspired her to get into, I don’t know, gymnastics or something.”

Blake swatted Ryan on the arm, but she was laughing just as hard. “Leave them alone! Besides, I bet Hugh was an amazing teacher.”

Hugh shrugged modestly. “It was a good job, honestly. I loved working with the kids, but eventually, I realized my passion was acting.”

I turned to him, still amazed. “That’s so cool, though. I would’ve never guessed. You’ve had quite the journey.”

He smiled warmly at me, and I could see a glimmer of pride in his eyes, as if the memories of his teaching days still meant something to him. “It was definitely a unique chapter in my life. But hey, everything leads you somewhere, right?”

Ryan couldn’t resist one more joke, leaning in with a sly grin. “Yeah, and luckily, it led you to us, huh?”

The conversation slowed down after that, everyone quietly soaking in the warmth of the room and each other’s company. Blake glanced around the table, then clapped her hands together.

“Well, how about we clear the table and grab some wine?”

Hugh and I immediately stood up, ready to help, but Blake waved us off. “Oh no, you two relax. Ryan and I have it covered.”

Ryan was already stacking plates and giving us a wink. “Yeah, sit tight, lovebirds.”

As we sat back down, Hugh placed his hand gently on my thigh, his touch making me feel all warm and cozy inside. He smiled at me, that tender look in his eyes that always made my heart skip a beat.

Feeling a bit giddy, I leaned in closer to him and whispered. “Do you think we should tell them about us now? Or wait until another time?”

Hugh’s thumb rubbed small circles against my leg as he considered it. “Yeah, let’s tell them. They’re our best friends—they should know we’re giving this a shot.”

His quiet confidence soothed the last of my nerves, and I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, just as the door to the dining room swung open, and Ryan strutted back in, carrying wine glasses.

“Ohohoh! What’s this? What did I just miss?” he teased, his voice dripping with mock shock. “And don’t forget, there are children in this house!”

Blake followed right behind him, her eyes darting between us, a curious smile playing on her lips. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, setting down a bottle of wine.

Hugh chuckled softly and glanced at me before addressing them both. “Actually, we wanted to tell you guys something. Y/n and I... well, we’re trying this thing out. We’re seeing where it goes.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Blake and Ryan exchanged looks, their expressions quickly morphing into wide grins. Blake let out a little squeal of excitement.

“Oh my god! You talked!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “You two are adorable!”

Ryan set down the glasses with a loud clink, looking between Hugh and me with that signature playful grin of his. “Well, it’s about damn time! You guys have been giving off major will-they-won’t-they vibes for ages.”

Blake nodded enthusiastically. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

Their support and enthusiasm washed over me, easing any lingering uncertainty I had. Hugh squeezed my hand under the table, and I couldn’t help but smile up at him, grateful for how effortlessly everything seemed to fall into place.

Ryan, never one to miss a joke, raised his glass toward us. “Here’s to y/n and Hugh—and to all the future awkward family dinners where we can tease you both relentlessly.”

Blake snorted with laughter, pouring everyone a glass of wine. “Don’t worry, we’ll go easy on you. Sometimes.”

We all raised our glasses, clinking them together in a toast to new beginnings.

The conversation flowed easily as we all continued to drink our wine, sharing more stories and laughing until our glasses were empty. Eventually, we decided to join the kids in the living room. As soon as we walked in, Inez grabbed my hand, pulling me toward her pile of Barbies, while Penny and Baxter trotted over to greet us.

I sat on the floor with one hand helping Inez arrange her Barbies while my other hand stroked Baxter, who had curled up next to me. The rest of the group settled on the couches, chatting and laughing as the kids played around us.

We spent a while there enjoying the comfortable, laid-back atmosphere, but eventually, I felt a yawn escape me. Ryan noticed it immediately and pointed dramatically.

“Alright, I think it’s official—time for all the kids to head to bed!” he teased, earning a laugh from Blake and a chorus of giggles from the actual children.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “I guess I walked right into that one.”

Blake stood up and stretched, signaling that the evening was winding down. “Yeah, we should probably wrap things up before we have to carry anyone out of here.”

We all said our goodbyes, exchanging hugs and thanking each other for the great night. As we stepped outside, Hugh and I found ourselves standing by our cars, lingering in the cool night air.

I smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of the evening still lingering between us. “So, what’s on your agenda for tomorrow?”

Hugh shrugged lightly. “Not too exciting, honestly. I’m helping a friend with some work on his house in the morning, then I’ve got a doctor’s appointment and after that, I’m calling my brother to talk about my visit in Sydney to catch up with my family.”

I nodded. “Sounds like a busy day. Hometown huh?"

“Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve seen everyone." he said softly, then smiled at me. “What about you? Plans with Chris?”

I grinned, the thought of seeing Chris again making me feel both nostalgic and excited. “Yeah, but we’re not meeting until the evening for a drink. Until then I'll call my parents because I promised them last week and after that I'll meet up with my management."

For a moment, we stood there, the air between us feeling charged in a quiet, tender way. After a small pause, we leaned into each other at the same time. He wrapped one arm around my waist, and the other hand found its way to my cheek. Our lips met in a slow, tentative kiss.

When we pulled away, there was a comfortable silence between us, our eyes lingering on each other as if neither of us wanted to say goodbye just yet. I gently stroked my hands over his shoulders down to his chest.

“Well." I said, my voice a little softer than usual. "I guess I’ll see you soon. Good night."

Hugh nodded, his smile warm and easy. “Yeah, good night y/n. Text me when you're home."

"Will do." I smiled.

With that, we each got into our cars, and as I drove home, my mind wandered back to the evening—Blake and Ryan’s support, the kids, the laughter, the stories, and of course, the kisses. My heart felt lighter than it had in a long time, and I couldn’t help but smile as I thought about tomorrow’s meeting with Chris.

---------------------------------------------------

Tags: @spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris

Next part

[fangswbenefits]

Sharing is Caring (I)

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: A mission has both Miguel and you sharing a room… what could possibly go wrong?

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. ‘There’s only one bed’ trope. Dry humping. Fangs. Wet dreams. Love bites. Miguel in denial of his lust for the reader, but secretly touch starved.

You glanced at the watch on your wrist, suppressing a yawn.

Three in the morning had rolled around, and there were still no signs of the anomaly. Miguel O’Hara stood by the hotel window, gazing into the distance through narrowed and ever-watchful crimson eyes.

He was also not showing any signs of stopping for the night, but you were already far too sleep deprived to go on.

“Miguel…” you said miserably, sinking into the bouncy matress. “We should get some rest. We’ve been at this for hours…”

His face hardened slightly. “Get some rest, then. I’m staying up.”

Impossible man.

He was as relentless as he was stubborn. Once he had his mind set on something, there wasn’t much one could do to talk him out of it. He always had to have his way.

“We have sensors scattered all around the perimeter,” you said, feeling every last ounce of patience leave your body. “Any movement and we’ll be on it.”

This time he turned his head to you. “Sleep,” he grumbled, positioning himself closer to the windowsill, but just out of range of the raindrops that began to fall hard outside.

You exhaled in defeat. “Suit yourself.”

The bed squeaked as you moved to find a comfortable spot, eagerly flopping onto your back, facing the bland ceiling of the poorly lit room.

“The bed’s really comfy,” you said with a sigh of sheer relief, feeling the soft material dig into your sore muscles pleasingly. “You’re missing out.”

“The bed’s too small,” he said simply.

Right.

Trust Miguel O’Hara to find flaws in anything whenever it's convenient.

"Don’t be ridiculous," you scoffed, earning an intense glare from him. “We can totally fit here.”

“Uncomfortably, yes.”

You bit the inside or your cheek to keep yourself from mumbling a snarky reply, deciding not to push it and dive into a never-ending argument. You knew better than to do that with him.

Miguel suffered from chronic last word syndrome.

You exhaled noisily, as you pulled the soft sheet up to your shoulder before flipping onto your side to face the wall, ready for a much well deserved break from this boring mission.

Thankfully, the pouring rain outside presented itself perfectly, lulling you into a state of relaxation, and you felt your eyelids heavy as you drifted into sleep.

You weren't sure what time you awoke, but the room was now engulfed in darkness, with only the moonlight casting a dim light through the window.

The bed was dipped lightly behind you, and you glanced over your shoulder to find Miguel sleeping on his side. He had retracted his digital suit and you were now faced with his broad bare back.

You had never been in such close proximity with him, let alone in this state of nakedness, which had your stomach do a sudden flip. But both of you were beyond tired, so you told yourself to go back to sleep.

But then you heard it.

A soft grunt coming from him made you look over again. The muscles in his back twitched lightly with each breath. But something was off. his breathing was harsh and erratic, as if he was in a state is distress.

Another low and throaty moan was heard.

Was he having a nightmare?

He suddenly flipped onto his back and you were met with his bare chest, covered midway by the flimsy sheet you both shared. His face was twisted into a light frown, eyed firmly shut, but mouth parted, revealing his protruding fangs.

That was odd... Miguel wouldn't bare his fangs lightly unless the occasion called for it during missions.

But then your eyes traveled down his body to find a tent rising in his lower half, and your eyes nearly bulged out.

Miguel O'Hara's cock was pressing against the fabric proud and erect. The faint lighting was enough for you to make out the growing wet stain. From time to time, his hips would buck instinctively, causing a few beads of precum to seep through.

Oh.

You had nearly forgotten Miguel wore nothing under his suit.

Your mouth went suddenly very dry at the realisation that Miguel was actually having a wet dream.

Maybe you were the one dreaming, because the alternative just felt too much to be true. Witnessing the Miguel O'Hara in such a vulnerable and intimate position was not something you had on your bucket list, for sure.

Did you find him attractive? Yes. Would you gladly fuck all that grumpiness out of him if given the chance? Definitely.

So now you were torn on what to do. Should you wake him up? Should you just try to ignore the pant and grunts that kept spilling from his mouth? Should you also ignore the way your clit was now pulsing?

But the answer came with him moaning your name.

Your eyes widened and you gasped, immediately flinching away from him, turning to face the wall, heart drumming fast and in unison with your clit.

Before you could fully process the initial shock, a second one quickly followed as you felt him shift next to you to swing a strong arm over your waist. The top half of your suit had ridden upwards from all the commotion, and goosebumps immediately spread across the point of contact between him and you.

"Miguel..." you whispered, too afraid to make a sudden move.

He hummed softly, his large hand pressed flat against your tummy, as he pulled you closer into him, his breath hitting a sensitive spot just below your ear. But what truly made you jolt against him was when his cock came into contact with your ass.

At this point, you knew you had to brace yourself somehow, because you were too far gone to fight the overwhelming wave of pleasure that washed over you. It hit you slowly at first, and then all at once, as he slowly jerked his hips into you.

You were essentially trapped between his large body and the wall, leaving you with no choice but to press your hand against the latter, trying to steady yourself as he picked up the pace.

He mumbled your name under his laboured breath once again, rubbing his cock harder against you, the unmistakable spill of precum now coating your skin.

Your eyes were fixed on your fingers that soon curled into a fist against the wall from the jaw-dropping sensation, and you couldn't stop yourself from undulating your body to match his.

"Miguel..." you groaned in a miserable attempt at waking him up.

His hand slid up and below your covered breasts, his thumb dipping inside the tight fabric of your suit.

You immediately clenched around nothing, and felt your own wetness drip into your underwear.

There was only so much one could take. The voice of reason inside you was telling you to put an end to this right away, but you were not one to listen to reason, especially when you had Miguel O'hara humping you desperately.

His hand slid down to the hem of the bottom half of your suit and began to tug at it.

That was enough to snap you from the haze of lust. "Miguel!"

The reaction was immediate and you found yourself quickly being flipped onto your back and pressed firmly into the mattress, arms pinned above your head, as a breathless Miguel positioned himself on top of you, baring his fangs.

"Miguel... it's me," you said, eyed meeting his crimson ones. "You were..." your voice immediately died down as you felt the weight of the underside of his cock pressed firmly against your covered clit.

The grip on your wrists loosened and his eyes narrowed as confusion settled on his face. "What..."

You were trying your best to ignore his heavy cock, but failed miserably with a whimper, eyes snapping shut and your back arching reflexively.

Miguel grunted from the friction, and you felt him press further into you. "What are you doing?"

With a roll of your hips, you moaned. "Me? You were having a wet dream about me and dry humping me..."

His face drew near yours. "Nonsense."

"It's true..." you whispered shakily, yearning for more.

He moaned again, his balance faltering momentarily, head dropping next to your face. "I would never think of you that way."

You weren't entirely sure why he was now saying this, while still firmly pressed against you.

"Why not?"

He grazed his fangs along your neck. "You're too annoying."

"Then how do you explain that hard cock?"

"Biology," he groaned, hips jerking slowly.

Somehow, his refusal to accept his lust for you only served to fuel yours for him. His subconscious had dragged him earlier into a wet dream about you, and he wouldn't never be able to square this circle.

"So we should stop," you teased, dragging your soaked suit along his cock.

He stilled you with one hand, teasing your skin with his fangs once more. "Yes."

"Then stop."

"Hmm."

His lips latched on to your pulse point, sucking lightly, as one hand beside your head held his weight above you, and the other snaking in between your bodies.

"Let me just feel it... with nothing in the way," he grumbled after tearing away from your skin, and probably marking you with a hickey.

"Why?" you moaned, feeling your clit throbbing uncontrollably. "I'm too annoying."

He pulled the fabric down at once, visibly impatient. "Too annoying."

And when you felt his cock settle between your soaked folds, you jerked with a gasp. Miguel shuddered and glanced down along the length of your body. You followed his motion and were presented with the most alluring sight ever.

His cock lay neatly settled against your, strings of precum drooling from the tip and onto your skin, letting you know his body craved more.

"We should stop now," he said with a feral grunt rumbling from his throat.

You began to roll your hips to have your clit slide effortlessly along his cock, wet sounds filling the room. "You don't want to."

The way he snapped into you next almost had the tip at your entrance, earning a gasp from you.

"I do."

"Then why don't you?" you pouted, caressing his face and having him lean into your touch.

"Biology."

And as he closed the remaining distance with a searing kiss, his tip slipped past without much obstacle as your wetness mixed with his made it way easier. You felt the air in your lungs being crushed by the sudden stretch and you immediately parted your lips from his to let out a strained groan.

He was too thick.

"Just the tip, then," you panted against his lips.

He remained still inside you. "You can take more than that."

Probably, but all the teasing and unintentional foreplay had dragged you so close to the edge you feared you might combust before he buried himself balls deep.

Miguel proceeded to plant persuasive pecks along your jawline and down to your neck. "You can bite down on my shoulder, if it helps."

Your eyes widened at the proposal, and you nearly jerked into him, the promise of struggling to take all of him being way too alluring.

"Okay... but I'm too close..."

"I know."

He positioned himself and your lips brushed against his shoulder, before sinking your teeth into the flesh, and that was enough to signal him to slide in deeper.

You tried to easy the pressure on his skin, but the stretch was too overwhelming and he next thing you knew, your fingers were clawing at his back.

"Stop clenching...." he moaned and you detected despair in his voice.

You would if you could, but the friction was too good to turn down.

He growled in your ear, one hand gripping your knee to further spread you open for him. “Almost there, cariño..."

And just as you were finally beginning to easy your grip around him to fully accommodate him, the obnoxious sound of an alarm flared across the room, lighting up your travel watches.

Fuck...

The fucking anomaly...

Part 2

Masterlist

[solar-wing]

⚣ Jason Todd: NSFW Alphabet 🔴

⚣🔴 A/N → I forgot I had written these out and had them on my old account. Did a little fine-tuning to them though. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | it's an NSFW alphabet so just expect the unexpected and the expected.

⚣🔴 Words → 3.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🔴

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This man can go from rough and hard to soft and gentle in literal seconds. It’s like watching someone come out of a trance or possession. He’ll clean you up with a fresh rag and make sure you’re comfortable, especially if you’re sore (you’ll most definitely be). He’s clingy though.

You won’t get anywhere without him right beside you. And he won’t say it, but he loves it when you try to take care of him too. Jason is dominant and prefers to be in control, but that man is as needy as a newborn baby, and it gets 10x worse after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jason’s relationship with his body is difficult, but, if we’re talking about one where he’s healed, maybe been to therapy, and (slightly) moved on from his trauma, he probably favors his arms, chest, and hands. Jason prefers strength overlooking aesthetically fit, and he kind of always looks like he’s bulking but it's defined somehow. And because that adds to his overall size and level of intimidation, he loves working on those specific groups to increase them so he can in turn use them to intimidate people, especially those who try to flirt with you in front of him.

Now, on the other end, Jason is 100% an ass man. You can not change my mind. He loves you wearing any kind of tight or fitting material that molds to the shape of your butt and just being able to oogle and smack it when he wants. And smack it he does. Dude has the equivalent of 100 cheese necks in one palm and you feel it every time he lands one on your ass. 

Bonus points if you have thick thighs that jiggle when you walk. He’ll be paying extra special attention to those, especially if you’re wearing any kind of short shorts or fitted athletic wear. He also has a slight obsession or fascination with your neck. Whether in the act or just chilling, his hands will somehow find their way to your neck whether it’s a gentle caress or a firm grip. And if he’s feeling a little possessive or riled up in the moment (which is frequent) it’s his favorite place to mark, and if you try to cover them up, it’s more motivation for him to leave even bigger ones. He likes it when people can tell and see that you belong to him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

More of an oozer than a shooter unless he’s been holding a load in for a while. And his loads are thick. He may not shoot far but he’ll definitely give you enough to fill the bottom of a glass. 

Also, no questions asked, he’s coming inside you. You just have to choose if it’s going to be your mouth or ass. Don’t ask, it’s a territorial thing with him. The thought of you walking around and greeting people while his babies are lodged deep inside your ass or fresh down your esophagus does wonders for his pride.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

If you’re not around and he’s really horny, he’ll masturbate with a piece of your clothing. Sometimes, he’ll also call you in the middle of it and won’t tell you just so he can hear your voice while edging himself to completion.

He also will purposely start arguments with you so you can have a reason to have angry make-up sex later.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Some small experiences before he died, and little hookups here and there when he came back and was somewhat in a good place with Bruce and himself. That being said, he gets most of his experience from his relationship with you. He quickly learns what he does like and what he doesn’t, and makes it known to you immediately. 

He also may or may not go to Dick for advice or tips on how to improve. Going to Bruce is out of the question. And not just because that’s still technically his dad.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy for one. It’s something about him grabbing you by your hair or even better, around your neck and forcing your body against his while he pounds into you from behind. He gets an exhilarating high from having you at his mercy and you surrendering yourself to him.

He also does favor missionary if he’s in a slightly more tender mood. But, If he’s feeling jealous or pissed off about something, he’s putting you up against a wall or in a corner with his hands around your neck and ramming you like there’s no tomorrow. Your legs will not be functioning for 24 hours.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Tends to be more serious in the moment. When he’s in the mood, he’s fully in it. Especially if he needs to get his frustrations out. However, the sound of you moaning and screaming his name will definitely bring a smug grin to his face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps himself adequately groomed. May grow some facial hair and have a little bush down there along with a happy trail but he’s good about keeping it neat and clean. And, if you want him to, he’ll shave it all, no questions needed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

This he struggles with at times. It’s something he wasn’t given much of (especially with Bruce) so he doesn’t really know how to act when in those moments and he tends to get really uncomfortable, especially if it’s a particularly vulnerable moment for him. As far as during sex, he’s definitely on the more rough and brutish side, but he’ll always do his best to check on you.

It’s something he’s getting better at though. Even in moments without sex where you two are just lounging and sitting together, he’s good at reading you and knowing what you want or how to make you happy with small gestures and actions. He just wants to make sure you’re happy and that you feel loved (and that you belong to him and only him).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Mentioned with dirty secrets. Really only does it when you’re not around. He’ll rarely do it just for the heck of it. He prefers getting his pleasure from pleasing and fucking (owning) you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dominance/Submission (Power Play) - Jason has had many things happen to him that he didn’t want or couldn’t control. It’s basically what influences this kink more than others. You submitting to Jason, letting him lead and have full control in sex and even in domestic scenarios creates a very satisfying and pleasurable feeling inside him. It also serves as reassurance for him, knowing that you fully trust him to the point where you basically surrender yourself to him. Getting back to more dirty things, this kink can include other aspects such as orgasm denial, bondage (on you), and verbal affirmation of your submission (dirty talk).

Choking (giving only) - This plays into the dominant/submission kink as well. It’s a rush from the feeling of control he has over whether you get to breathe or not while pounding your brains out. But, he’ll never go too far and he hopes you know that. However, he’s not at all okay with it being done to him. He does not like his neck being touched at all for that matter. Call it PTSD from his time with Joker and other things that have happened to him in the past, so it’s a big no-no. Although, with time and him getting more comfortable in the relationship, if he gives you a clear consenting sign that he’s okay with it, he’ll allow a gentle caress and rub down his neck, but only from you. Anyone else who tries to touch him on his neck risks several broken limbs.

Mirror Sex - A key part of his possessive nature toward you. He loves seeing himself fuck into you and even more, his ego gets a big boost from seeing you turn into an erotic mess while he’s inside you.

Size Difference - The fact that Jason can pick you up and throw you around like a rag doll, dwarfs you in size, or that his clothes (even if you’re tall and broad) can look three sizes too big on you is a major turn-on for him. He won’t say it, but he likes the idea of someone smaller than him that he can protect.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Weird enough, the thought comes to mind that Jason has a weird obsession with having sex with you in tight spaces. Mainly, places like the shower or the car. It ties a bit into his power and size kink. Something about the size of his body towering over you in a small space riles him up like no other. It’s the feeling or sensation that he’s got you cornered that drives that feeling. Kind of like an outlet for him to deal with his trauma of when he was actually trapped/cornered.

Also, he has it in his mind that whenever you move in together, he has to fuck you on every single available surface in your place. Christening your home with your love is how he likes to think of it. Plus, he gets a nasty kick out of when guests are over, imagining in his mind that they’re sitting in places where he had you crying out and cumming on his dick multiple times.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

#1:Jealousy & Possessiveness – The idea of you finding anyone else attractive, let alone giving them your attention which is only supposed to be reserved for him, he’ll be quick to snatch you into the nearest closet or bathroom to remind you who you belong to. And it doesn’t matter who it is besides your parents or his family. It could be the barista at the cafe, a random guy who gave you a friendly nod, or god forbid, an old classmate or co-worker you happened to bump into on the street. Jason is a selfish & protective little fucker who doesn’t even want to consider the idea of someone else thinking they can have what’s only for him.

#2: Clothes – Please, exercise caution when picking your outfit for any particular event. Jason’s never gonna tell you what you can’t wear, but keep in mind that again, he’s a selfish and protective little fucker who has the sex drive of a large animal. Wearing anything even slightly tight or a bit showy for his taste can and will land you in many situations where Jason has pulled you aside somewhere quiet and private to have at your body. And don’t let him catch others ogling your outfit or even giving you the slightest compliment or all hell is breaking loose. Not to say he doesn’t like it, he loves it. But, you’re for his eyes only. Now, if it’s his clothes you’re wearing out, please be aware that at some point, you may be buying him a new shirt/hoodie cause he’s about to rip it off you.

#3: Arguing – Something in that man thrives on chaos, and when you and he are going at it, he can’t help but get hard. And again, hot, angry makeup sex. Duh…

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He will not do any form of rape/forced play, including machoism and sadism. His vigilante life and past trauma already left a deep scar on him and anything that resembles that can and will trigger him. Plus, he knows he’s way stronger and doesn’t want to even take the risk of hurting you in any way.

Unless we’re talking Arkham Jason. That’s a completely different story.

He would clear it with you first that you’re okay with bondage and choking, but he doesn’t want it performed on him, especially the choking, as we’re already aware that he’s very sensitive about his neck.

Any extreme BDSM kinks like piss play or fisting is also a major turn-off for him. Exhibitionism is a straight-up no. Jason would rather drink from the Lazarus pit than have anyone looking at you in a state that he’s only allowed to see you in. Don’t even attempt to pitch the idea of a threesome or foursome or just any suggestion of bringing someone else in on your fun. It will turn into a major argument and not a good one that ends in happy fun.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Inexperienced but picks it up quickly and learns what gets more of a reaction from you. He’s a fast learner and loves it when he’s able to drive you over the edge with his mouth alone. Also, if we’re talking about eating out, he’ll happily do it till the sun turns blue. There’s something about tasting you on his tongue that just really gets him riled up.

But, if we’re talking dick-sucking, definitely prefers receiving over giving. Jason finds it extremely hot seeing you go up and down on him with your mouth, especially when he grabs your hair or head and starts to force your head up and down or starts thrusting in your mouth. He loves seeing you slobber and choke all over him. And if you look up and give him a teary-eyed but submissive look, game over (in a good way).

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely fast and rough. And if it’s not, you can bet he’s delivering some powerful strokes that will have you squeezing and clenching your legs all around him. Plus, he notices the harder he goes, the more you squeeze yourself against him while pressing your nails into his back and biting at his skin, trying to silence your loud moans and cries. Though, it’s probably not the best idea because he’ll just go even harder to force those noises out of you. And, those are marks and scars he will PROUDLY wear.

It takes him time (if you even decide at all that you want him to) to learn how to move at a softer, slower, and more sensual pace. But, if it’s something you truly desire, he’ll work on it and do everything he can to make you happy. But, that doesn’t mean rough sex goes away. It actually makes it even more hot, especially when Jason is in one of his moods.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not opposed to them. But, Jason likes to take his time with you. He doesn’t like to rush and hates the idea of feeling as if someone is going to interrupt him. No one should intrude upon your special time with each other. God bless (and protect) the unlucky souls that do.

But, if he’s really in the mood and he can’t get you to an ideal private place in a fast enough time, he’s not above pulling you into the nearest dark room or corner to get down and dirty, especially if he’s feeling a little territorial because someone decided they wanted to be brave stupid and hit on you. He’s more than happy to remind you who you’re in a relationship with. Or if you’re not in a relationship, then just who’s fucking you every single night, plain and simple. Either way, quickies to him are basically just his versions of reminders to you for what happens when he gets a bit jealous.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

You’d have to move at a snail’s pace with him if you want to introduce something new to your routine. If it’s something small, then he may go ahead and give in to it, but Jason craves consistency and normalcy, and that includes sex. Asking him to try something new can hit a sore spot cause it may seem like what you two are doing now isn’t enough for you anymore.

But, if you reassure him it’s not that, and just slowly introduce the idea to him, (double points if he likes it off the start) then you’re definitely in for a treat. For you, and you only, he is willing to step out of his comfort zone, as long as it’s not too crazy or on his no-no list.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Depends on his mood and what prompted the sex. He could go for one round or two if he’s just feeling a little feral and wants a piece of you. If it’s a jealous or angry fit after an argument, you might wanna cancel any plans after, cause he’s certainly not letting you leave the bed, the house, or wherever you are until your legs are basically useless.

The same thing goes for the duration of a round, especially if you’ve got the good good (hehe). If you’re really giving it to him. Mans may be lucky to make it past 10 minutes, but that’s not too bad. It means he can cuddle you, or you cuddle him. Either way, cuddles are non-negotiable after a round. But, if you two just got done hashing it out over something or you decided to poke one too many of his buttons, he’s dragging it out as long as he can. This means exiting out of you whenever he feels like he’s getting too close, and denying you your own orgasm as well (that damn control factor strikes again).

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jason doesn’t own any toys and never really had an interest in them. It’s not something he’d really get into on his own and only would experiment with them if you asked. The most he’s got is handcuffs or rope he’d use for bondage but that’s as far as he would take it.

If you were to use toys, he’d definitely prefer him using them on you unless there was something else specific involved that didn’t cross one of his boundaries.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

50/50. If you’re teasing him, payback’s a fucker named Jason. He’ll kiss all your sweet spots, nibble on your chest, and barely give any attention to your dick/genitals. Especially if he’s in one of his ‘I want to hear you beg for me, tell me who owns you’ moods.

If he wants to get to the point, then you can expect to be promptly thrown onto the bed or whatever surface is nearby, and the most he’ll do here is tie or cuff your hands so you can’t touch him, knowing how much you like to feel his body while he’s ramming yours.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jason’s loud. But, in a very grunty-like way. You may have to fight tooth and nail to get him to moan for you, but by golly is he expressive when you manage to get it out of him. For the most part, though, he’s giving grunts, growls, and grumbles. You’ll mainly hear him whisper into your ear, reminding you that he’s the one currently plowing your guts and that no one else is allowed to see you like this but him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes fucking you with clothes on frequently. You’re wearing a tight compression shirt that’s showing your pecs, abs, and just overall body, he’s got you bent over a surface while oogling your muscle constricting under a shirt. Wearing a jockstrap or thong in the gym and he can see it, he’s pulling them down and that underwear aside just enough to get inside you. You’re not complaining though. If he’s wearing his own compression and muscle shirts all the better for you, getting to ogle and rub his muscles while he’s hammering inside of you like an animal.

He also really enjoys massages. Particularly on his shoulders, back, and chest. He loves it when you lick and play around with the head of his dick and when you run your fingers through his hair while his face is buried in your neck kissing and leaving marks all over.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Bigger than average.

8-9 inches minimum. He’s thick and girthy down as well. Maybe narrower at the base with a really large and bulbous head. Entering can be a bit of a challenge, but it gets easier the further he gets inside. Also has a curve to his dick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jason has a fairly high sex drive and the Lazarus pit only increased that. His libido can sometimes be more emotion-driven so feelings of love, anger, or even just a slight irritation will get him hard.

Maybe you’re not fucking every hour of the day, but he’s gotta have you in some shape or form at least once or twice a day. Whether it’s a blowjob, hand-job, or one of his jealous reminder quickies.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He can go to sleep fairly quickly, but only after he’s properly cared for you and cleaned you up. Also, he has to have your body pressed against him. Cuddles are vitally important and you should never once not want to cuddle him. It’s the one intimate thing he’s got down perfectly to a T. 

However, he has more than once fallen asleep while still inside you and in the position you both finished in. It can lead to a comfortable or uncomfortable scenario, depending on the situation.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[shotoh]

all mine

SYNOPSIS: Bakugou decides to put his delusional secretary in their place.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 9.6k+

genre: fluff, SMUT, maybe a smidgen of angst

tags/warnings: 18+! minors dni! reader is not the secretary, basically this other lady is trying to seduce your man but katsuki isn’t falling for it! marking, exhibitionism, oral (f!receiving), riding, soft!bakugou but also mean!bakugou, humiliation (not really at reader), a couple spanks, office sex, praise, degradation, pet names (baby, princess, angel), crude language

author’s notes: this is very overdue, like incredibly overdue LOL i started this wip last year but could only continue writing during random bouts of inspiration. so i apologize if the smut is a little half-assed and if the characterization is questionable. but enjoy my late kinktober 2022 present to y’all 

The sound of Dynamight’s heavy boots hitting the floor resonate throughout the wide hallways of his agency, drowning out the heels clicking behind him. A woman quickens her pace in an attempt to catch up to the impatient blond hero, rushing into his peripheral vision.

“Sir? Oh Bakugou sir~” The dulcet chime calling him is sickly sweet, enough to make him grimace. “I need you to look over these reports before I file them away.” She whips out one of the thick packets of papers clutch to her chest, bringing his steps to a halt which makes the hero point a glare at her.

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you that you’re suppose to call me by my hero name.” Malice coats his words, dripping off his tongue as he swipes the reports from her fingers. The woman, to the hero’s annoyance, indulges in his feisty attitude.

“Aw, but ‘Bakugou’ is more fitting given how closely we work together!” She waves off his displeasure, hoping her excessively cheerful personality can tone him down. “I am your secretary, after all.” She leans into his space, too damn close for his liking by how he could get a whiff of her pungent perfume. The overbearing scent has him side-stepping to create more distance between them.

The blond rolls his eyes before giving the papers in his hand a once-over, not even granting her the satisfaction of eye contact. “You work at a Pro-Hero agency, not some ordinary office job.”

Normally, he isn’t one to admonish any of his employees unless they’re his sidekicks. He’s always out and about on missions, never dawdling around the office long enough to find anything to scold them about. So long as they were competent at their job, he never had to give them any earfuls. But this woman here has been testing that resolve.

A month into her new position, his secretary has been greeting him every morning with far more energy than should be considered possible at such an hour. Her regular tasks shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. She was mostly tasked with filing villain reports and contacting other Pro-Hero agencies, but her enthusiasm warrants him to think otherwise.

She deliberately shares elevator rides with him, droning on and on about god knows what before getting off at her floor, ending their dull conversations with winks and wide-eyed smiles that make him want to gag. It’s one thing to be genuinely excited about your job, but it’s another thing to be attached to your boss at the hip. She’s at his beck and call when he doesn’t even ask for her.

One can chalk this up to her simply gunning for a promotion, buttering up her boss to garner his favor. However, Bakugou isn’t an idiot. He can read the air, deciphering the meaning behind her words and advances. Her deceptive guise of a hardworking secretary beneath those batting eyelashes is easily uncovered by him.

If she was really trying so hard for a promotion she’d approach him with more important topics in mind. Statistics, analysis, updates on villain activity and hero work. Y’know, discussions that would actually benefit his agency rather than waste his time.

Instead, Bakugou stands there listening to… this.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” her voice drifts off as she taps a finger against her bottom lip pensively, “we should consider holding a party to get to know all our co-workers better!” she proposes. The blond narrows his brows incredulously at her suggestion.

Oblivious to his lack of interest, she moves closer to him, caressing a hand along his hard bicep. She tip-toes her fingers up his arm before flattening her digits next to his ear to whisper, “Company members only, of course. But I’m sure we’d still have a fun time even if it was just the two of us, right?”

Recognizing the suggestive lilt in her tone, he shoves her off of him without even touching her, abruptly tossing his shoulder back. The secretary freezes and comes across the peeved expression on the explosion hero’s rough features.

“We’re here to beat villains and protect civilians, not throw dumb parties.”

“But–”

“Shut it,” he retorts harshly, not letting the bewildered look on the secretary’s face demur him. He shoves the reports back in her arms. “Just do your damn job.” With his brows taut behind his mask, the blond glares hard at her, watching her fumble with the papers before he resumes the rhythm of his combat boots stepping down the hallway. The hero gives her one last glance over his shoulder.

“And remember, it’s Dynamight to you.”

.

.

Man, what an annoying woman.

Is the thought that plagues Bakugou’s mind as he stands beneath the running water in his shower, washing away the sweat and grime accumulated from another busy day of heroics. Yet he still can’t get the irritating thoughts in his head to do the same.

His fingers weave the shampoo through his spikey locks, the pads of his digits massaging his scalp. Glancing at his reflection in the foggy, glass screen door, he meets his scowling mug.

“Tryna get in my pants and shit… Worry about keeping your damn job,” he grumbles to himself exasperatedly. What he finds especially annoying is knowing his secretary will start the day again tomorrow as if nothing happened. Even with Bakugou’s firm stance at wanting to keep things strictly professional, she’s going to continue getting up in his space, trying to caress her nails up his arm, and stink up the place with what he swore was five different kinds of perfume sprayed on her clothes.

But Bakugou’s not some oblivious fool. He can recognize from a mile away what her goal is and he absolutely wants no part in it.

Besides...

“Katsuki! Dinner will be ready when you’re done showering!”

His head swivels toward the door of the bathroom. “Yeah I heard ya!”

He’s already got someone deserving of his time and affection.

You.

“’Kay!” you reply, voice gradually growing louder. Bakugou hears your feet plodding toward the bathroom door just as the door creaks open slightly. “I’ll leave you a new towel to use after you’re done showering, too.” Even through the steam, he can recognize your silhouette peeking inside to drop the towel off. Unbeknownst to you, behind the cloudy glass door of the shower there’s a smile that finds his lips.

After washing the lather off his hair and body, he shuts the water. The last streams falling from the showerhead glide down his skin, joining the suds on the floor before they all disappear down the drain. As the thick steam surrounding him dissipates, he covers his toned body in the towel you left for him.

While patting down the excess droplets cascading his blond locks, Bakugou puts on some sweatpants, but forgoes his t-shirt for now, leaving it hanging over his shoulder. He continues rubbing the towel around his torso as he exits the bathroom.

The savory aroma of thick cheeses and tomato sauces hits Bakugou’s nose the moment he enters the kitchen. He stops in his tracks to take in the pleasant smells, along with the sight in front of his eyes that effortlessly forms a grin on his face.

Your soft hums accompany the harmonious atmosphere of the kitchen. Bakugou’s ruby eyes rove over you shimmying your way around an array of pans and plates like you own the place (which you essentially do), watching you finish piecing your dinner together with a generous sprinkle of garnish and spices.

Eyes never leaving you, an expression of admiration and fondness paints his usually hardened face. With arms crossed over his chest, he could just stand there, admire you, and be more than wholly content. You could do the most mundane things and still have him wrapped around your finger—not that he’d ever mention that to you out loud of course. Occasionally, Bakugou wonders how he ever got so lucky with you in the first place.

You’re so blissfully unaware of your hotheaded boyfriend lurking nearby. It’s all the more apparent by how you abruptly pause as soon as you discover him idling in the kitchen doorway in all of his half-naked glory.

The blond doesn’t let the fact that you’re practically ogling his hard muscle slip past him, and definitely doesn’t miss your moment of hesitation before you avert your gaze, your cheeks growing hot. It brings a smirk to his face and his ego through the roof.

Bakugou tosses his towel and t-shirt somewhere off the side before coming to you. “What? Getting flustered or something, babe?” he taunts. His deep tone hovers next to your ear as his chest touches your back. His hands are on either side of you, trapping you against the counter.

“That fuckin’ hot that I got you this speechless?” His breath is so close to you, he just knows you have goosebumps trailing down your spine. He can tell by the heat swirling in your cheeks just how much he has an effect on you and he absolutely loves how easily he can get you flustered.

Though he can’t say he’s all but immune to your charms, either. He trails a calloused hand up your bare thigh and hips, giving your ass a firm squeeze through your booty shorts which causes a yelp to flee your lips.

Fuckin’ hell.

The way you were dancing around in these things, tip-toeing to reach high cabinets that caused the shorts to ride up slightly and give him a glimpse of the plushness peeking past the fabric already had Bakugou half-hard simply standing behind you. But being able to touch what was essentially his started to make the material of his sweatpants absolutely suffocating.

In a single motion, he spins you around. Your back is pinned against the counter as you’re forced to face him. The cocky grin plastered on his lips greets you.

Finally grasping your composure, you raise an eyebrow at him. “For someone who wanted to take a shower as soon as their stinky-self got home, you sure are eager to get dirty again,” you retort, tracing your hands up his arms to place them on his broad shoulders. “Work didn’t get you sweaty enough?”

The blond chuckles lowly at your cheekiness. His face inches closer, mere centimeters away from your lips. “I could go for an extra workout,” he says huskily, voice dissipating with the shortening distance between you.

His eyes are lidded as he targets your lips, hands leaving the edge of the counter in favor of wrapping his arms around your waist. To his surprise, when he darts forward he meets nothing but air.

Hearing your giggles beside him breaks the tension between you. He opens his eyes and discovers that you’ve tilted your head out of the way. Before he can open his mouth to spit a retort, you rest your head against his shoulder, arms winding at his neck.

“Food’s gonna get cold, big boy,” you hum.

The noise that leaves his gritted teeth is practically a growl. “Dun care about the food–” His hands at your sides play with the waistband of your shorts. “Would rather eat you out on this counter.”

He watches you gulp down the lump in your throat, finding the idea tempting as a dull throb aches between your legs. But to his dismay, you don’t want to let him indulge in you just yet.

You lean forward to kiss his cheek to prepare him for your next words, “First and foremost, dinner. And then I'll let you do whatever you want with me. How’s that?” You tiptoe to peck his nose one more time for good measure before wriggling free from his clutches. You shuffle away to the steaming hot food you left on the other end of the counter.

Pink swathes his cheeks as Bakugou stands there dumbfounded. He rubs the back of his head, his brows furrowing in frustration.

“You’re killing me here, dammit.”

You let out another dulcet giggle. The urge to sneak up on you again to try to get you all hot and bothered lingers until it’s interrupted by a piece of fabric thrown in his face. “Also, shirt on we please.” You turn back at him with two plates of stuffed ravioli perched on each hand. “No shirt, no service.”

He yanks the white t-shirt off his face, grimacing as he begrudgingly pulls it over his head. “Yeah, yeah. You love it though.” Nonetheless, he follows behind you while the savory aroma of your food creates a path toward the dining table. The scent alone makes his stomach growl, the effects of a long day at work making themselves apparent.

Despite the antics he has to put up with, he can’t help but soften around you. It’s as if you possess an innate ability to effortlessly get him to shed his notoriously rough exterior.

He takes a seat on his side of the table, his stomach now growling loud enough for you to hear. You tease a wry grin before placing the ravioli dishes on the table, letting the delicious aromas waft around him, his mouth watering.

“I know it’s been a long day for you so you better eat up, hero.”

The blond’s eyes flicker for a second, chest enveloped with pride as he meets the look on your face that awaits for him in anticipation to dig in. “Yeah… Thanks for the meal,” he murmurs, mild gratitude woven in his words as he picks up the fork and finally chows down.

Again, what did he ever do to deserve you? He knows how hard you work each and every day. The fact that you’re still willing to love and take care of him is enough for him to want to cherish you for an eternity. Coming home to the person he loves and sharing meals with them is a blessing to him as it is and he absolutely wouldn’t trade this for anything else.

Which just makes the matter of his secretary all the more annoying to him.

The damn woman has walked in his office plenty of times to see the framed picture of you two on his desk, even occasionally interrupting his phone calls with you that would end with him mouthing low “love yous” before he’d have to turn around to acknowledge the petty expression resting on her face. He’d watch as her demeanor quickly shifted into a full 180—from a bitter frown to a forced grin to keep up her facade. She definitely knows he’s in a happy, committed relationship. The real question is whether or not she cares enough to acknowledge the fact.

He could just fire her for unprofessionalism. That seems like an obvious solution, but knowing her, she’d probably feed the media some false rumors about alleged abuse towards his employees. Of course, that wouldn’t at all be true. Far from it, but the news loved to twist the truth so long as it got them clicks. Given Bakugou’s naturally rugged demeanor, it wouldn’t be hard for the public to buy their shit and for his ranking on the hero chart to plummet. Which Bakugou could not afford right now considering how close he was to the top.

“’Tsuki, stop playing with your food.” He hears you chide, tugging him from his contemplation.

Bakugou huffs, jamming his fork onto the plate. “I’m not a damn kid.”

“Right, tell that to the ravioli you’re mangling with your fork.” You raise your brow and point at his stabbed and defeated pasta, the filling oozing out from the punctured holes. He keeps his gaze suspiciously fixed on the ravioli.

Does it taste bad? You wonder warily. “If you don’t like it then you don’t have to eat it, y’know.”

“What? No– The food’s fine.” He stuffs three pastas in his mouth one after the other. “Fucking delicious,” he mutters through ungracious chewing, cheeks puffed profusely, bringing a grin to your face.

“What’s wrong then? Bad day at work?”

He swallows his food. “Could say that,” he answers, resting his head against his propped arm. “Just some employee causing trouble.”

“Hopefully it’s not one of your sidekicks,” you pick at the raviolis while stuck in your musing, “I remember your first batch of recruits when you just started your own agency. You nearly scared half of them away by the end of the week.”

“How else was I supposed to whip those newbies into shape?” He lounges in his seat. “If they can’t take some yelling from a Pro, then they’re definitely not ready for the real hero world. Besides, they were the ones that came to my agency knowing that I’m the best,” he boasts with confidence, shoving more pasta in his mouth, and munching at his leisure.

“Also, it’s not a sidekick. Just some lady who can’t do her fuckin’ job.”

“Aw, cut her some slack, I’m sure she’s trying her best.”

Bakugou almost scoffs. If you knew the real reason for her lack of work ethic, you’d be on the same page as him.

Either way, he really needs to get this secretary off his back before shit blows out of proportion. If pictures, phone calls—hell—even lunch dates can’t get her to wake up, then what?

To his surprise, the idea actually comes to him quicker than he anticipated, red eyes perking up at a scheme forming in his head.

Of course. Heh, why didn’t I think of that sooner?

This is how he’s going to do it, he thinks. His lips barely resist the urge to quiver into a smirk that will no doubt have you questioning whatever was riling him up. Swallowing his final piece of pasta, Bakugou pushes his plate away but aims his fork in your direction.

“You free tomorrow?”

“I just have to drop off some papers at work in the morning. Why?”

“Good. Come by the agency for lunch.”

Your brows furrow at how sudden the request is, however, you go along with it. “Okay, should I make lunch for us?”

“Nah, don’t. I’ll order something,” he assures, but in his head he’s sure lunch would be the last thing on your mind tomorrow afternoon with what he has planned for you, him, and his secretary.

Bakugou scoots his seat back, leaning over on your side of the table. “Now, I remember a certain brat made a promise to me after dinner was done.”

“Hold it, I still have a piece–”

“Nuh-uh, c’mere–” He lightly pushes your hand away, and with effortless strength, pulls you out of your chair and over his shoulder. “Already waited too damn long.”

“Whoa..!” Your last piece of pasta falls back on the plate, forgotten. You watch as the distance between you and the dining table diminishes, the impatient blond leading you two into the hallway. At your fidgeting, he swats your thigh, warning you to stay fucking still unless you want to accidentally fall on your face.

With a squeal escaping your lips, you comply. As a reward, he presses his lips against the side of your ass as you’re still hanging over him, nipping at your curves. Your yelps are replaced by laughter. The ticklish sensation nearly makes you squirm again if not for Bakugou dropping you unceremoniously onto your bed.

“You better make it up to me for having to make me wait, Princess.” His emphasis on what is supposed to be your endearing little pet name comes out as a snarl as you’re cornered against the sheets. Expecting this kind of intense reaction from him after your meal, you grin slyly.

“I mean the ravioli was good, wasn’t it?”

Well that he can’t deny. Still, the blond smirks, showing his pearly canines. “Yeah, but,” he moves away from you, kneeling while grabbing at the hem of his shirt to pull it off,

“I’m still fuckin’ hungry.”

.

.

There is no doubt that the next day, you woke up incredibly sore. Sore yet also just as happy.

The tension in your muscles had dissipated as a result of being repeatedly fucked into your own mattress last night, allowing you to sleep soundly. So soundly that you don’t even notice your boyfriend leaving for work that morning. But it can’t be helped given how ungodly early his hero work starts every day.

Some hours after Bakugou has already left, your alarm goes off to remind you that it’s about time to begin your day. Even after a spent night, you can’t bear the thought of lying in bed anymore, especially with how cold the sheets had become, devoid of the blond’s natural warmth. Plus you had something to look forward to this afternoon—your lunch date.

Once you get washed and dressed, you grab your business files from your desk and dash out the door to drop off your papers at work.

Before you know it, it’s noon and you’re standing in front of the receptionist’s desk at Dynamight’s agency.

While you wait for the receptionist to finish their business call, you think back on the employee Bakugou mentioned yesterday. You note in the foreground how busy the entire place looks, which doesn't surprise you. The agency runs like a well-oiled machine. With all the hustle and bustle going on, it seems like everyone is doing their job with peak efficiency. Honestly, you can’t imagine anyone wanting to test the wrath of the explosive Number Two Hero, but you assume such people existed.

“Thank you for waiting! Here to see Mister Dynamight?” The receptionist greets you after hanging up their call, immediately recognizing you from your prior visits.

“Yeah, just coming by for lunch.”

“He’s in his office right now so I’ll let him know you’re here then.”

You mouth a thank you, followed by a farewell wave as you make your way to the elevator.

“’Suki’s office should be on… this floor…” you murmur, pressing the corresponding button on the panel. While you wait for the doors to close, you spot a figure approaching from a distance. You can see the person’s wrinkled professional attire, disheveled hair, and slightly smeared makeup as she approaches the elevator clumsily.

“H… Hold the door!” she pants.

Hearing her frantic request, your mind catches up with you. You jam your index finger on another button on the panel, keeping the doors open just long enough for the woman to slip inside and catch her breath.

You watch her ungraciously drop to the floor, lungs gasping for air. “That was a close one.” You bend down to extend a helping hand.

She sputters as she reaches out to you, “Yeah, thanks, I– Wait, you’re...” When she looks up, her eyes squint to get a better look at your face, brows knitting together as she recognizes your features. Dismissing your help, she abruptly retracts her hand before getting up on her own. You cock your head suspiciously when you notice her change in demeanor.

“Oh, I’m just stopping by to have lunch with my boyfriend. He’s your, uh,” you piece your words as eloquently as you can, “boss.”

It’s always difficult for you to tell any of Bakugou’s staff that you’re his girlfriend. You’d done it before in front of his group of sidekicks while waiting outside his office and as a result they all flipped, bombarding you with questions about your relationship before falling dead silent when his door suddenly swung open.

You’re expecting the same, if not, a similar reaction here, but you’re surprised to see a deadpan look in the woman’s eyes. She averts her gaze. You glance over at her, taking note of her fists shaking at her sides and how she bites the inside of her cheek which forms a pout on her lips.

You’re beginning to wonder if you shouldn’t have disclosed that information. “Are you okay?” you inquire, your voice filled with genuine concern. She eventually turns to look at you straight on, her expression teetering between a smile and a scowl. In any case, she tries to steer you away from the elephant in the room.

“Yep! Just peachy!” she assures through a strained grin that makes you all the more suspicious of her. Even if you want to question it, she has no intention of continuing the conversation. Her lips press together in an effort to maintain her smile, or else risk blurting something that should’ve stayed in her mouth. You keep to yourself in the elevator so as not to bother her, but the prolonged silence, combined with the elevator’s incessant dinging throughout each ascending floor, creates a suffocating atmosphere.

With every floor you pass you soon realize that despite keeping your distance, she’s still looking in your general direction. You notice her sneaking glances at you and your neck grows hot as you follow where her eyes wander. You press your palm against your jugular, the spot you recall Bakugou laying his teeth on last night.

I thought I covered that…

You want to chastise yourself for not spending enough time this  morning to conceal the blemishes on your neck. Your coworker had even commented on them before you left for Dynamight’s agency, to your embarrassment.

You settle for letting out an uneasy chuckle while adjusting the collar of your shirt. Though the majority of Bakugou’s staff are already aware of your relationship, you’d rather hide any detail of your sex life if possible. You’d prefer not being the hot talk amongst the whole faculty.

You expect to be the brunt of the woman’s teasing next, anticipating her wiggling her brows or whistling, but she keeps her mouth shut and her expression even appears offended.

Fortunately, the elevator saves both of you from any more uncomfortable silences. Right on cue, the doors slide open for the woman to exit on her floor. She doesn’t spare you a glance on her way out, but you overhear her mutter under her breath, “Enjoy your lunch or whatever.”

She stomps in the opposite direction until her figure disappears behind closing doors. Your face scrunches. “What’s her deal?”

You’ve gotten used to the bitter reactions some people would give over the fact you and Bakugou are in a relationship. You kind of have to, considering who Bakugou is and the hoards of fans he’s accumulated over the years as a Pro-Hero. But any of the backlash you receive is mostly posted online by petty netizens. No one has the guts to confront you in person. Mostly because if they do, Bakugou has no qualms about retaliating with equal venom and more. This lady, on the other hand, works for Bakugou. When it comes to greeting her boss’s girlfriend, she should be professional, right?

You brush those thoughts away, recalling that no one should ever have to suck up to you simply because you're a Pro’s significant other. “She’s probably on the PR team.” You laugh off, remembering how much trouble it is to manage Bakugou’s public image and how she must be tired from working overtime.

The elevator dings one last time to indicate that you’ve arrived at your destination. When the doors part, the entrance to Dynamight’s office is directly across from you, passing a short corridor. Normally, sidekicks and employees had to press the button on the side of the door, or page him ahead of time before entering. However, you have the luxury of just swinging those doors open whenever you like.

“Heya, Katsu–”

“For the last fuckin’ time, there’s no way I’m going on that mission as his fucking standby.” The voice booming at the other end of the room behind a wide, wooden desk drowns out your voice. “Tell Grand that if he can’t find another B-rate hero agency like his to do his damn dirty work, then he can just fuck himself,” he spits into the receiver. He slams the phone down and hangs up the call without a second thought.

You announce your presence once more with a low whistle. Another one for the PR team. “Vulgar as usual,” you joke.

He sighs loudly, “The only way to get the message across their thick skulls is to beat it into their heads at this point,” he says, leaning against the large glass windows behind him. “That Shindou needs to get off my back. I thought I told everyone I wasn’t taking anymore calls from that asswipe.”

“I’m sure Grand will finally get the idea after he receives your message from his manager.” Slipping in next to him, you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers delicately crawl up to his chin, tilting his head to face your smile. Bakugou reciprocates the gesture, his gloved hands gripping your waist and pulling you in as your lips briefly meet. When you part, you rest your forehead against his.

“How was patrol this morning, hero?” you whisper, playing with the tufts of hair above his neck.

“Same old shit,” he tells you quietly as you hum at his response, an amused grin tugging at the seam of your lips. Just as you’re about to separate, his hold at your sides tightens, locking your body against his.

“Bet you missed me, didn’t you, princess?” He leans in to nibble your jawline, causing laughter to tumble from your lips. “Bed got cold without me?”

Your answer is interrupted by a hand brushing up against the waistband of your pants, ruffling your tucked-in blouse. The man growls in the crook of your neck. “Didn’t have my cock to keep you nice and warm?”

Your nose scrunches at his unfiltered tongue. “Katsuki, I came here for lunch, remember?” You push at his chest, attempting to get him off you, but his teeth lock onto your clavicle.

“Food’s on the way,” he assures. Fingers play with the loops of your pants, dragging your shirt out slowly. “Might as well kill time–” His lips suddenly collide with yours, stealing your breath and drowning out any protests. He scuffs his teeth against your bottom lip, looking for a way in. You whimper in response at his persistence, stumbling backwards against the edge of his desk as he finally pries through your lips.

After an intense moment of kissing, his attention shifts to your jugular, nipping at the tender skin again. Every time his canines make contact with the broken skin, you wince. “Still got my marks all over ya,” he boasts, but the more skin he tries to unveil, the more he has to pull at your shirt’s collar which quickly annoys him. “Though I don’t understand what the hell you’re covering them up for.”

“D-Don’t want people to see…” you fumble with your excuses yet tilt your head to grant him better access. He scoffs at how your actions betray your words.

“Why does it matter when I want them to see? Let those fuckers look and know we’re together.” He licks one of the patches of broken skin. His harsh words make you shiver in his hold, but beneath his rough exterior, you sense a tender possessiveness in the amount of attention he pays to your body.

Your fingers brush through his hair, gently pulling him off of you so you can look him in the eyes, “You’re so damn insufferable, you know that?”

“Heh, you like it though,” Bakugou counters. You click your tongue, feigning ignorance. With his hand wrapped at the nape of your neck, he thumbs at your blemishes. His ruby eyes take their time to admire every inch of his claim on you. “You were clenching whenever I marked you. Screaming nice and loud too.”

“I bet the neighbors hate us now…” You sigh quietly.

“Took them that long?” He grins, almost proud of being a menace to those extras next door despite being a heroic figure. “Besides, not my fault you let me do whatever I wanted to you.” You pout, but accept it’s a fact you very well can’t deny.

As his deft hands unfasten each button of your blouse, he switches your positions. He yanks your shirt, dragging the fabric down your shoulders to reveal your skin and the bra hugging your chest. Licking his lips, he removes his thick gloves before hoisting you up to sit on the desk with him, making you straddle his thighs. Another pause of appreciation for the blossoms adorning your chest makes him blurt out, “Maybe I should let you mark me up just as much.”

You look at him precariously. He doesn’t take back the grin on his face. Seeing your wide-eyed expression, he cups your jaw, pulling you toward him. “What’s the look for? I know you’ve thought about it, princess.” Bakugou reads you like a book. He revels in your flustered face, telling him how right he is.

The image of his scarred, toned skin covered in hickeys has crossed your mind more times than you can count, but you’ve always been too engrossed in the intoxicating sensation of his teeth grazing every stretch of your skin to ever have an opportunity to bring the thought to light. Bakugou never gives you an inch when it comes to taking the reins in the bedroom. But now he’s practically granting you the opportunity on a silver platter.

You point a dubious look at him. “Are you serious, or did you bump your head somewhere earlier on patrol?” Anticipating your skeptical response, a chuckle rumbles low in his throat. He scoots back to remove his tank top, letting your hands lay over his chiseled physique. Your fingers immediately trace the scars and cuts lining his muscles, each one standing as a testament to every one of his battles. The idea of your own marks joining his adonis of a canvas has your eyes fluttering.

“’s no joke, babe,” he clarifies, a wicked grin plastered on his face. He then remembers why he made this whole arrangement in the first place. “Aren’t you tired of those fuckin’ extras always ogling me—looking at me up and down like they even have a damn chance to touch all of this?” He grabs your wrist and guides your hands above his chest, your fingertips brushing his collarbones.

You bite your lower lip. “Well…”

Hearing your voice linger, he snarls, “Are you seriously hesitating?”

It’s not like you hadn’t ever clenched your fists in front of the TV whenever your boyfriend was being interviewed by some mischievous news reporter or journalist. They never make it subtle when casting one too many glances at the Pro’s sweaty, skintight attire, staring into his red eyes for so long that they started looking dumb. Though as much as dark green jealousy occasionally takes root in your subconsciousness, you never act on your displeasure.

In the back of your mind, you always saw it as a sign of clinginess. But Bakugou sees it differently. To him, he’d want nothing more than his girl staking their claim on him. For you to get needy, jealous, possessive. Let the entire world know that you both belong to each other and no one else.

You fix your gaze at his cynical expression that eggs you on. Before you know it, you lunge forward. Your mouth latches onto his neck, arms curling around his shoulders. Bakugou draws you skin-to-skin, his low chuckle reverberating in the depths of his chest.

“Ooh, that’s it,” he encourages, rubbing your back. His other hand palms your ass, rocking you both back and forth, grinding his bulge against the crotch of your jeans. Your teeth cling to him, sinking into his skin. Your lips vibrate against his collarbones while you whimper at the delicious friction on your clit.

“Harder. I wanna see nice ol’ purple marks here,” he orders, relentlessly rolling his hips. You want to slap him on the wrist, your concentration waning as heat quickly pools in your abdomen. As if the grinding isn’t enough, Bakugou effortlessly undos the button of your jeans. He pulls down the zipper before reaching inside and touching you through your underwear.

“Fuck, already this wet from a little grinding? Nasty girl,” he hisses, running his index and middle finger across the ruined crotch of your panties. “Or maybe marking me is getting you all riled up?”

“Shut up–” you mutter half-heartedly. With a pop, your lips leave him. You lean back to evaluate your work. They’re not as noticeable as the marks Bakugou usually gives you, but they’re visible, and they’re purple as requested.

A small trail of violet hickeys adorns the crook of the blond’s neck and collarbones. Your finger traces the path, eyes capturing the sheen of your saliva over the marks. His skin gleams in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Reaching inside the pocket of his baggy pants, Bakugou pulls out his phone to turn on the front-facing camera. He gets a clear view of your work on the screen, and his smirk appears on the display. “My girl did that, huh?” He cranes his neck to examine the blemishes from different angles. Soon after, you hear his camera’s shutter release, capturing the image and adding it to his gallery. He should really consider making an album out of these.

Tossing his phone to the side, those piercing red eyes return to you, and your assertiveness fades. He grabs your wrists and leans in to kiss your temple.

“You did well, princess.”

His hushed voice makes your cunt clench and your ears warm. “I'll be sure to show these off later,” he promises, his tone dripping with smugness.

God, you realize how little his hero costume does to hide any of those hickeys. Given that he has to go on patrol again soon, you can expect his neck to be a hot topic in the media. Regardless, you can’t deny the satisfaction that wells up in your chest at the thought.

Katsuki was right. You really are possessive over him. And of course, it goes both ways.

While you’re distracted by your epiphany, he uses this opportunity to unhook your bra, happily discarding the garment. You exhale as he roughly cups the underside of your breast. His breath tickles your perky nipple, strong arm hooking you into him.

The pattern of his breaths are erratic, excitement coursing through his veins. His carmine eyes are lidded as he flattens a tongue against the hardened nub. As Bakugou fully wraps his lips around the stiffening bud, sucking and biting to his heart’s content, mewls part your mouth.

“Your tits still taste fucking amazing,” he mutters, mouth caught between sucking and spewing obscenities. “These tits gonna give me some milk too, princess?”

“Don’t push your luck, mister,” you quip before biting your bottom lip. You concentrate on moving your hips back and forth against his thigh, trying to find the right angle that provides you with the delicious jolt of pleasure you craved between your thighs. With a smack, his lips leave your nipple.

“Guess I didn’t give you enough attention down here since you keep rutting against me like a needy slut.” He swats your ass before gripping the plushness harshly. The mild sting has your pussy clenching. “My baby doesn’t feel satisfied unless she’s getting stretched open by my cock, huh?”

Just a little bit of dirty talk from him is enough to make you whimper pathetically, “Please, ‘suki…”

“Please, what? Gotta tell me more than that, princess.” He tugs the waistband of your pants, teasing you. Never breaking eye contact, Bakugou’s hand sneaks under the edge of his desk. “Use your words, I want to know what I’m doing to you. Don’t skimp on the details.”

A light click goes off, but if you hear it you don’t make it apparent, too focused on the hot blond in front of you that was making your head spin.

“Fuck… ‘Suki, I feel so hot… Need you right now…” You grab his hand showing him your ruined panties by letting the pads of his fingers trail your wet pussy. “See? Look what you did, I’m soaked.”

Bakugou mutters curses under his breath, applying more pressure to your panties to thoroughly inspect the slick saturating the fabric. He couldn’t have asked for a better reaction, finding your pleading to be incredibly sinful and all-too-tempting. He considers it a waste that he isn’t recording anything. Well, maybe it isn’t an entire waste.

“Damn, how are you this messy? This pussy’s fucking sobbing for me.” You nod, sloppily gyrating on top of his hand. For once, Bakugou is considerate to your needs and slides your panties to the side to slip his digits across your bare folds. You both moan in unison, you at the extra relief and him at the slippery honey dripping down his knuckles.

In his eyes he was being generous, granting you his thick fingers prodding your silky walls rather than reduce you to pitifully grinding against him. But, being greedy, you thought he wasn’t being generous enough.

Bakugou’s fingers leave your cunt to sample you, wet digits laying flat on his tongue. “Fuck, I need to lick you clean right now.”

“N-No, ‘suki, jus’ want your cock in me already,” you whine with a pout. However, Bakugou is insistent on stealing more than just a little taste from your sweet cunt.

“Not gonna even let me indulge a little? Must have spoiled you with too much dick last night.” He scoffs, but doesn’t move to discard his uniform to free his hard cock. Instead, he motions you to step down and stand in front of him while he remains perched atop his desk.

He eyes you up and down. “What are you waiting for, princess? I want it all off already.”

Your fingers start moving toward your disheveled blouse. As fabrics pile the floor, you catch the blond licking his lips, lewdly eyeing your panties that slip down your legs to reveal your juices coating your inner thighs.

“Turn around and kneel on top of my chair.”

At his blunt tone, you obey. Dynamight’s luxurious office chair cushions your knees as you carefully lift your body onto it.

“Bend over.”

Without question, you use the arms of the chair as leverage to safely lean forward, spreading your pussy in front of him. As half of your face presses into the cushion of the head rest, you steal a glimpse of his reaction from your peripheral vision.

With a guttural hiss between his teeth, he gets off the desk, pulling the chair closer for an even better look at your glistening center. He palms your ass, rolling the globes in his hands before spreading them, exposing your slick folds.

“You seriously trying to deny me this angel cunt?” His words are emphasized with a quick smack before his tongue dives between your folds. You whine at the contact, his lips fluttering around your clit as it works its way up your slobbering hole.

Knees shaking, you subconsciously muffle your sounds as you press your face into the headrest of the office chair. Not satisfied with your muted cries, Bakugou reaches one hand toward your head. He cups your jaw, turning you more to the side so you aren’t hiding in the cushion. When his tongue swivels around your sensitive bud, your moans resonate across his office with euphoria.

“‘suki! I’m gonna–!”

“Gonna cum? Do it then you slut.”

At your warning, he works his mouth vigorously against your pussy, even adding two fingers into your walls. Your toes curl behind you as your grip on the arms of the chair tighten.

“Fuck, you’re dripping all over my damn office chair.”

Maybe you would’ve issued a half-hearted apology, if not for his tongue and its unrelenting intensity across your sensitive bundle of nerves. You only offer a string of moans that Bakugou happily accepts, smiling into your pussy as he feels you tense up against him.

“Ka..tsuki!!” You practically scream, electricity coursing through your skin as your orgasm shakes your entire body.

“That’s it, princess. Want your taste all over my tongue… So fucking good,” he drones against your folds, not letting a drop go to waste as you slowly come down from your post-orgasmic bliss.

“Ah! ‘Suki, I’m already too sensitive…” You gasp, still feeling him drunkenly licking up and down your slit despite you just coming. Reaching behind you, you weave your fingers through his ash blond hair, nudging at his scalp to try to push him away, but Bakugou’s strength clearly outweighs yours. He grips your wrist, lifting his face off your sloppy pussy of his own volition.

“That sensitive just from my tongue? Oh, sweetheart, I plan on ruining you in my office chair alone.” Keeping his word, he replaces your pliant body with his own, planting himself right on the cushioned seat with his legs spread thoughtlessly. He dashes for the hem of his pants, unfastening the zipper, and pulling down enough articles of clothing for his cock to spring out, stiff and glistening with his arousal.

Lust blown eyes admire the thickness of Bakugou’s shaft, rightdown to the veins on the ridges of his cock. A smirk and chuckle follow in the wake of your heady gawking, swearing that you look like you were about to pounce and give him the best head of his life. Sadly, as he glances at the digital clock perched behind you, he realizes there’s no time.

“Sorry, babe, food’s gonna be here any minute and I need you on my cock right fucking now.” He rolls the office chair closer to get a firm grasp of your hips, motioning you on top of him with rousing urgency. Thighs on either side of his own, you reach over your body to level his cock over your dripping folds.

The blond’s lips curl into a sneer beneath you, hands fondling your breast and ass—the latter spreading your cheek to help you accommodate his size. “Besides, this what you wanted, right? To be–” As you begin sinking down his length, your mouth opens in a soundless mewl. “–split open on me, even after I fucked you into the mattress last night?”

Your teeth tug at your bottom lip while you do your best to bottom out. Katsuki isn’t amused by your muted reaction, pinching your nipple as punishment and spurring his desired noises from you. “What did I say? Answer me, slut, you wanted to get fucked dumb again, didn’tcha?” His words are harsher this time, demanding your attention.

“Yes, yes! Wan’ you to make me your little cockwhore, ‘Suki…” you confess, moaning when you feel his dick fully impale you. At the same time, Bakugou hisses at how your walls mercilessly hug his shaft.

“Yeah princess, I’m going to give you exactly what you need– Fuck! How are you so damn tight?!” It hasn’t even been ten hours since he had sex with you, stretching you into his shape last night until the sun shined, and yet you still had the innate ability to squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of him and then some. At this rate, he’s not going to last. “Need you to move, baby. Ride me already.”

Hearing the urgency in his tone, your hips begin moving on their own, dragging yourself on and off his cock. Hands on his shoulders, you leverage yourself to maintain a steady rhythm that had you both delirious and panting in pleasure. The blond’s thick fingers dig into your soft flesh, growls leaving his lips as fire flares in his veins, threatening to ignite his last ounce of willpower to allow you to keep this sustained tempo.

“F-Feeling good, ‘suki?” you question, looking down at him with a sinful expression painted on your gorgeous face—pretty eyes half-lidded and needy just for him.

“Yeah… God you make me act up all the damn time I–” His cock twitches between your tight folds, eyeing you from below and watching you clasp his hand that’s pawing your breast to gesture to him to play with you some more. The sensual yet genuine smile you give him ultimately breaks his resolve.

Oh, fuck it.

As if chains have snapped around him, Bakugou suddenly shoots up, carrying your body against him. He lays you across his desk quickly but carefully, with little regard for whatever else tumbles and falls off of it except for you.

You squeal in surprise, your arms and legs attempting to find purchase around him before you’re reduced to jelly by the new quickening pace of his cock pounding your insides.

“Oh my god… Katsuki!” The obscene slapping of skin on skin accompanies your desperate cries throughout his office. Arms that were wound around his neck lose their hold on him, pathetically dropping to your sides to clasp Katsuki’s wrists, where he’s pulling your thighs apart to spread you open for his unrelenting thrusts.

“Sorry, princess… you looked so damn hot I couldn’t hold back anymore. Needed to feel you deeper and make you cream already.” His tepid apologies don’t reach your ears as you’re overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his movements, followed by a searing knot welling up in your abdomen.

By the looks of it, you have no objections to the turn of events, gazing dreamily at him as his hardened body hovers over you. From your point of view, you get glimpses of the sweat dotting his forehead, his nose scrunched in concentration, and narrowed ruby eyes glimmering with feral desire.

With stars in your eyes and features all flushed with warmth and lust, you sing a euphony of I love you’s between whimpers. Your voice catches in your throat when his cock repeatedly hits that sweet spot inside your gummy walls.

Bakugou can’t get enough of you, heart swelling with his affections that he can’t help but flick his wrist to intertwine his hand in yours. Despite his progressively carnal thrusts, he possesses contrasting tender devotions in his voice.

“I love you, princess. It’s been you and no one else. No other bitch can compare,” he repeats over and over like a mantra, a declaration of his loyalty to you and only you. You swear there’s an extra weight behind his words, but you’re too engrossed in the feeling of utter euphoria this man gives you in mind, body, and soul to give it a second thought. It’s as if you’re walking on Cloud 9 as your pussy clenches around him, back arching in the moment that’s pushing Bakugou to the breaking point

“So damn perfect, you were fucking made for me, baby. Give it to me, cum on my cock,” he pleads, “I know you’re almost there, princess.”

“Yea, ‘suki… Wanna cum for you, you make me feel so good,” you murmur brokenly, voice splintering into an incoherent babble that he finds so endearing, caressing your cheek while deepening his brutal pace. That knot in your tummy tightens and when the cord eventually snaps, you cry out, clutching onto his hand.

Katsuki insists he’s never seen a prettier sight than you finally losing yourself all because of him. It urges him to reach his own high and claim you in the only way he knows how—coming in your pretty cunt and dedicating himself wholly to you.

“Pretty angel, you’re making me crazy over here. Fuck! ‘Bout to blow my whole load inside you. That what you want?”

“Mhm! Please..!” You manage a few urgent pleas before Bakugou finally reaches his limit, groans resonating in the wake of his cock stuttering between your silky folds. His growls reverberate from the depths of his chest, thick with rapture as his body is bathed in the sweet sensation that is your entire being swallowing him whole. Ribbons of his cum paint your insides. You feel so full, both physically and spiritually, your heart bursting with love for the man that was spilling his adoration for you merely seconds ago.

Bodies spent and chests heaving, you lay on the desk with Katsuki on top of you. You don’t notice his hand sneaking under the desk, a click going off that goes equally overlooked, enveloped by your collective pants echoing in the stillness that is his hero office.

After a moment, the sensations catch up to you and the weight of his sweaty, heavy torso makes you squirm.

“Feel sticky…”

“There’s a shower and bath right there.” Bakugou grunts, but there’s playfulness behind his deceptively gruff mannerisms.

Your hands trail over his back at his response. “I know, but can you carry me?”

“Fine. Such a princess…”

“I’m your princess though.” You giggle, a teasing lilt in your carefree tone.

The blond can’t help the grin that finds his features. “Hell yeah you are.”

Bakugou pulls on his uniformed cargo pants to scrounge together some semblance of decency as he cradles you against him. Your body is like jelly in the Pro Hero’s strong arms, barely exercising the strength to hold onto him properly as he moves you to the unnecessarily luxurious bathroom built in his office. While setting you down on the counter next to the sink, the pager in his pocket rings.

“Food’s finally here.” He reaches for a hanger on the door, finding a bathrobe to blanket you in. “I’ll be back.”

You raise a brow. “Going out like that?”

“Relax, I’m putting a shirt on obviously.”

“A shirt, huh?” Not at all convinced, you cross your legs. You and him both know he absolutely reeks of sex. The marks you gave him are also an obvious giveaway. No doubt he’ll be an eye-turner to anyone he crosses paths with at the agency.

“Fine, I’ll have someone bring it up.” He meets you in the middle and you happily oblige, shoo-ing him to go about his business once again. The blond rolls his eyes, exiting the bathroom and out the large double doors of his office to wait at the elevator for his delivery.

And when those doors open with a ding, he’s greeted by the very last person he wishes to see. Swathed in the overbearing odor of her pungent perfume, his secretary stands heel-to-heel in the elevator, eyes crossed and a furious blush penetrating the matte layer of her foundation. Her steps traverse the threshold between the lift and hallway. With hands balled into small fists, she jabs the plastic bag of take-out food into the hero’s chest before wagging her finger at his disinterested demeanor.

“You..! You! How dare you?! Why, I should charge you for sexual harassment for what you did! So uncouth! Barbaric even!” She lectures vehemently, voice dripping with malice akin to the insults she practically spits at his face. The benevolent facade she dons everyday to garner his favor crumbles to pieces before his eyes and Bakugou can’t contain his laughter at the pathetic display.

“What’s so funny?!”

“Oh man, you’re a riot aren’t ya? You coulda very well just turn off your speaker if it bothered you so damn much,” he suggests, but the glint in his expression tells the woman he can see right through her. “But you didn’t, did you? You listened in on the whole thing like a fuckin’ pervert.”

At his deduction, the secretary blushes even harder. The fists at her sides shake with an anger that boils under her skin, melting her composure like the wicked witch of the west.

“Why you..! You’re the pervert here! Don’t think you can turn the situation on me when you’re the one who instigated this!” She points an accusing finger in his direction, an empty threat to the indifferent blond.

The hero barely offers her a scoff. “Me? The instigator? You got some fucking nerve saying that when all month you’ve been coming onto me practically on all fours despite knowing I’m a taken man.” Now it’s his turn to retort with equal venom and then some. His sudden switch in demeanor quickly overwhelms the woman as with every step he takes forward, she grows smaller and smaller.

“What’re you going to do? Tell the media? Report me to the authorities? Make a bunch of baseless rumors on your online blog? Well news flash—unlike you I’m irreplaceable. There won’t ever be another hero that has left as big of a mark on this country as I have, and you know it.” He holds his chest proudly after every word. In his presence, the secretary shrinks, gradually cowering back toward the elevator. Any semblance of nerve she held vanishes in front of her.

“Now start packing your things. If I don’t see your station left spotless by tomorrow morning I’ll make sure your days working for the hero industry are numbered.” It’s a threat she doesn’t dare challenge, wordlessly pressing a button on the panel to descend the floors and flee with her tail between her legs. The flabbergasted expression on her face is the last he sees of her.

And just like that, Katsuki feels a weight evaporate from his shoulders, releasing a deep sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He bounds back to his office with your lunch in tow.

When he returns, he overhears the water running in the bathroom before it’s soon shut off.

“Ah, ‘Suki, you’re back! I just filled the tub with water for our bath.” Your sincere smile meets his eyes which soften at the mere glimpse of you kneeling next to the tub, patiently awaiting his arrival.

“Fuck, babe, you weren’t suppose to move. Should be too sore after what I did t’ya.” He hoists you off the floor and into welcoming arms.

You pout cutely. “C’mon now, I’m not helpless you know.”

“‘Course not. But you’re my princess, remember? All mine.” He settles you both into the depths of the soothing, warm tub, nestling your body against his chest as he presses kisses in every area of tender skin he laid his claim on.

“And I plan to treat you like one for the rest of our lives.”

.

.

The very next morning, he finds a letter of resignation on his desk—the very place the two of you had fucked.

copyright 2022 shotoh, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated elsewhere so please do not repost this or share my content on tiktok.

[artdcnaldson]

ugh "leverage" to ensure she won't go tattling to patrick. especially as he starts getting meaner and meaner, he tells her it's to make sure she doesn't back out and tell on him. because patrick would genuinely kill art if he knew what he's been doing to his baby sister.

i know it doesn't really fit in the canon of the other parts to this au, but hear me out anyway... what if he agreed to fuck her, properly this time, in her sweet little pussy. BUT he needs said leverage to make sure she keeps quiet about it (truly he just needs to immortalize taking her virginity so he can watch it back for the rest of his life). so he "agrees", he's the one to bring it up lol, on the condition that he can record it. y'know like really shitty, amateur, pov style, on her creaky dorm bed and pink, frilly sheets. shaky and grainy, but it's good enough for him. it's not like he would ever actually post it anywhere or show people, but she doesn't know that.

he gets off on how nervous she is when he points the camera at her, she's blushing and trying to hide her face. but he just slaps her cheek and manhandles her to look right down the lens of his shitty phone camera. tells her to moan louder around his big cock, tell the camera how good he feels, really just stroking his own ego. makes her tell the camera exactly how he's making her feel, can't cum unless she asks into the camera. he nearly cums right inside her when she tells him he's too big and it hurts :(((((

yummy yummy yummy

-🐞

OHHHHHHH <3 I had to let this simmer. This had to ruminate. Had to really let it sit and grow legs or whatever wine people say idk

RATING: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, degradation, making a sex tape, loss of virginity, world’s worst aftercare), mean!art as always, uncomfortable power dynamics, DUBCON due to coercion

He catches you leaving one of your classes, chatting happily with a few girls as you walk. Their eyes widen as he approaches, smacking his gum, looming tall over them. You murmur a quick apology and bound over like an obedient little pet, falling into stride beside him as he walks.

“What class is that?” He asks, nodding back towards the building. Most of the time he forgot you even attended the school beyond cheering at his games and floating around his dormitory like a ghost.

“Peoples and cultures,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s an anthropology course I’m taking. It’s actually really interesting, like, these past few lectures have been—“

“What are you doing tonight?” He interrupts, not really caring beyond the simple answer to his question. He has a one track mind, and for the moment he’s just thinking about getting in your pants.

He watches you think, then shrug. “Um… nothing, I guess? Why?”

Art stops by a tree suddenly, tugs you by your wrist to stop with him. “Do you promise if we fuck you won’t tell Patrick?” He watches as your eyes widen, as sheer need and excitement makes you practically vibrate out of your skin.

Frantically you nod. “I’d never tell Patrick, I’d take it to my grave, I swear,” you say, totally earnest, bouncing on the balls of your feet as he looks at you.

“God, I want you so bad,” he hums, brushing your hair back behind your ear. You melt beneath his touch, gaze all half-lidded and soft. “I just… I think I’d have to have some leverage, just to make sure no one ever finds out.”

You tilt your face, resting it on his hand, your eyes half-lidded and dazed with need. You hum a soft, “Mhmm,” without even knowing what he’s implying, what he’s asking of you. But he hears what you’re thinking, all dumbed down and needy— yes, Art, whatever you say Art, anything you want, Art.

He wants to do it in your room, that night. He walks you back to your dorm and tells you to get your roommate out, make sure she’s busy for however long you need. He’d text you when he’s on his way.

So you’re just… fucking vibrating with excitement, cleaning up your dorm, changing your sheets, fluffing your pillows. You light three warm vanilla sugar candles so the dorm smells nice and sweet, put on your roommate’s SEXXXMIXXX <3 CD that she had burned in High School (and kept your fingers crossed it was still relevant). You took the longest fucking shower of all time, scrubbed your skin until it stung, shaved you’re entire body, wondered if maybe he wouldn’t like bald pussy, then worried that he’d hate if you kept the hair even more. Moisturized, then put on pretty, light makeup— lipgloss, mascara. All in the span of time it took for him to text you.

Art :) <3

omw

You feel a little dizzy by the time he’s at your door, already wet just anticipating what you were about to do. He grins down at you, at your silky little pajama set, pink and lacy around the edges. Smacks his gum, trails his hand along the sides of your waist.

“Pretty.” He looks smug as he rubs the lace between his fingers. “You got all dressed up for me, huh?”

It’s amazing how timid and shy you can look as you stand in front of him, biting onto your lip as you nod. He shuts the door behind him and guides you backwards until you knock against your bed and laugh nervously. Jesus, he’d already fucked your ass, your throat, he’d done things to you that even the dirtiest fucking sluts on campus wouldn’t dream of allowing. But you’re all shy because he’s finally going to fuck you properly?

You gasp as he tugs down the neckline of your top, exposing your tits to the cool air of the dorm. So cute, soft. Your nipples already hard and sensitive, so just the lightest pinch makes you let out a pretty moan.

“Remember what I said about leverage?” Art says, and you nod slowly, dreamily. “I want to film it.”

Your eyes widen slightly, as you think back to the pictures he’d taken of you just a few weeks prior. “And you’d… what? Like post it if Pat finds out?”

“No, no, only if you tell,” he corrects. Even then… he doubted he’d actually ever post it anywhere. He had a tennis career to consider, after all. But the important thing was that you believe he will. “It’s just to make sure this stays our secret.”

You swallow, consider it. You didn’t plan on telling Patrick, so it was fine, right? He’d hate Art, and you didn’t want that. You would never want that, no matter what.

So you nod softly. “Okay,” you say finally. “I’d… yeah, I understand. Okay.”

God, you’re easy. So fucking easy it makes him a little sick to think about. What if he wasn’t Patrick’s friend, if he was some frat house asshole who would take advantage of how bad you wanted him? You’re so lucky he’s a good person.

He uses your own fucking digital camera— pink and decorated with little heart stickers. Turns it on and records you as you slip off your sweet silky pajamas, revealing soft, smooth skin beneath. You’re so shaky, so nervous. You can’t even look into the lens.

“No panties?” He asks, lips quirked into a grin. He steps forward to slip his hand between your thighs, to cup your pussy in one big hand. God, you’re so fucking wet, just like you usually are. He could just slide right in without any resistance, just bury himself right inside that tight little pussy. “Jesus, you’re a fucking mess, just dripping for it, aren’t you?”

You moan, relishing in the feeling of his hands on you. Art never touched you, not to get you off, at least. So the feeling of his thick calloused fingers against your cunt makes you whine. He breaches your entrance with just a fingertip and grins at the feeling of you clenching around the intrusion, desperate for anything he’ll give you.

But the relief is gone as soon as you’ve gotten it. He pats your thigh, nods to the bed. “Go lay down. Let me film you stretching yourself out for me.”

“Art,” you whine once you’ve laid down, embarrassed as he trains the lens on you. “Do you have to film this part?”

It just makes him double down, grinning smugly as he settles at the foot of the bed. “C’mon, just fucking do it. Show the camera how fucking wet you get for me.” You hear the whir of him zooming in as your hand slips between your thighs, as lithe fingers slide through your soaking wet folds and you tease your clit. He groans softly, grinning at the sight on the camera. “Alright, spread yourself out now. Show me how small and tight you are.”

You whimper pathetically, but obey. Your fingers form a V as you spread your lips, revealing the pretty, drippy hole of your cunt. He doesn’t even have to tell you to start fucking yourself, you just do. Pretty, manicured fingers disappearing inside the tight channel of your pussy, slow and easy as you pant and gasp sweetly.

“Can you do three?” He asks. He zooms the camera out, makes sure he gets all of you— your tits heaving with each breath, the slow grind of your hips to meet your fingers. You nod softly, press a third finger alongside the other two. He grins at the sight of the stretch of your cunt around them, how your body works to accommodate them. “God, it’s a tight stretch, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You moan as you pump your fingers slow, in and out. Wet to the point of it sounding obscene. Slick dripping out with each thrust, making your fingers glisten.

He can hardly take sitting there and watching, but god, he’d love it later on when he was alone with only the video to keep him company. But who knows? Maybe he’d fuck you once and never want anyone else. He already felt that way… kind of. You were so eager, so obsessed with him. You touched him like it was an act of worship. He couldn’t get that from easy pussy.

He sets the camera down on the foot of the bed while he undresses, tugging off his sweats and tee shirt, mussing up his hair in the process. It’s not lost on him, the way your fingers speed up at the sight of his cock, how needy and desperate you are.

“How bad do you want it?” He asks as he picks up the camera.

God, he’s mean. You whine when he grabs your wrist and makes you slip your fingers from inside of your cunt. Empty, needy, desperate. “Please, fuck me, Art.” You’re embarrassed, of course you are. He has a camera focused on your needy little expression, one hand on your thigh all warm and possessive. “Please, I’ve been so good for you. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I just need you, I need you inside of me. Want you to be my first. Please, Art.”

He’s not sure where he wants the camera as he notches the head of his cock at your wet little hole. Part of him wants to film the second he buries his cock inside of that tight fucking cunt, but the other wants to film your face, watch how pretty you look as you take your very first cock.

And god, you’re trembling beneath him. Visibly shaking with anticipation, or nerves, or need. He runs a hand along your torso, cups one of your tits in his hands and thumbs over your sensitive nipple. “What, are you cold?” He teases.

“N-no,” you stammer, meeting his gaze. “Just— I just want it so bad.”

He films your face, which was the right call, he decides. He has to think about it technically, or he’ll risk blowing his load one pump in, like a total fucking loser. You’re so tight around him, clamping down on his cock as he sheaths himself within you, inch after inch. And god, that angelic face of yours— mouth agape, wet and pink and pretty, the tiniest furrow between your brows, lashes splayed against your cheeks as you moan, soft and sweet. “Hurts,” you practically whimper. “God, Art, fuck, it feels—“

He films where your cunt swallows him, stretched to the point of obscenity around his thick cock. It shouldn’t even be able to take him, not when you’re so small, so fucking tight. It’s a fucking miracle you’d even taken a toy before. He’d make you film that next. All desperate, fucking yourself on silicon while you drooled over a picture of him. It was sweet that you’d been trying to prepare yourself to take him and you were still a shaking, needy mess.

Tears well in your eyes as he thumbs at your swollen little clit, he feels your pussy clench around him, already so fucking keyed up. He should be good. He should make love to you, nice and slow, like a good boy. He’s starting to think he’s not a good boy, not at all. “Just lay there and take it, yeah? Just look nice and pretty for the camera.”

You cry out when he pulls back only to drive back in, hard and deep. His pace is relentless as he fucks into your cunt— warm and wet and tight and fucking perfect. He honestly shouldn’t have waited, he should’ve fucked you the first night you offered yourself up to him— sweet and needy and clinging off his shoulder like you were his girlfriend.

“A-Art, fuck—“ You cry out, fisting your pretty hands into the frilly duvet, as he bullies himself into you. “Oh, god, fuck, A-Art, it’s too much— I-I can’t—“ A strangled moan seems to rip itself from your throat as your head falls back against the pillows.

He grins. “Yeah? Don’t tell me, honey, tell the camera.”

You whine, turning your head away as embarrassment rips through you. It’s mean, keeping it trained on you while you’re so fucking vulnerable. He grabs your chin, holds it in place as he fucks into you, deeper, rougher. It punches out gasps from your pretty open mouth— Ah! Ah! Ah! Over and over and over.

He pops your cheek, not too hard, but enough to draw your attention back from him and away from your dizzying thoughts. “Tell the camera how good it feels to have my big cock in that little pussy of yours, yeah?

“It feels— ngh— I love it,” you have pretty fat tears slipping down your cheeks as he drills into you. “You’re so big, I— God, fuck— I feel you in my stomach. Here—“ You grab his hand, move it to press against the bottom of your stomach. He can’t feel anything, not except warm skin beneath his, but he groans at your words, at the implication that he’s so deep he’s in your fucking guts.

He has to bite his tongue so hard he tastes blood. He knows he’s going to cum, knows that he’s not going to last or show off epic, manly stamina and impress you. Not that you give a shit, but he wants to set a standard for whatever fucking loser you fuck next. He’d have next time, and as many other times as he wanted. You’d keep coming back for it, for him.

He struggles to manhandle you the way he needs while holding onto the camera. He tosses it into the sheets so he can press your knees up to your chest. “Hold them— yeah, that’s it, fuck— feels good.” You’re so obedient, holding your legs up for him so he can get deeper. Your eyes roll back, flutter shut. He fumbles to grab the camera, to immortalize you like this.

Your cunt squeezes around him, makes his rhythm falter as he struggles to fend off his orgasm. God, he just wants to bury himself deep and rut into you, to cum deep and hard, leave you dripping with him. It’s about him… but it’s about you too. He’d be good, he’d make you cum.

“Tell me how bad you need to cum. Fucking beg me for it,” He groans, rubbing at your clit with a calloused thumb.

You whine, squeezing around his cock as he draws you closer and closer. “Need it, Art. It feels so good— you’re so fucking perfect, feel so perfect inside of me. Wanna cum for you, around your cock, wanna show you how good you feel. Please, please, god, I want it, I want to feel it, Art. Want you to cum inside of me, need it so bad— I fucking dream about it, about you. You’re so much better, you’re everything I want, Art, fucking claim me. I want you to.”

Art wanted to pull out. He did. He was going to glaze your pussy with his cum, get it on video, swipe his fingers through it and make you taste it. But Jesus Christ, you fucking ruined that idea. He cums suddenly, practically collapses on top of you as he fucks into your cunt, spilling himself deep inside of you. And like the perfect fucking toy you are, you cum too, milking him for all he’s worth, walls clenching down around his cock as he lazily ruts into you.

He pants, stays buried inside of you as he tries to catch his breath. He’d never cum inside someone before— he was too afraid of knocking someone up. He’d always had the self control to pull out, but he lost himself in fucking you, in the tight grip of your pussy around him. Christ, that was bad.

When he pulls out, a thick gush of his cum follows, pearly white, dripping down your ass and to the bed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, you’ve tugged a blanket over yourself shyly. Looking so demure, so sweet, batting your lashes up at him expectantly.

The camera lays dropped and forgotten on the bed, he goes and presses the stop button on the camera and you grab at his arm. “Do you want to stay the night?” You ask with a shy bite of your lip. “I told Izzy to fuck off, so she’s with her girlfriend. We’ve got the dorm for the night, so you can stay.”

Art makes a face akin to annoyance as he redresses, tugging on his boxers and sweats. His shirt is somewhere… he can’t focus. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

Your eyes widen, you swallow as heat floods your cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, I know,” you stammer. “I just thought…”

His jaw ticks. “Don’t do that, then. This is just about fucking.

Art watches the sad little nod, the tiniest twitch of your nose as you fight the rush of tears to your eyes. “I know that, Art,” you say sadly, and you’re trembling again. “I just wish you’d stay for a bit. I’m… I feel a lot right now. I’ve never… I’ve never felt this before I just want—“

“What do you want? A hug, a kiss?” He watches you sniffle sadly, nod and mutter a watery, yeah. He sighs, stops searching for his shirt, and pulls you against his chest. You feel so warm, so vulnerable as you shake and cry hot tears against his chest. He frowns, pulls back, and presses his lips to yours, quick and chaste. “I’m not doing this again if you keep acting like this.”

You sniffle and nod. “Okay, I know, I won’t do it again.” He kisses the crown of your head. Grabs a random shirt from the top of your laundry basket, grabs the camera, and heads for the door. You watch him leave with a pouty, wobbly little frown and get up to redress. You find his Stanford Tennis shirt partly beneath your bed and pull it on. It’s big, fits you like a hug, smells so boyish and warm. You lay back down on the bed he just fucked you on and breathe deep, let his smell flood your senses. It feels a little like being wanted.

AURRRRR this was so much longer than I thot <3

Anyways. Love pat’s sister au, feel free to send me any asks you want about these messy bitches <3

🐞 anon i love u

[lyrefromthesea]

Male Hashira x Reader - Livin' on the Farm

author's note: this was a request, but i've managed to accidentally delete my whole inbox. as a result, i can only work on the requests i still have in mind or in my drafts, apologies.

request: how would the hashira react as livestock on a cow hybrid farm with a new farmer!reader? (i was mildly surprised when i read they get milked by their cocks. it made me laugh without a doubt.)

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: nsfw, probably cum as milk alternative?

Tengen:

• Obanai and him were the first to spot you. they initially thought you were another cow hybrid that got transported to the farm.

• he'll quickly realize that you're, in fact, just a human, who had been given the duty to watch after the livestock here.

• he's one of the biggest cow hybrids you'll find, only smaller than Gyomei, but much more territorial. he has no problem seeing you with the other cow hybrids unless he wants you alone, it'll instantly get his mind to sync with his more animalistic instincts.

• how they behave when it's time for milking: he won't walk to the machine alone, you have to bring him there every time it's his turn. has no problem letting you put the pump on his cock, but gets whiney when near the end.

• "it's enough, i can't make more milk.. take it off, how am i able to produce more like this?" luckily for him, you listen to his whines. truthfully, he could probably get milked one or two times more, but you still take pity on him.

Obanai:

• like i mentioned earlier, Tengen and him were the first to spot you, confusing you for another cow hybrid at first.

• it took him a minute or two to realize you were just a normal human. his tail had already started swaying slowly by then, leaving the impression on his mind that you were fragile and needed protection.

• he was really silent at first. he's not the most social person and it's seldom someone new arrives at the farm. it doesn't take him long to warm up to you, seeing how you quietly sneak him treats, because he tends to eat less than the others.

• how they behave when it's time for milking: while Tengen only lets himself get milked when it's necessary, Obanai finds the building pressure uncomfortable at some point. he'll quietly approach you by then, giving you a glance that has you realize what's wrong.

"i'm sorry, Obanai! How long did you stand there? You could've said something." you had been working around the farm, it took you a while to notice others during that timeframe.

"not long.. can you..?" he's shy to ask, but never disappointed when you immediately agree and guide him to the milking machine.

Rengoku:

• Gyomei and him met you last. you were supposed to check on the livestock, having walked towards him because you spotted Gyomei near.

• Rengoku sat up, head poking out of the hay to get a sight of the new farmer. he immediately liked you, you looked like a nice person with a big heart, albeit a bit shy.

• he has a habit of exploring, often forcing you to search for him. somehow you'll always find him sitting somewhere on the meadow, doing whatever seems fit to him.

• how they behave when it's time for milking: he's up for it, often already waiting near the milk machine so you have an easier job. it's the least he could do. he doesn't complain about the machine, but a few words and a laugh always signaled when he was nearly out of milk.

"i think that's ha- i thinks that's enough.." it doesn't take long for him to be freed of the pump. he tries to keep himself from whining, overplaying it with one of his laughs, but the sight always makes you quietly laugh.

Sanemi:

• you met him a few minutes before Giyuu. he is truly one of the more tiring cow hybrids. he takes pride in his being and presents himself as a strong bull if you were to ask.

• he had ignored you at the start because, why should he give you attention? you were a mere human - fragile and weak. and-

• and when you pulled on his tail, making him yelp and turn around with wide eyes, you suddenly looked much stronger in his eyes. it was milking time and he had ignored you, that was your revenge.

• how they behave when it's time for milking: he'll trot after you like you're about to give him a punishment. you swear he doesn't stop complaining about the pump, but it's surprisingly easy to put it on him.

"this stupid thing should be thrown away. there's no need to-" will give you a glare and a groan, you turned the pump on without a warning.

Giyuu:

• he had spotted you before you had spotted him. he had watched your first interaction with Sanemi, not surprised when the other male walked away after a few minutes.

• he just didn't expect you to see him a moment later, walking towards him with a smile. he wasn't a social man, but he quickly became smitten with you when he learned who you were

• nice and beautiful. smart as well and you treated him so kindly - almost as nice as a mate. he'll quietly stay near you from time to time, ready to help but too silent to say anything. the day you asked him for help just made him more fond of you.

• how they behave when it's time for milking: he doesn't complain and lets you guide him towards the machine calmly. he tries to stay silent until the pump has finished, but his small moans and grunts signal that he's near the end with his production.

"are.. are we finished..?" he almost looked disappointed when you took the pump off his cock, he could do more for you! but you know it's enough from the way his eyes almost looked a bit clouded over, ears twitching when he grew overstimulated by the pump.

Gyomei:

• if it hadn't been for his size, you would've met him last. he was more silent than the other hybrids on the farm, but his presence seemingly was enough to establish some kind of respect for him.

• you knew that he was blind from the information that was stored about the different cows, but you nearly wouldn't have been able to tell by his confident stance.

• he probably spent a long time on the farm, now knowing it like the back of his hand. in addition, he liked following you around, carrying heavy objects for you, because he knew you weren't as strong as the hybrids on the farm.

• how they behave when it's time for milking: he's probably the calmest out of them all. he know what's about to happen and doesn't see a problem, you're doing your job and you do it good for them all. he doesn't complain either, only small shudders indicating that he has had enough time on the pump.

"you're good, Gyomei! you can go back to the others now." you smile, seeing the man slowly stand up. if you hadn't known him so good, you wouldn't have noticed that he's a bit slower after milking sessions.

"do you need help?" you were almost surprised by his offer, but seeing the tall hybrid tower over you made you smile. you wouldn't mind help when it was from someone like him.

[dwaekkicidal]

pussyplay with channie????? like taping and slapping??? oh god

this plagued me since the second i saw it earlier today so i had to write something for it or else i'd explode.

edit; i was rereading this and realized that you mightve meant taping as in (tape) and not tapping LMFAO if thats what u wanted lmk and i’ll write you something for that bc i lowkey find that hot😭♥️

~700 words | warnings: fingering (f receiving), pussy slaps/taps, generally mean dom chris icl..., exhibitionism

god Chris and pussy slaps are so MMMMMMMM👹 he's the type to do softer slaps just to tease but hard slaps as a punishment for you misbehaving and/or moving around too much. unless its a day where he's pissed off for whatever reason and you give him the ok to use you. then you're really in for it.

❥ let's say that something went wrong at the studio earlier today; maybe one of his files corrupted and he lost hours worth of progress. i lowkey think he'd be the type to be so angry that he would cry bc he admitted to having anger issues lmao but after that, he's coming home and walking in the door in pure silence. maybe slamming doors subconsciously and/or setting things down aggressively.

❥ and, being the good little toy you are, you pull him into the bedroom and give him the option to either [A] talk about it with you or [B] fuck his anger out using you <3 and who is he to deny that good of an ultimatum???

❥ so he'll get all rough and pin you down to the bed >< almost ripping your clothes as he takes them off. or- better yet, if you have nothing but his shirt on then he's simply pushing your panties to the side. he'll force a few fingers down your throat to wet them and then shove two right into your cunt

❥ he'll finger you soooo meanly and the second you start to squirm too much for his liking or the second your legs try to close, one of those pretty, veiny hands are coming down on your clit >< he might even pull his wet fingers out to slap them across your folds too before plunging them back in

THIS JUST CAME TO MIND BUT IF HE'S ANGRY HE'S DEFINITELY THE TYPE TO SAY SHIT LIKE "This greedy fucking pussy. So tight and can't fit all my fingers in it." *whack* "What am I gonna do with you."

❥ but he's not a complete sadist though, so he'll rub over the area a few times as an apology and maybe give you a kiss or two there. but that's all you're getting <3 because this is about him and for once in his life he's allowing himself to be greedy (🔫), so he's gonna sit there for as long as it takes for his anger to subside (not long but he can and will pretend to be angry just to keep going)

the first way i thought of him tapping your pussy is through your panties ><

❥ maybe you're at an event with him or you're out at dinner with him and the boys. maybe you're just a liiiittle more bratty than usual for whatever reason, maybe you were being rude/a brat the entire way there and now that everyone is sat, you just can't seem to keep your hands to yourself. so when it's <15 minutes into dinner, the appetizers haven't even arrived yet, and he already feels your hands on his thigh? his patience is thrown out the window.

❥ even more so when that hand moves right over the semi-hardon in his jeans and rubs it ever so lightly. then you're stealing his hand and sliding it under the table, to everybody else it looks like you guys are holding hands but trying to do so secretly, so if somebody notices they just smile and wiggle their eyebrows at the "PDA."

❥ but in reality you're sliding that hand between your parting thighs and placing your hand over his, basically instructing him to rub over your pussy through your already thin panties. and those thin panties that seem even thinner by the way your wetness seeps through.

❥ he'll shove his tongue into the skin of his cheek, squeeze his legs together to relieve some tension, and then he's swatting your hand away. he'll spread your folds through the fabric just to tap against your clit meanly. he wont even rub it or give it any other sort of attention; just tapping it softly sometimes then roughly the other. the rough ones make you actually jump/shiver and some of the guys catch on, but he'll just say you're cold.

❥ then he's not stopping until you start to make some noise, either if whines start to come out of your throat or if your breaths turn into low moans. at that point, he'll pat you a singular time and remove his hands. he'll act like nothing happened the rest of the night... until you get home c;