#was not anticipating this to end up as unhinged as it is

[megamindsecretlair]

Hi, beloved! ❤️ Would you be down to write about Terry Richmond using some rope tricks that he learned from his Marine training on reader? 🤭 If not, I completely understand and you’re still amazing !😘

A/N: Forgive me, I know this doesn't technically fit the bill, but this got my mind spinning. Let me know if you want a more faithful response.

Touch Me Like You Care

Pairing: Daddy Dom!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female), fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, spanking, lite bondage, overstimulation, reader is able to be picked up, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, rushing.

Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?

Word Count: 4,475k

AO3 Link

A/N: @planetblaque knows I can deny her nothing!! Whew, everytime I think I can take a break from this man, ya'll pop out with all of these amazing fics! I'm so over the moon to see so much activity. We fr just tossing this man around like a beach ball and I love that for us!!! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You pulled your dresser open and searched for your favorite pair of thigh high socks. Ever since the weather turned, you were back to shivering every two seconds, feeling colder than a witch’s broomstick no matter what you did. 

After a refreshing shower, you opted to dry under your blanket hoodie, feeling the need to retreat from having to be “on” all the time. Navigating the world as a Black woman was fucking exhausting. 

You picked up your phone, scrolling through your latest dirty book. There was a subtle increase in Black led romances that were making you stay up to the wee hours of the morning reading. The latest book was absolutely filthy from your favorite author. The anticipation for this book had been immense, the group chat blowing up with speculations and guesses.

The book was getting better, when the couple who swore they hated each other was about to fuck that tension out since fighting got them nowhere. You squealed, picking up the nearest pair of socks. You tore your gaze away long enough to put your socks on.

You looked around the room for your blanket hoodie. It was sitting on the famous chair, piled on top of a mountain of clothing that was near toppling over. You grabbed the hoodie and then checked in on your phone. 

Oh, the tension. The passion. It just ate you up inside when the characters got to that part. Confessing their love in drunken confessions or in the middle of an argument. Ouee, your body was on fire just thinking about it. Your pussy clenching at the details. The rich words creating a movie in your mind’s eye.

Abandoning your hoodie, you laid across the bed and decided to air dry. With the way this book was going, you might need a second shower. You rested your head on your closed fist and let your mind drift, picturing the scene.

You didn’t hear when your boyfriend called your name after he arrived home. Or how his heavy footfalls padded down the hallway to your bedroom. Or how he called your name again when he stood in the doorway. You didn’t hear the subtle camera click as a picture was taken.

Somewhere between the fifth and…counting?... sex scene, you ended up on your tummy, legs high behind you, tapping your socked feet together. You were literally kicking your feet as the characters kept telling each other that they hated each other as they were clutching onto each other for dear life. 

You sighed. You simply ate this shit up. You were already mentally typing up your notes for your review on Goodreads. Ouee, maybe you should start keeping a side notebook. Just to jot down bullet points so your scatterbrained mind didn’t forget a single detail. 

Fingers reached across your ass and you yelped, looking behind you ready to scream. Terry stood behind you, his head tilted and a smirk on his luscious face. You choked out a laugh, rolling to one side so you could look at him better. 

He looked damn good in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Terry slid his fingers absently across your bare ass, tracing the globes up and down. Your body shivered, pussy clenching with need. You gazed at your man. At the smooth planes and lines of his face, the cut of jaw, those big pink lips. 

“You didn’t hear me calling you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Sorry,” you said, giving him a cutesy grin. 

His lips twitched but he didn’t let himself smile. “You’re not cute. You have to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “Though to be fair, the only man getting in here is you.”

“Mhm,” he said, nodding his own head. “You reading your dirty books?” 

“Yes! You remember my favorite author?” You asked. 

Terry nodded, hiking his eyebrow up as he encouraged you to tell him all about your favorite author. And the book you were currently reading. “And I just got to the good part,” you said.

Terry chuckled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. He trailed his fingers between your legs as he moved away and you gasped. For two reasons. On the one hand, Terry’s hands on you always instantly put you in the mood. With your pussy already wet, you were thinking it was a good time for a break. 

On the other hand, you forgot that you had taken off your gifts from him while you showered. It was the only time you were allowed to do so. You meant to put the ankle and thigh bracelet back on when you lotioned up but plum forgot.

Terry stopped and you could feel his stare. It burned in the back of your head. Your heart thumped in your chest. You had no idea what he was going to do.

“Baby,” Terry’s deep timbre was a physical caress down your spine. You stretched your back and bit your lip. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said, pitching your voice higher. 

“Where are your bracelets?” He rubbed his thumb across your thick thigh. The weight of those words pressed down on you, making you want to retreat in your mind. You began to pant, feeling out of sorts. You were so turned on you could barely breathe. But you were also worried about what kind of punishment you were about to receive. 

“I just showered,” you said. You rolled so that you could look at his pretty face. To at least try to gauge where his mind went. Terry stopped you by wrapping his hand around your thigh. 

“I believe you. But you’re out of the shower now,” he said. 

“I really forgot this time,” you said. 

Terry sighed, the sound like a coin drop in an empty room. “You know what we have to do now, right?” He asked.

“You sure I can’t bargain out of this one? I can be pretty cute, you said so,” you said. 

“Up,” he said, his calm voice making matters worse. You may as well have been pleading your case to a brick wall. There was no changing his mind.

You got to your knees and then flipped over, scooting to the edge of the bed. Terry rolled his shoulders as he moved to your closet. He pulled a pine green box down from the top shelf. 

He placed the large, repurposed gift box on your dresser and opened it. Cheery snowmen looked at you from the painted edges as Terry rummaged around. He drew out a pair of leather cuffs and crossed over to you.

You pouted at him as he strapped the cuffs to your wrists. There was a small golden link between them keeping it connected and not giving you much room to escape. You tested the pull on it as you tried to separate your wrists. No dice. 

Terry grabbed the link and pulled you into a standing position. He sighed deeply, his voice a rumbling thunder behind it with a hum as he stared you down. “I had plans to treat you so well when I got back,” he said. 

“Fuck,” you said, the curse flying fast. You rubbed your thighs together, staring up into his pretty colorful eyes. Every time you looked at them, they were a different color. You loved to see the changes, especially this up close. His eyes went more brown when he was like this, when he’d sunk into that role of being in charge. Of being protective. 

He kissed your cheek, softly, reverently, his juicy lips leaving a small wet spot behind. He moved down to your lips, not quite kissing you. He hummed and smirked. “Whatever happens, just know that I love you, okay?” 

“Terry,” you huffed. His name was a plea and a curse all in one. You didn’t know what was worse. Knowing the torture was coming or having to live through it. Your thighs were on fire, burning with the need to have him between them. 

He pulled you closer by the cuffs, kissing you completely this time. He brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, hands warm. You licked his lips and he moaned. “Nice try,” he said against your lips. 

He said that, but you stepped closer, rubbing yourself against his growing bulge. He chuckled, letting you, looking down while you rubbed on him. He grinned and then grabbed your shoulders, turning you around. He pushed you down. You let out a soft oomph, flopping onto the bed. 

He grabbed your hips, pushing you further up your big ass bed. He positioned you how he wanted, close to the edge, but not so close that he didn’t have free range behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you could only hear him moving around behind you.

It sounded like he was rummaging through the goody box again. You sighed. Digging your toes into the bed. “Start reading,” he commanded, voice sharp.

How the hell were you supposed to read anything? You hesitated, looking at your phone. There was no way you’d be able to concentrate and he knew that. 

“Baby,” you said and licked your lips. 

Terry said nothing and again, you felt his gaze bearing down on you. You whimpered as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and swiping back to your phone. You began reading aloud, reading about the sex scene you were in the middle of. 

Reading it aloud to Terry, picturing him as the main male character, you were miserably wet. Dripping practically. You sighed, thinking of your ruined bed. You’d have to spend tonight doing laundry. 

Terry’s massive hand slapped across your ass, the recoil loud enough to rival a gunshot. You squealed, falling forward onto the bed. Heat bloomed between your thighs, warming up your core to a dangerous level. 

It still really fucking hurt though. Your ass stung and you swore that you could feel aftershocks of his hand, slapping across your ass over and over. “Fuck, fuck!” You yelled out. 

“Keep reading,” he said. 

You got back to your knees and arched your back like he positioned you in before. You returned to reading out loud, pussy throbbing at the way the words made you feel. You got to an explicit part when Terry’s hands came back down. He smacked your ass a handful more times, covering a wide area and making your ass light up like a Christmas tree.

Tears welled in your eyes from the pain and the pleasure. It was too much stimulation. “Please, please, fuck me. I can’t take it,” you whimpered. The words on your phone swam in your vision as your body contracted with shivers. Both from the radiating waves of heat and the burn low in your belly. 

Terry rubbed his hands across your ass and you screamed, kneeling away from his hands. Wherever he touched, your ass sang with pain. “Are you going to remember to put your bracelets on?” 

You nodded. “Yes, I swear,” you said. 

Terry shoved his fingers between your legs, plunging right up your pussy. You collapsed onto the bed, twitching. “Mhm, I didn’t give you permission to cum,” he said. 

“Daddy, pleaseeee,” you pleaded, lower belly twinging with the pain of fighting off your orgasm. 

“You can get wetter than this, baby,” he said. 

“I can’t,” you said, drool seeping into the navy covers beneath you. Your face was smashed into the bed, no way to hold yourself up while his fingers stroked your walls. The loud squelching of your pussy, wet because of him, made you clench around his fingers and moan. 

He placed his free hand on your ass, giving you the dual sensation of sweet torture and cruel relief. He moved his fingers faster, stretching you out with his long, thick fingers. You rode yourself on his fingers, throwing it back and he moaned. He smacked your ass more lightly this time, more in encouragement than anything else. 

“Please let me cum. Please let me cum,” you said, legs twitching. You couldn’t hold off any longer. 

Terry leaned down over your body, placing his lips as close to your ear as he could get it. “Nahhh,” he said slowly, a subtle rasp in his voice. You bit your lip and rode him harder, showing him that you needed more. “Gotta earn that shit.” 

You sobbed into your bed, tears streaming freely. You were about to explode. Come undone at the seams. “Daddy, please. Pleaaseee. Pleaaasseeee, ouee, pleeasseee,” you moaned, desperately riding his fingers. 

“You know what Daddy needs,” he said. 

Tears leaked freely, mixing with the drool and pooling onto the covers. Your mind turned to mush, no longer able to keep reading. Your moans were loud and near screaming. Your throat raw with the effort. Your essence flooded his fingers and he hummed in satisfaction. 

“There’s my good girl,” he purred. He suddenly flipped you over, not giving you a chance to work with him. He was too impatient, too needy, too rough as he positioned you on your back. He pushed your arms above your head, giving you a look. You planted your hands above your head and knew better to move them. 

It pushed your breasts up, giving him a total view of your chest. He groaned, eyes tracking to your pert nipples. Terry folded you in half, scooting his thighs beneath your back, holding you spread open for him. 

He placed soft kisses to your wet pussy, lips smacking from your juices. “Baby, I can’t hold it no more,” you said.

“You’re gonna hold it because Daddy told you to,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. You whimpered, whined, trying to breathe through being folded like a pretzel. 

Your toes brushed against the bed with every rocking motion from Terry as he got himself comfortable. He continued kissing your pussy, stopping to look back and stare at your pussy. His lips began to glisten with your essence. 

You groaned, a primal, possessive side of you jumping out. You marked your claim. It was your juices on him. Your essence feeding him. 

“Daddy, please,” you cried out. From this position, you saw his face perfectly. He stared at your pussy like a man possessed. Like a greedy man with the richest treasure in the world. Your heart softened just as your pussy throbbed. 

Terry smirked. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy. She miss me?” He asked. As if you hadn’t gone two and half rounds when you woke up this morning. As if he wasn’t driving you insane nearly every time you got within two feet of each other. 

“Yes, Daddy, she missed you,” you moaned. 

“Yeah? She gon’ be good and cum when I say?” He asked. He stared at you from beneath his long eyelashes framing his stormy blue eyes while his tongue rolled out of his mouth. He used the tip of his tongue to search through your soaked curls, separate your pussy lips, and flick across that little bundle of nerves. 

“Ouee, shit,” you moaned. Sweat beaded on your forehead. Your heart beat so loudly, it was a miracle he couldn’t hear it. You huffed, watching his tongue work around your clit. Feeling it was even better. His breath was hot across your pussy, making your breaths stutter in your chest.

His lips followed his tongue, going deeper, playing with the rim of your entrance before dipping his tongue inside you. You cried out, belly fluttering. You moved your hands and Terry’s eyes narrowed. 

Fresh tears leaked from your eyes, dripping down the side of your face. “Pleasseee,” you begged. 

“You’re doing so well, already,” he moaned. He sped up, licking you, eating you, devouring you as he lapped at your pussy. Fresh essence dripped out of you and he licked that up too. He moaned, burying his nose and face into your pussy. He ate like a man starved. Sloppily. Messily. 

“Oue, fuck, ouee,” you screamed.

Terry moved closer, like he was trying to shove his whole face inside of you. His plush lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. 

“Oh fuck! Terry! Terry!” You screamed. Your body began twitching. The orgasm you staved off was coming whether you wanted it to or not. Terry stopped altogether, suspending your body in the midpoint between denial and reprieve. 

Your eyes rolled lazily to him, panting, huffing, body feeling like you had been tossed into a barbeque pit. “T-T-”

Terry tilted his head, tongue flat against your clit. You throbbed and pulsed on his tongue but he didn’t move. Your body retreated from the edge in slow increments, relaxing against him. 

You blinked at him, no longer able to communicate a single thought. Terry’s eyes gleamed with sick pleasure. He hummed, moving his tongue against your clit once more. He brought you to the edge and then denied you the rush of pleasure at the last minute. He did it one more time, letting you relax and then bringing you back to the precipice. 

Your belly cramped so bad. Your mouth stopped working. You couldn’t do anything but pathetically moan as he ate his fill. Your toes brushed against the bed again as he leaned back far enough.

“She too tired now?” He asked.

You shook your head. Furthest thing from it. Terry smirked. “You nice and dumb for me, baby?” He asked. He gave you teasing little licks. You hissed and moaned, eyes aching from how hard you closed them from the torture. 

“Answer me when I’m talking to you,” Terry said, smacking your ass for good measure. It woke you from the fog long enough to nod. 

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said. 

Terry grinned and then relented, giving in and eating you with a renewed fervor. “You can cum now, baby,” he moaned into your pussy. His tongue and lips teased your clit. His fingers dipped back inside your entrance, coaxing that sweet, sweet orgasm out of you.

You screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Or hell, maybe you joined them. Lights burst behind your eyelids as you came with so much force, you couldn’t breathe. Your pussy ached and throbbed, thighs shaking against Terry’s face as he teased you throughout the whole ride. 

He slowed down as he sensed that you were coming down, drawing out his teasing licks and kisses to your pussy. He pulled back and your essence dripped from his face. He looked like he went swimming in your pussy. His entire jaw was covered, shiny and wet. You wish you could take a picture of him like this.

A long spit chain connected you to him and he moaned, ending on a hiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ pussy,” he huffed as he regained his own breathing. “Turn that ass over.”

Terry lowered you to the bed while he hopped off. He made quick work of his clothes, his huffs and puffs the only indication of how badly he was rushing. You were just a noodle, watching him reveal inches of his bronze skin, the veins in his biceps, the tattoos on his arms.

You traced the tattoos more times than you could count, lips twitching with the urge to do so now. His thighs were equally delicious. As big as tree trunks, a light dusting of hair. And that ass. He turned to the side briefly so he could free his long legs from his underwear and sweats. 

“You are so damn pretty,” you mumbled. 

Terry chuckled. You didn’t think he heard you. “That’s my line,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure I told you what you need to be doing.” 

You couldn’t flip over fast enough, giggling. He’d just bent you over and ate you so well, your leg was still wobbly and shaky. Yet you yearned for more. Yearned for his body surrounding you, protecting you, caging you in his embrace. You were greedy. Needing, wanting, craving more. 

Terry descended onto the bed, roughly grabbing your hips and sliding inside with a savage thrust. 

“Oueeee, SHIT, Daddy!” You screamed. He slid out and then slid back in, coating his long dick with your essence. 

“Cream this shit,” he moaned, sliding inside faster. His massive hands gripped your hips and pulled you onto his punishing dick, ramming into you. “Made for me. You were made for me, weren’t you?” He asked.

“Yes, Daddy, I was made for you,” you moaned. He stretched you beautifully, slamming into you just as rough as you wanted. As you needed. 

“Just a pretty, tight hole for me to abuse whenever I want?” He asked.

You sobbed, tears gathering in your eyes once more. He hit that magical spot inside of you, the spot only he could reach. No other man, not even your toys, could hit that spot with such precision. With accuracy. He was just as much made for you. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned, voice muffled by the covers. The bed dipped as Terry leaned over, planting a fist beside your head to hold up his weight. He used his other hand to grab a handful of braids and yank, baring your throat to him. 

“I wish you could see how creamy you are. Pretty little ring on my dick. So nice and wet,” he cooed into your ear. He pulled your head back so that he could kiss you. His face smelled like you. You moaned and clenched around his dick. He hissed and then growled in your ear. 

“Filling me so deep, Daddy,” you moaned. “So fuckin’ deep, ohmygoood.”

Terry chuckled. He shifted his hips and drove in deeper, possibly down to his base, as he fucked you into the mattress. Your hands stretched out in front of you, gripping onto the covers just trying to meet his thrusts. 

“Untie me, Daddy. Let me feel you,” you begged. 

Terry responded by kissing you, tongue licking your lips. You opened your mouth and played with his tongue. His beautiful, amazing tongue that was capable of the sweetest words and the filthiest things. 

“You don’t know how to behave when you’re free,” he said against your cheek. 

“I’ll behave, I promise,” you whispered. 

Terry moaned, dick throbbing inside you. “I want to believe you,” he said. 

He kept up his brutal, savage thrusts, digging into you and making your belly clench. “Pleasse, Daddy. I want to feel you,” you moaned. 

“All you need to do is feel this dick, baby. Feel how much you mean to me. How much I want to take care of you,” he said.

Each thrust felt like it was going straight to your heart. There was no way you were still flooding his dick. Still making it easier for him to glide and thrust and stroke so far inside you, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. 

“Fuck me so good. So well,” you moaned. 

Terry gripped your hips and then pulled you down harder, faster, rougher. You yelped and squealed, stretched out on the bed, trying to escape. Terry yanked you back, fingers digging into your skin harder. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you moaned. Your thighs trembled from trying to hold yourself up from his hold. He kept you in place, filling you, fucking you good and deep. Your eyes rolled back into your head. But still, your body propelled you forward. Both because of his thrusts and because you just couldn’t take any more. All the edging from earlier had you spent. 

“Sit that ass up,” he panted, breaths falling across your damp back. 

“C-Can’t,” you stuttered. 

Terry grunted and pulled you by the hair until you were on your knees. He sat on his haunches, continuing to pound inside you. 

“You keep telling me what you can’t do. But all this time you been takin’ this dick and doing what Daddy tell you to. Do you know how proud I am of you? So pretty when you listen,” he moaned. 

“Fuck, Daddy, please,” you moaned. 

Terry grabbed your arms and pulled it until the cuffs went over his head. It made you thrust out your chest and he grabbed your titties, playing with your sensitive nipples. He pinched and plucked as he fucked you, kissing your neck and biting your shoulder. 

Your pussy made smacking noises on his dick, sounding thick and creamy. You moans mingled in the room, mixing with the pound of the headboard against the wall. You were constantly getting little dents in it from the force of your lovemaking. It was too much. You tried to sit on his lap but he grunted.  “Mhm,” he said, pulling you into a kneeling position one more time. 

“If I gotta stand you up one more time, you ain’t gon’ like it,” he snapped. 

You whimpered and whined but concentrated on holding yourself up. His dick slammed into your walls while he kissed your neck. One hand gripped your titty and squeezed while his other hand searched lower, rubbing two fingers against your pussy. 

You screamed out, unable to hold off this one. It gobbled you up with the force of it. Tearing you down to your roots, breaking you down to your center, to the very last atom that makes you you. You cried out, shaking, twitching. 

Your vision turned black and your right ear rung with a tinny bell as you came and came in rolling waves. One triggered another for an extended orgasm, body jerking uncontrollably. 

“Cum so pretty,” he said. “You ready for this nut?” 

You could only manage a nod as he rolled his shoulders and moaned in your ear while he came, unloading a thick load of cum inside of you. 

There was no more air in your lungs enough to moan. You could only sigh as he warmed you up from the inside, soaking your walls with his cum. Nothing leaked out as he continued to stroke into you.

Your body arched as he stilled, buried to the hilt. He kissed your neck, your cheek, your jaw. He brought the fingers he used to play with your clit up to your mouth and bid you to suck. 

“Taste that?” He asked.

You nodded. Too spent, too tired, to fucked out to do anything else but yawn. Terry chuckled, and slipped out. His cum leaked out with him, sliding down your leg and dripping onto the bed. 

“Sleepy,” you mumbled.

“I know, baby. But let’s run you a bath first and I’ll change these sheets,” he said. He lowered your arms from his neck and then laid you on your side. He gave you a kiss on your forehead. 

“Don’t let me catch you without your bracelets again,” he said.

“Yes, Big Daddy,” you yawned, stretching out onto the bed to await his tender, loving aftercare.

WHEW. If you need more like I do, here ya gooo! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[heareriissmau]

title: what happened in kyoto? pairing: uraraka ochako x bakugo katsuki word count: 4,034 genre: fluff, comedy, a bit mystery, quirk accident synopsis: in which uravity is entangled in a dating rumor with great explosion murder god dynamight, who she apparently met secretly in kyoto. ochako doesn't remember anything, so katsuki helps her remember.

rumors. the bane of ochako's existence. well, not really. though, she does have a fair share of crazy rumors surrounding her since her first few months as a public figure. that she came from a wealthy family; absolutely bonkers. that she was the first woman to go to the moon; conspiracy theory at most but a nice try at least. that she floated mt. lady in her giant form and when she released her, it quaked the earth's core so bad it led to a tsunami.

point is rumors always had been strange.

as strange as this article shoved into her face via mina's phone in the middle of lunch break. ochako had to squint and pull herself back from the phone to focus her sight on the led screen.

DYNAVITY CONFIRMED?: PRO-HEROES DYNAMIGHT AND URAVITY SPOTTED LEAVING SAME APARTMENT IN KYOTO

her eyes squinted even further by the absurdity of it all.

"it's trending, ochako!" mina exclaims, unapologetically amused by the whole thing. the phone now in her hands, ochako slides the window to the trending page and sees a handful of words trending on twitter related to this specific article.

OCHAKO URARAKA

BAKUGO KATSUKI

URAVITY

DYNAMIGHT

COUPLE GOALS

oh. ochako's favorite singer is trending, too. did something happen-

"why were you in the same apartment together?!"

"mina, we haven't seen bakugo in three months. he's europe, remember?" ochako says matter-of-factly, further investigating updates about her favorite singer. turns out it was a pre-release announcement, which she already knew. she returns the phone. "how in the world could i possibly meet up with him? and in kyoto?"

her argument was true. a team was assigned for a project mission a few months back, led by katsuki. it was a volunteer type of project, which ochako obviously didn't sign up for. her quirk is enough to give her enough nausea, let alone taking planes to go to the other side of the world. plus, momo, tsuyu, tooru, kyouka, denki, shoto, and mezo already put their names on the roster before ochako thought about it.

last time she checked their (class turned into) agency group chat, their mission had already finished weeks ago. denki and the others insisted on having some more fun before going back to japan, so maybe there's a part of ochako that's a bit envious she didn't join.

let's track back. she has not seen bakugo and company for almost four months now, however ochako forgets the person she was talking to is mina. "i don't know? maybe you two were actually in a secret relationship we had no idea about." mina humors herself, knowing full well the rumor is stupid but insists on annoying ochako anyway.

"i would love for you to let me eat my lunch in peace."

"girl, this rumor is on rampage. what's peace anymore once you step out of this agency?"

"i'll just deny it."

"with the help of who? your boss?"

"uh? yeah?"

"ochako... bakugo is our boss."

ochako pinches the bridge of her nose, staring at her untouched bento box. "never mind then. my other boss."

then said other boss spawning inside the breakroom like this is a whole comedy skit purposefully hurting ochako's overworked brain. "europe team is coming home tonight," izuku announced to the girls with a bright smile on his face. he takes the seat across ochako to begin his lunch break.

"must be exciting to see your boyfriend after a long while, uraraka," he teased.

"we are not turning this into a bit." ochako considers clocking out immediately and floating herself into space.

"where the hell did the person get this picture from anyway?" mina zooms in the picture, observing the masked and capped heads of the rumored couple. noting that the height difference is similar to ochako's and katsuki's. "is somebody out to get you, ochako?"

ochako raked her mind for any possibility she's been in kyoto with katsuki. "have i ever been to kyoto, actually?"

izuku looks back at her and swallows the katsudon down. "don't look at me like i know where you are all the time."

"you're supposed to be my best friend in this situation."

"i am your best friend." izuku shrugs, "but whatever happens in kyoto, stays in kyoto, i guess," and casually sends mina into hysterics.

ochako misses when izuku was a shy, stupid mess around her.

⸻

her patrol ends a lot peacefully than anticipated. not that she wanted it to happen, but she was fully expecting to have reporters shoving themselves into her personal space and asking unwanted questions.

maybe the rumor wasn't as big as social media platforms made it out to be? it wasn't a bad assumption until eijiro and hanta bombarded her with an interrogation halfway through her patrol because they apparently heard about the rumors through fans?

and they resorted to asking her instead because katsuki was leaving them on seen? ochako had to be honest with them. it might be true that it was her and katsuki in that picture (because it really did look like them but that's besides the point), but they are definitely not dating.

she doesn't remember being affiliated with katsuki in any other way aside from being friends, so it couldn't be anything serious.

the image was taken ages ago, too (cleared up by a thread under that very tweet, which doesn't really help anything). only hilariously posted today for some reason. people were that bored, ochako guesses.

she shuts her locker after changing to her casual clothes. hell class agency wasn't strict with dress code so it helps to go back to a regular person after hero work, or at least what the girls demanded izuku and katsuki to implement as one of the house rules during the making of their agency.

getting ready to go back to her apartment, ochako checks her phone for updates on their group chat. it seems the europe team is back, and the girls initiated a welcome home party at mina's place. ochako now knows whose bed she'll be crashing onto for the night.

"if it isn't my rumored girlfriend."

not his. that's for sure.

ochako stumbles upon katsuki at the main hall on her way to the elevator. "what are you doing here?" she asked. it's 6pm, an hour past since she clocked out for her second to the last shift of the week.

the hall is eerily quiet with them being the only people sucking the oxygen in the entire room. she hadn't been expecting to see him again this early. as much as ochako was aware, europe team didn't need to head to the agency once touched down to japan. they're very much permitted to go straight to a three-day break before adjusting back to their usual shifts. plus, there's a party going on.

then again, katsuki wasn't a party person. leave it to eijiro to probably pop out of nowhere and drag his ass to mina's apartment. except eijiro already clocked out ages ago.

katsuki deadpans, "not even a welcome back? you wound your boyfriend, cheeks."

ochako stared at him like she's looking at a literal alien, whose head was shaped like a goddamn toe.

katsuki snorts and lifts up a hand to pinch her cheek. ochako wonders if europe air infected his brain somehow, "welcome back to japan, i guess. have tsu and tooru headed home already?" she notices he arrived at the office empty-handed. he could've gone straight to the office after dropping off his baggage at his apartment. if it seemed he wasn't here for izuku nor eijiro, what is he doing here then?

"yeah, off to pinky's." he stuffs both his hands inside the front pockets of his comfy-looking black hoodie. wait, since when did he steal her backpack and sling it over his shoulder? "you going home? let's grab dinner. i'm starving."

so, this is happening now.

they sat down in a pub, a few blocks near the office. as suggested by ochako since katsuki asked her what kind of food she wanted. mapo tofu would totally hit the spot right now, and it just so happened the guy who asked her out was craving the same thing.

she opened the conversation about the type of food they had overseas as they waited for their orders. ochako knew katsuki wasn't usually fond of small talk, but it surprised her to see him actively respond to any curiousity she had about their trip.

"y'know, if you're this curious, you should'a tagged along," he raises an eyebrow at her, while she furrows her brows and bashfully looks elsewhere. "there's always a next time."

"right."

for any average person, this will be considered as a date. not because it's a man and a woman sitting at the same booth together. no, no, no. but because, of all seats available, katsuki chose the one right next to ochako. this woman even remembers the way this man pushed the cushioned, wooden chair a bit closer to her before he sat down. she could've been hallucinating too, however, the way their shoulders always collided was enough to confirm she wasn't hallucinating.

is this a date? god, please give ochako an answer right now.

but what's gonna happen once she finds out it is a date?

"ain'tcha a bit stiff over there?" she jumps at katsuki's remark. her eyes landed on his on reflex, and she found him in a white oversized shirt that hung over his shoulders snugly. that hoodie looked good on him, dang. it's a bit hot in this pub, considering it's a public location. maybe that's what pub stands for?

she's so famished it's distracting. "you look nice."

... ochako.

seemed to be having way too much fun, katsuki snorted a laugh and turned away from her. ochako was clearly tired as she slumped in her chair and pouted at his reaction. "for someone who got off an airplane, you're awfully energetic."

"my bad." he composes himself and wipes a tear. "sorry 'bout that, cheeks.

"just missed you, is all."

...

...

"wh-"

"two orders of mapo tofu-"

ochako remembers how to breathe.

now what in the world just happened?

the waiter placed the orders on their table as ochako examined her situation. look, between friends, saying you missed them is normal. missing your friends is normal. is she friends with katsuki? yes. does she also miss katsuki? yes. but has katsuki ever been open with his emotions like this? no. has he ever said to anyone, anyone at all, that he missed them? no. was ochako the first one (at least of her knowledge) to be told by katsuki that he missed her?

yes.

alright. this has got to be a date.

he pushes a plate of mochi before her. she looks up at him. "that's yours," katsuki says, "my treat today."

'today'??????????

ochako is on a fucking date.

"thanks." she sends herself back to earth. "guess i owe you one?" and flirts? she guessed?

"sure, but i'll pick where to go next," the fucker smirks at her.

"not somewhere expensive, though. i'm saving up." this is going well.

"alright. how you feel 'bout the ramen shop across the street?"

"okay."

"then my turn after."

"have something in mind?"

"there's this garbage movie i wanna see. let's shit on it."

ochako bites her lip from smiling like an idiot, "sounds like a fun date," and slips on her words.

"'course it is. i'm fucking amazing at planning anything."

she turned to him as he gulped his glass of water. he set it down with a smirk.

"even dates."

it's been over thirty minutes and ochako finds it hard to wrap around her head that she's having dinner with katsuki and smoothly planning their next after-shift dates. no. how in the world did the conversation lead to this anyway?

has katsuki bakugo always been this smooth?

"you need to stop hanging out with kaminari," she blurts out in disbelief and she's pretty sure she's a lot pinker than usual. the man dared to laugh at her.

"i take it's working."

no.

what's working?

what's going on?!

what the hell is this tension brewing between them right now?

ochako spiralled over dinner, until she remembered the elephant in the room. her eyes widened after recalling whatever happened at lunch break. katsuki was so good at flirting that it slipped her mind that these two have a dating rumor and the next thing he does after seeing her is flirt with her?!

all this was happening way too organically!

"kyoto?!" she shouts, grabbing his shoulder for dear life. "have i ever been to kyoto?"

i nEvEr BeEn To OoVoO JaVeR- WHAT A STUPID QUESTION, OCHAKO!

"i'm not your stalker, cheeks. how in hell would i know all the places you've been?" the woman inwardly smacks herself in the face, and she does not like how amused her literal boss looked.

oh, my god. this is also her boss. jesus fucking chr-

"why?" ochako wished he would keep his mouth shut for a hot minute and let her think. "wanna go there, again?"

her eyes widened the size of saucers at his question. the bowl of mapo tofu in front of her now forgotten. "you know something?"

katsuki blinked. ochako sputtered as he turned his whole body in her direction. he looked so serious for her liking that she wanted to turn back time to three minutes ago when they were play-flirting.

"i'm sorry. it's just the picture in the post looked real and mina and deku sounded so sure it was us on there. also, deku was cryptic all of a sudden. i really have no idea if i ever been to kyoto. let alone being there with you. you know, because i don't think we hang out that often? just the two of us? this is the first time i hung out with you actually-"

she feels a gentle squeeze on her right hand over the table and sees it's katsuki's hand. "you're blabbering like a machine gun. calm down."

being told to calm down by katsuki bakugo sure is something.

"i had a dream like this before." ochako just lets herself blabber at this point.

"what?" he lets go of her hand.

"you being nice to me."

katsuki had to laugh. "you fucking dream 'bout me?"

ochako shifts in her seat and goes back to her food. she needs that mochi now. "except you're nice to me. it's hard to think it's actually you, or it being a dream since it sounds nightmare-ish."

he snorts and settles his arm around her chair behind her. she notices he already finished eating. ugh, men. "harsh. you should be aware of how much i tolerate you, cheeks.

"it's obvious how sweet i am to you."

ochako choked on her food, which merits a laugh from katsuki. it's literally happening again. there should be something that shifted in europe. there has to be. was he lobotomized?

"can we go back to kyoto, please?"

"pleading now? that's cute, but i just got out of a plane. can't afford another god-forsaken trip."

"that's not what i meant!"

katsuki roars in laughter much to her embarrassment. the pair have now caught the attention of the other patrons of the pub, recognizing the two heroes. hearing various whispers made ochako uncomfortable and had the whim to take her mochi to-go while forcing katsuki to get the bill already.

it would've been an actual nightmare if reporters went and ambushed them.

so here they were. aimlessly walking down the pavement, side-by-side. so close they might as well hold hands. perhaps not aimlessly as ochako notices this is the way to her apartment. he's walking her home.

"lemme just get it outta the way," katsuki begins. ochako listens.

"ashido posted that picture."

"a-"

"she's the one that took it, too."

ochako was beyond baffled but let him continue. it still didn't explain what happened before, during, and after that photo, but she's sure gonna get mina for whatever this was.

"anyway, listen to what i'm about to say. carefully." katsuki stops in his tracks and avoids her eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. "i ain't gonna repeat all this so your loss if you don't pay attention." ochako could've been hallucinating but she saw the way his ears tinted in red underneath the streetlights. katsuki's blushing.

"our agency went to kyoto for all might's birthday. where'd we get the time to do all that? i don't fucking know," he huffs. "i confessed to you that night we left all might's apartment together.

"how we ended up alone together was kirishima and ashido's 'slick ass' plan. that's how pinky ended up taking a photo of us together. i wasn't plotting to confess to you that night, fyi. it happened anyway." katsuki takes a second to check on ochako's reaction. to put it positively, she's short-circuiting.

that's enough confirmation that he had her full attention. "if you're wonderin' if those two idiots know i confessed to you, they do. izuku, too. for some idiotic reason." her own best friend knew. noted. "the reason you don't remember is you got hit by a kid with the most fucked up quirk i could not make up.

"a selective memory loss quirk."

ochako's fingers grazed through her hair and pulled it from the scalp. there was absolutely no way all of this was true. then again, katsuki is anything but a liar. ochako was actually thankful she got this bomb of information from him. if it were anyone else, she wouldn't believe all of this.

"anything that happened that day? wiped from your brain. even those times we planned anything for all might's birthday."

that's not important anymore. "who was the kid?"

"what?"

"did you find the kid?"

"yea?"

"can this be reversed?" ochako wanted to wipe the kid from the face of the earth but that would mean contrasting everything she fought for in the war during their first year.

"nah," katsuki gently takes her hands off her scalp and smooths her hair. "the kid's a spoiled brat. his parents didn't sign the waiver to reverse his quirk on you so you're stuck not knowing."

"but did i ever give you an answer?" ochako was almost pleading.

a corner of his lips tugged upwards. "no. you didn't."

now ochako hates herself.

"you avoided me the rest of the night."

oh god.

"so bad that you collided with that kid in the hallway and you made the brat incredibly fucking upset, he used his quirk on you. then you were unconscious until the ride back here."

ochako wants to die. "none of you helped me remember?"

"y'think i want to relive and explain to you the most vulnerable moment in my life the following days it happened? i think fucking not!" katsuki was beet red. "do you have any idea how awfully embarrassing that was? confessed, didn't get an answer, got fucking avoided, and cockblocked by a stupid little 8-year-old. all in one night."

ochako realizes something. "is that the reason why you suddenly avoided me for a whole month?" all that and he reverted back to normal around her.

for about a week.

"yea, then i got izuku's help organize the mission on europe because i needed to be away from you."

tears welled in her eyes. "i'm sorry, bakugo."

"it's not your fault, uraraka. it's the situation i hated." he lifts a hand to wipe a tear that escaped down her cheek. he pinches her. "still couldn't stand to look at you without getting mad.

"doesn't change the fact how i missed you a fuckton. i had to be in fucking paris of all places, with that dumbass kaminari makin' smooching noises with his dumbass girlfriend."

ochako was finally smiling. "did you ask mina to post that picture?"

"hell no. that nosy bitch is always up on my business. she demanded i make a move on you yet couldn't wait before i land on japan."

"that sucks. i wanted a private relationship, too."

katsuki smirks a-fucking-gain and leans closer. "what's that supposed to mean?"

fight back, ochako. fight back. "wait, if mina hadn't done all that, would you have never told me anything?" she changes the subject, inching back to keep a platonic distance for now.

she watches him heave out a sigh. "no idea, do I still wanna inform you how much i wanna gobble you up whenever i see you? dunno." maybe that was too much information. then again, this whole conversation had been a surge of stark mad info everyone but ochako knew about.

"i'm not asking for a response," katsuki notices her uneasiness. "i get this is a lot to take in. and you know what? i ain't gonna risk another dumbass accident happening to you.

"just know how much you mean to me."

somehow, the mere fact that katsuki bakugo has been in love with her this entire time and, quite frankly, fumbled hard after confessing might be the most mind-boggling fact of the night.

they shared the silence that engulfed them. ochako wasn't sure what to say. this was the first confession she ever experienced in her life. was he even confessing? was he just letting her know? will she avoid him again after this? was the way he flirted with her earlier did the trick somehow? and then it hit her.

ochako tilts her head, "aren't you supposed to be my boss?" katsuki raises an eyebrow at her sudden question. "yea?"

"this is a weird power dynamic, mr. bakugo."

and this is a weird way to flirt.

"we've been long-time friends before i became your boss, cheeks. the hell are you talkin' about?" ochako giggles and waves a hand at him, before gesturing at him to continue their walk back. "you into stuff like that? didn't know you were kinky, damn."

she hits him.

and slides her hand down to his, slipping her fingers between the gaps of his and keeping her pinky hover. she hopes katsuki can't hear how her heart thumped up her throat from the nerves. "i still have a lot of questions."

he gives her hand a squeeze. "i'll answer 'em."

maybe not from the nerves. she huffs, remembering the goddamn elephant in the sidewalk. "and we need to do something about the rumor mina started." she sees katsuki giving her a look from her peripherals. "you're courting me, okay! i didn't answer yet. plus, i did say i wanna keep my private life quiet.

"but i am interested in you. do i feel the same before i had my memories wiped? i'm not sure. i can't remember," she laughs. "i did miss talking to you when you started avoiding me, and i missed your presence even more when you guys left. so i'm really happy you stopped by the office tonight."

she turns to him with the brightest smile that rivaled the sun and how it reflected it's light at the stars.

"i missed you too, bakugo."

"aw, fuck," katsuki manages as he melts down to a squat on the asphalt, covering his face with one hand with the other still squeezing in ochako's grasp.

"wh- what's wrong?!"

"you're so fucking cute." his voice muffled inside his palm. a tint of red spread all over his face down to his neck and it's all ochako's fault.

her smile widens, "c'mon, get up! i still have work tomorrow." the sky has already gotten pretty dark. it must be so late.

"no. i'll call in sick for you tomorrow." he rises up to his feet and drags her down the street. "lemme intrude your apartment for the night, 'kay?" he looks back at her with a mysterious glint on his eyes and ochako did not like it.

"hUh?!" she pulls back. "no! we're not doing that! and don't just decide my sick leaves on your own!"

"cheeks, i just wanted to squeeze you in my arms. why are you resisting so much?"

she stares at him.

he smirks at her

she frowns.

"pervert."

"FUCK OFF!"

katsuki did nothing more than squeeze ochako inside his arms in her bed that night.

[jamminvroomvroom]

second time around.

ln x fem!reader

in which he’s quite desperate to have a second kid.

staying in my active era! there is honestly no excuse for this one, i just simply couldn’t help myself. it’s porn, yes, there is plot, but it’s just. porn.

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! where do i even begin? smut, more smut, breeding kink (kinda the whole point), choking, overstimulation, general sex acts, public sex, car sex, shower sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of the kid they already have, lando being a little shit, sex somewhere unhinged in the mtc, a brief moment of angst, dom!lando, rough sex? yeah.

3.9k words

take: 1

the season is coming to an end.

somewhere between italy and singapore lando decides he wants another kid.

it’s a warm day in the middle of september when he proposes the idea to you. you’re watching your daughter toddle around the garden, soaking up the last remnants of sunlight before the darkness of autumn encapsulates the warm beams until march.

she giggles, pushing her toys around in the grass. you let her play, lost in her own little world of wonder. lando turns to you, scanning your side profile, watching you watch the little girl. he’s awestruck, enamoured totally by the family he’s created, by the woman he loves. he doesn’t think, he just opens his mouth and let’s loose his big idea.

“want another one?” he cooes, sliding closer across the bench, until he’s nosing at your cheek. kisses are pressed to your puffy face. it’s still early.

at first you think he’s offering you another coffee, so you hold out your almost empty mug to him. you’d been nursing the drink, letting it go cold in the naturally cooler air. he laughs at you, and that’s when you clock what he’s actually asking.

you turn to him, facing each other now. lando looks excited. you wonder if you can find a way to mirror his expression.

“lando…” you start. his face drops at your tone, letting him down easy. “it’s not that i don’t want to, it’s just-“

“i’ll be home more. i’ve worked it all out. if we get to work now, baby will be here around the summer break.”

you mull over his words.

your first baby was a shock to you both, and you didn’t fancy doing that again. you loved lando with every fibre of your being, just as you did your daughter, but being away from him so much in the lead up to her arrival shot every one of your nerves to pieces.

but another baby would be on the agenda eventually - you both desperately wanted to add to your beautiful family - and you supposed that if he’d done the math…

“by get to work now, you mean…?” you cock an eyebrow at him. he lights up like the christmas tree you’d be putting up in a few months.

“she’s going down for her nap soon.” lando smirks, voice edged with that excitement once again.

-

his head is between your legs mere moments after he shuts your bedroom door.

you’d been waiting for him, stripped bare in anticipation. your baby girl would be down for a good few hours, more than enough time for him to draw out everything you had to offer and fill you back up.

his tongue runs over your flesh; he’s messy with it. you’re choking out whimpers as he licks and laps and tugs with his teeth. your pussy clenches around nothing and he notices, sliding his fingers all over where you ache. they’re quickly wet enough to slide inside of you, and he grinds them deep, luring traces of an orgasm into the pit of your belly. it’s familiar, the way he winds you up, and you want him like this every minute of the day.

“getting you ready, honey. gonna get you so fucking ready.” lando is slurring words into your cunt, letting them get lost to your sodden folds. you hear every word perfectly. they make you shake and shake until you’re undone.

when he looks up at you, his mouth is glistening. his fingers are, too. he hates wasting a drop of you, so he laps up the mess you’ve made while he shuffles up the bed. when he’s finally hovering over you, he’s desperate, but you’re worse. you could cry from the urge.

something carnal is taking place; he’s staring into your soul, finishing up the remnants of your taste, and you’re begging with your eyes, hands slinking all over your own body. you must be dripping by now. your body is restless and you raise your hips, inviting him close, deep.

when he thrusts into you, he’s pinning you down into your shared mattress. you’re completely at his mercy and he fucking loves it. you love it more. you go slack underneath him, and he starts a slow grind. he’s not thrusting, not yet, he’s just rolling into you, deeper, deeper, deeper. you feel the first tears threatening to fall. he feels so good, it’s unbearable.

he nudges at your most sensitive spot, over and over and over. you whine carnally and he swallows it, licking into your mouth. his curls tickle your forehead, you’re pressed so close together. he sees the pools in your eyes and then he looses it completely.

hand on your neck for leverage, he starts thrusting, harder and harder, faster than you can ever recall. he knows you can take it, knows how bad you want it, and that thought alone spurs him on. you have the same goals, the same shared instincts. you feel nothing but pure fucking bliss everywhere.

“you want me to fill you up? you want my baby, honey? want me buried nice and deep?” you hear him grunt, but he sounds so far away.

you are lost to the void when you come. you can’t even try and resist, not when you can hear how wet you are, not when you can hear the quiet whimpers he tries to fight at the way your pussy convulses around him. you cannot see anything but the stars in his eyes.

you go limp and he spills, fucking it even further into you. his eyes are trained on where you’re still joined, and where he’s still fucking you. you’d be screaming if not for the hand wrapped around your throat. the most delicious piece of jewellery you own.

lando needs to know he’s gone as deep as he can, that you’ve come as hard as he can make you. he feels unhinged when his fingers find your clit, switching between short spasms of his finger on the nub, and grinding down on it with his palm. you’re both overstimulated, soaked with sweat and other things. you’re gripping his cock so fucking tight that he can’t stop the rush of moans, your name mumbled like a prayer between expletives.

but still, he needs to know it’s deep enough.

an hour later, you can finally move, and you sink deep into the bath.

your head is on his chest, he washes you gently. you wonder if it’ll be a boy or a girl.

-

date night

almost a month passes. no sign of baby number two.

it’s fine, you tell yourself. you tell lando, too. all the more reason to keep practicing.

every opportunity he gets to bury himself to the hilt inside of you is a win in both of your books. he grabs every single one of those opportunities with both hands.

you’re dressed up nice for dinner, little black dress hugging you well. you watch the scenery flick past you. lando’s in the drivers seat, making small talk, his left hand heavy on your bare thigh. you’ve just dropped your daughter off with her grandparents, your mother hugging lando tight. he’d been gone a while.

fingers skim higher up your thigh. you want to let him carry on but this car is new, untainted by his adventurous personality and your willingness to comply. your legs snap shut and you watch him smirk out the corner of your eye.

“later.” you whisper.

his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

“i know. don’t you worry, honey.” he doesn’t sound convincing, no, he sounds like a man with a plan and you dread to think of what he has in store.

the restaurant is tiny. a hole in the wall. it’s intimate, exclusive, slightly extortionate, but lando likes to treat you. you order, and he behaves. you sip wine, and he behaves. you drag your heel up his leg, and still, he behaves. you know something is brewing behind those stormy eyes.

he launches his attack during dessert.

vanilla ice cream hits your tongue when he strikes, leaning back in his chair. his thick neck captures your attention, the dim light accentuating him just right.

“would your prefer we take this to the car or the bathroom? it’s pretty spacious back there, you know.”

lando speaks so casually, and slightly too loudly. your cheeks are aflame.

“lando!” you hiss in warning. you’re sputtering over his boldness, catching some ice cream with your tongue. he watches the way it moves over your lips intently.

“actually, as tempting as the bathroom is, we still need to break in the new car.” lando sounds like he’s talking about the weather, or a shopping list, not the location of your next sexcapade. you swear you see the old lady at the next table over wink at you. “your choice, honey.”

you’re staring daggers at him. he leans in closer, elbows resting on the table and a shit eating grin contorting his pretty face.

“i’ve been gone too long, i need to remember what that pussy feels like.” his voice has dropped an octave but it’s still too loud. you inadvertently grind against the chair. the candle on the table flickers from the force of the shaky breath your expel.

“if you shut up now, you can have me anywhere you want me.” you mumble, bringing your napkin to your lips. the ice cream is melting and you have more important things on your mind.

“i’ll have you anyway, honey. because no matter what happens, we’re gonna go back to the car and you’re gonna crawl into my lap, aren’t you? you’re not gonna be able to help it.” he keeps going and you want the ground to swallow you up. maybe you want to crawl over the table and jump on his lap right here. you fight every natural instinct.

“lando.” you try to scold him again but it comes out breathier, a feeble attempt at shutting him up. it’s hard to be convincing when you want nothing more than for him to bend you over in the middle of this restaurant.

“and after i’ve had you shaking on my lap, i’m gonna fill you up, yeah? you’ve been waiting for weeks, poor thing.”

you usher over the waiter, and ask for the bill.

-

he’s got you home in one piece and all the way up to the shower.

you’re still delirious from the car. he’s still dripping out of you.

he pushes you against the shower screen, your cheek resting on the fogged up plastic. the combination of yours and his first orgasm is enough to slick him up and he slides right back inside of you, as if he’d never left.

your head is spinning, car lights and nail prints in leather seats flashing through your mind.

he’d been right in the restaurant. you’d crawled straight into his lap and he’d been waiting, seat pushed back, cock slapping up against his tanned belly. he’d swiped his fingers through your folds, determining that you were wet enough already, and then you’d sunk straight down on him.

at first he’d just watched you lose control, bouncing and grinding and whining on his lap. you were growing tired when he stepped in, pushing you back against the steering wheel, the angle change making your eyes roll back. you came twice with his fingers on your clit and his other hand holding you down so he could grind up into you. he’d released deep into you, all you could do was shudder, collapsing into his chest.

now, he’s taking you again, the hot water cascading over you both. you’re almost limp, caught between the cold screen and his hot, restless body. this it was three weeks apart does to him, and the urge to claim every part of you is at the forefront of his mind.

you’re writhing. there’s no room to move; he’s pressed so tight against you, breathy moans sounding straight into your ear and you want him impossibly closer. you always missed him so much it hurt, but that pain had increased tenfold lately.

you try to roll your hips back into him, needing him deeper, somehow. you’re so wet and tight around him, and your attempt at moving on him has you clamping down on him.

lando whimpers when he lets go, marking you as his.

he washes your hair and you fall asleep together naked.

-

the fear

lando is due back from qatar.

any minute now, he’ll be walking through the door.

he’s taken a podium, so you are expecting somewhat high spirits, despite the slight issue that had been the sprint race.

a podium is a podium, you’d tried to tell him on the phone late on saturday night. you knew that a podium was never just a podium.

you’re cleaning the kitchen up, your sweet daughter tucked up tight in her bed upstairs. a random playlist is sounding from the speakers and you flit around in just his hoodie. it hits mid thigh and it’s keeping you shielded from the biting october air.

you hear keys in the lock somewhere in the distance. you grin stupidly. god, you always fucking miss him. you turn to face the doorway, eagerly anticipating his face, longing for one of his speciality hugs.

instead, a storm enters your kitchen in the form of your boyfriend.

you raise and eyebrow.

“lando?” you question.

your hips are in his hands before he can answer. he’s walking you backwards until the granite of the counter is digging into your lower back.

“turn around.” his voice is gravelly, commanding. you do as you’re told.

the hoodie is bunched around your waist, your panties are tugged to the side. you can hear the rustle of fabric, assuming he’s getting himself ready. two fingers gloss through your folds while he pushes you down, bending you over for him. he’s rubbing circles into your clit and you’re keening into his touch.

“you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” you manage to choke out. he grunts in response.

“just need to get inside you.” is all he replies. well, okay then.

lando rearranges you, hiking one of your knees up so that’s it’s resting on the countertop. your other foot barely touches the floor when he fucks into you, ruthless. you cry out, reaching blindly behind you for him. you graze his hip and he shivers, pushing into you even harder.

he’s frantic, messy with it, thumbing at your clit. there’s hardly any room to move his hand, so he’s grinding the pad of his thumb as best he can. the pressure builds in your belly embarrassingly fast. you love when he gets like this, but you will pry what’s wrong out of him later when he curls up into his chest.

“gonna give you another one. s’all i can think about. fucking you full.” he mutters. your back arches into him.

“please.” you whimper, slurred. it’s all you can think about too.

your plea ushers along his orgasm, and he drops his head against your back. you’re shaking when you finish; he stays buried deep for a moment, silence washing over you.

when he helps you stand up, he kisses you deep. he brushes the hair from your face, says hello properly.

“wanna go see her.” he mumbles.

-

when you finally manage to climb the stairs, you see straight into your daughters room.

lando is stood over her crib, watching her sleep in the lamp lit room. he’s cooing something to her that you can’t make out. your knees are weak at the sight. you want to fill this house with children that look like him and laugh the way he does.

he catches you watching, sending you a wink, a promise that he’ll meet you in bed. when he finally does, drawing back the sheets and dropping into bed beside you, he wraps himself around you instantly.

“talk to me.” you command, toying with his hair in a way that you know turns him into mush in your hands.

“can’t win a race, can’t give you another baby. just- fuck.” he sighs, voice so small. you tear up but you push that aside for now.

“stop, lando. don’t do this to yourself.” you try to sound firm, attentive.

“just- am i good to you? am i good to her?” he needs to hear you say it, that’s the only thing that will talk him down from this spiral. he’s exhausted, and this is often a consequence.

“sometimes i think you hung the stars in the sky.” you hum, kissing his forehead.

gentle snores lull you to sleep.

-

quickie

you go with him to austin.

it seemed logical, after the events of qatar. your daughter has been stolen away by lando’s dad, who is showing her the paddock and introducing her to mechanics. you watch on, momentarily, because then lando is stealing you away.

“haven’t you got fp3 in a minute?” you ask, coy smile on your face. he’s pulling your jeans down and kicking them away.

“this won’t take long.” he smirks.

you crave the upper hand for a change. his race suit is already undone, so you make your move. you tug down his fireproofs, taking his cock in your hands. he’s hard already, glistening for you. he groans, but doesn’t make you stop.

you’re watching him through your eyelashes, his head tipping back in pleasure. you work your hand around him, up and down, applying pressure at the base and around the tip. it’s flushed red, wet in your hand and he looks too pretty to stop. he can have you later, in your hotel room, you think. right now, you’re having him.

lando is panting, thrusting into your hand when he comes for you. you’re soaked through, and he can probably see the damp patch on the panties. his release hits your stomach, painting your flushed skin white. your eyes scan the room for something to clean yourself with, but he beats you to it.

thick fingers swipe through the mess he’s made. your panties are tugged to the side and then he’s fucking you with said fingers. you cannot produce a thought, mouth gaping open in the shape of an ‘o’. the sight before you has you gushing, and he uses that leverage to speed up.

“you think i’m gonna let it go go waste, honey? silly girl. pretty, pretty girl.” he mutters.

your hips are bucking into his hand when he pulls out of you, collecting more of him from your belly, and then he’s thrusting them in again. you tear up from the pleasure coursing through you, white hot. he’s crazy, you think, but he’s so fucking beautiful, teasing glint in his eye as he curls his fingers deeper.

“want it so bad, don’t you? gotta keep you full for me, don’t i?”

you’re sure you can be heard from the garage when your orgasm hits.

-

office party

a burnt orange dress clings to your hips and a curly haired man clings to your hand.

the mtc is lit up for another gala that you and lando have to attend. the season is over and they’ve had a great run, so a toast must be made to celebrate that.

you watch him get passed around the room between sponsors and other important people, proud of what he’s achieved. you hate sharing him, but it’s a necessary evil, so you drink champagne with oscar’s girlfriend, lily, and natalie pinkham.

when lando comes back to you, his PR smile is dropped and that genuine, boyish grin returns that you have so missed in his momentary absence. he introduces you to some people, proudly showing you off, sinking drinks as he does.

it’s nearing 10pm when his actions become questionable. his hand stays on your ass, his words whispered in your ear are filthy and his sly kisses on your neck stop being quite so sly.

you remove him from the main event, just for a moment, just to try and get him to compose himself before you jump him against one of the vintage racing cars. he sees this as an invitation, however, and then everything goes awry.

he’s dragging you into the lift, kissing you against the closed doors. when you stumble out a floor up, you can still hear the function in full swing. he’s pulling you down a hallway and into what you assume is an office. when he has you sat on a desk, you realise where you are.

“is this zak’s office?” your eyes pop out of your head, bewildered.

“maybe.” he shrugs. he’s smirking like a bastard.

“you’re insane.” you shake your head, standing from the desk, but his lips ghost your ear and you’re putty in his hands.

“you’re driving me insane. coming here in this tight fucking dress. can’t stop looking at you, thinking about this.” his hand rubs over your lower belly as he speaks, and then you’re back on the desk.

lando’s on his knees, peeling the silky material over your thighs until your barely there panties are in his face. he mouths over them briefly, and then they’re gone and his tongue is buried to the hilt in your cunt.

it doesn’t take him long to get you off, the alcohol and the thrill of being in the one place you should never have sex pushing you quickly towards your orgasm.

the glass wall of windows is too inviting for lando to pass up, so on shaky legs, you’re pressed up against them, looking out over the pond and the fairy lights when he pushes into you.

he’s kissing over your shoulder, your neck, holding your down on him while he thrusts up into you. you turn your head to kiss him, to let him swallow up your noises that could give you away.

“you’re so fucking good for me, honey. letting me have you here like this just so i can give you a baby.” he slurs against your lips, pussy drunk and ravenous.

he finds your clit, fast fingers making small swipes against it and you want to cry.

“gonna make this time count, yeah, honey? gonna keep it all inside of you until we get home?”

you try to nod, try to say something but you’re choking on air and dripping all over him. a couple more thrusts and you’re the perfect vessel for him to release into, throbbing and hot around his cock.

“beg for it, honey, come on. tell me how much you want it.” lando mumbles right in your ear.

“lando, please. please, please, please.” you whimper. “come for me, baby, need it inside of me.”

you leave the office a lot more composed than when you entered it. well, aside from the remnants of him that are running down your inner thighs.

-

a month later, lando’s laughing. he’s actually laughing, while you cringe, burying your blushing face in his chest.

you’re holding a pregnancy test in your hands, finally a positive one.

when you do the maths, you realise where baby norris was conceived, and you try and make him promise never to tell anyone that it was in his boss’s office.

“it’s a funny story.” he tells you. there are tears in his eyes.

“you’re so lucky i love you.” you roll your eyes. you are also dangerously close to crying.

but truthfully, you’re the lucky one. he carries you to bed that night, claiming that now you had a baby on board, you had to be careful!

you dream of him, that night. the man that hung the stars in the sky.

-

once again, idk what came over me i’m sorry lmfao

-

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removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[falling-endlessly]

Try Me

Vox x Female!Reader

Summary: You still have a few lessons to learn when it comes to teasing your boss.

Warnings: NSFW (18+), dub-con (kind of) INSPIRED BY THIS POST

Vox deserved a pat on the back for his patience. Truly.

You were relentless, hovering in his periphery, making him tense in anticipation for the next bullshit you were about to pull. First it was lingering touches on his hand when you brought him his coffee. Then it was bending over right in front of him in the conference room, enough for him to glimpse the pretty red and blue thong you were wearing underneath. But really, the cherry on top was the way you "accidentally" tripped on your heels, conveniently falling into him. One manicured hand dragged down his chest, the other down his thigh, right beside his straining cock as profuse, insincere apologies spilled from your lips.

Suffice to say, he was at his fucking limit. His self restraint was impressive, but not infinite.

"Mister Vox, where are we going?" You frowned questioningly as you scurried to keep up with his fast paces.

"A new office just opened up on the next floor," he hummed. "I figured you'd like to take a look at it before deciding if you want it."

"Oh, really? That's great!" You grinned, before it faded into a puzzled look. "But, why didn't you just tell me the room number? Not to pry, but you seem busy today, and I'd hate to distract you from your work."

Vox's smile strained, a low electric buzz emanating from his speakers. "Not to worry, my dear. I'd really rather show you myself."

You blinked innocently. "Well, if you insist."

He sent you a promising grin, but otherwise remained silent.

The walk to the "empty office" dragged on excruciatingly. Even if the whole floor was actually empty, he wanted to keep up with the facade you both were playing at, and not shove you into the first room with a door that he saw (even if he really, really wanted to) .

"Here we are," he announced cheerfully. The room was actually the most expansive one on the floor, completely furnished with a modern work station, a built in gas fireplace, and plush velvet couches. You barely took a step inside, eyes wide with awe, before he grabbed your neck, slamming you against the wall as he kicked the door closed with his foot. It locked automatically.

"Tell me, did you have fun?" He sneered, tightening his grip when you didn't respond immediately.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't—" you winced when he pressed closer, before choking out. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh really?" He smirked dangerously, eyes wide and unhinged, before a clawed hand travelled down your waist. The tearing sound of your clothes made you gasp, your torn skirt falling uselessly to the ground as he greedily inspected your underwear. A slender finger hooked under the waistband, before letting it snap back against your skin.

"Red and blue stripes," he snorted. "A coincidence?"

"Fuck you," you spat, but there was an excited glint in your eyes.

"Oh, you will," he chuckled darkly, before grabbing you and roughly forcing you to kneel beside the desk. He took a seat on the office chair, grinning wickedly as he spread his legs leisurely. "But you're going to have to earn it first, doll."

Your mouth watered, hands grasping greedily at his knees, before sliding up to his crotch. Vox groaned when you slid your fingers over the edges of his cock, just barely missing where he really wanted them. You repeated this action a few more times, watching with satisfaction as his brow twitched in mounting frustration, before he finally snapped, grabbing your chin harshly and forcing you to look up at him.

"Fuckin' tease," he growled, baring his teeth. "You're going to regret that." His voice took on a deeper, more electronic tone at the end of his sentence.

"Will I?" You smiled coyly, making his grin widen. Challenge accepted.

In one smooth motion, he unzipped his pants and dragged down his underwear, making his pulsing cock spring up from its confines. Vox grit his teeth when the open air hit it, overly sensitive from your constant teasing.

You stared at it with wide eyes, mouth open as you took in the electric blue lines running up his shaft in a technological design, all leading to the weeping blue tip. Your warm breath puffed on the feverish skin, making him close his eyes in concentration, regulating his breathing.

"Something wrong, sir?" You asked innocently, and he almost busted on the spot from just that title alone. Here you were on your knees for him, and yet he was the one under your control. Oh, the irony.

"Not at all," he growled, fisting a handful of your hair at the back of your head, before shoving you forward onto his cock.

And holy fuck, the way you opened your mouth so obligingly, like you were waiting for this moment—like you'd practiced for it. He had to stab his own leg with his claws to control himself. Coppery blood ran down his skin in small rivulets.

You moaned deeply around his cock, the vibrations making him throw his head back with a gasp. "F-Fuck."

You glanced up at him knowingly, your pretty eyes batting at him as your lips slid up and down his dick. Then you swirled your tongue under his shaft, and wasn't that something. Vox let out a guttural sound that he didn't even know he was capable of, barely able to keep eye contact with you as he guided your head on his cock.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he panted, legs trembling with the effort not to cum. He needed to teach you a lesson, after all, and he couldn't do that with a limp dick.

Then, you did something that made his vision fucking white out. You started to swallow—and good god, he couldn't keep this up anymore.

He shoved you harshly off of his dick, your mouth leaving with a loud pop.

"Brat," he bared his teeth, before clawing violently at your shirt. The thin material didn't stand a chance, fluttering off in shredded ribbons. Then he ripped apart your bra, making your round tits bounce out. His jaw dropped a little as he stared at them, his cock twitching in longing. Fuck, was any part of you not perfect?

"Hey," you protested, glaring at him indignantly. "Those were expensive."

"I'll buy you ten more," he said distractedly, before pulling you up to stand. Your hands gripped the edges of his backrest, tits hovering inches from his face.

"I think it's time we give these," his hands came up to grip them, squeezing them playfully. "A little love, hm?"

To your amazement, a glowing blue tongue poked out of his mouth, curling around a pebbled bud. Your jaw dropped in ecstasy, unable to take your eyes off of the surreal view of Vox licking at your tits, red eyes flickering up to meet your half-lidded ones. You pushed closer in a silent plea for more.

"Ah, ah," Vox retracted his tongue, making you whimper from the loss. "Behave, or this stops now."

You nodded quickly, staring down at him pleadingly.

He let go of your tits, unsatisfied. "What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"Yes, I'll behave," you whispered desperately.

"Yes, what?" He sneered.

"Yes sir," you cried, moaning loudly when he grabbed a hold of your tits again, tugging you closer.

"Good girl," he grinned wickedly, before his tongue was generously laving over your tits, swirling attentively over your nipples.

"A-Ahhh," you sobbed, struggling to stay still as his hand squeezed and massaged your mounds.

"Thought you could tease me and get away with it? You fucking slut," he growled, harshly sucking a nipple into his mouth. He released it after a few moments, digging his claws into your flesh. "Or maybe, you wanted this to happen," he grinned knowingly, making you shiver. "Oh you did, didn't you?"

He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you down so he could whisper in your ear, "Sweetheart, if you wanted me to split you open on my cock, all you had to do was ask."

Your breath hitched as he grabbed your hips, turning you around and shoving you onto the desk. "Hands above your head." He ordered firmly.

You obediently laid your palms flat on the surface, above your head. Your breath quickened in excitement as you felt his hands grab your ass, squeezing tightly and spreading your cheeks.

"Fuck," you heard him curse, before slender fingers crept between your thighs, rubbing gently. Your legs trembled as he easily slipped in a finger, pumping it a few times before slipping it out again.

Unable to hold back your curiosity, you turned back to look at him, only for your breath to stutter at the sight.

Vox had his eyes closed, long tongue swirling around his middle and index fingers like a lollipop. Your unmistakable slick dripped onto his tongue, and he greedily swallowed it with a contented sigh.

"Fucking delicious," he grinned, leering at your trembling form. "What, too much for you to handle?"

"Try me," you gasped, making his eye widen, electricity sparking from it.

"I'll make you beg for my cock," he laughed dangerously, before disappearing between your legs.

You barely had the chance to process what just happened, before a strangled scream left your lips, your hips shoving further into his mouth.

"Shhh babygirl," he pulled back, squeezing your ass gently. "Wouldn't want someone to hear, now would you?"

"No sir," you bit your lip, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

"See? This is why you're my favorite," he chuckled, giving your pussy a rough pat. Then he replaced it with his warm tongue, and your eyes rolled back in your head.

He flicked it gently over your clit, pulling back to lather over your dripping hole, before circling back teasingly. You shuddered, tears freely streaming down your face as you moaned softly. A tight pressure was building in your stomach, growing closer and closer to snapping the more attention he showered you in.

"V-Vox," you gasped out. "I—I'm gonna—"

He pulled away abruptly, making you whimper pitifully. Your hips canted towards him desperately, trying to chase your high, but he only moved back.

"What, did you think I was going to let you cum on my face?" He laughed mockingly, digging his claws into your ass. "After what you did today? Not a chance."

He pressed you further into the desk, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Nah, a bitch like you needs to be taught a lesson."

Your mouth fell open as he pushed into you in one smooth motion, the ridges of his cock stretching you out painfully as he settled in deep.

"You're going to learn what happens when you misbehave," he punctuated his sentence with a hard thrust, making you choke. "You should be happy I have so much patience, or I would have fucked you right there on the conference table in front of everyone."

The mental image of him fucking you shamelessly in public made you moan, your hips wiggling further onto his cock. He growled, hands sliding up to hold your wrists down.

And then he started pounding into you. And you screamed.

"What's wrong? That pretty little mouth got nothing to say now?" He panted, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes. "Where did all of that fight go, hm?"

"F-Fu—ahn—you!"

"Sweetheart, I'm balls deep inside of you right now," he rolled his hips to prove his statement.  "Try again."

"V-Vox, please!" You sobbed, cheek pressing into the surface of the desk.

"Tell me what you need, babygirl," he grinned.

"I-I want to cum," you hiccuped, vision blurring from pleasure.

"Aw, do you? I don't know about that," his grin widened, claws tightening on your wrists. "Do you really deserve it?"

"Please sir," you begged, turning around to look at him tearfully. "Please let me cum on your cock."

His grin faltered at the pleading look in your eyes, his screen tinting red as his teeth clenched. "Fucking brat," he gritted out, before his pace sped up, a clawed hand reaching down to rub tight circles over your clit.

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan as your eyes crossed, his dick splitting you open just like he promised. The coil in your stomach built up once more, stretching tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, your vision going white as you shook uncontrollably.

"Vox!" You cried, waves of pleasure cresting in your stomach, intensified by the fact that he was still harshly pounding into you.

Vox's breath hitched at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, screen glitching in euphoria. His thrusts lost their steady rhythm, instead hammering into you erratically as he chased his own orgasm.

Vox's claws dug gouges into the desk as he groaned your name, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside of you. You shivered weakly at the feeling of his thick, warm cum filling you up.

When he'd finally spent everything he had, Vox pulled out of you gently, making you both gasp at the feeling. You heard the sound of a nearby drawer opening, before a wad of Kleenex gently wiped you dry. When both of you were adequately cleaned, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you against a comforting chest. He sat you both down in the office chair, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head.

"So? Mister Vox," you glanced up at him teasingly. "How was that?"

"Pretty fucking hot, babe," he laughed, squeezing you tightly. "Seriously, great idea. But I'm picking the next one."

"Yeah, yeah," you snuggled deeper into his chest, yawning tiredly. "Do you want to watch a movie when we get back home? I saw this really cool thriller trailer yesterday and I think you'll like it."

Vox smiled gently at you, closing his eyes as he pulled you closer. "Sure doll, anything you want."

[avis-writeshq]

pairing: early seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader genre: fluff, roommate au, childhood friends warnings: general criminal minds violence, not beta-read oops a/n: I renounce the MoReid shippers; they’re SIBLINGS !!!! also, apologies for lack of posts !! have been very busy with uni :( wc: 1.06k part 1 | part 2

Spencer was shot. It all happened so quickly– the sound of the gun firing, the grunt that he let out and the apprehension of the UnSub. Too quickly, but such is the fickleness of life. This was one of the rare occasions where the ballistic vest did not do its job, the bullet jamming into his side. Hotch was on the UnSub in seconds, the cuffs on his wrists before anyone could blink. 

“Shit, Reid,” Derek gasps out, watching the way blood seeps through his once pristine white shirt, and he presses his hand against the wound. “Shit, Hotch! Hotch! We need a medic!”

*** 

“It’s going to be okay,” Aaron assures as best he can. His face is grim and Derek is shaking his head in frustration, hands trembling and cold from washing his hands over and over again. “It’s not your fault.”

“We missed him,” Gideon mutters, “he was right there and we missed him.”

“And Spencer got hurt because of it.” Elle’s gaze is set on the hospital’s sign in counter. 

Aaron understands their guilt. They caught the UnSub in the end, so nothing was ever in vain, but it doesn’t change the fact that they didn’t anticipate that he was at the end of the hallway waiting for the perfect moment to strike– and Spencer paid the price of their mistakes. The bullet hit him in the side where the vest didn’t cover, the damage reaching his liver and kidneys. Aaron doesn’t think he’s ever seen that much blood before. 

“Excuse me–” a voice loud enough to cut through their brooding chimes from the reception desk. “Hi. Hello, I’m here for, um, Doctor Spencer Reid?”

The clerk glances at her for a brief moment before turning back to his computers. “We don’t have a Doctor by that name on staff.”

“Um, no–” a nervous laugh splits the air. “No, he’s– he’s not a doctor here. He’s a patient? I got a call.”

He looks at her up and down before raising an eyebrow, mumbling something. “Is that you?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s me, is he okay? I came as soon as I could.”

“He’s in surgery. He’ll be out in a few. Take a seat over there–” He gestures over to where Aaron and the others are sitting– “and the doctor will call you over.”

“Right. Right, okay, thank you.” 

Elle doesn’t try hiding her confusion, looking up at you from her seat with raised brows. “You’re here for Reid?”

You jolt in surprise, the heavy grip you have on your bag loosening in an attempt to calm down. “Hi? Um, yeah. He’s– well, we’re on each other’s emergency contact list.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Aaron says with a tight grimace. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Derek’s jaw unhinges. “You knew?”

“Emergency contact list.” Aaron offers you a glance. “Are you okay?”

“I just–” your voice wobbles, a choked whimper leaving your lips. “I just want him to be okay.”

The team shares your sentiments. It’s not often when there’s an injury as serious as this on the field, but the risk is there. The room is tense with worry, the sound of doctors and nurses rushing around through the halls does nothing to ease their anxieties. You’re already fearing the worst. 

What feels like hours is only minutes as a nurse arrives in front of your little group. 

“Doctor Spencer Reid?” She confirms, looking sympathetic as ever. “The surgery was a success. The bullet grazed against his liver so he does need to stay for a couple of days for monitoring, but he should make a full recovery.”

“Is he allowed guests?” You blurt out hurriedly, the receipt in your hands crumbled in torn from incessant worrying. 

“He’s should be waking up now, but you’re welcome to see him. I’ll take you there.” The nurse offers a gentle smile. “Girlfriend?”

Heat roars against your cheeks and you shake your head adamantly. “No, no, he’s– we’re not– he’s my roommate.”

The nurse hums, a knowing smile on her face. “I see.”

After a few quick goodbyes towards Aaron and the rest of the team, you hurry after the nurse whilst clutching your bag of goods. She opens the door wide, letting you inside before closing it behind you while you pull up a chair. 

“I am– I am so mad at you, Spencer Walter Reid,” you whisper, gaze fixed on his resting face and the hair that mats his forehead. You brush a few strands away from his eyes, your lips trembling briefly. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“So you’re not that mad?” Spencer croaks out, his voice dry and his head pounding as he manages to lift his eyes towards you.

“Spencer.” Your arms are around his neck in an instant, careful as not to disrupt the wires and tubes that surround him. “I’m going to kill you.”

 “That’s counter intuitive.” He laughs quietly, wincing a little at the suddenness before allowing his free arm to wrap loosely around your waist. He finds it uneasy, the way your lips fall into a wobbly frown and how your eyes look red and puffy from crying. He’s only ever seen you look like this once before but that’s nothing compared to this. This time you look like that because of him– a silly little accident has lead to your pretty smile vanishing off your pretty face.

“You suck. I’m telling your mother.” He knows you won’t and he’s grateful that you’ve found it in yourself to make a joke. When you pull away, he immediately misses your warmth, watching as you rummage through your bag before handing him a sealed cup of red jell-o. “It was the last one they had.”

“You’re an angel, really, but I don’t think I’m allowed to eat for a couple hours,” he murmurs, his fingers grasping gingerly at the cup.

With a wordless nod in acknowledgement, you press a thick leather bound book into his hands, your eyes meeting his gaze. “Your favourite.”

He breathes out his thanks, glancing up at you through the dim lights of the hospital room. “Are you going to stay?”

“As long as you want, Walter.” 

*** 

From the other side of the door, Derek glances through the window at you and Spencer before looking back at Hotch. “They’re roommates?”

“Apparently.”

“No, but– they’re just roommates?”

“Unfortunately.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

part 1 | part 2 | you are on part 3!

[dolicekiss]

Bittersweet Belladona

PAIRING: Dark!Will Graham x Yandere!Reader x Dark!Hanninal Lecter

CONTENT WARNING: SMUT (18+ only, mdni) very dark Will Graham. age gap (reader is twenty two) mention of mental instability, unhinged behavior by all parties, dubcon, stalking, slight blood, choking, hair pulling, manhandling (reader gets her shit clapped) degradation and praise, mention of cannibalism, scratching, slight fluff at the end.

SYNOPSIS: Following along the bloody trail left behind renowned Psychiatrist Dr. Lecter and his kin, Will Graham, your sick obsession had made you somewhat better than the FBI at tracking down the two. In the shadows, you lingered and stalked them both like a new born shadow, oblivious to the fact that you were also captured in their sight. Your twisted infatuation with the two had you cornered soon enough, trapped in an empty museum with them.

You were lured in.

You should've known.

Just why would they commit a crime in the open museum if not to lure you in and trap you?

The two men circled you around like you were their prey, like the man they had killed and formed into a firefly with its wings spread out, hanging in the air. Wings that were made out of the man's skin — red flesh exposed. The sight was spectacular and you wanted nothing more than to click photos of it, capture it in the deepest darkest parts of your mind and savor it forever.

You stared at it in pure awe, not registering the fact that you were trapped.

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

It was Will’s deep voice.

Strained and dry, it made you feel something dark inside your chest. You flinched at his voice, retreating a step back but all you felt against your back was Hannibal’s hard chest, as you crashed into him. His tall figure towered over you and you moved forward, in an attempt to get away from him.

“Beautiful like her.” Hannibal spoke, voice cutting the silence like butter. “But too bad she lacks manners, don't you think?”

All you wanted to do was stalk them, learn more about how their minds worked and get to know them. You had never found their acts of violence disgusting, no. It was simply human, their flaws and the gruesome darkness concealed behind their beautiful faces. It was all too fascinating for you but you knew all too well what the two men were capable of.

The proof was levitating right up in the air.

“Following us around, stalking us. Even going as far as to hacking our phones to eavesdrop on our conversations, how fucking impolite and ill mannered.” It was Will, as he snapped at you. Your face set ablaze underneath his searing gaze, feeling terrified as he stared at you.

A look of disgust in his eyes.

“She might as well be the next Freddie Lounds.” You wanted to hide away from the way Will was glaring at you. Glasses long gone, curly strands slicked back as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Your lips trembled. “I—”

Your throat was parched, running dry in an instant as you attempted to speak and come up with some sort of excuse to your bad behavior. You felt like a child trapped between two adults, anticipating a very bad scolding, maybe even a beating too.

“You're scared, hm?” Hannibal reached for your face, squeezing it between his hand. Your lips forming a forced pout. You were trembling in his hold, as resilient as you were.

You'd decided to follow them, in a way, finding solace in them. The cannibalistic murderers of Baltimore, murder husbands, the FBI profiler who eloped with his cannibalistic psychiatrist. Everytime you saw them on the news, you felt a connection form between you and them and tug you towards them. It was profound, what you felt for them and how the people to whom you were an unknown person comforted you.

Without their own acknowledgement.

You didn't want to die.

As much as you had nothing to live for, other than the delusions that you were meant to join the two— you were an empty shell. An unstable mind wandering the world with nowhere to go. You attempted to make a run for it as soon as you felt Hannibal’s grip loosen. Bolting for the large door, your hand nearly grasped onto the golden knob and pulled at the door but Will was quick to run after you, grabbing your hand and pushing you up against the wall next to the door.

His palm laid straight on your cheek, forcing the side of your head along the wall. Holding you firmly in place all while you struggled and became a sobbing, sputtering mess. Pain blossomed in the side of your head, throbbing and roaring through your skull. Like it could grow two large heads more. The rough manhandling caused tears to pool in your waterline, threatening to drop.

You felt horrible, didn't know what was so wrong about wanting to get to know them on a deeper level as they provided you with comfort. Feeling a bit dumbfounded and stupid.

“Please—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Will nearly growled in your ear, a shiver of terror dancing up your spine.

You watched, in your blurred peripheral vision, a figure moving in next to you. It was obviously Hannibal and you stared at him with a plea clear in your eyes.

“She looks so afraid.” He commented, moving his gaze from your face to Will’s. The man still locking you in place. “She's pretty too.”

“I hate to agree.” Will sternly said, with a hint of frustration in his voice.

You struggled and squirmed, all futile and not enough to help you get your freedom. Will’s hand tangled in your hair, fingers grabbing a bunch of your hair and fisting them. He dragged you from the door and tossed you right across the vast space on the floor, watching as your body collided with the hard marble.

You didn't waste a single second in scurrying away from them both. Now you were the prey and they were the predator, stalking upto you like you were their food. Which, you were pretty sure you were going to become. You didn't mind but you couldn't die with a heart aching to be understood, to be seen.

“She deserves a punishment, no?” Hannibal said to will, voice laced with mischief.

You shook your head. “Sorry—so sorry.”

Your tears and apologies were falling upon deaf ears. Will reveled in the feeling of seeing you this helpless, at this mercy and he knew he could crush you beneath his shoe like a dying little bird. Hannibal was more interested in Will and your dynamic, how you craved to be in his presence yet were terrified of him.

He found it endearing, even.

“Oh no, apologies won't cut it, pretty girl.” He said, in a hoarse voice. “I'm gonna make sure you never ever do something so silly like this ever again.”

Fear had consumed your whole being. Fingers trembling and breath hitching. Heart beat pattering like wild raindrops against a glass window. You could feel it thumping in your ears, as nausea took over you. The urge to throw up all over the floor fought to dominate you but you didn't allow it.

“What were you thinking?” Hannibal asked, squatting down next to where you were on the floor, back pressed into an old viking artifact. “Following dangerous men like us around. Just what did you believe you would achieve from it, if not your demise?”

You gulped, staring between the two men.

Glancing at Will and cowering under Hannibal’s gaze.

You didn't dare speak a word. The letters of the word ‘comfort’ burning the tip of your tongue but you didn't say it. The fear that wafted off you was almost arousing for Hannibal Lecter. His strong ability to smell emotions and feelings helping him smell your fear and anxiety.

“Answer him.” Will ordered, reaching forward and squatting down next to Hannibal in front of you. His hand extended out and collected the hair straight from your roots, tugging onto them. It hurt, the burning sensation spreading along your scalp as your neck was craned up.

You stared at him, a lone tear sliding down.

“J-Just wanted to see, w-wanted to see how you both do it.” Broken words uttered by your broken self.

Hanninal and Will looked at each other, seemingly communicating through their minds as their eyes spoke. Hannibal nodded and Will’s attention shifted back to you, this time staring at you with a different type of void behind those blue eyes of his. His grip tightened and you whimpered, fueling your tears.

Then he leaned down and in a rough kiss, captured your lips. Teeth clashing against your skin, tugging and biting on it. Your little fists tried to push him away from you, banging on the expanse of his chest. He didn't budge at all. Will had newfound determination to break you, to break you in order to put your pieces back together.

In a way he'd liked.

Hannibal knew as manipulative as he was, Will Graham was a cunning boy.

You felt him sink his teeth into your lower lip, piercing the skin enough to evoke blood. A trail dripping down, accumulating at the round of your chin. Vision blurry and eyes squeezed tightly, you cried and cried while struggling. It only worsened your situation as you felt someone behind you— taking a hold of your small fists and restraining them behind your back.

Hannibal held you in place tightly, giving full access to Will to have his way with you.

Your lungs expanded, in desperate attempts to suck in air but all you felt was Will’s tongue slipping past the entrance of your mouth. Colliding with yours, like snake, wrapping around it and in a way, the man was fucking your mouth.

Plunging his tongue in an out of your mouth.

Saliva, blood, tears. All of these liquids proved your demise, though not forever. You knew after Will or both the men are done with you, you'd be different. You'd be dead and you'll be reborn.

“Will, do you intend to end her life with a kiss?” Hannibal called out and the man finally, finally retrieved his tongue and broke apart from you.

Terrified to open your eyes, you let them stay shut. You could feel the hot breath of Will mingling with your own, chest moving vertically up and down. Lungs dragging in as much oxygen as the organs could, unaware of when they'll be allowed to breathe ever again.

“Open your eyes.” Hannibal’s hands caressed your wrists as he whispered in your ear.

You didn't listen and that was a grave mistake. That somehow managed to piss Will off more than you invading their privacy. Your disobedience towards Hannibal and as he walloped his hand across your cheek, a ringing sound entered your ears.

It was loud, everything becoming a blur to you.

Just how hard had he hit you?

Your eyes were opened and you blinked profusely, now finally capturing the man in front of you. You noticed the swell of his lips, as well as the blood that was smeared all over it. His slicked back hair now messed up in a few strands dancing over his forehead. You didn't stop your cries this much, soft little sobs echoing in the spacious museum.

“Will,” Hannibal warned. “She's fragile, you shouldn't be this aggressive.”

“She's strong and she knows it. A fragile little girl wouldn't stalk two men all the way from the US to Italy, would she now, princess?” You shook your head.

The obedience you had shown by responding immediately was satisfying for both of them. The slap had worked, and Hannibal took a hold of your chin, moving your face towards him. His scrutinizing gaze hovered over your busted lip. “It's bleeding, poor you. Will is really cruel, isn't he?”

The sheer rudeness and strictness Will Graham expressed and showcased was in complete contrast to Hannibal’s sweet, gentle demeanor. Its like one was meant to leave bruises while the other bandaged those same wounds.

“Please.” You pleaded, completely unaware of what you were actually pleading for. You knew that even if they were to let you go, you would still continue to stalk the men. You couldn't survive separation and it wasn't like you wanted to live with the two or be roommates, no.

You were more than okay with striving in the shadows, only admiring them from afar.

How did they catch you?

Were you that obvious? That obsessed and infatuated that you hadn't realized these men could outsmart you?

Will stared at you, the scared look on your face stirring something primal within his chest. You looked so beautiful, so broken and he saw himself in you. He saw who he was before meeting Hannibal and this — what he was about to do to you — could be your breakthrough.

They could be your pillars.

Hannibal was in absolute awe of the beauty you possessed and were. Just the raw vulnerability you exposed and how dedicated you were to stalking them, it was all endearing to him. To him it felt like you harbored romantic feelings for him, for them both. Like a puppy following its owners.

“Tie her up.” Will said to Hannibal and he nodded — immediately getting to work. Despite the amount of tears you shed, the struggling and the pleadings, it didn't bother them one bit. Hannibal had found a rope, magically and it made you realize all the more of how deep you had fallen into the well.

They came prepared.

Oh they had thought everything out.

They were looking forward to this.

“No, n-no, please. Listen to me.”

Didn't matter. You were nothing but a lifeless little doll, a plaything to keep them entertained. Hannibal tied you up, hands behind your back. Each knot tightened to the point of purple bruising, his hands skilfully moving across your body. It wasn't just your hands he tied, he'd restrained your arms too and the pain begun in your shoulders.

Both of them looked at you, sitting on the floor, tied up. Your dress had riled up to your thighs in the endeavor and it exposed your soft flesh, which seemed to be an invitation for the two men. Hannibal could only think how you'd taste, drenched in honey and garlic, sizzled on a barbeque. The flesh roasted and sprinkled with diced coriander.

Meanwhile Will could feel his cock becoming hard at how fucking hopeless you seemed. Just sitting on the floor, soft little sniffles falling from your lips. Even a few hiccups here and there too. A red handprint on your cheek a clear indication of your disobedience. It was a sight he wouldn't mind if he were to witness it for the rest of his life with Hannibal.

Will leaned down to you, sitting next to you as his hand reached for the exposed flesh of your thighs. When his soothing fingertips touched your skin, you flinched. That act of yours and how unwilling you still were made him tighten his grip on your thighs, nails leaving crescent moons all over the skin.

“You could've chosen a different path. A different life, different interests than the ones you have right now.” There was almost a heavy sadness to his words. Like he missed the person who he was, somewhere deep inside his mind. “Yet you got yourself into such a mess. Trapped with two men. Do you have any idea what we'll do to you, pretty girl?”

You shook your head.

“If you knew coming here would have you end up like this, would you still go through with it?” He stared at you, in anticipation, searching for the answer in your blurry gaze but he didn't need to.

As you nodded your head. Proving the unstable state of your mind. Despite knowing things would end this way, you'd come to this place over and over again. They had noticed you, they'd seen you, felt you. How could it get any better? Yes, you were hurt but did it really matter? It was worth seeing the two perform their art in all its glory.

Hannibal stared at Will and the man scoffed — shaking his head. “You're such a braindead little thing, aren't you?”

You lifted your eyes up from the floor you were on, confused. The confusion gave you the look of a lost puppy, who had no idea just what was even happening to it. Puzzled and all over the place, terrified and lost.

“She's a peculiar one.” Hannibal commented, one hand slipped inside his pocket. “Should we take her?”

“We'll decide that when she's proven to be worthy of it.” His hand inched closer and closer, riding further up your thigh and between them. Your breath hitched, body shivering as you felt his fingers brush against your clothed cunt.

You were already soaked, as confused as you were about it. They had humiliated you, disrespected you, hurt you yet your panties were saturated. Upon feeling the slick coating your inner thighs, Will let out a dark chuckle and showed his fingers to Hannibal.

The slick glistening against the bright lights.

“She's not some innocent little girl. Her cunt is drenched, Hannibal. All because of how we treated her, like some whore.”

You squeezed your thighs together, not wanting Will to pry more but he did. Both hands at both knees, he parted your thighs open fully and exposed you to the lascivious gaze of himself and Hannibal. The wet spot on your beige panties the perfect innuendo that you were aroused, like some fucking animal and it grossed you out.

Why were you feeling this way?

Will’s hand lowered to your cunt, his thumb flat against your covered clit. He moved it in slow, circular motions, watching you in exciting anticipation. Your body twitched, hips immediately beginning to writhe and he scoffed. Your reactions were fucking adorable, both the men in complete awe.

You still wanted out — as good as this felt.

You struggled, squirming your hips and trying to stray further from him but Will grabbed your leg, putting his own over it to refrain you from moving. You whimpered at his heavy weight on your leg, as he continued his ministrations on your cunt. He then finally peeled the panties off you, sliding them down yout ankles and tossing them to the aside.

“Fuck, such a pretty pussy.” He whispered, Hannibal also joining him on the floor.

Both of them stared at your cunt like it was a meal they both had craved for a very, very long time. A fresh set of tears fell as Will parted your pussy open with his thumbs, pink flesh coated with creamy arousal.

Hannibal shifted behind you, pulling you between his own legs. Both his hands caressed your sides, slowly riding upto your breasts. Fingers kneading into the plush of your tits and dragging your dress down, watching the fat mounds bounce out. His own cock hardened at the sight.

Hannibal loved the female body, how beautiful and different it was than a man's. Innocence seeped into it, like a fresh drop from the sun and a tear of the moon.

You looked up at him and shook your head, squirming. “Stop —no. Not right, not right.”

At your resistance, Will delivered a sharp smack across the stripe of your cunt. Watching as the pink deepened. He slid a finger inside you and you whimpered, gaze fixated on Hannibal. The men simultaneously toyed with your body, having their way with it and you could only sit there helplessly and sob.

“She's tight, even around my finger. I wonder how she'll take both of our cocks.” Will’s comment made Hannibal’s concealed cock throb. A low rumble escaping his chest, vibrating against your back. “Don't tempt me, Will.” Hannibal warned, his fingers pinching and tugging at your hardened peaks.

Will soon inserted another finger, staring up at you. He found you disrespectful and downright rude. Somewhere you reminded him of a certain redhead, with how you lurked everywhere in the shadows wherever they were. But he knew you were nothing like Freddie Lounds. You did not possess the same greed she did, the same lust for fame and content.

Instead he saw darkness. The type of darkness that matched his own — a reflection of his own self. He plunged his fingers in and out of you, curving them and gaining access to that sensitive spot. As he hit it, your gummy walls tightened around his digits, greedy cunt sucking them in.

Meanwhile Hannibal forced you to look at him, one hand still toying with your perky tits. He stared down at you, finding you endearing. How you cried, every movement of your little body. The tears pooling in your waterline, the way your lips shivered and produced small sobs, how the fear flashed in your gaze once in awhile. You were so broken and so damaged, he wanted to fix you right up.

By breaking you apart.

“You should've expected this to happen. Stalking dangerous men like us, while being so frail and fragile yourself. Just what did you expect to happen, hm?” His grip tightened on your wrist, as he stared at you.

You had no words. There was nothing on your mind, other than the realization that you were trapped and had nowhere to go. There was no one coming to your salvation and the thought terrified you more than anything. The complexities of your own emotions and thoughts warring together only left you further braindead.

Hannibal captured your lips. At first the kiss was sweet, gentle even but soon you realized it was only to swallow your little sounds. Every time Will bruised your sensitive spot, Hannibal swallowed a gulp of your whimper. These two were like wolves, consuming and sucking the blood out of their prey.

He continued kissing you, prying your mouth open and mingling his tongue with yours. The fact that you still had Will’s saliva in your mouth, also dribbling down your chin and Hannibal kissed the same mouth. It was all too taboo to not turn you on. Your hips shuffling a little only for Will to press his own leg harder down on yours.

Will stared at you both, watching with a burning gaze as Hannibal practically sucked the soul out of you. He scoffed a little, remembering Hannibal’s words from earlier at how he almost ended you with a kiss. The man was doing the same now, just with a much gentle tone.

He didn't even allow you to inhale or breathe, lips locked against yours in a tight firm kiss. You struggled, attempting to move here and there but it didn't work at all. He continued devouring you like you were his last meal. He kissed differently than Will. He kissed with the intention to eat you, with the intention to savor you for the rest of his life.

It was too passionate for you to ignore. Tears sliding down your face. “You can't eat her now, Hannibal. Don't end up biting her tongue off.”

Will’s words made Hannibal stall for a moment, registering what the man had said. He was right, Hannibal couldn't actually eat you now and from how sweet you tasted, he wanted to bite your fucking tongue off and decorate it with your white teeth.

He backed out, after relishing in the taste you had to offer. Hannibal almost flinched at how fucked out you appeared, from a mere kiss. Your vision had blurred, your mind hazy and your cheeks red. You stared at him, partially lost and numb and then more tears slid across your face.

“Let's take her over to the table.” Will passed an order and Hannibal complied, picking you up within seconds. Your legs resting on his waist, as he carried you to the table.

It was somewhere in the back, concealed in a dark corner. Hannibal laid you down against it on your stomach, and you kicked. Your little kicks delivering to his leg but it didn't affect him at all. Your act of disobedience was like drops of fuel against a fire and it angered both of them. Hannibal’s fingers circled around your ankles, holding them in place.

Will walked over to the two of you, and his fingers drowned in your locks. Grabbing a fistful of it, he craned your neck up and made you look at him. “You fucking brat.” Will slapped you across the side of your face, watching you with a burning stare.

Incinerating pain grew on your right cheek as you slowly regained your senses back and registered the slap. Blood trickled down your chin, the source being your busted lip. The trail cold and dark. “S-Sorry.”

“Oh you'll be fucking sorry when we're done with you, whore.” Will turned to Hannibal. “You take her cunt, I take her mouth. She'll know just how easy we were being on her.”

“Don't end up damaging her.” Hannibal responded, grip tightening on your ankles. “I have taken a liking to her, she'll be good entertainment.”

“Fine.” Will replied with a groan.

Then you caught his attention, again. How unlucky you were. You watched as he unzippes his pants and your eyes widened in horror, hearing another zip being pulled down right after Will’s. You shook your head but it caused Will’s grip to tighten.

As he pulled out his cock, you heard shuffling behind you as well. Will tapped his fat tip against your cheek, then slowly running it along your sealed lips. “Are you going to open up or do I have to force you?”

You contemplated. You really contemplated and the slap made you more pliant, as you parted open your lips. On the other hand, Hannibal had pushed your legs apart, his own cock in his hand. He slowly guided it inside you and when you felt his thick head enter you, a high pitched moan echoed within the walls of the museum.

Will pulled your hair. “Stick your fucking tongue out.”

And you obliged. Ashamed and embarrassed, you stuck your tongue out and Will slapped his fat cock flat against it a few times before driving it inside the wetness of your mouth. Feeling them both enter you at the same time, one inside your cunt and the other dominating your mouth. You cried out in pain.

Hannibal looked down at how your pussy hugged his cock, barely halfway through and a low growl rumbled from his chest upon seeing the ring of blood around his cock.

You were a virgin.

“She's a virgin Will.” Hannibal called out, pushing himself deeper inside you. To a point where no one else has been. “Poor girl probably wanted something sweet, something gentle for her first time.”

Will practically melted at the fact that you were a virgin. Completely untouched. He wondered how could that be possible with the way you appeared and how your body was carved by the gods them selves? But he didn't care. It was perfect. You were perfect.

Made for them.

Crafted for them by the same god they both resented.

Will’s gaze dropped down at you, watching you as your lips squeezed around his cock and sucked him in. “Ever sucked a cock before, princess?”

The term which was usually used for endearment sounded so ironic when it came from Will. Like he was mocking you, using it to taunt you. He didn't mean it when he called you that. He was only using it to make you feel horrible, calling you a princess while treating you worse than a peasant.

You shook your head. You were foreign to the idea of such explicit activities before this very night but now, you were stuffed two cocks. One in your mouth and one in your cunt.

You felt Hannibal’s cock grow thicker inside you at the information, its veins throbbing against your gummy walls. A muffled cry of despair left you as Will continued sliding his cock further into your mouth. “If I feel one tooth, I will punch them right out of your mouth. Got it?”

You inhaled through your nose, nodding.

“Good.” Will released your hair as both his hands settled against your face. He held your face, the head of his cock pushing past your palate and uvula as a loud groan mixed in with your muffled whimpers. He snapped his hips, not caring that you were choking all over his cock.

Saliva trailing down your chin, making a mess around your mouth. You moved your shoulders, all the while Hannibal held you tightly against the table by your hips and fucked you like some wild beast. Both men used their full strength, snapping their cock inside you and it left you light headed.

“She's squeezing me in so much, almost as if she likes this.” You heard Hannibal grunt, his cock slamming against your cervix. From how hard his fingernails dug into your flesh, you knew your skin was bloodied by now.

Hannibal’s gentle demeanor was out the fucking window, replaced with the monster he truly was.

As Will’s cock slid along the surface of your tongue, his hips bucked and he fully bottomed out in your mouth. You could feel his head at the back of your throat and gagged all over it, tears splattering out of your eyes. It was all a mess. You couldn't even breathe anymore and let out little screams — which were muffled and only worked as vibrations against Will’s throbbing length, nearing him to his orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck. I bet her little cunt is as tight as her mouth. It's like I'm fucking a pussy.” Will whimpered, slurring out soft little pants.

Hannibal groaned in respond. “Show me her face, Will. Right now.”

Will nodded, pulling out of your mouth only for a few seconds as he flipped you on your back and pushed your head up, holding it for Hannibal to witness the mess he'd created out of you. A mirror with broken shards, showing Hannibal a reflection of himself.

He almost came at the sight of you.

Looking so fucked up. Hair a mess. Lips bruised, bloody and swollen. Tears and saliva running down in rivulets. You were a fucking sight for sore eyes and Hannibal wanted this every single day. He needed to witness this every single day.

And he never needed anything.

“So beautiful. So fucking—” He snapped inside you, his pace becoming rough and animal like thrusts founding their way against your bruised spot. “beautiful but such an impolite little girl.”

He spat as the sound of skin against skin echoed in the room. Bouncing off the walls of the museum, reaching the carved out ancient ceiling. The cupids listening to each and every noise made in sin.

Will dropped your head down, your neck bending slightly as he shoved his cock back inside your mouth. This new position gave him all the power to fuck your mouth thoroughly, watching as the imprint of his cock inside your throat formed against your skin. Bulging and moving along the skin.

It turned him on like nothing else.

He glared at you, eyebrows furrowed in pure pleasure, lips parted to allow heavy pants escape it. Will Graham looked fucking breathtaking when the sweat trickled down his forehead. You were wondering if this was that bad, if them taking you against your will was anything bad.

But it was the pleasure getting to your head.

Of course this was morally wrong and fucked up.

But who had morals in this room?

One was a cannibal, the other was an accomplice and murderer and you were an unhinged stalker.

“Fuck you looking at huh?” He asked you, abruptly slapping your chest. Your back arched and you let out a whimpered cry, almost tempted to use your teeth.

But you were well aware what that act would cost you.

Will gasped out, feeling his orgasm nearing while Hannibal looked at Will. He could only admire the view before him and as he fucked your cunt, his own orgasm came knocking at his door. Both of them imitated each other's pace, fucking you like wild animals during mating season.

They came soon and the intimacy of them cumming together was so intense. Hannibal’s load shot out, coating your gummy walls and filling you up to the brim. Will’s thrusted, and as you subconsciously tightened your mouth around him, the man also released into your mouth.

His moans had evolved into whimpers and gasps, breathing ragged as he emptied himself inside you. Balls throbbing and hips bucking. It was fucking intense, for both Hannibal and Will. His fingernails dug into the wood for support, fucking your mouth leisurely to ride out his orgasm. Hannibal had left marks on your thighs and hips from how roughly he'd gripped them, as well as blood trails from his nails.

Coated in your own blood, your once untouched and unclaimed skin was now drenched in sin — purity long snatched by the hands of the devil himself. In your case, both Hannibal and Will relresented the Devil. Falling angels they were.

As Will pulled out from your mouth, he caught a glimpse of all his load sitting there in your mouth. It's taste salty and texture thick. Something you'd never ever experienced in your mouth.

“Swallow it.” He ordered and you shut your mouth, swallowing it all. It felt gross and weird against your throat but you didn't complain, only a look of grimace crossed your face.

You still hadn't cum.

Your body twitching and aching. Your cunt screaming for its own release, knots building up in your stomach and thighs convulsing. You were close too but Hannibal stopping made you let out a whimper of frustration.

“Look at her, Hannibal. Twitching and whimpering for a release, huh.” Will scoffed, lips shuddering as he inhaled long chains of oxygen.

Hannibal pried open your hole with his thumbs, watching as his cum oozed out of you and pooled on the table. Your gaping hole sputtered, more cum leaking out and Hannibal licked his lips at the sight. “Although she has not been an obedient girl, I think she deserves her release too for taking us so well. Don't you, Darling?”

You nodded.

You needed this feeling of intense desire and wanton to disappear. This frustration that bit at your stomach, nipped away little pieces of flesh.

Will walked over to Hannibal as the man took you into his arms, sliding his cock back inside you. This time Will sat on top of the table, his half soft cock fully hardening at the evil idea that cooked in his mind. He held your ass, opening it with both his hands and slowly pressing his tip against your rim.

Your eyes widened. “N—No.”

“Still resisting us? Knowing we've claimed you, all of you? How naive.” Hannibal commented, face only a few inches apart from yours. He slid his cock inside your cunt as Will lowered you onto his. The two men were gonna tear you apart, you knew that.

Their girth and length were both something you couldn't handle, not at once at least. But Will didn't care — and Hannibal shared that. Feeling the burning stretch in your ass, you shrieked as Will entered you. A tear slid down your face, disappearing into your parted lips as Hannibal held you for Will.

“It hurts— hurts please.” You cried, like a broken doll and Hannibal pressed a kiss against the corner of your lips. “It'll feel better soon. You shouldn't feel pain. You're only a set of holes for our pleasure, aren't you?”

You didn't answer, too lost in the searing pain in your bottom. Will wasn't even half way through, you could feel it and yet it felt like you were being ripped apart. Hannibal’s cock stayed inside you, not movinf at all. Allowing Will to first adjust himself inside you.

“Answer me.” Hannibal held you with one hand, as he lightly smack you with the other.

You nodded. “Yeah, only a set of holes for your pleasure.”

Hearing you accept it like this, so vocally and out loud. Will lost it and slammed you down onto his cock, bottoming out. Pain bloomed in your ass and you screamed but before it could reach the ears of people somewhere outside the museum, Hannibal captured your lips in a rough kiss.

He licked at your tongue, teeth against teeth while fucking into you slowly. Will sat there as Hannibal moved you up and down on his cock and the burning sensation only grew with each thrust. “Stupid fucking whore. Just what was going through your head, this young and dedicating your life to stalking men twice your fucking age. It's like you wanted this to happen to you, yeah? Two cocks in you at once.”

Will’s filthy words was like alcohol, and blitzed you were. Guilt consumed you and somewhere their manipulation was seeming to work on you in this vulnerable moment. You should've know better. This was bound to happen. Just what were you expecting? That they would invite you into their lives with an open, warm embrace?

You were so fucking stupid.

Hannibal parted from you, his forehead pressed against you as he settled you down against Will’s thighs. You sniffled, feeling his cock all the way inside your ass as Hannibal used your cunt. You felt nothing more than some whore that was here for their pleasure, their sake.

Your stomach flipped and churned, a disclaimer that your release was near. Your thighs shook terribly and when Will pushed upward, you surged forward and leaned against Hannibal’s chest. You tightened around them both, toes curling and eyes squeezing shut.

“Oh she's close. I can feel her. She's gonna snap my fucking dick in half.” Will grunted, as you twitched. Then it came. That strong, bone chilling feeling of pleasure, consuming your whole being. Eyes witnessing white and lips agape, high pitched moans slurring out and tainting the purity of the museum.

You felt the potent need of release take over you ans you gushed out, squirting all over the men. Your body going limp and losing all its strength, falling over to Hannibal. All you saw was darkness, as your eyes stayed closed and your chest moved up and down. Frame suffering from convulsions.

For a moment you thought they'd stop but what a mistake it was.

“She's made quite the mess, Will.” Hannibal commented, his button up soaked in your release.

Will released a hoarse chuckle, his chest rumbling. The man started fucking into your ass, watching as it revived you back but this time you had no resistance left in you. One orgasm had sent you over the edge, overestimated and sensitive. You whined into Hannibal’s chest, tears staining his shirt as Will continued fucking into you.

Hannibal was also in pursuit of Will, his cock carrying its assault on your cunt. Encouraging broken whines out of you. The two were also stimulated enough and after fucking you for awhile, they too came.

Feeling Will’s load in your ass was a weird feeling. It was uncomfortable but what made it even more uncomfortable was Hannibal’s cum leaking out of your cunt, as he fucked it back into you.

You fell against Will’s chest, head resting on his shoulder. Face drained and numb, no energy left in you whatsoever. You were so fucked out and numb — no expression on your face as you stared at Hannibal.

“She's fucked.” Will said, with a laugh as he stared at the worried expression on Hannibal’s face.

He tapped his fingers over your cheek. “Hey, can you hear me?”

You didn't respond. Completely broken and tired. You craved solace in that moment, absurdly from the two men who were the sole cause of all this. How fucked up could this situation get?

“Hey.” His taps on your cheek grew harder but you didn't respond. Will sat up straight, arm wrapped around your waist as he held you against him. “Fuck, I think we damaged her.”

“We?” Hannibal raised a brow.

Will narrowed his eyes at him. “Don't pretend as if you weren't manipulating her into thinking this was all her fault, all the while fucking her.”

Hannibal looked at you, also tapping at your face but to no avail. You were completely speechless and devoid of any human emotion. Like some fucking statue.

“All the fucking left her braindead huh.” Will whispered and then he leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss against you cheek. He shook your body lightly and there you were.

Staring at him, with your innocent eyes and his heart clenched. You still had remnants of who you were, just like all of them but he knew this would change you.

“There you are.” Hannibal said, a wave of relief washing over him. You stared between the two men and finally gathered the courage to reply to their question.

“Comfort.” Both their gazes narrowed in on you when you spoke, voice strained and almost gone from all the moaning you did. “You a-asked me what I believed I would ac—” You coughed out before continuing, “achieve from this. Comfort.”

Will’s jaw tightened.

Hannibal found you even more endearing than before. How foolish yet adorable of you to think being with them could bring you comfort. He caressed away the drop of nearly dried blood from your chin, watching it taint your skin further.

“Let's go, we're going home.” The blonde said — as Will nodded his head. He liked the idea of taking a broken person like you home, especially when you had chased them only as a means to seek comfort. He didn't know whether to think of it as something sad or something sweet.

But both of them had plenty of time to decide that, as they were taking you home.

[pseudowho]

Glory Glory: Nanami Kento

An absolutely unhinged delicious "Help, I'm stuck!" series, where the reader is taken care of by the JJK guys.

18+ as always. Pure smut.

*Visual art of Reader/Nanami positions, link enclosed*

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You were never able to concentrate fully when sent on a mission with Nanami Kento, and it drove you to absolute distraction. The broad taper of his shoulders and nipped waist; the way his thighs strained his tan trousers dangerously tightly as he moved to sweep Curses like a minefield; the slow, considered, gravelly voice. You remained professional...but clumsy.

Already blushing after Kento complimented you smoothly on landing the killing blow on  the Curse, now crumbled and decaying before you, you sought the Cursed item that had been drawing such powerful monsters in. Roaming through the remnants of this crumbling city-edge mansion, you headed into a dining room, feeling the thrum of nearby Cursed energy that told you you were nearing your goal.

Your hand brushed the brickwork of an old chimney stack-- gotcha, you thought, leaning down to try to look up it, unable to find the right angle. Sitting on your bottom, and shuffling backwards to look directly up the chimney, you reached in, feeling something small and fabric wrapped, wedged into old brickwork. You began to work to free the item.

"In here!" you yelled, as you heard Kento call for you. Your yelling brought a crumble and cloud of soot and brick dust onto your face, and as you coughed, pulling the cursed item free, part of the chimney stack collapsed inwards against you, pinning you in place, bottom still sat on the floor below you.

You heard hard footsteps towards the room as you shrieked, Kento calling for you in concern. You coughed and spluttered, glasses covered in debris, stuck in the dark. You felt Kento approach, hearing him drop to his knees, and blushing as his hands lightly grazed your waist and hips, checking for injury.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his usual calm and considered self. He almost sounded like he was holding back a laugh, you thought.

"No, but I...I don't think I can get out. I'm stuck," you complained, mortified by your own lack of care. You heard Kento hum to himself.

"That is a problem," he toned, low and sardonic, "what shall we do with you?" You blushed, heat creeping up your cheeks at the promise in his voice. You swallowed.

"Uhm...Kento? Can you get me out?"

"Well, yes. I absolutely can." Silence. Kento's hands were still on your hips, fingers tapping, slow and thoughtful.

As you opened your mouth to speak again, clenching your thighs together, not unnoticed by Kento, he spoke again.

"But, why rush? After all," he toned, voice silky smooth as his fingers squeezed your hips appreciatively, "we might even see this as...serendipitous." You let out a soft gasp, squeaking as you felt his warm, broad palms reach underneath you to squeeze your arse, the touch drawn-out and lingering.

"I've waited for a long time, you know," he intoned, musing out loud, "all those missions together. All the times I've caught you staring. How the hairs stand up on your arms when I talk to you."

You trembled as you felt his hands wander to the front of your trousers, reaching down to deftly unbutton and unzip your them. You throbbed, thighs clenching and eager.

"I can almost taste you aching for me," Kento teased, thrilled by how you shook in silent anticipation. "It would be cruel to let you suffer like this any longer." Your eyes were closed now, lost in your dream of Kento taking charge being realised.

Kento felt his cock twitch against his thigh as he slipped his hand down the front of your trousers, humming in appreciation at the laced edge of your underwear, before grazing his fingers against your pussy, admiring the growing wetness of your underwear. His mouth watered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Feeling your thighs clamp around his hand, holding it in place, Kento chuckled as he heard a breathy moan from within the chimney stack. He continued to stroke you, increasing the pressure just enough that you felt a distant soft ache building in your clit.

"Kento-- I-- please--"

"Lovely manners," he groaned, palming himself through his trousers as he slowly started to edge his fingers out of your trousers. You let out a frustrated squeak and a wiggle, and Kento bit his lip to suppress another laugh.

"Ask nicely," he teased, admiring the soft spread of your thighs against the floor, running his other hand up and down them to delight in the plushness of you. He pursed his lips in mirth as he heard you huff at him behind the chimney stack.

Your complaining stopped, however, when you felt him grip your trousers and eagerly peel them off you, along with your underwear, leaving your bottom half totally naked in one shockingly bold move.

You were speechless, blushing wildly and flustered, and you heard fabric-y shuffles against the floor, before feeling your bottom lifted by strong arms and settled onto Kento's muscular, planed chest. You squeaked as he slapped your bum in appreciation, the sting making you moan.

"I hope you know this is me asking you out for dinner," he soothed. Kento lifted your bottom again, high enough for him to wriggle under and delve his tongue into your quivering heat, wetting his lips at the sight of your soft folds and full round arse.

"Although...at least the first time, I'll be eating out without you." You had barely a moment to process before Kento released your weight, forcing your pussy down onto his face. You cried out, feeling your clit immediately hit Kento's chin, his tongue appreciatively licking a long stripe between your entrance and clit, nose nuzzling into your fluttering hole.

Pleasure hit you in deep throbs as Kento rocked your hips back and forth on his face, encouraging you to ride him, your knees and thighs splayed out at either side of his head. Allowing you to roll your clit against his chin and lips until you were mewling, your essence running down his neck to decorate his collar, Kento shifted his mouth down to pucker his lips firmly around your clit, flicking his tongue quickly against it.

You shivered, begging, "-- oh god, Kento-- just keep doing that, that's perfect, I can't-- I can't--" Kento carried on, nose still nuzzling into your pussy and tongue flicking against your clit, pleasuring you with absolute practiced ease. He groaned as he felt your thighs clamp around his head, the vibrations sending you over the cliff's edge and you fell, stomach swooping and clenching as you came with a cry, gasping and coughing as more brick dust collapsed onto your face.

Kento nuzzled into you, gripping your thighs affectionately with strong forearms, rocking you from side to side as he squeezed them to the sides of his head, cuddling your lower half to him. Lifting you off, and planting a kiss on your folds, Kento lifted his tie to wipe your cum off his face.

"Is that a yes to dinner, then?" He asked, laughing as you tried to kick at him.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Also arriving tonight on scheduled blogs:

Kamo Choso, Higuruma Hiromi

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan babysitter

(Fourth official post)

(This one is a bit shorter than my other posts)

“Don’t worry I’ll take good care of them!” He placates your parents as they leave, waving them off and slamming the door shut when your parents have gone far enough.

He turns to you, with a rather fierce glare and shoos you off to your room. 

Yan babysitter that wants nothing to do with you, that only took the job because he needs the money. 

Yan babysitter who thinks you’re too old for a babysitter, but he doesn’t care, your parents are rich and that’s all he needs to know.

Yan babysitter who did not anticipate you to be such an irresponsible nuisance. (What’s with the weird cultists that keep knocking on the door and where’s that strange whispering coming from??)

Yan babysitter who quickly discovers that maybe this job was more than he bargained for, maybe he shouldn’t have been so dismissive of his job.

Yan babysitter who, somehow, ended up trapped in another dimension and is trying to escape. (Turns out cultists don’t take too kindly to the door being slammed in their face)

Yan babysitter who is sure he’s going to die here in this strange dimension.

Yan Babysitter who regrets ever taking this job and swears that if he ever gets out he’s never coming to this house again.

Yan babysitter who faces the horrors of this other dimension, each monster warping his mind and easing him into insanity.

Yan babysitter who’s so close to escaping, but then he gets trapped by some weird otherworldly creature.

Yan babysitter whose life flashes before his eyes as the creature nears.

He closes his eyes and can only hope that this won’t be dragged out, he can feel the creature approach, and he can do nothing but curl up into a ball and beg for mercy.

However, death doesn’t come, no, just when the creature unhinged its jaw and prepares to (quite literally) devour Yan babysitter, he’s saved.

Yan babysitter who’s stunned whenever you rescue him and when he tries to express his gratitude you dismiss his gratitude. (This happened a lot, you tell him, you even suggest that it was your parents intention to sacrifice him.)

Yan babysitter, who from then on, is absolutely obsessed with you (he treats you like a deity, swearing that he’ll serve you forever.)

You brush him off, as you are used to saving irresponsible babysitters from the jaws of doom, then your try to ignore his constant rambling about you being a deity. (Because you aren’t, you’re just a normal person with magic powers) Yet, no matter how much you ignore him his ramblings don’t (Maybe you should’ve left him in that other dimension)

He takes your indifference as a sign of shyness, his mind warped by the brief time he spent in that other dimension. (Seriously, he’s going to need major therapy when he leaves this house) He decides to dedicate his life to protecting you or at the very least repay you for saving his life.

Which then leads to him following you around, intervening in everything you do and then isolating you from those he deems a threat. (Mostly your friends)

Somehow, in less than two weeks, he has threatened half of your neighborhood and caused almost all your friends to go missing. 

At this point, it occurs to you that maybe Yan babysitter is a danger to your lifestyle and you should probably get rid of him. Which marks the beginning of your attempts to erase him from existence, however this doesn’t sway him, and he somehow believes that the person targeting him is actually aiming for you.

So, now, you’ve got an overprotective babysitter watching your every move and probably hiding in your walls. (Maybe you should have let him rot in the other dimension, less trouble and you wouldn’t have had to explain to your parents why the demon in your basement is still hungry)

Yan babysitter who promises to always protect you and to be by your side forever. (He’s such a nuisance)

(Sorry for the short post, I was somewhat distracted by the tv when I was writing this.)

(Regardless, enjoy this post and feel free to comment)

[heartshapedcigaretteburns]

141! Reacting to you biting them playfully/lovingly

I KEEP seeing 141 reacting to reader biting them playfully/lovingly so I decided to share my takes.😽😽😽

Soap! would 100% fight back the minute he feels your teeth wrapped around his arm. He takes it as you trying to start shit with him so he's up and practically wrestling you to the floor within seconds (easy for him since he's got all those big strong muscles 😖😣😫💦). By the time you even register the chaos of being thrown to the floor (mostly gently), he's already got a fleshy piece of your exposed stomach in his mouth. Knowing Soap, it would end up dirty real fast. (I usually skip this part)

Gaz! would honestly just accept it after the first couple times. He can't even see anything about you as weird or strange bc he's just THAT down bad for you. He definitely got scared the first time but then let out a questioning giggle and asked what that was about. Now he just lets you gnaw at him for as long as you want while he strokes your back or plays with your hair bc he loves you more than anything, including his own flesh😍😜💕💕💕

Price! would be mostly in the same boat as Gaz. Especially if you're biting affectionately rather than playfully. If you're the type to bite lovingly and he knows that, he'll definitely cherish those bites no matter how bad they actually hurt bc it means you love him and that's all he cares about 🙂. It's almost routine for you to bite him wherever you can when you're cuddling in bed at night. The minute you're comfortable with your head buried in the crook of his neck, he's already anticipating the feeling of your teeth clamped down on his shoulder. He actually looks forward to it now.

Simon! The first time it happens is when you're laying together on your tiny couch. You're watching some movie that you've lost the plot of half an hour ago and now you're BORED and Simons bicep is right in front of you so naturally you unhinge your jaw and latch onto his muscles (🥵). He'll never admit this but when you latched onto his bicep he SQUEALED and HONEST TO GOD THREW HIMSELF OFF THE COUCH TO GET AWAY. He's so embarrassed and grumpy and pouty afterwards. Looks like an actual toddler for the rest of the night. Won't trust you for weeks after the initial bite.

Idk if you guys can tell but I wrote this thinking Gaz and Price would get lovingly bitten while Soap and Ghost would be playfully bitten more. Anyways hope y'all enjoy this, it was very fun to write. Thank you for all of the love and support on my other posts 🥰🥰💞

[danikamariewrites]

Together for the First Time

Feysand x reader

A/n: happy Poly week! I’m so excited to be doing this and reading what everyone else has come up with. Today is Day 1 which is beginnings. I decided to do when Feysand and reader start being open with the Inner Circle about their relationship and of course Cassian’s inability to keep a secret. @polyacotarweek

Warnings: none

For the first time in two hundred years Cassian was actually early for a meeting with his brothers. He even had a lil pep in his step. Things were good, great even. He and Nesta were good, Nyx loved spending time with him, the family was at peace. Nothing could ruin Cassian’s day.

A giggle from inside Rhys’s office interrupted his thoughts. It sounded unfamiliar.

Creeping closer to the door Cassian finds it cracked open. Willing his massive body to be stealthy he holds his breath and listens.

That sweet giggle rings through the room again along with Rhys and Feyre’s laughter. Odd. Cassian wasn’t aware of any other meetings today. He was supposed to take up all of his brothers’ time today.

“Alright,” that voice. Cassian knows that voice. Where has he heard that voice?

“We should probably go get Nyx from his nap together. Since Rhys put him down he’s going to want us.”

Cassian slightly turned his head to look through the cracked door. The sight had his jaw unhinging, practically hitting the floor. Rhys kissing Feyre then you. You, y/n! With his brother and Feyre! When on earth did this happen?

Cassian began to panic. Oh Mother, what if he’s the only one that knows? Cass won’t be able to keep his mouth shut.

As you and Feyre made your way to the door Cassian began to jog as quietly as possible around the corner. Peaking, he watched you and Feyre walk down the hall hand in hand.

Plastering himself against the wall he waits a few moments before heading into Rhys’s office. Composing himself he enters the office ready to give Rhys his update about the Illyrian army.

———

Rhys thought about his brother's odd behavior as he followed the sound of his son's playful giggles. What on earth had Cassian so jumpy and tense?

He shook his head forgetting all about the stressful conversation.

Upon seeing you and Feyre playing with Nyx his smile widened. Sitting on the floor Rhys began to hand his son blocks for the little village he was focused on constructing.

“Are you two sure you want to do this tonight?” You ask from your spot in the corner of the room, propped up by the mountain the size of Ramiel of Nyx’s stuffed toys.

Feyre and Rhys give you a sad look. “Why wouldn’t we be sure?” Rhys coos at you.

You shrug at them, looking away absentmindedly playing with the wing of a stuffed owl. “What if the family doesn’t accept us, me?”

They move to either side of you, squishing you in a side hug. “Of course they will. And even if they don’t it doesn’t matter.” “You’re positive?”

“Sweet girl, you are our mate. Of course we are sure.” Rhys kisses your forehead as Feyre kisses your cheek. Nyx huffs, feeling left out the small boy yells, “Hey! No fair, I want kisses too!” He throws his small body onto the three of you. Knocking you back into the stuffed animals in a fit of giggles.

———

Dinner started with light conversation and a delicious appetizer thanks to Elain. You sit with Rhys and Feyre at the end of the table. Your chair very close to the two of them.

Cassian felt like he was going to explode. He has kept this gods damned secret to himself all day. Another new record.

As the main course appears with a wave of Rhys’s hand he clears his throat. The family’s attention turns to him. All happy and content faces.

“Feyre and I have exciting news to share with you.” The two look at you, bright smiles on their faces as the bond hums between the three of you.

Anticipation coursed through the room as Rhys grasped your hand, giving it a loving squeeze.

“We have discovered a triad bond. Between myself, Feyre, and y/n.” He said happily, beaming at his friends. You couldn’t look at them. Holding your breath your eyes dart around everyone’s faces.

You found nothing but love and acceptance. Mor raised her wine glass, “Congratulations! This is rare, but wow! You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

The rest raise their glasses cheering, “here, here!”

At that hour anxiety was relieved. It seemed so was Cassian’s. After taking a huge gulp of wine Cass he breathed out the loudest sigh of relief. His head hitting the table. “Thank the Mother!” Everyone looked at him, Azriel let out one of those rare laughs at his brother's antics. “Cass?” Feyre asks with a chuckle.

“I saw you and y/n earlier coming out of the office, I also saw you guys in the office because I was early. I’ve been keeping this damn secret all day and thank gods you said something!” He rambled.

“Wait,” Rhys looks at him with a raised brow, “you were early?

[themultifanshipper]

Oscar was giddy with excitement. Lando was going commando under his ugly senna inspired race suit, and he kept reajusting himself to hide the fact he was half-hard at the prospect of what was waiting for him when the day was over.

Inspired by this whole mess

Warnings: pain kink, lil bit of subspace if you squint? They're unhinged abt each other guys idk what more to say

Oscar was also hard, but he had the advantage of the waistband of his boxers to tuck himself into.

This was the deal: if Lando didn't wear underwear for media day, he would get a reward that night for being a good boy.

This was the problem: Lando was getting quite chafed because of the rough material and he was already struggling, half way through the day. So Oscar took him to his drivers room and got on his knees, lotion at the ready, and sucked him off for his troubles.

Once back out there, in front of everyone, it took Lando less than 20 minutes to get hard again. He got off on the pain and thrill of it all. The anticipation killing him, knowing his reward was worth it.

Oscar kept looking at him heatedly from wherever he was talking to sponsors, and whenever they brushed against each other it would send a chill up their spines, both of them incredibly riled up by the end of the day.

And it didn't help that Lando was technically wearing Australia's national colours.

The last hour was the worst. Lando was quietly whimpering to himself everytime he moved, and even Oscar's reassuring hand rubbing his back wasn't enough to soothe him.

Unfortunately for both of them the pain turned Lando on, and seing him in pain turned Oscar on.

They were a bit sick like that.

"Colour?" Oscar would ask.

"Green" Lando whined, every single time.

By the time they could finally leave, Lando was leaning heavily on Oscar, and he almost had to carry him to the car that would take them to Lando's.

Once inside, Oscar wasted no time stripping Lando of his suit, the cold air on the raw skin making the older man hiss and moan in relief.

Oscar carried Lando to the bed, grabbing some lube and aloe cream on the way, and set him down on the bed. He lifted Lando's legs to expose him, cheeks red and burning.

He gently rubbed the cream into Lando's flesh and the sting made the man writhe in pain, but also impossibly harder.

"Please Oscar, just fuck me, I need it"

Oscar grinned at him, he was so hard he was leaking onto Lando's thigh.

"Okay baby, I've got you now, just give me a minute to open you up"

He started out with one finger, making Lando whine, then two, while his other hand kept rubbing cream over the crease of his thighs.

Lando was so hard it hurt and he was slowly going mad as Oscar opened him up.

When he was finally ready, crying slightly from being denied so long, Oscar lined himself up and pushed in slowly, inch by inch until he was fully inside. Lando was completely out of it, whining and babbling nonsense as Oscar slowly rocked in and out of him, tears were staining Lando's cheeks which just served to drive Oscar a little bit mad. Neither of them were going to last long. So Oscar put his cream covered hand around Lando's cock, and the other around his neck, the flash of pain making Lando come instanly with a wanton moan, Oscar finishing inside him seconds later.

"Are you okay Lando?"

Lando was incapable of speech so he grabbed Oscar's hand and squeezed twice.

Oscar quickly cleaned them up, reapplied cream everywhere, Lando's cock making a valiant effort to get hard again, and settled him under the covers.

As he slid into bed and scrolled his phone for a bit. A hand came up and settled on his arm, a small "I love you, Osc" coming from the lump in the bed next to him. He squeezed the hand and replied "I love you too Lan"

[raguonmynieceandnephew]

"It's so unfair to the Rat Grinders that they are killed instantly and the Bad Kids get to roll death saves." SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUP

THIS IS LONG, AND HONESTLY FOR MYSELF, SO YEAH READ IF YOU WANT

I swear to god, this discourse is going to fucking be the end of me. Idk what kind of mind boggling spell Brennan Lee Mulligan wove into the fabric of the universe that spread through the data center of Dropout in order to absolutely hijack y'all's brains when it comes to Cocklord Assgape and her ragtag of character foils but whatever it was has made you Rat Grinder stans INSUFFERABLE in this site.

The levels of treating fictional characters as if they were real people have reached a level I honestly have never anticipated, to the point of y'all actually being mad AT THE CAST for "mistreating" them and ACTUALLY QUESTION BRENNAN'S CAPACITY TO DM. Do you not get how fucking insane that is?

We can't make fun of Copperkettle, one of the most pathetic, petty and incompetent villains in D20 history anymore (even though she is masterfully written and developed to generate this reaction from us) anymore because it's bullying apparently. I saw an account flip the fuck out because someone compared her rivalry with Kristen to Drake and Kendrick's beef. KIPPERLILY IS NOT A REAL GIRL. SHE IS A MAKE BELIEVE CHARACTER IN AN IMPROV SHOW SPAWNED FROM THE BRAIN OF A 36 YEAR OLD MAN

And then what truly pissed me off the MOST about this whole hell is the fact that, being chronically online avid consumers of this goddamn show, I would think you would have but a grasp of the main cast of characters' characterization.

Why the uproar about Riz saying they should chop Oisin's head off? The same Riz who tortured that pixie from Freshman year by shooting off their finger one by one? The same Riz who murked a disarmed and unconscious Coach Daybreak without battin an eye? The same Riz who ATE THE CORPSE OF KALVAXUS?

And the whole Fabian vs Ivy debacle MY GOD, THE GIRL WAS RACIST TO HIS GIRLFRIEND AND USED HER LAST BREATH TO CALL MAZEY "OBJECTIVELY UGLY". And the funniest thing is that is not even the most unhinged shit he has ever said.

And finally, Death Save Gate: THE RAT GRINDERS ARE NOT PLAYER CHARACTERS. THEY ARE NPCS! THE RULES FOR EACH WORK DIFFERENTLY, ESPECIALLY THEM BEING BOSS ENCOUNTERS. Imagine having to still hit Ivy or Oisin 2 more times to kill them when there is 14 foot tall Porter throwing legendary actions left and right, with Jace, and other 3 spell casters + Mary Ann and KLCK up and running. It's called balancing the fucking game. Also, game masters are entitled to break, mold and make up any rules they want if they find necessary in order to service themselves and their players. IF YOU PLAY WITH ALL THESE RULES AS THEY COME, GOOD FOR YOU AND YOUR TABLE. THIS IS NOT YOUR TABLE.

Not only is Brennan DMing for his CLOSEST FRIENDS EVER, he is also shooting and producing an ENTIRE TV SHOW. So yeah, i think he knows wtf he is doing.

"But the Ratgrinders had no real development": True. But it wasn't for lack of trying from the players. Everytime they tried to know more, the dice didn't let them, so they decided to focus on the mystery. It simply do be like that sometimes.

"But they are just kids!": And so were Penelope, Dayne, Ragh, Zayn, the Bloodrush Players, Aelwyn and Biz. Why wasn't it a problem then? Because most of them were evil to some extent and were about to bring the fucking apocalypse to the world? Yeah, sounds familiar right? And the ones who were manipulated or had any sort of redemption worked their way into earning it, right? Yeah.

In conclusion, I fucking love the Rat Grinders, I truly do, and not unlike 90% of this website, i'm still holding on to hope that they have any sort of development and redemption in the last episode, because I agree, they ARE children and they WERE manipulated by Porter and Jace, but like, can we also agree that they are fucking assholes and had it fucking coming? Also, the BKs are children too y'know. SO STOP BEING FUCKING ANNOYING.

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

Ok thoughts 👏thoughts👏Everyone gather around I have thoughts about this!

Episode 2 was clearly the Pomni episode. We got to see her character get a little more fleshed out and we also got a glimpse of what motivates her which is great.

With this tweet we have solid confirmation on who the upcoming episodes will center on (thanks for not making us guess, Goose) and this lineup is really interesting.

First fascinating thing is that Kinger and Zooble share a spotlight in ep 3. Why is that? Everyone else gets their own dedicated episodes so why are they unique in that regard? What connects them?

Well, I have one idea!

So we know since the pilot that Kinger has been the one to have lived in the Circus the longest out of all of them. We’re still not sure if he was in fact the 1st human to be trapped (maybe we’ll find out in the next episode) but he definitely has the most seniority, both in age and in length of entrapment.

We also know that Zooble was the most recent character to get stuck before Pomni (and considering their attitude, it may have even been quite a while beforehand) AND is the youngest character next to Jax (they even share the same age, which could be a coincidence but it feels too deliberate of a choice).

Which means ep 2 will simultaneously focus on the oldest and the youngest of the characters.

I’m actually curious as to what their dynamic will be because they haven’t really interacted much in the pilot (and like not at all in episode 2), if they end up interacting in ep 3 at all. But mostly I’m excited to see them more fleshed out with hopefully Pomni getting the chance to bond with them (either together or separately).

My guess is that the purpose for them to share focus on an episode is to get perspective from someone who’s been there the longest and has seen more people come and go than anyone else vs. someone who was just recently in Pomni’s shoes and had probably a much different first day experience (we know Zooble cared enough about Kaufmo to personally organize his funeral so they may have some…feelings about who’s essentially his replacement).

Ep3 is also supposedly Gooseworx’s most anticipated episode so I’m extra excited.

Next we have Gangle for episode 4. I honestly don’t have a lot to say about her or the significance in her episode placement outside of her being the closest in age to Pomni (being only a year older). The only hint we get about what her episode will possibly consist of will be on how reliant she is on her ComedyMask to feel happy, which will be very interesting and we might even get some confirmation on whether her avatar was programmed with that feature upon entering the Circus or if it was an add on of sorts by Caine to help keep her sane. A pretty shitty feature if it can’t last for very long but it does make for a nice metaphor about how fragile her facade is (girl is literally masking).

Actually I don’t think her and Pomni have actually exchanged words yet in the show. Wouldn’t it be funny if they don’t up until her episode. Like Pomni is so caught up in between whatever mess episode 3 has in store for Kinger and Zooble that the two of them never actually talk and it just keeps getting more awkward. Gangle wants to talk to her but is so self-conscious about her Tragedy self that she’ll only feel safe to have a conversation if she has her mask, but it just keeps breaking before she even gets the chance.

Again this is all just speculation, if they actually end up talking in episode 3 I’ll…make ship art of them.

Yeah

Anyway, episode 5. The one I’m personally waiting for because y’all should know what I’m about by now.

*Warning: Unhinged, borderline psychotic tangent incoming*

I swear to god if Pomni and Ragatha don’t have a fucking conversation before ep 5 I will launch myself into the sun. I’ll take anything, I just need them to get real for a second. I NEED to know the extent of this woman’s damage. It has to be explored, analyzed, and dissected and I will do so with gusto when the day comes. None of these characters will be safe from my scrutiny, but Ragatha oh ho ho, you have been living rent free in my head for too long, madame. You WILL pay your dues and I intend to collect in every episode until there is not corner of your unsound mind that I have not examined in great detail!

Ahem *Straightens tie* Ok back to business

So yeah, Ragatha.

It may be because we’ve only had 2 episodes but I can’t help but feel like we’re supposed to see Ragatha as a sort of deuteragonist since out of all of the supporting characters she’s so far been getting the most focus aside from Jax, and we’ll get to him in a minute (I promise that’s not just me being biased, or maybe it is, I don’t know, you tell me).

In just two episodes we’ve seen more of what makes her tick compared to anyone else. And of the main cast she’s been the ONLY one to make any kind of connection to the main character and have enough of a meaningful interaction with her to leave an impression.

But this is what really clinched her role as a deuteragonist for me, she’s so far been one of the few to have the narrative briefly shift to her perspective to give us significant character moments like these:

The show REALLY wants us to see just how NOT ok she is.

If she’s meant to be the heart of the group, her heart already can’t take much more damage. Her friendship (if you can call it that, it’s so painfully one sided right now) with Pomni clearly means a lot to her, so much so that her entire sense of self worth seems to be tied to it (and if you’ve been paying attention, she doesn’t have a lot of that as it is). It would be nice to see their connection gradually grow before her designated episode, where she might experience actual growth for herself.

And if episode 2 is any indication of how this show preserves friendships well…

Yeah, I don’t think she’s gonna make it.

In fact, I’m willing to bet actual money that she’s either gonna abstract in episode 5 or episode 6.

Which brings us to Jax’s episode! The other deuteragonist…tritagonist? He definitely shares some degree of significant narrative focus along with Pomni and Ragatha. He’s both an active antagonist force and one of the only characters to drive the plot forward every time he’s on screen (then there’s that weird thing where he keeps breaking the fourth wall).

He has so much significance in the story that Gooseworx gave him his own bullet point in her list of content warnings (this could also be a joke, but I mean it would be funny to see just how despicable they can make this character).

Gooseworx also described Jax and Pomni’s relationship in the show as “messy”. After episode 2, I don’t think she considers him as a candidate for any kind friendship like she did for the others, and who could blame her? In just two days the guy abandoned her to deal with an abstraction and chucked her out of a truck. He’s no one’s favorite person, and he relishes that. Bunnyboy definitely has some issues that Pomni would pick up on the more she’s forced to spend time with him. To the point where I can see her trying to eventually form some kind of bridge because, as her previously established character motivation implies, she’s not the kind of person to intentionally leave anyone high and dry. But unlike the rest of the crew, I don’t think Jax would be inclined to change for the better just because someone took pity on him. He seems like the kinda guy to dig his heels in and commit to his bad behavior out of spite.

And for his episode to come after Ragatha’s, why do I get the feeling the reason Gooseworx went so far as to preemptively apologize to bunnydoll shippers specifically is because he’s gonna cause something really really bad to happen to her (could be abstraction, could even be something much worse) that he would come to sorely regret.

And oh boy would that evoke some feelings in everyone!

I feel like if that is indeed the direction this show is going, the rest of the episodes will really be something.

I’m also certain Caine will get his own episode but right now he is very much an antagonist to these characters. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a villain, but he’s certainly not someone Pomni is keen on sympathizing with, at least not currently.

Thanks again @lilyclawthorne for helpfully providing me with the tweet so I can give some context for my ramblings of the week!

[justwinginglife]

Can I req a hoshina x reader, but school au and they're academic rivals? Leikk, they're in the same class and debates every now and then who's correct. Fights aren't uncommon between them especially when they both ran for council

But what's surprising is that they actually study together outside school?

(I'm sorry if this is to much 😔, I love your fanfics. Theyre my oxygen, ty for keeping us hoshina fans well fed 🫶)

You absolutely do not need to apologize! I am totally happy to do this for you. Thank you so much for your support, and of course, I'm always happy to encourage the Hoshina hyperfixation.

The Best Plans

You had so many ideas about how you thought your college life would go; you'd be top of every class, give a rousing speech at graduation, rock your first internship, and score a killer first job. You didn't anticipate anyone having the smarts to fuck up your masterplan. But Soshiro Hoshina was a whole different beast, something you couldn't have anticipated.

Your whole life, you'd been smarter than everyone around you even without trying. It was just a given that you were better. So you never could've predicted that you'd have to break a sweat just to keep up with him. For the first time in your life, you were pulling all nighters, just raw dogging tests with no sleep, no sanity. You were frequenting the library so much, studying at all hours of the day and the night, that you had become good friends with the librarian. Her name was Himiko. She had two cats and loved Italian food. She was a sweetheart.

But even through all this struggling, you persevered. You got 100% on almost everything (with the occasional 99% that Hoshina would tease you about relentlessly until your next 100%). You were not about to let some scrawny, short-ass, bowl-cut wearing, squinty-eyed, nerd disrupt your whole plan.

You hated the way he laughed at you. It was loud and unhinged. And it was uninterrupted, nothing could stop him once he'd started. And the way that he smirked was so smug and unapologetic, you thought you might just hit him with your encyclopedia.

Your favorite class was debate, because then you could argue with him to no end and even win participation points for it. Of course, you'd argue with him for free, but it was significantly more fun to destroy him for a good grade. It was like a nice little treat to yourself, compensation for having to endure his cocky personality.

And you endured a lot. You had the unfortunate luck of knowing him better than you had ever wanted to, better than anyone else ever could know him or ever would know him. You knew what arguments he was going to use before he used them, you knew what energy drink he felt was more effective for his late night study sessions (you'd run into him so frequently at the library), you knew his poker face, his stressed face (you were surprised to discover that he actually got stressed, and you teased him incessantly about not being so superhuman after all), you knew which subjects were his favorite, which subjects were his least favorite, which classmates he liked and disliked. And you had always thought you were on the "dislike" list until one day you both ended up on the student council together.

It was the first time in this school's entire history that they'd ever had two student body presidents. Your grades were so even that it was hard to assign the role to just one person. Though, Hoshina would constantly introduce you as his vice president anyway. You'd get him back by telling people he hadn't even qualified for vice president, so he was stuck with the position of treasurer. No one knew who to believe, but everyone knew the two of you had an intense rivalry.

It was so intense, you almost thought you wouldn't be able to handle being in even closer proximity to him than you already were, but you refused to step down from the council and let him be the president, and of course, he wasn't stepping down anytime soon either. So the two of you spent even later nights together, poring over the school budget, planning out events, discussing new policies.

And eventually, to your shock, he admitted that he actually enjoyed spending so much time with you. He enjoyed the banter, he enjoyed your perspective, he enjoyed hearing your opinions even if he teased you that they were wrong, and he especially enjoyed the way you'd walk by a vending machine and think of him, then buy him a snack but -not wanting to let on that you cared- you'd chuck the bag of chips in his face, saying if the hunger didn't kill him first, you would.

And when he admitted these things to you, you were shocked to realize you felt the same. You liked the way he absentmindedly ran his hands through his hair when he was deep in thought. You liked the way his eyes settled on you when he was listening intently to your plans. You liked the way he always made your plans into a reality, shrugging and saying that it was no big deal and it was half his plan anyway.

You spent so much time together in school, that eventually it spilled over into your personal life, and suddenly he was visiting you at home. He'd bow to your mom, shake your dad's hand, wave to your little sister, and then run upstairs and collapse on your bed beside you. You'd stare up at the ceiling and talk for hours, until he'd decided to tickle you, to which you responded by shoving him off the bed.

And then you'd eat dinner together, study together, and just keep living life together.

It was hard to believe that just a couple months ago, you were butting heads, clawing at each other's throats. But it was even harder to think about living without him anymore.

And suddenly, all those plans you had for your college life, all those goals and lofty ideas, none of them mattered as much anymore. Your only plan at this moment was to enjoy your time with him, and pray it never stopped.

[tsukimefuku]

CHAPTER ONE: PUTATIVE SELF DEFENSE ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni!

❀ putative self-defense.

when a person believes they are in imminent danger and acts in what they believe would be self-defense, when, in reality, the threat does not exist or is not as severe as perceived. 

wc: 5.9K ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ summary.

after your roommate fails to replenish the coffee in your dorm room, you drag your insomniac ass towards the cafeteria before heading to your first criminal law class. unfortunately, things don't go as expected — it's so, so much worse than you could have anticipated. at least, your personal torturer is very good-looking, and has the most beautiful hooked nose you have ever seen.

❀ Tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. silly slow-burn rom-com between professor and college student (this is purely a work of fiction, okay guys?) reader is kind of a mess (like, literally). this is cliché with some twists. nobara is the best and worst roomie ever. nobamaki is a thing here. nobody likes cafeteria coffee. higuruma has a best friend, i'm so happy about that. second hand embarrassment. misunderstandings are talked through and resolved. higuruma is a little unhinged, and we love him for that.

thank you so much @redlikerozez for betaing this 🥺

Your morning was a clusterfuck.

Diving your face in ice cold water did absolutely nothing to wake you from your anxiety ridden all-nighter. The world felt like a half dazed hallucination by this point.

Your energy was running so low this morning that you wound up putting your jeans on top of your pajamas pants, throwing a coat over the rest of the mess, and twirling your hair into something that could barely be considered a bun, topping it all off with the ugliest scarf you had — a red polka-dot scarf.

It seemed to be a taunting from the Gods — this was, for some supernatural reason, the only scarf you ever found when you were running late, and you hated the thing, but feared that if you threw it away, some higher power would punish you, and you'd never find another scarf to wear.

You were also scared that if you tried taking a shower, you might end up sleeping under it.

"What are you doing?" your roommate asked, as you pulled your face from the bowl filled with water and ice cubes. "Jesus, you look like hell."

"Trying to crawl my way back to the world of the living. It's not working."

Nobara walked behind you and opened the mini-fridge, grabbing a single slice of cheese and rolling it up to eat it.

"Oh, a breakfast fit for the champions" you mocked, while patting your face with a tea towel.

She scoffed. "Get off my ass, I didn't have the time for groceries."

"Oh, you totally had the time, you just spent it all with your girlfriend in her room!"

Nobara grabbed a crumpled tissue that she found over the counter and threw it in your direction.

You dodged it because you weren’t sure what the fuck that tissue had been used for cleaning.

"Leave me the hell alone! I deserved it before classes started," she complained, pouting.

You laughed as you walked towards the coffee machine, to see if some liquid energy would be enough to pump you through the day.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there already? Weren't you going to head into criminal law today or whatever?" she asked.

And you were, actually.

"So, how is he?" you inquired, tapping around the coffee machine and behind it, looking for the coffee powder.

"Professor Higuruma, you mean?" Nobara got up and walked towards her bed, throwing herself over it like a rag doll. "I still haven't had class with him, but according to Maki, he's kinda weird."

"Your girlfriend's definition of weird for the male faculty members is too broad, Nobara. She said the same thing about at least four or five professors."

She shrugged. "According to gossip, professor Higuruma had to take some time off academia after his PhD because of a mental breakdown."

"Well, he is the guy that got two masters degrees simultaneously and one PhD right after. I guess that does things to a person" you mocked, opening the cabinet drawer. Where is the coffee?

"Oh, that's why he's the head of two chairs?!"

"Yup, Criminal Law and Criminal Procedure Law."

"Well, from what Maki has told me, he likes to quiz his students on the spot randomly," Nobara stated as she pulled her phone from her night stand and began texting.

After looking all around and not finding the coffee powder, you were very much annoyed. 

"Nobara, where is the coffee?"

"We don't have any," she answered nonchalantly, still with her eyes glued to her phone.

You whipped your head towards her so fast, you nearly hurt your neck.

"Nobara, I need coffee. This is not a drill! It's my first criminal law class!"

"Oh, future criminal defense attorney, you definitely need some coffee, no one in their good mind would be wearing whatever the hell that is," she noted, pointing at you. "Especially that ugly red thing around your neck. Why do you still have that?"

"Ugh, now I'll have to go into the cafeteria before class to drink their awful coffee, and it's entirely your fault. Wardrobe editing rights are officially revoked!"

You stepped towards the door grabbing your bag as you heard her ask, "Hhey, is that your pajamas top?"

"No!" you replied, pulling your coat over your hello kitty pajamas top, before going out.

***

I can't fucking believe this.

You got in line to buy an overpriced $2 coffee — overpriced because it basically tasted like dirty water flavored with the souls of the damned — as you looked at your watch nearly every twenty seconds or so.

This coffee was so bad you usually tried to cover it up with milk, syrup and whatever else they had at their clients' disposal, but the aftertaste was always — always — completely cursed.

While in line, you noticed the guy who stood in front of you, and got distracted from your hurry by his back, as silly as that might sound.

He was tall — not the tallest, but at least a head above you — and his black hair was neatly cut by the tail end where his neck met his black suit collar. His posture was a little crooked to the side, one shoulder hanging a little lower than the other, and it felt kind of… charming?

Realizing you were nearly burning a hole in the man's back with your eyes, you averted your gaze elsewhere.

This is pathetic. I'm pathetic.

You figured that you had to be really sleep-deprived — and, honestly, kinda lonely — to be simping over some random guy's back.

Not only that, but while waiting in line at the campus cafeteria, the less sexy place to ever exist.

Class. I need coffee. I need to get to class. I'm pathetic. I’m also almost late.

And almost late you were. Somehow, you managed to wait just until you'd be a little too fumbled on the clock in order to get your ass out of your dorm room's bed to do something about it, and never even bothered to check if there would be any coffee to be made.

Just one of the many minor self-sabotaging shit you pulled against yourself from time to time.

After grabbing the damned drink and tainting it with further things to mask its terrible taste, your sleepless and nearly-late ass, when running across the cafeteria, body slammed by accident the same guy that was in line right in front of you. He was then covered in your coffee — an unholy concoction of said beverage, cold water, milk, and pancake syrup for sweetening. 

Not only that, but to top it all off, you chuckled right after you began apologizing, actually laughing at the poor man.

It wasn't because the situation was even remotely funny, or that you were cackling at his humiliation. You just had the laughter response to stressful or embarrassing situations.

At church, during the national anthem, at an accident, or in the middle of a very hard test — whenever you were really stressed, you found yourself having to hold your urge to cackle.

Unfortunately, even after twenty-seven years, this was something you hadn’t quite mastered yet.

As you tried to grab some napkins from the counter behind him, you slipped, ceasing the laughter immediately.

Instant karma. Seems fair.

Before you hit the ground, though, he held you by your waist and with a hand on your arm. You felt the taut muscles under the suit enveloping you and pulling you back on your feet in one dexterous, swift motion. His shoulders were not slouched anymore.

"Shit, shit, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, trying to shuffle yourself away from him. His grip was tight, clearly from someone that had just been startled, and his body felt warm — especially considering you had just covered the poor guy in hot liquid.

As you parted yourself from him, you finally took a good look at the man. 

The best words to describe him right now were disheveled mess. His tie was crumpled, his white button shirt had a massive brown stain from the coffee spilled, his short black hair was messily pulled back leaving a few strands out to frame his forehead, and his ashy black eyes were clearly surprised as he tried to check if you were alright. 

And that beautiful hooked nose.

He was definitely brooding and good-looking — the tired, overworked, insomniac, bags under his eyes and two steps away from sleeping on his feet kind of good-looking.

The front certainly matches the back.

Then, realizing your mind was doing whirls about his appearance, you shook your head for a moment, dispersing the thoughts away.

"It's fine, just let me-" he answered, taping his hands around his suit, seemingly looking for something. 

You had nearly forgotten you were tight on time until you heard the bell ringing. He turned around startled when it rang, cussing something under his breath, which gave you the perfect opportunity to dash away.

"I'm very sorry! I'm really late for my next class, I need to run, but I'm so, so sorry!" you blurted as you took off running, feeling a tinge of guilt knowing full well you had left him alone to fend off for himself with that abominable coffee stain.

So, why clusterfuck?

When you arrived in class, having lost yourself on campus twice when running around like a dizzy duck in a fatigued haze trying to find the right classroom, you saw who was sitting at the professor's desk in front of the entire classroom.

That huge coffee spill was pretty visible, even if he had now closed his suit jacket on top of it.

Shit.

The man was fumbling around with some papers over his desk with one hand while he adjusted his glasses — that he wasn't wearing earlier — with the other.

You sat in the back of the classroom, which had an amphitheater architecture to it. If you were lucky enough, though, maybe he wouldn't notice you.

However, upon further inspection, you noticed that the back of the class was especially empty, and realized at that moment you were standing out like a sore thumb. 

This couldn't get any worse, could it?

You wished for a hole to appear right under your feet and drag you down.

"So, good morning to you all. I apologize for my late arrival. As you can all tell, I had to face some unforeseen circumstances," he began, pulling on the edge of his jacket suit to reveal the brown-colored Rorschach of shame plastered over his white shirt.

Some students laughed, and you recoiled in your seat, praying this was all just a first-day-in-class-embarrassment type of dream.

It wasn't.

"Welcome to Criminal Law I. My name is Higuruma Hiromi, and I'll be your professor. I hope you all can learn a thing or two from me," he said, before stepping in front of his desk and sitting over it.

"So, I'd like to begin this class with the following question: what is fairness?"

Some hands jumped up, and you slid yourself under your seat even further, surely to hit the ground if you sunk any deeper. 

Higuruma's eyes began darting around the classroom.

Something you'd learn in a second about him was that he liked to poke at the students who didn't seem keen in participating, just to create some stormy engagement and get truly unexpected answers.

The ones who lifted their hands, the classic know-it-alls, were the students he considered to be remarkably boring and utterly predictable.

"You," he stated, and it took you a few seconds — and multiple blinks — to realize his finger was pointing in your direction. "Girl with the red scarf, tell me what you think fairness is."

You were at a complete loss for words.

"I… I… Fairness…"

Then silence.

You couldn't muster up anything to say to save your life.

You really should have slept better.

He sighed, and tilted his head to the side.

"Guess I'll have to demonstrate it."

Nobody understood what the professor meant, and much to everyone's surprise, he began walking up towards you, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he did so.

Then, looking straight at you, he stood beside the exit door, and gestured towards it. 

"Girl with the red scarf, please, leave this classroom."

Before you could actually be offended that he didn't even ask your name, you felt your stomach drop, and your face glow a warm, deeply uncomfortable red.

Out of everything you thought could happen, getting kicked out of the classroom within the first five minutes into a lecture wasn’t even listed as one of the top 10 alternatives.

What the fuck? Isn't that a little excessive?

Speechless, you grabbed your backpack from the ground, and lifted yourself up, standing there for a few seconds, completely dumbfounded. The classroom was silent enough that a needle falling on the ground could be heard.

And then, suddenly, the urge came upon you, raining down like a hailstorm.

Laughter bubbled up your throat, and you coughed a little, pursing your lips shut, scrunching your face all around, trying to avoid any sound from leaking out.

He looked at you a little puzzled, and seemed to be wondering if you were about to have a stroke.

You began walking towards the door, but as you were about to cross it, he extended his arm in front of you, blocking your passageway.

"Stay there for a second."

"What?" you asked, coughing a little to shy the laughter away, and his face was once again briefly puzzled when he heard your voice.

A few seconds later, he softly shook off whatever thought that was, and resumed speaking.

"Is this fair? Asking a student to leave a classroom because they failed to answer an open-ended question?" he inquired the other students, waiting for someone to answer.

"N-no, it's not," some guy answered from the front.

Higuruma gestured for you to seat back where you were, and you clumsily stepped your way back, face flustered in utter and absolute embarrassment. This was definitely how bad it all could get. Is he dunking on me for spilling coffee on him and running? That's petty.

 The man was certifiably insane. He was lucky to be so good-looking.

"And why it is not?" he proceeded with the questioning, slowly walking back towards the front of the class again.

"It would be excessive to do so," another student answered.

"Correct. Precisely that, it would be excessive," Higuruma chimed, sitting back over his desk, legs mildly spread as he opened his suit jacket and mindlessly smoothed out his tie with one of his hands. "Criminal Law isn't just about subsuming a person's actions to something the law has described as a crime, and then mechanically submitting said person to some randomly prescribed penalty. Fairness is the most vital and important theoretical foundation when studying criminal law. Not answering a question could be considered some type of in-class offense, sure, and expulsion from the classroom is one possible way to punish the deviant student, but it would be disproportionate and unreasonable to do so."

His gravely voice filled that classroom with no effort whatsoever, and it was an actually pretty good exposition.

It was one thing to describe what a sunset looks like, and another, very different, was to actually show one happening in real time. Words paled in comparison to the crimson, purplish sky engulfing the end of a day.

Most of your teachers, up until this point, had simply begun writing something on the white board at the start of each class, and made less than memorable remarks while spitting out the theory written in the recommended books list in the syllabus. So distant, so abstract, so… Detached from real life.

This was thought-provoking. This was enthralling. Well, this was the reason you enrolled in law school in the first place. 

For a moment, you forgot this professor had just exercised his petty revenge on you, propping yourself up with trepidation. Your tiredness was completely forgotten as his monologue ensued.

He was the real deal.

"Fairness. It will be your guide to assess if a given penalty after a verdict is adequate or not, if someone who acted in self-defense should be found innocent or exceeded their rights in doing so… If the law itself is good enough as it is or should be subject to change, because a penalty might be too high for a seemingly innocuous offense that shouldn't even be a crime in the first place." 

Higuruma paused for a moment to let his students simmer on his words.

"Fairness is the be-all and end-all of Criminal Law. I need everyone to understand this before we proceed, because fairness will be our primary lens in this classroom when studying the subject. So, can I trust that all of you understood what fairness looks like, rather than what it can be conceptualized as?"

He darted his eyes in your direction, and you saw yourself unconsciously nodding in acquiescence. 

You were sure you caught a whiff of a smile on his face right before he resumed his introductory class of principles in criminal law.

***

“We are the only nerds that do this in the teacher’s lounge,” Higuruma stated, as he made his next move on the checkers board.

“You’re probably right,” Higuruma’s best friend replied in his pristine striped gray suit vest, as he thought for a second before making his own move and taking three consecutive pieces of Higuruma’s checkers as he did.

Higuruma groaned in response. Why does he always win on checkers? Goddammit.

“How are you so good at this, Kento? Let’s play chess, just so then I get to win” he complained, leaning back against his chair. “ I can see you winning this one in three moves.”

Nanami huffed. “Checkers was your idea. Besides, we both have our classes soon, there wouldn’t be enough time for a proper chess game.”

Higuruma removed his glasses and slid them inside one of his suit jacket’s inner pockets, brushing the tips of his fingers against his closed eyelids. He couldn’t catch a wink of rest the previous night, anxious to be back in a classroom after such a long time.

It all became very blurry, so he put his glasses back on.

Higuruma didn’t know if he was eager, nervous, happy or dreading this day.

Perhaps a mix of everything and then some.

“I needed something to wake me up. I’ve barely slept, and I’m in dire need of some coffee.” 

“You could try drinking the coffee from the teacher’s lounge,” Nanami pointed out, gesturing his head in the direction of a creepy looking and unkempt thermal bottle. “I wouldn’t advise you on it, though. Only professor Ieiri has been brave enough to drink it so far.”

“I guess I’ll take my chances with the foul cafeteria coffee, I might survive that.”

Nanami smiled as he looked at his friend.

“You’re too overly dramatic.”

At that, Higuruma scoffed.

“And you’re too underly dramatic. That’s why I teach the passionate, great chair of Criminal Law, and you’re responsible for the boring, sleep-inducing chair of Commercial Law.”

“It pays the bills pretty well at my firm,” the other professor retorted. 

Higuruma lifted an eyebrow, as if offended that Nanami thought that argument would dissuade him from his stance.

They were both silent for a moment before Nanami spoke again, noticing the deep eye bags on Higuruma's face.

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“No more than the usual,” Higuruma replied, shuffling on his chair, still focused on the checkers board.

Nanami lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, silent for a while, and Higuruma sighed.

“I mean it. I’m fine.”

Still a little unsure, Nanami nodded.

“Okay. Just reach out and come to my office if you need anything,” he offered, slight concern masked under the monotone of his voice. 

“Aw, he likes me,” Higuruma playfully chanted. “So thoughtful of you, my dear.”

“Tsk, shut up,” Nanami scoffed as he got up, taking his neatly folded blazer on his bent arm, “and it’d take me two moves instead of three to have this victory over you.”

“Seriously?!” Higuruma exclaimed, glancing at the board. Upon further inspection, he realized his friend was right. “Shit.”

“Hiromi, go drink your coffee at once. You’re barely functional right now, there is absolutely no way you could teach a class in the state you’re in.”

“Kento, I could teach criminal law in my sleep,” Higuruma mused before lifting himself up. Nanami sighed as Higuruma exited the room.

***

This might be the worst coffee I’ve ever drank, Higuruma thought to himself as he put his cup over the counter and removed his glasses to pinch on his nose. It was all but a failed attempt to air out the foul taste of that watered down, sad excuse for a coffee.

He tried drinking it with nothing — no sugar, no milk, no sweetener, but this atrocity begged for anything to mask the old powder aftertaste.

After folding his glasses and throwing them in one of his suit’s inner pockets, Higuruma let out a heartfelt sigh, just hoping for things to go smoothly that day.

He'd have his hopes torn to shreds in seconds.

Some loud, hasty steps coming in his direction caught his attention, but as soon as he turned to face whoever that was, Higuruma was met with a hot splash all over his shirt and tie.

You have to be kidding me.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!”

He heard a female voice coming from the blurred face right in front of him. Her voice was what he’d call an unusually sweet — if worried — voice. It had a genuinely kind melodic quality to it.

Even if hasty, her words sounded like a heartfelt apology.

Then, she… chuckled? 

Hm… What?

She seemed to lean over dramatically and grab something from behind his back. 

However, on the way back with her arm, her body brushed against his in a worrying fashion, and Higuruma quickly realized she was about to fall. Even though he was over 24 hours sleepless, adrenaline and his reflexes kicked in, as he held her before she could hit the ground, pulling her against him to stand on her feet.

He was still somewhat disoriented from lack of sleep, and failed to realize his hand was still holding her arm intently before the woman squiggled away from his grip.

There was a red blurry thing under her also blurred face.

Only then did he realize he should probably see her face and talk to her properly about the debacle.

The professor said it was fine and began tapping around his suit, not remembering in which pocket exactly he threw his glasses in. However, before he found it, the bell that indicated the time for the first class rang, and Higuruma realized he had completely lost track of time. 

"Fuck," first class and already running late. 

The woman seemed to apologize and ran away, leaving him dumbfounded.

The professor finally managed to find his glasses, fishing them out of his pocket and putting them on, glad that his next class was at the building just around the corner. 

He walked hastily towards it, and got there in less than a couple of minutes, seizing the opportunity to check on his state on the mirror as he entered the elevator.

The coffee stain was humongous and very evident on his white shirt, but he was glad that at least his black tie seemed to fend off fine from the beverage. As Higuruma passed his fingers over the fabric of both pieces, however, it was somewhat sticky. 

He let out a disheartened sigh, stepping out on the corridor and into the classroom, placing his briefcase on the side of his desk.

Now, what will I teach these people today?

Hiromi began ruffling around his papers trying to find the course syllabus, and realized he hadn't brought it with him. These papers were nothing but useless administrative shenanigans, so he decided to wing it in any way he could to illustrate criminal law for the students.

The thing is, how can you effectively grab someone's attention when it's 7 o'clock in the morning, and most people are completely hungover?

With adrenaline, of course.

***

The rest of the class went on without a hiccup, and you had made much more notes than you anticipated you would. His voice had a weird calming and focusing effect on you, as much as you hated admitting it — also, it wasn't so hard accompanying him walking around making his exposition when his face looked like that.

However, you decided you'd talk to him, first off because it would be incredibly uncomfortable to keep going to both of his classes for six months without ever addressing the coffee faux pas, and second because you had just been victimized by the pettiest revenge known to mankind by a college professor. 

You kind of deserved it, but still. It was pretty immature, even if he was Dr. Genius who just taught the best class you had ever seen in your life.

"So, students, we'll have a quick test this week," Higuruma stated, "the Dean has requested that all professors use these to assess your knowledge every month, and I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible."

Many sighs and displeased grunts could be heard around the classroom. He leaned over his desk as he sat, putting his papers away in his briefcase.

"I know, I don't like it either, but at least you'll only need to study a week's worth of content, not a month."

Some hm, fine, ugh, were uttered by the students as they left the classroom. You walked hesitantly behind them all, waiting for everyone to leave before you could speak to him alone. 

You were already going to be remembered as the girl mock expelled from the classroom. No one needed to know you also had assaulted their professor with a desecrated cup of coffee before that.

As you stepped in front of his desk, he lifted his gaze to meet yours.

"Yes?"

Something you hadn't anticipated was that looking at him — and his hooked nose — up close like this would jumble your thoughts around.

Oh, shit. He's handsome.

Dumbified, you spat out the first thing you could think of.

"So, professor, I'm the student you fake expelled earlier," you stated, realizing he obviously already knew that.

Brilliant. Off to a great start.

Higuruma nodded, feeling something prickling at the back of his brain as he heard your voice for a second time.

"What did you think? Was it a good way to convey this class motif?" he asked, finally closing his briefcase and putting it on the ground, completely ignoring the fact that it was probably an uncomfortable experience for all of the people involved, especially you.

You were a little incredulous at how oblivious he seemed to be, and it annoyed you. Was this out of good heart, or was he playing dumb?

"It was a good exposition, professor, but I wanted to talk about something else," you answered.

“5000 yen.”

“... What?”

“That’s my law firm’s hourly fee.”

You stood silent. He chuckled a little, shrugging back.

“I’m joking. I don’t even have a practice. Tell me what you need.”

Is this guy for real?

You cleared your throat before continuing.

“It felt horrible to be on the spot like that out of nowhere, without any knowledge as to what was going on.”

After blurting it out, you braced yourself, knowing full well by now that professors were usually pretty big ego'd kind of people. Nonetheless, this had to be said, at least for the sake of the next student he decided to torture with one of his experiments.

He looked at you with wide eyes, and seemed to ponder for a moment.

“Oh, I see. My apologies,” Higuruma offered in earnest, while his face softened.

You were very surprised.

“Oh, okay," you mumbled as you scratched the back of your neck, "I accept your apology. But maybe you should really give the student a heads-up next time you intend to do that.”

“That would presume I consider that students are people, and not minions to torture.”

Uh?

“Also a joke.”

“You’re not very good with those.”

Did I say that out loud? 

He simply stared surprised at you, seemingly a little shocked.

I did say it out loud.

"Fuck."

And that too. 

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Higuruma suddenly chuckled, much to your surprise. Your eyes widened, and you stared at him, extremely confused as to what was up with this guy.

“You're a sincere person," he noted, and you shrugged hesitantly.

Higuruma was definitely amused at this exchange.

He then proceeded.

"Being sincere is good, but my best friend always warns me to try keeping it to myself most of the time. I don’t listen, of course, but maybe you should for now. People get offended easily.” 

His exposition made you feel a little less out of place — and less alone, for what it was worth. You instantly remembered your parents used to chide you for blurting out things like that out of nowhere, instead of keeping them in your head like other people do, according to them.

You didn't realize you were smiling as you mindlessly opened your coat.

He took notice of your shirt, and began slowly realizing there was something off about it.

"Is that usual?" you asked, out of the blue.

He shook his head, being pulled out of his head. "What?"

"The mock expulsion?"

"Heavens, no."

"Then, why?" you inquired.

He rubbed his face with his hands.

"Because I needed something to wake mine and everybody else's brain up. Classes shouldn't be this early, and I didn't get a wink of sleep last night."

Higuruma was still out of sorts, spilling the tea of his insomniac state to one of his random students whom he had just met.

"Oh, me neither!" you told him, also absentmindedly, on a stream of consciousness rant towards a professor you were talking to for the first time. "Classes should start after noon, at the very least…"

"I know, right? Some things shouldn't be a crime, but making people wake up this early for class definitely ought to be."

You laughed softly, and you both kept silent for a moment, before you remembered what you thought was the reason for the mock punishment.

"Oh, professor… I'm sorry about the coffee."

He was confused for a few moments before broadening his eyes as he finally realized it.

No wonder Higuruma felt like he recognized your voice from somewhere, and now he took a good look at the red smudge he had seen earlier under what he figured was your face.

It was the ugliest scarf he had ever seen.

"I came here wanting to ask if you had done the fake expulsion thing as some sort of…" you sighed, a little ashamed. "Well, I'd like to apologize for staining your clothes, and offer to get you new ones, or at least pay for your laundry fee if needed."

He lifted one eyebrow at you before he resumed speaking.

"I didn't catch your face then. I mean, I didn't recognize you at all," Higuruma answered, "so no. But I'd never… Well, you barely know me, so you wouldn't know, but my opinion on the matter is that professors that exert selfish vendettas against students, for whatever reason, are absolute fools."

"You didn't recognize me? Say what now?"

He pointed at his glasses, and you finally understood completely how all of this petty revenge narrative was entirely in your head.

"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay."

"But still…"

He sighed.

"It was a possibility, given how things in a college setting usually go, but that is why we investigate things further before prosecuting, right? A narrative might make a lot of sense, up until you confront it with the gathered evidence."

You joined your hands in front of you, embarrassed.

"Yes, I guess so," you answered, "but please, let me at least pay to get your clothes cleaned."

The professor shook his head.

"Absolutely not. You're an undergraduate student. I've been one, I'm quite aware of the financial hardships most of you endure as I've struggled with them myself not so long ago."

Even though you felt somewhat uncomfortable about not evening things out, he was right. This money would be fairly missed — you were already missing the $2 worth of coffee you didn't manage to drink.

"It was an accident, you didn't cover me with your beverage intentionally. Also, you had to leave because you were late for my class," he paused, "and I'm actually flattered you'd leave someone to fend off for themselves against that foul cafeteria coffee just to run to one of my classes."

You chuckled a little, and he proceeded.

"So, it's okay. You don't have to pay me for anything. This is fine."

You sighed, truly relieved, and he was glad you came to talk to him and properly apologize for the blunder.

"Thank you for your time and kindness, professor. I hope you have a good day."

He bowed his head slightly.

"Same to you."

However, something was still scratching at the back of his mind.

"Hm, hey… since we are on the topic of clothing and I just let you off the hook on paying for my dry cleaning…" Higuruma said, and you stopped midway towards the door, turning to face him.

"This might be an odd question, but I'm very curious."

"Hm… what is it?"

He pointed at your sleeping shirt, now evident under the open coat.

"Are those pajamas?"

You immediately pulled your coat over your hello kitty top, lifting one eyebrow in pathetic defiance.

"Of course… not?"

Higuruma thought to himself that you were turning into one of the most unique students he ever had.

"Do you intend to be an attorney?"

"... yes?" You answered, with some suspicion.

He huffed.

"Then improve your lying game for Court. You can do your crazy, but defend it as if it was the utmost truth in the universe, okay?"

Higuruma couldn't quite explain it, but this conversation with you was strangely amusing.

Maybe going back to the classroom wouldn't be so difficult after all, if even half of his students were a little out of sorts like this.

"... Okay," you replied, removing your hand and letting your pathetic sanrio pajamas shirt show once again.

"So, are those pajamas?" he inquired again, more incisively.

You straightened yourself and made a fake serious expression.

"Of course not."

"Much better," Higuruma answered with an actual smile.

The way his cheek creased around his mouth was weirdly charming, just as most things about him, it seemed.

Trying not to stare, you smiled back at Higuruma and turned around, leaving for your next class with heat prickling against your cheeks.

Tag list:

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @markleeisdabestdrug @redlikerozez @delirious-donna

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @senseifupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider 

@ohhheymessa @actuallysaiyan @bigbaddulce

[moondirti]

8. VICES

CHAPTER EIGHT OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter seven / chapter nine ⇀

summary: a shower, a training session, and a blowjob

explicit (18+) | 5.8k words warnings: enemies to lovers, training arcs, unhinged smut, dubious consent, it's rough guys, blowjobs, handjobs, miguel o'hara is a strict (asshole) mentor, throat-fucking, choking, mentions of infidelity, mentions of starvation, homelessness notes: well. hope y'all still respect me after reading this

The cell doesn’t last long. 

You don’t know what you expected; the terms of your deal weren’t exactly negotiated in full. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t been discussed at all. You’d assumed Miguel agreed based on his reticence – as you’ve come to anticipate from him, a non-answer always means you have a point he’d rather not appreciate. But he’d added little else after the figurative pouring of your soul, his back turning towards you instead, fixing his hands on his waist. And it had stayed that way, up until you were escorted back to the laser enclosure, still as much a prisoner as anybody else.

So, perhaps you were wrong. You convinced yourself that it was okay, that you didn’t have any hope for your own redemption. You weren’t his problem to deal with anymore, not since you agreed to go home. He probably couldn’t see the potential in you, anyway. A string of excuses drawn upon one common line – self-degradation. Tamping yet another pipe dream destined to leave you evermore downtrodden. And that was okay. 

That is, until you were roused from sleep by the scarlet spider much later. It’d been light, a rest on the verge of consciousness, contorted into the most compressed position possible to make use of limited space. In truth, you’d been thankful for it – to be granted a break from the fruitless struggle and, finally, some cue towards your fate. But he led you away from the anomaly imprisonment sector – opposite from the go-home machine you thought would be your adjudicator.

Now, you’re here.

“Was ordered to pull something together from a spare recovery room,” Reilly crosses his arms, giving an approving nod to nothing at all. “‘Course s’not the biggest – not meant to be used for extended periods of time, but I could manage if I were you.” 

You don’t let yourself harbour a reaction, not before he leaves you to your own devices.  

Because, well – it’s perfect.

There’s not much to compare it to, naturally. You’d grown accustomed to sharing a dormitory back at college, cramped in shoebox square footage with your roommate. Then, when your earth had gone to shit, there were no houses left to revel in. The past year since your miraculous escape have found you homeless, huddled under awnings or atop park benches, and by that point, discomfort had found a permanent friend in you. 

Yet–

White asymmetric panelling hems the studio, broken up only by a triangular window that peeks out onto Nueva York’s cityscape. On your right, the wall recesses in to form a bed nook, where fitted sheets hug a thick mattress, two feather pillows stacked at one end. Opposite it hovers a multi-purpose desk, niche’s carrying reusable utensils, bowls, a lamp and a small first-aid kit. 

And it’s all you could want. Gorgeous. Not conventionally so, no; it’s plain and lacklustre with an air of futuristic frigidness. But it’s clean, and comes equipped with an air conditioning system that puts you in control of the temperature you sleep in. It’s a stationary point for you to return to,  no matter the day’s drag – a place to call yours if not home. 

Not to mention, there’s a flat door towards the back, too plain to have caught your attention until you actively look for it. It has no handle, opened with a slight push that releases a latch, and swings outwards. Given the size of the corner, you’re forced to take a step back – which, a more ungrateful version of yourself would’ve marked as a con, but you’re too caught up in the novelty of what you’re led into.

A bathroom. A private, unrestricted bathroom – with a toilet and a sink and a fucking shower. You’re unable to repress the grin that stretches your cheeks, absolutely ecstatic with the – however temporary – development. No more sneaking into gyms to use their bath facilities, fortunes splurged on soap over dinner. You can wash yourself whenever you see fit, not have to feel guilty about deluding expensive memberships or your own hunger. 

(Small blessings; that still-pious part of you succumbs to the sign. You’re being rewarded. You’re on the right track.) 

Immediately, you schedule your night. A shower, first – partly for your excitement, majorly for the necessity. You doubt there are laundry machines nearby, if there’s any at all, so soaking your clothes in the sink should have to do the trick. You have no others, and to ask for more would be testing the grace you’ve been granted so far. Besides, the sheets look sterile – to lay in them bare can’t be the worst option.

Wiggling your fingers, you plug the drain to fill the basin. The garments you shuck off quickly settle there too, crumpled in a way that only exposes all their worn-down qualities. Jagged rips in your jeans, caked gore on your shirt. It’s instinct to turn away once the grime bleeds into the water, dying the once-clear pool with the unsavoury colour of your recent exploits. Harder, however, is trying to ignore the dried slick on your panties, bashfully tucking them underneath everything else. 

Engrossed by the chore, you’re almost taken by surprise by the flash of your reflection in the half-body mirror. It comes suddenly, a shape in your peripheral that looks like it’s in the wrong place. An apparition in a horror flick – darkened, wrapped in bandages and dirt and set with heavy eyes from days of unrest. Your heart rate spikes, stuttering rapidly even as you realise that it is, indeed, you. 

Or – you and Wraith. Both, existing simultaneously. 

Because it is the image you’ve become familiar with. The slope of your cheeks, the curve at your waist. It’s off putting seeing her again after some time; you don’t think you’ve spared a glance for more than half a second since the day of the gala, when you’d sat crouched in front of yourself, swiping gloss on puckered lips. But it’s those same lips that purse back at you now, unchanged. You recognise it all so quickly.

None of it resonates. 

An ugly bruise mars your temple, a yellowing one at your ribs. Your skin is littered with silver scars, or purple, depending on recency, like the two points at your neck where fangs have made their mark. Stark, white gauze circles each arm, one below your shoulder, the other above your wrist. And you’re… less, than you had been – evidence found around your cheekbones, or across your collar. Your flesh sinks into the hollow planes behind bone. When was the last time you’d eaten? 

Wraith. This haunted, cursed figure. 

You breathe through the discouragement. You tell yourself that it’s okay, the words quickly becoming a new mantra. You won’t go as far as to say it’s ambition – but the new sense of purpose that courses through you works to drown it out. You have something to work towards, no longer an aimless soul wandering uncharted realms. Whatever happened, whatever happens – all of it doesn’t matter now that you’re finally setting things straight. 

Your enthusiasm is enough to tide you over, at least, and when you step in the shower, the final dregs of hatred drip away.

White noise accompanies the cleanse. You’re suspended, surrounded by the pitter patter of water splattering down on the tiled floor. It’s overwhelming – the system has been pre-programmed to a common preference, but you find that it’s too cold for you, turning it up to one that singes your exposed form instead. Your lungs tighten, unaccustomed to the steam that quickly replaces oxygen. Hair plasters to your ears. It’s good, though, an appreciated racket. You look for soap and can  focus only on that, the buzz of guilt that constantly occupies you drowned out in favour for more menial tasks.

Of course, that really only leaves room for one train of thought.

You wonder what he’s doing right now. Has he retired for the night, back to a warm home with a partner already drowsy, cushioned in their shared bed? He seems like a family man, the type to have a galley kitchen that breaks open to a dining room, four chairs tucked beneath glossy oak. One supplanted by a high chair, maybe, meant for a squealing babe; because he’s a dad, for sure. You’ve never known Miguel to be tender, but that’s towards you and your criminal disposition. There’s a sort of careful consideration he harbours – like stopping mid sentence, that moniker, Wraith, on his tongue, and opting for something less loathsome when you grimace. You imagine it honed in a gentler setting, fostered by children he adores. 

And his spouse– 

You squeeze a generous dollop of shampoo on your palm, working it into your scalp. 

What is his type, anyway? Dedicated individuals who prioritise discipline over all else? Certainly, he wouldn’t be married to another spider-person, not when their relationship jeopardises his mission’s motto. Someone homegrown, then, a childhood sweetheart who knew him before he became all that. Who continued to love every inch of him as sinew stretched to brawn, the civilian he once was falling out like a baby tooth, fangs spouting in its stead. Unconditionally, or something along the lines. 

You recognise the notion, how important it is for a hero like him. To be tasked with responsibilities beyond human ability, one has to become more. A martyr, a villain when need be. You don’t exactly blame his vendetta against you, but you’ve come to resent the man regardless. Doubtlessly, the sentiment is felt by others he’s put in their place.

So, someone who sees past all that. Miguel O’Hara, as he is behind the mask.

The provided bar of soap is small enough to wrap your hand around. You flip it a few times, lathering it until suds form. It’s unscented, so you imagine what it could be. Patchouli springs up, the most immediate smell in your memory. You have to squash it down, alongside the ache that gnaws your core.

Sulphur, pungent and sickening as it permeates your earth’s atmosphere. 

Ichor and its metallic aftermath, clinging to your tongue. 

The catalogue presented in the last year isn’t exactly pleasant. You push beyond it, settling on a vague cloud that accompanied your college roommate. Her lavender lotion, of which she bought in bulk. You’d smear it over your knuckles and knees prior to class, comforted by the balsamic undernotes. Light, fresh. Your peers would gravitate towards you, divinely feminine, resting their heads on your shoulder when lectures droned on for too long. 

(And you’re aware of how dead they all are, blown to ash because of you. 

You’ll ask for lavender products, perhaps, when you’re sent back.) 

Is it a prerequisite to being a hero – to be loved by someone from before, who sees you for who you are? You have no one, and you’re afraid of what it means for your salvation. The right thing, in your case, is eternal solitude. When it comes down to it, would you be able to accept that? 

Your gut sinks; the answer you come up with is selfish still. No. 

There’s a long way to go until that changes.

(Your skin prickles. The water sprays right through you.

You wait until you phase back in.)

With nothing left to do, you rinse off. You can feel the rot begin to grow on the sanctuary you’ve built, and with hope to return, you can’t have it destroyed just yet. 

Your room is cold when you exit, recycled air nipping your balmy skin. The towel – found folded under the sink for resident convenience – is shorter than you would like, barely enough to wrap around your bust. That is to say, it’s utterly useless at preserving heat. It occurs to you to stand in place and drip-dry, but going to bed damp is asking for a sickness that’ll knock you off course. 

You’re about to check the heater when you notice something strange, lumped by the entrance. 

For all intents and purposes, it looks like a trash bag. Slouched in a teardrop shape, tied off with an expert knot. The colouring is off though – not the plain charcoal you’d expect, but grungier, stroked with a varicoloured grain. It seems to shift, too, flicking between textures; red, yellow, grey with little inked words, as if cut straight from a newspaper. 

It’s so distinctive that you can discern who it’s from; a spider-person expressed in much the same manner. Hobie. 

It’d do well to approach it with hesitation. After all, you have no business with him. The most you’ve exchanged was a thanks, after he’d defended your plea the first time you’d been captured by the spider society. It seems so long ago now, but you recall the comfort his stance had provided, already scared out of your wits by the hoard of stylised people who claimed they were like you. He’d been the only one to see that. 

Sighing, you tear through the side, nails too soft to undo the top. The contents are remarkably plain. Leggings. T-shirts. Packs of underwear and a hairbrush. Long socks, meant for the boots he’d also thrown in. The only article that reflects his personal way of dress is a cardigan, patches haphazardly attached with yarn. In one slouchy pocket, a piece of parchment sticks out. 

(A housewarming gift. Figured you’d need it. 

– HB.)

And it doesn’t feel like charity, as opposed to Ben’s escorting you here. Rather, his genuinity registers through the scrawled handwriting; prompting a tired, thankful smile. 

You do need it. Not just the clothes, but the reminder that you’re not as alone as you might feel.

“You’re late.” 

His voice cracks the silence you’d been walking in up to this point, pitched with an irritation seemingly etched into his being. It takes you off guard – not for its husky quality, that which you’ve grown relatively accustomed to, nor his sudden appearance. No. It’s how he stands when he says it; brashly centre-stage, taking up half of the gym with presence alone. His eyebrow is quirked, lips pursed in an inquisitive line, and you have to cycle over the day’s happenings to land on the invariable conclusion that he, in fact, did not set a schedule for you to follow in the first place. 

“Wasn’t aware there was anything to be early to,” You hesitate, lingering at a bench near the doorway, keeping an eye on him as you lay your things down. The water bottle you’d pilfered from the cafeteria crinkles under your tense grip, condensation licking a frosty trail down your fingers. 

“Would I let you prance around HQ on your own?” 

“That’s being hopeful, but no.” Miguel makes no indication of where to stand, so you continue to amble awkwardly in his perimeter. “Just– A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“And were we given a heads up when The Spider showed up on Earth-15?” He pushes, maintaining the line of questioning that starts to itch at you. You shake your head, doing your best not to tip your chin downwards – with your hands wringing the fabric of your sweats, you already feel like a child, caught elbows deep in a figurative cookie jar. 

Tension plucks at the strings tethered to the both of you. He waits for you to come up with a retort, then sighs when you fail to.

“Part of being a hero is adjusting. Security isn’t in the books for them.” From the lesson, you hang on to his choice of language. Them. Not us. Again, you’re excluded, but it occurs to you that he seems to exclude himself too. “You didn’t expect me today. What were you going to do had that been the case?” 

To exercise sounds beyond stupid, even though your attire and location announce it as the truth. It felt the most logical place to start when you’d woken up this morning, but Miguel is verging on philosophical now, and that’s something you hadn’t planned on at all. You don’t tell him that, though, because it would be asking to be sent home.

“To strengthen my stamina.” 

“What for, exactly?” 

“If I’m going to go back to that wasteland of a world, then I need the power to tough it out.” You’re getting real sick of how incompetent he’s making you sound. “Transportation is entirely contingent on how far I can walk.” 

“Huh. That’s… dumb.” He says, arms crossing over his chest. They’re thick, built like tree trunks, with muscles bulging along their lengths instead of bark. How hypocritical, you think, repressing the shiver that crawls up your spine – it’s clear he works out himself. You’re only as dumb at the way he looks today; clad in those same grey sweats, a compression top sculpting every bit of him. Out of uniform –  like he’d been using the equipment before you got here. 

(Or, he’s dedicated the entire day to training you.) 

“If you have a better idea–”

“Think a few jumping jacks will make you a hero?” A smirk edges his lips.

Your stomach lurches – whether in anger or a more mortifying emotion, you don’t know. “Can you stop with the questions, big guy?” 

He cocks his head, countenance straightening to one more serious. It terrifies you a little, the carmine in his eye, how fast it glints, sharpened with a daring edge. “Okay, then.” Miguel’s stature slacks, an open invitation. “Show me what you’re made of.” 

You regret speaking up at all. 

“Like, on the treadmill, or…?” 

“Pin me down.” He adds, as if it’s the most normal command in the world. Granted, his mind is probably not as far gone as yours. “Three seconds, and you’ll have proved your point.” 

“That’s not–” Fair skids on your tongue. His potential reaction is simple to imagine (‘nothing is fair’), and it’s obnoxious at best. You’ve had your fill of the condescending jabs, wedged to a corner where you don’t belong, ineptitude assumed of you. If his intentions are to keep you there until you give up, then you won’t let them come to fruition.

He starts to shrug, but the dismissal is interrupted by your clumsy resolve. You collide into his abdomen, channelling all your energy into the impact, arms in an arch. It’s made to grapple him by the waist, leverage in overpowering him to the floor. The odds are stacked against you, though. Miguel – twice your size – anchors himself in half the time, hard as stone against the onslaught. And your stance isn’t wide enough, feet positioned in a way that robs you of the necessary stability.

Perhaps carelessly, you press on, pouring everything into your attempt. The sheer force behind your manoeuvre is palpable; you are a spider-person, after all, and your enhanced strength would be enough to put the average human to their grave. But your opponent is far from that – he’s the pinnacle of what you preach, the resistance he musters now an attestation to the fact. 

“Torpe.” 

Your ribs burn with exertion, body still recovering from the injuries you’ve accumulated as of late. In a fluid motion that belies his size, Miguel retaliates, seeing the futility in your struggle. His hands clamp down on your shoulders, warm and vaguely comforting for the second before he flips you off of him. You’re propelled backwards, his shove sending shockwaves through your frame. Your bones rattle when you smack against the wall. 

“That hurt,” You hiss, scrambling to a stand. 

“In case you didn’t know, grace is a prerequisite for this little spider-club.” He ribs, calling to your quip at the quarry. It would be enough to set you off on anyone else, but the humour isn’t lost on you. Not with him. 

“Did you just make a joke?” You start to pace circles around him, assessing the best angle of attack. His head turns to track you, forehead marked with lines from his lifted expression. “As I live and breathe. Miguel O’Hara made a fucking joke.”

“Symptom of imminent victory.” 

“Cocky bastard,” 

“You gonna keep talking?” 

“I recall asking you to stop the questions.” You run up behind him, hoping your footsteps are light enough to not call any attention to your advancement. It isn’t very successful – he catches on quick, pivoting to confront you head on. You’re ready for it though, ducking under his reach to slip to the other side. His back is open, the opportunity presenting itself, and you spring onto his broad back with little contemplation. 

Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, securing your hold, legs thrashing to follow suit. Transformed into a glorified backpack, you stubbornly cling onto him as he attempts to shake you off. 

“¡Qué mierda haces?”

With half your face buried in his hair, you don’t respond, focusing instead on using your weight to throw him off kilter. Or, you want to focus on it. 

But he smells like patchouli, the robust aroma laced in every lock. It’s potent, much more than usual; without the sweat that usually dilutes it, you’re hit full force with every idiosyncrasy. Damp soil, freshly turned earth – rich, like the verdant undergrowth of a forest. You’ve never noticed the touch of leather underlying his cologne, nor its nuanced spice. Now, they worm their way through your rationale, parasitic, eating away at tissue until they find a blooming incurve to settle in. 

Your gut; broiling in that specific way it does when he’s around. It sinks to your core, right where you’re pressed against him, stimulated by the frantic motions of his body. Miguel hooks onto your calves, prying them off, and it’s innocent enough to only make your sudden desire worse. 

“Get. Off." He emphasises, authority compounded into every syllable. His jerks steer you in various directions, spurring nausea that blends in with your desperation. The mix courses through your bloodstream, sickening and, along with your headlessness, allows the slightest weakness to seep into your stance – a crucial opening that he seizes without hesitation.

Your vision swims as you’re capsized, thrown off course and onto the unyielding embrace of the ground. Pain shoots down your spine, the oxygen knocked out of your lungs dissipating into air. It takes you longer than necessary to realise what had happened, gasping for breath until you land on the reality that he had just used your lust against you. But of course, he doesn’t know that. To him, you’d just faltered – a rookie mistake for the rookie you are. 

It’s harmless, then, when he straddles your chest upon impact, knees touching the ground on either side of your head. Pinned in place – a mounted butterfly, captured in the perennial moment of your shameful sin – you’re convinced you’ll die like this. Miguel’s crotch under your nose, rubbing your thighs together to rid yourself of the nagging pressure between them. Wanton for nothing, wanton for him.

And it’s not the first time, a bank of memories coming available at the familiar arrangement. When he’d finally detained you on 15, groyne cleaving your ass while he undid your restraints. That damned kiss, exploring the plush lips that currently curl with a complacent sneer. They’d been so soft, the impression of his fangs just barely grazing past. And how good those had felt, too; your arteries swollen, bloated with venom injected into your neck. Lethargic for hours afterward, unable to do anything to sate the response he’d triggered.

Now, you’re not as powerless. He’s on top of you, doused in some fragrance from heaven, blessed with a robustness you’re sure extends to every appendage. If he is married, how high would fucking him be on your list of transgressions? Surely, it can’t be your worst, though you hope you’re above it at this point. 

(But, if he wants this too–)

You look up at him, mouth parted. It isn’t a request so much as it is an assessment, tallying every suggestive hint he gives. There is none. Instead, he does much the same, catching your scrutiny before promptly looking away to calculate his options on an adjacent wall. 

(The logical part of you can already sense how dreadful this’ll turn out. You’re not thinking straight. 

You hope he succumbs to your debasement.) 

Your hips buck involuntarily, a rip release effect to your rising need. He takes it as a plea to get off; that which he defers to, dismounting your chest. 

No.

You stop him, left hand clamping down on his thigh. Slowly, he sits back, tipping his weight forward, onto the curve where your clavicle plunges to your throat. You can hardly move, diaphragm pinching in a bid for breath, and it’s okay for as long as he stays where he is. 

(Apollo, meet Dionysus.)

It’s gradual – deliberate – when your fingers meander on their trek to his waistband. You skim over his hips, pelvis protruding to border his V-line – which holds prominence, even under the layers of his sweats and boxers. Miguel does nothing; gives no shiver in encouragement, nor an order to stop. He just looks down on you, dissecting the fervour with which you touch him; a woman crazed. 

His shirt is stubborn in rolling up, elastic and tight against his form. You want to feel the way his flesh heats, defined abdomen rolling in eventual pleasure, but it’s a privilege you don’t have in this setting. You’re only able to pull it out from underneath his pants, allowing a sliver of skin to be exposed to your gluttonous gaze. Bronzed, gorgeously brown in contrast to the desaturated colours he’s chosen to don. Drool pools behind your tonsils.

The cords of his waistband unlace when you tug it with your pointer, hinged at the middle. Miguel makes a sound, the beginnings of a growl rolling up his throat. It’s to tease yourself, you want to say – because the fuzz of his happy trail leads down to a darkened bush, and the brief flash will forever be seared into your mind’s eye. Goodness fuck, if your yearning were any worse, that would have been enough to tip you over the edge. It’s been so long since you’ve wanted anything this bad. 

Pining wreaks a foreign mess on your systems. Toes curl within your boots. Lashes quiver with every ruminative blink. Your new panties are doubtlessly ruined, generic cotton soaked through with slick; you’d been so ashamed of it just last night, washing your previous pair in the sink. Now, all you can consider is how expertly he’d test you, calloused thumb running over your clit until he witnesses just how wet you can get. 

(Is it the length for which you’ve gone without this, deprived of your favourite vice? Before you’d discovered the stars, you’d pursued your most carnal desires, jumping from one hookup to the next. 

You didn’t suppose you'd missed it this much.) 

Maybe that’s why you go for him, out of anyone else. Because he’s immediate, the most prominent presence in your life. A convenient outlet, for all your bad blood. He doesn’t stop you, either, his pinky instead grazing your wrist, almost pushing for you to reach in.

If you do, things’ll change. When they had just settled. 

Your dynamic seemed okay to morph into what you needed it to be: mentor, and mentee. But this– 

This is so fucked. You would rather be anywhere else if not seated on his lap, and that’s a level of dysfunction you should be unsure about. Would he even let this progress? Beyond a one time thing, so that it doesn’t become a fixture you’ll always regret? 

(Does it matter?)

You dip into his boxers. 

(So, it is your lechery that negates your need for consideration. Call it thirst, or self-sabotage.)

Shit.

He’s thick, fucking pulsing on your palm, dry and heavy enough to cause considerable trouble when fishing him out. You’re at an adverse angle, twisting your arm to grip the base. Miguel’s hiss thins to a whispered curse, a muddle of Spanish and English that loses legibility as he shifts to help you. Hand swooping next to yours, he cups his balls, hoisting them out of the suffocating fabric. His cock follows suit, slapping his tummy upon release. 

It’s–

Angry. A blossoming shade of purple that grows more vibrant the lower you go, guided by two fat veins that branch along his frenulum. Huge, too – not the longest you’ve had in your mouth, but stocky enough for you to worry about it regardless. You run your nail up its length, doing the maths in your head. 

“Intimidated?” He says. It doesn’t register as proud as he probably intends for it to be, voice too  hoarse, broken by some unspoken lust. 

“Cocky bastard,” You murmur, holding your arm above you in the meantime. He takes a second to understand what your extended hand is for, bowed in a reverent-like appeal. And, even when he does, he pauses, gathering the saliva around his teeth. “Take that as a double entendre.”

He doesn’t laugh, spitting onto your palm, watching as you smear the natural lube around his mushroomed head. It melds with his pre-spend – that which pearls at the tip – forming a pearlescent marker for where your caress travels. Above the glans, rounding to coat down the body, and running out before you reach the root. 

It’s enough, though. Enough to provide momentum to your motions, jacking him off above your face. Up to this point, Miguel has eased his mass off of you, balanced on his haunches – but your ministrations have him losing that awareness, leaning further and further until he all but sits on your neck. His fingers latch onto your head, cradling your jaw in a similar fashion to how he treated your whiplash, each thumb at a cheekbone – waiting for the opportune moment to plunge into your mouth. 

It comes with the hypoxia, his choking straddle clotting the oxygen meant for your brain. What you can see – him mostly, meaty thighs and a lean torso, with a face that screws up with controlled precision – spots as secondary to black vision, your eyes bulging at the edges, struck with stationary blood. It’s opposite to smoke inhalation, that scratchy condition that only grew more uncomfortable the more you coughed. This is debilitating, the last dreg of stimulants you need to embrace your drunk efforts. You’re drowned in a pool where nothing matters except what’ll pull you out – life vest, a buoy, the hefty cock tapping your bottom lip. 

You unhinge your jaw the widest it can go, accounting for teeth and all. Hollow cheeks accommodate his size when he drives in, but your lips still stretch, aching at the corners where thin skin threatens to rip. Immediately, your tongue laps over the dense intrusion, mapping out the patches where he seems most sensitive. Below the head, along the ridge. Right between his veins, if you press down hard enough. Your usher more of it in, stuffing your gullet full of him. 

How does he manage to smell good here, too? Muskier, still, a heady ambrosia of masculinity.

His balls slap your chin, stopping you from swallowing any more. Miguel doesn’t take too favourably to that, however, bending your head to parallel his pelvis and pushing. Your neck aches, spinal plates prodding at where it inclines – the combination of that, the choking, and the swollen head that spears your tonsils makes for a deadly combination. You’ve been doing your damnedest not to gag, clenching your thumb in a fist, but the sound erupts from you regardless. A lewd, wet gluck – tears pool upon your lashes, caught by the thumbs still guiding your face. 

And Miguel groans.

“Mmmf–,”  His hips withdraw, giving you an instant’s respite, before snapping back forward. “Se siente tan bien.” 

“Hnmghh,” You attempt to reply. 

“Filthy fucking girl. So– mierda, always so goddamn stubborn,” He continues, accent curling with a raspy quality, smouldering at its core. “Never listens, never rests.”

You’re unsurprised to hear that what he really feels for you, exposed in this crude confessional, is just more indignation. 

(Does it matter? Does it really? 

He’s fucking your throat like cumming down it will reaffix the spiderverse.)

The gags drop rhythm, snowballing to become a chorus of the most salacious whines you can make, punched in tandem to his thrusts. Saliva coats your lips, bubbling when he withdraws, welcoming him back with the sight of you wrecked, glazed in salty liquids from multitudinous sources. 

You lose yourself to it, squeezing your eyes shut until he urges you to open them back up again, brushing the corner where your skin burns from crying. His brows are pinched, canyons of deliberation formed between them, regarding your debauched expression with something more than the base measures exchanged in the past half hour. 

He pulls out with a pop. You clasp around his dick’s circumference – rubbing over the tip, where his hole leaks a steady flow of prespend – and question him with a keen. You can’t exactly manage anything else.

“Where do you want it?” 

You frown, leading him back into your mouth. Where else?

It isn’t much longer until he carries out the promise. 

The sequence of events is more organised than anything else that’s happened today. You’ve come to recognise it, an expert in unravelling. He jostles your head back onto the floor, stabilising you for when his rear lifts, slanting his cock ninety degrees downward to ram straight into your mouth. You wince, incisors accidentally skimming the surface, which only prompts him deeper in. Your nose squishes onto the coarse hairs of his groyne, soaked with drool, and his balls tighten under your mandible, leaden in an indication of what’s to come. 

You want it, so bad you can hardly gulp in precious breath. Your pupils roll behind your lids. You want, you want.

And finally – for the first time, over the entirety of your relationship – Miguel O’Hara gives that to you. Readily.

He cums. Hard. In throbbing spurts that coat your oesophagus, your molars, the back of your tongue. It’s sweltering, viscous and thick enough to choke you again – you cough up the excess that doesn’t quite fit, sinuses screeching with the overexertion. You can’t gulp, not when he’s still buried in you, so you do your best not to suffocate as he rides through his orgasm. Rope after rope, until he releases you, excess drops splattering onto your nose.

Then, he tucks his softening dick back into his pants and moves off of you.

You swallow, left with a weeping cunt and a swift sobering up.

Miguel proffers a helping hand, meant to lift you off the floor. Swatting it away, you clamber onto your own, unsteady feet, collecting your abandoned things from the bench, and bolt out the door.

What the fuck did you just do?

chapter nine

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