#my brain has turned to utter mush

[brbgensokyo]

man utawarerumono has me fully cooked. This is no good, no good at all

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

exhibitionism

part IV

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're settling into something you don’t fully understand, but it feels too good to question—too intoxicating to resist. Ben’s world is bleeding into yours, shaping it, owning it. He gives, and you take, but you’re starting to realise that nothing he gives is without cost. Doesn't matter how much that drink was anyway.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 6,697

A/N: Besties, when I tell you this took everything from me... I mean it wholeheartedly. Burnout has officially hit, and my brain feels like goddamn mush right now. I'm not even sure I proofread this properly smh. I'm not sure I'll get time to fully write the next instalment tomorrow because I've got a super busy workday, tons of appointments, but I will probably get partway started on it. Lil appearance from more of The Boys in this one, only brief mentions, but I like integrating them into this AU. Like a lil easter egg, teheh. <3 And the foreshadowing from Butcher at the end was the part I got most excited about, honestly. Cryptic motherfucker, always. The fic ain't called "exhibitionism" for nothing. 👀 You know the drill: if all the warnings listed above aren't evident yet, they will be. And please let me know what y'alls thoughts are. I am so grateful to each and every one of you for reading the utter sewage my brain creates. Signing off, until the next one. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

Morning crept in slow and golden, stretching lazy fingers of light through the blinds, spilling across the tangled sheets and the expanse of your bare skin.

The air smelled like him—cologne and sweat and sin—clinging to your body, to the silk of his pillows, sinking deep into your bones. You stirred, muscles aching in ways that made your stomach clench with something warm and satisfied, stretching like a cat before finally rolling out of bed.

The penthouse was quiet, except for the distant hum of the city far below. Your steps were soft against the cool marble as you padded into the kitchen, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. That’s when you saw it—

A small note on the counter, scrawled in what you assumed was Butcher’s blunt handwriting, sitting beside a Plan B.

Ben’s smirk was already curling at the corner of his mouth when you turned to find him leaning against the counter, watching you with that lazy, knowing amusement. He pushed off with an easy roll of his shoulders, stepping into your space, patting your ass before grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

“Go on then,” he murmured, filling the glass with water and pressing it into your hands. “Take it.”

You scowled at him, but you swallowed the pill anyway, washing it down under his watchful gaze. He looked too damn pleased with himself, grinning as he pressed a slow kiss to your temple before ushering you towards the shower.

The water was steaming by the time you both stepped in, the morning unfurling in quiet touches, hands gliding over slick skin, fingers threading through hair, the press of lips at the nape of your neck. It was unhurried, indulgent, all the urgency of the night before tempered into something softer, something that felt dangerously close to domestic.

By the time you were dressed, Ben had already decided breakfast was happening at some ridiculous rooftop restaurant, the kind that overlooked the city, all glass and steel and expensive finishes. He ordered coffee and something hearty, sipping slow while you picked at fruit and yogurt, the conversation easy, teasing, laced with the occasional knowing glance that had heat curling in your stomach.

After breakfast, you met up with Butcher, who wasted no time pulling up photos of apartments closer to Ben’s building.

“This one,” Ben said, barely glancing at the others before nodding at the one with the small, covered balcony. The space was perfect—something about the idea of you sitting out in the rain, curled up with a book, had him making the decision in seconds.

Then it was back to his penthouse, back to tangled sheets and tangled limbs, the hours slipping by in a haze of heat and slick skin, moans swallowed by deep, open-mouthed kisses. He left you completely spent, fucked out and boneless, only pausing his grumbling long enough to drive you back to your apartment. The whole ride was a steady stream of muttered complaints about your neighbourhood, about how it was a goddamn miracle you hadn’t been mugged yet, about how he was getting you the fuck out of there.

“Class schedule.”

You blinked at him, still dazed, before rattling it off. He grunted, nodding. “I’ll send some people over when you get back tomorrow to start packin’ your shit.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he wasn’t done.

“You need any more textbooks?”

That did it. Your face softened, eyes going wide and warm, something fluttering in your chest that you couldn’t quite suppress.

Ben saw it. And he smirked. “Christ, look at you,” he drawled, laughing, shaking his head. “You didn’t make that face when I bought you a whole fuckin’ wardrobe, but mention some books and you’re about ready to cream yourself.”

You huffed, shoving at his chest, but he caught your wrist, yanking you in for one last kiss, deep and slow, like he was trying to swallow you whole.

The next morning, you fell into a rhythm. You sent him a picture of two outfits, and he picked the jeans and the blouse.

Monday was lectures, the familiar comfort of academia wrapping around you like a second skin. Literature, language, the hum of the NYU campus filling your lungs like fresh air. You read in a café, met up with Hughie from Language, and Frenchie and Kimiko from Lit for lunch, an easy camaraderie settling between you before you all went your separate ways.

When you got home, a team was already waiting, efficiently packing up your apartment, boxing up memories, folding your life into neat stacks ready to be moved.

Tuesday followed the same rhythm, though the day was punctuated with texts from Ben. Filthy. Teasing. Full of smug impatience.

Bet that professor of yours wouldn’t be able to finish his lecture if he knew what you let me do to you.

And—

You gotten yourself all wet thinking about me yet, baby?

By noon, he demanded nudes, and you had to send them from a bathroom stall between classes, biting your lip as you hit send, warmth flooding through you at the immediate, possessive response.

Wednesday, everything was packed and ready. Ben showed up in the morning to meet your landlord, wrapping up the lease without a second glance, barely disguising his disgust at the place. His presence filled the almost-empty apartment, making it seem even smaller, even less yours.

Thursday, you moved.

The new apartment was waiting, the transition seamless, orchestrated by Ben’s efficient, silent influence. And standing there, at the front door, you realised something—you weren’t just moving apartments. You were moving into something entirely new.

And that was fucking daunting.

You hesitated in the doorway, heart thudding against your ribs, fingers curling into your palms. The apartment was perfect—too perfect. Light poured in through the massive windows, catching on soft pastels and warm wood, the carefully curated balance of elegance and comfort. It felt like you in a way that your old apartment never had.

And that was the part that terrified you.

Your breath came slow and uneven as you stepped inside, eyes scanning over the furniture, your furniture—only better.

Your little cream love seat and vintage armchair were there, the pastel pillows and soft throws draped just as you liked them—but there was a new sofa too. Big. Plush.

But the new dining table caught your attention—matching chairs, sleek but cozy, nothing like the old mismatched ones you’d made do with.

And then there was the bookshelf. Massive. Elegant. Full. Every book of yours finally had a home, instead of being stacked in chaotic, unstable towers on the floor.

“Jesus,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, stepping deeper inside.

Behind you, Ben leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, smug as all fuck, watching you take it in.

“Not bad, huh?”

You turned to glare at him, but it didn’t hold any heat. He knew what he’d done. Knew exactly how overwhelming this was for you. His lips curled, just barely, and he straightened, moving inside with slow, predatory steps, following your path through the space like a shadow.

The kitchen was next—a fucking upgrade. Marble counters, brass fixtures, farmhouse sink, all sleek and way too fucking nice for someone like you. Your fingers drifted along the counter’s cool surface, trying to ground yourself, but Ben’s heat was already at your back, pressing in close.

He exhaled against your ear. “Y’gonna stare at ‘em all day or let me fuck you against ‘em?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head, moving away before you let yourself melt. The bathroom was next, and it sealed your fate.

A clawfoot tub. Deep, luxurious, like something out of a fucking dream.

Your stomach twisted. You turned to face him, voice uneven. “Ben, I—”

But he was already grinning, leaning against the doorframe like he was enjoying the hell out of this.

“Keep goin’, sweetheart,” he drawled, gesturing lazily. “Ain’t even seen the best part yet.”

Your jaw clenched, but your feet carried you forward anyway. The bedroom felt like stepping into a dreamscape. The silk bedding, pastel and delicate, the new wardrobe and dresser already stocked with your things. He’d kept your lightwood bed, but everything else was elevated, just enough to make it clear that this was different.

Your throat felt tight. Too much. Too fucking much.

The last thing left was the balcony.

And the second you stepped outside, you broke.

The hanging chair, the plants, the fairy lights, the small bistro table—all of it settled into you like a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. The soft scent of flowers mixed with the distant city air, the quiet promise of solitude. The moment you took it in, really took it in, you whipped around and smashed your lips to his.

Ben caught you instantly, groaning into your mouth, gripping you like he’d been waiting for you to crack. Your fingers dug into his shirt, his arms cinched tight around your waist, his heat overwhelming every last thought in your head.

When you finally broke away, your breath was ragged. “I can’t—” You swallowed, chest heaving. “I can’t let you pay for this. How much even is this place?”

Ben just fucking laughed.

One hand gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had to look at him, so smug you wanted to slap him and fuck him at the same time.

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw, nipping at your neck. “Chump change, sweetheart.”

You gasped as his teeth scraped your pulse, your hands clutching at his biceps as he backed you into the railing, pressing you firmly against the cool metal.

“Now,” he continued, voice a low, dangerous purr, “Let’s go christen every fuckin’ room.”

You barely had time to breathe before he was hauling you inside, dragging you straight to the living room, lips crashing into yours, devouring you like he was starving. Your back hit the love seat, his hands everywhere, pulling at your clothes. Tugging. Gripping. Taking.

Then it was the kitchen. He shoved you up against the marble counters, hands groping under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the cool stone. His mouth was hot and demanding, moving down your throat, his hands already slipping under your clothes, pushing them aside.

He kissed you in the bathroom, bent you over the sink, his breath ragged against your ear as he whispered, “Gonna wreck you against every fuckin’ surface in this place, doll.”

Then it was the bedroom, your back hitting silk sheets, his weight pressing you deep into the mattress, hips grinding down, lips bruising against yours, murmuring filthy things about ruining these nice new sheets with you.

By the time he dragged you back out to the balcony, sweat-slick and completely spent, your head was spinning. The apartment smelled like heat and sex and him.

Ben was grinning, tucking his face into your neck, voice still wrecked from hours of claiming you.

“There,” he murmured, pressing one last possessive kiss to your throat. “Now it smells like home.”

The night air was crisp against your sweat-slick skin, the city stretching out below in endless neon veins, blinking and alive, thrumming beneath your feet like a pulse.

The scent of him clung to you—smoke and sweat, sex and heat—woven into your very being. You stood on the balcony, caught in the quiet aftermath, his body flush against yours, heat radiating from every point of contact between you.

Ben exhaled hard, fingers flexing on your waist before he reached for his pack of cigarettes, sliding one between his teeth before offering you the pack. He didn’t say anything, just held it out like it was expected, like it was second nature to include you in his vices now.

You hesitated for a second, then plucked one free. He smirked around the cigarette between his lips, flicking his lighter open with one smooth movement. The flame caught in his eyes, sharp and knowing, and he let it burn just long enough to make you wait before lighting yours too.

The first drag filled your lungs, burning hot, the nicotine grounding you in the moment. You exhaled slow, watching the smoke curl into the night air before swallowing hard.

“This is… a lot.” Your voice came quieter than you meant it to. “I feel bad letting you pay for all this.”

Ben scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned back against the railing, one arm still looped around your waist, keeping you close.

“Already told you, sweetheart,” he muttered around his cigarette, voice rough and amused. “It’s chump change.”

You frowned, taking another slow drag before exhaling through your nose. “It’s just… it’s a bit daunting, you know?” You glanced up at him, then back out at the skyline. “I only met you six nights ago, and now I live in a whole new place.”

Ben said nothing, just watched you with that unreadable expression, eyes dark and steady, cigarette smouldering between his fingers.

You sighed, your free hand curling against his chest, absently tracing the fabric of his shirt. “I guess I’m just worried it won’t work out, and then I’ll be out on my ass with no safety net.” You huffed a humourless laugh, shaking your head.

“I don’t wanna have to crawl back to my parents and tell them they were right.” Your jaw tensed, voice sharpening. “Not that I fucking would.”

Ben cut you off before you could spiral further.

“You’re never gonna be out on your ass again.”

The way he said it—flat. Firm. Absolute—made something in your stomach twist.

You turned your head, brows drawing together. “Ben?”

He exhaled smoke, slow and steady, his free hand dragging over your hip, slipping beneath your shirt to spread wide against your bare skin. He wasn’t looking at you, not at first, just watching the city lights like he was making a decision in real-time. Then, finally, he turned his head, gaze locking onto yours with a certainty that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You haven’t even known me a week,” you murmured, searching his face. “How do you know you’re not gonna find some prettier, better girl and wanna turf me out?”

The look he gave you—sharp, incredulous, disgusted like you’d said something offensive—had your stomach flipping.

“There ain’t a fuckin’ prettier girl,” he said, making a face, like the very suggestion was absurd. “And there sure as fuck ain’t a better one.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He shifted, cigarette dangling from his lips as his hand on your waist tightened, his voice dipping into something low, possessive, dangerous.

“You’re fuckin’ everything I’ve been lookin' for.” His fingers flexed, grip unrelenting, pulling you closer. “Smart, funny, fuckin’ gorgeous.” His lips curled around the words, dragging them out like he wanted to carve them into your skin.

“You fuck like a whore and take everythin' I give you—” His breath ghosted hot against your jaw as he leaned in. “—and still look up at me like you want more.”

Your pulse roared.

Ben smirked, watching the way your body reacted to his words, the way your thighs pressed together just slightly, how your fingers tightened around your cigarette.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled slow, smoke swirling around both of you before he nudged your chin up with two fingers, gaze dark and unreadable.

“Finish your smoke,” he murmured, voice dropping into something lower, lazier, filthy with certainty. “Look at the pretty lights. And stop that girly little brain of yours from worryin' too much.”

You let out a breath—half a laugh, half surrender, shaking your head.

“You’re a dick,” you muttered, but the words held no real bite.

He grinned, smug and knowing. “And you're a fuckin' pussy.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned into him, letting your body mould against his, warmth seeping between you as the city sparkled below. The lights blinked in the distance, twinkling like something out of a dream, like something unreal, but his hand on your waist was solid, his breath against your temple real, grounding you in the moment.

You took another slow drag from your cigarette, exhaling against his throat, lips parting—

And fuck it.

You turned your head, caught his jaw, kissed him slow and deep, your hand curling into the collar of his shirt.

Ben groaned into your mouth, fingers digging into your waist, claiming, gripping, owning.

You let yourself melt into it, into him, into the feeling of standing there, high above the city, wrapped up in the most dangerous man you’d ever met.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—you’d landed exactly where you were supposed to be.

The night settled around you, thick and quiet, the kind of quiet that came with expensive insulation and the weight of being somewhere that finally felt safe. The apartment smelled like fresh sheets, lingering traces of sex, and the faint burn of nicotine from earlier. You were still reeling, still trying to make sense of it all—the space, the luxury, him—but Ben wasn’t giving you the time to overthink it.

You were curled up on the new couch, legs tucked beneath you, one of your pastel throws draped over your lap. Ben had his arm slung across the back of the sofa, casual, lazy, like he owned the place. Like he owned you.

And maybe he did. You just hadn’t figured it out yet.

His eyes tracked over you, slow, assessing, fingers idly rubbing at his knee. “What time you in class tomorrow?”

You blinked, pulling your thoughts back to the present. “Uh… first lecture’s at eight.”

Ben’s mouth curled, something smug and knowing glinting in his eyes. “Good. I’m stayin’ the night.”

You tilted your head at him, curious. “You are?”

“Yeah.” He stretched, then smirked, shrugging like it was already decided. “Don’t gotta be up ‘til five. Sleepin’ in, really.”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “That’s sleeping in?”

“For me, yeah.” He flicked his eyes back over to you, watching you shift in your seat, processing what it meant. That he was staying here. With you. Like this was his bed, his space, his routine to alter.

You pursed your lips, rolling the thought over in your head. “What do you do, exactly?”

Ben’s smirk twitched into something a little sharper, a little less amused. “Not important.”

It didn't really catch you off guard, he'd said the same thing when you'd asked before, but you were curious so you pressed. “It is important.”

That made him pause. His head tilted, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he was trying to decide if he should be irritated by that answer. “Oh yeah?”

You swallowed, curling your fingers into the blanket. “You said part of this… deal between us is that I look after you.” You shifted, looking at him pointedly. “That means I should know what you do. So I can help you unwind if you’re stressed. So you can talk to me about things.”

That made him laugh.

Low, throaty, dark amusement curling through his chest, rolling out like it tasted fucking sweet. His head tipped back against the couch, one hand dragging over his jaw as he exhaled.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head before glancing back at you, all teeth and smirking condescension. “You really are a sweet little thing, huh?”

Your jaw tensed, but you waited.

Ben shifted, stretching out a little more, taking his time. Making you wait for it.

“S’nothin' exciting,” he finally said, dragging the words out slow, like they weren’t worth rushing over. “Just run the family business.”

You frowned. “What’s your family’s business?”

He huffed a short, amused breath, then looked at you, dead serious. “I own America’s fuckin’ backbone.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

That earned you a smug, lazy grin.

Ben leaned in, voice dipping into that classic-asshole-dirty-talk tone, the kind that made heat settle low in your stomach, even when you wanted to roll your eyes.

“Steel, baby,” he muttered, voice rich, thick with that heavy arrogance. “My company builds the cities you fuckin’ live in. Highways, bridges, skyscrapers—if it stands in this country, odds are, it’s got my fuckin’ name on it.”

You stared at him, lips parting slightly. “You… run a steel company?”

Ben just smirked, watching you.

“Own it.” He let the words hang for a second, savouring the weight of them before adding, “Some of the biggest manufacturers in the country? They bend over and kiss my fuckin’ boots for a contract.”

Your stomach flipped.

Of course. Of fucking course. The power, the arrogance, the complete refusal to accept no for an answer? It all made sense.

“So,” you started, voice light, playful. “You’re a glorified construction worker?”

Ben let out a short, sharp laugh, eyes flashing with something predatory as he leaned in, bringing his mouth right against your ear.

“You keep runnin’ that smart little mouth,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin, “and I’ll show you exactly how hard I work, doll.”

A full-body shudder rolled through you.

Ben grinned, sitting back, completely unbothered, watching your reaction like it delighted him.

Your lips twitched, shaking your head as you let out a breath, looking away before you did something stupid like climb into his lap and beg him to prove it.

This man was going to fucking ruin you.

The first yawn slipped out before you could catch it, your body betraying you in the warm lull of the evening. You tried to stifle it behind your hand, blinking sluggishly, but Ben saw. Of course, he saw.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you with that lazy, predatory gaze, like he was waiting, tracking every little sign of fatigue settling in your limbs. Then, with no warning, he scooped you up like you weighed absolutely nothing, one strong arm locking under your thighs, the other bracing around your back.

A small yelp caught in your throat as your arms flew around his neck. “Ben—”

“C’mon,” he muttered, already striding toward the bedroom, completely unfazed. “Almost bedtime.”

You exhaled a laugh, already half-melting into him, the warmth of his body lulling you further into exhaustion. “You’re such a caveman.”

Ben huffed, the sound thick with amusement, but then his grip tightened slightly, and he dipped his head, voice dropping into that gravelly, smug rasp right against your ear.

“Yeah? Well, I need to get my beard wet first.”

Your breath hitched, heat flashing through your spine like a whip-crack.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were sleepy, blushing, but that didn’t stop your thighs from pressing together, from your fingers clenching a little tighter in the fabric of his shirt. Because it didn’t matter how disgusting his mouth was—how filthy, how utterly depraved—you loved words. And he knew that.

The bastard smirked when he felt you squirm, his grip flexing possessively around your thigh, squeezing just enough to remind you who you belonged to.

You didn’t argue.

Didn’t protest when he dropped you onto the bed, didn’t say a word when he grabbed the waistband of your bottoms and peeled them off with zero ceremony, like they were a fucking obstacle. The heat in your face only deepened as he dragged you to the edge of the mattress, pulling your hips up so your ass was barely on the bed, your legs draped over his shoulders.

Then he sank to his knees.

And he got to work.

The first long, sloppy, groaning lap of his tongue had your back arching off the mattress. The second had your fingers clawing at the sheets, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. He was so fucking messy, open-mouthed and hungry, tongue and lips and teeth everywhere, greedy and filthy like he was eating the meal he’d been craving all damn day.

“Fuckin’ love this pussy,” he rasped against you, spit-slick and wrecked, his hands gripping your thighs so tight it ached. “So soft, so fuckin’ sweet—goddamn, baby, you’re just drippin’ for me.”

A shudder ripped through you, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your thighs twitched around his head, but he only growled, fingers digging in harder, keeping you wide open, keeping you at his mercy.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, tongue dipping deep, the sound almost desperate, like he was losing his mind over it. “Could bury my face in this tight little cunt forever.”

Your hands scrambled for purchase, clenching in the sheets, in his hair, anywhere, because the way he was devouring you—

It was too much.

The obscene, wet, sucking sounds of his mouth, the deep vibrations of his groans, the sheer heat of his breath against your slick skin—it had your brain short-circuiting, had your stomach tightening, the pleasure cresting too fast, too sharp.

“Ben,” you gasped, barely coherent. “I—I—”

His eyes flicked up, dangerous, knowing.

“Oh, I know,” he muttered, all smug condescension, his fingers pressing harder into your thighs. “I know what’s about to happen, baby.”

You didn’t, though.

Not until it started building, something different, something new, something that had you gasping, panicking, thighs trying to snap shut.

“B-Ben, wait—”

Slap.

His palm cracked against your inner thigh, just enough to sting, just enough to make you jolt, pleasure cutting through the panic sharp and hot.

“Shut up.” He growled it against you, voice rough with pure fucking authority, and your body obeyed before your mind did, immediately unraveling under him. “Let it happen.”

Your breath hitched, vision whiting out as something broke inside you.

And then—

It happened.

A choked sob tore from your throat as your body gave out, as pleasure ripped through you so violently your hips jolted against his face, liquid heat gushing out of you, soaking his mouth, his beard, the sheets beneath you.

Ben groaned like a man unhinged, his fingers tightening bruises into your skin, holding you still as he licked you through it, fucked you through it, savouring every fucking drop.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he rasped, completely ruined, his voice breaking into something wild. “That’s it—fuckin’ drench me—Jesus Christ, you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

You were shaking, whimpering, still trying to come down, still trying to understand what just happened.

Ben laughed, breathless and smug, so fucking pleased with himself. His hands finally eased, smoothing over your trembling thighs, gripping them possessively, reverently.

“Didn’t know you could do that, huh?” He muttered, voice hoarse, utterly wrecked.

You whimpered, shaking your head, mortified, trying to cover your face—

He didn’t fucking let you.

His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them to the bed, his mouth dragging wet, open kisses along your thighs, up your stomach, up your ribs, crawling up your body like he wasn’t done with you yet.

“You are so fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, voice thick with filth and praise, his weight pressing you into the mattress. “Gonna make you do that every goddamn night, baby—fuckin’ soaking for me.”

You whimpered, still trembling, still floating, but he just grinned, so goddamn smug, his teeth skimming your jaw.

“Now, go to sleep,” he murmured, nipping at your ear. “You’ve got an early class tomorrow, sweetheart.”

Ben’s hands were steady, careful, as he helped you scoot back properly onto the bed, smoothing his palms over your trembling thighs, gripping where he could, soaking up the aftermath of what he’d just done to you. You barely had the energy to move, limbs heavy and useless, your breath still uneven, skin flushed and oversensitive.

He didn’t seem to mind. Loved it, actually.

Smirking, he sat back on his heels, watching as you climbed under the sheets, dragging them up around you, tucking yourself into the soft, pastel silk like you were burrowing into a cocoon of warmth and safety.

Then, with a huffed breath, Ben stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. A soaked mess.

“Christ on a cross,” he muttered, holding it up in the dim light. “Look at this shit.”

You immediately tried to hide, face burning as you turned toward the pillow, but he caught it—the small, mortified shift of your body, the way you curled inward like you could disappear. And he didn’t fucking like it.

“Hey,” he tutted, sharp and chiding, tossing the damp shirt over the back of your dressing table chair. “Don’t do that.”

You swallowed, exhaling against the sheets, still embarrassed but wrecked, still completely in his grip. He watched you for a second longer, then huffed, shaking his head before shoving his boxers down and climbing into bed beside you.

The mattress dipped, warmth swallowing you whole as he wrapped himself around you, pulling you flush against his chest, strong arms locking you in place like you were fucking going anywhere. His hold was tight, heavy, possessive in a way that made your stomach flutter, even in your exhausted state.

“Excited for tomorrow night,” he murmured against your temple, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. “Gonna pick you up from here when you’re back from class.”

You made a soft, content noise, already half-melting, pressing closer, sinking deeper into the warmth of him.

Then—

Ben shifted, brow furrowing as he felt something under him, something small and soft, and he reached down, pulling it free.

Eugene.

Your stuffed bear, held dangling by one arm in his grasp, Ben staring at it like it personally offended him.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Eugene, you gotta get the fuck outta here.”

You snorted, laughter bubbling up before you could help it, giddy and wrecked and so goddamn endeared that you physically ached.

Ben just looked at you, then at Eugene, then back at you, dangling the bear slightly, like he was silently asking well?

Still giggling, you took the bear from him, hugging it against your chest, but you also nuzzled further into Ben, burying yourself beneath his arm, tangling your legs with his.

Ben sighed, a deep, satisfied breath, before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head.

“Night, baby.”

His voice was low, heavy with something you weren’t ready to pick apart yet, something deep and final and absolute.

You mumbled something sleepy back, warm and safe and tucked into him, and for the first time in a long, long time—

You fell asleep feeling like you belonged somewhere.

When you woke again, it was slow. The kind of thick, heavy sleep that left your limbs boneless, warm, unwilling to move. But the first thing you became aware of was him.

Ben was grumbling into your hair, voice rough with sleep, chest broad and solid at your back, his arm heavy where it draped over your waist. Every breath he took vibrated through you, low and gravelly, lazy but full of complaint.

“Don’t wanna fuckin’ get up,” he muttered, his lips grazing your bare shoulder, breath hot against your skin. His hips pressed forward, and that was when you felt it—

Hard. Thick. Heavy. Pressed up against your ass, all heat and weight, his body surrounding you completely.

“Should just stay here all day,” he continued, voice low, almost slurred, still caught between sleep and wakefulness. His fingers flexed against your stomach, gripping, pulling you tighter against him. “Bury my cock in you and keep it there ‘til I gotta fuckin’ leave.”

A whimper caught in your throat, your thighs pressing together as you twitched in his hold. His breath hitched—then, his grip locked down.

His hand clamped onto your hip, pinning you to the bed, holding you still.

“If you don’t stop wigglin’ like that,” he murmured, voice dangerous, threatening, slow, “I really am gonna stay here and fuck you.”

Heat rushed to your face, your breath shuddering against the pillow as your body went still in his hold.

Ben huffed out a long, suffering groan, like he was physically forcing himself to be good, dragging himself out of bed with a grumble.

You stirred, stretching, before blinking up at him sleepily and shoving the sheets back to climb out of bed yourself.

Ben turned to look at you, brows furrowing, fully perplexed. “The fuck are you doin’?”

You blinked at him. “Getting up.”

His scowl deepened. “No, you’re not. Go back to sleep.”

You tilted your head, watching as he ran a hand down his face, already irritated by the concept of morning.

“But... you need to eat before you go.”

Ben froze.

His hand paused on his jaw. Something dark and hot flickered in his gaze, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale. Then, he grinned. Slow. Lazy. Dangerous.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, running his tongue along his bottom lip, shaking his head as his eyes dragged over you. “You really are a dream girl, huh?”

Heat licked up your spine, but you held your ground, arms crossing loosely over your chest. “Ben.”

He groaned—but the good kind. The kind that sounded wrecked, that made your thighs clench together.

“Y’know how fuckin’ hot that is?” He exhaled through his nose, stepping closer, gaze dark, possessive. “Sweet little thing, tellin’ me I gotta eat before I go.” His fingers brushed over your hip, teasing, almost reverent. “Fuck me, baby, I could take you up on that right now.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, voice dropping low and thick. “But for now, I need you back in bed.”

Before you could argue, he grabbed you, pushing you back down, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His hand wrapped around your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheeks, pinning your face to look up at him as he climbed over you, his lips dragging slow and deliberate over yours.

He kissed you hard, sucking at your bottom lip, teeth scraping, his free hand gripping your throat, then your jaw, then your hip. Every touch was bruising, deliberate, a brand of possession that felt like it was sealing something deep into your bones.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, panting slightly, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, swollen from his teeth.

“Need you rested up for later,” he murmured, eyes flicking over your face, drinking you in. “We’re goin’ out.”

Your breath stuttered, heart thudding against your ribs.

Then—he pulled away. You whined, grabby-hands reaching for him, desperate and frustrated.

Ben laughed. Smug, mocking, pleased as fuck.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he grinned, shaking his head as he watched you desperately reaching for him. “Clingy little thing.”

Your face burned, but you didn’t stop, fingers snagging at his wrist, pulling him back down just enough to suck another kiss out of him.

Ben groaned, deep and approving, teeth scraping your lip before he finally broke away, thumb swiping along your jaw one last time.

“You’re cute when you get needy, y’know that?” He murmured, mocking, but still praising, still smug as fuck.

You huffed, pouting.

He smirked, straightening, already moving toward his clothes. “Go back to sleep, doll. I’ll be back for you soon.”

The sound of your phone alarm ripped you from sleep, shattering the lingering warmth of your dreams. You groaned, scowling as you fumbled to shut it off, blinking bleary-eyed at the soft glow of morning filtering through your window.

Then it hit you.

This wasn’t your old apartment.

You sat up slowly, heart skipping as you glanced around, reality settling in. New walls, new furniture, new life. The silk sheets pooled around your lap, and for a moment, it felt surreal—like you were still dreaming, like this wasn’t really yours.

It didn’t feel real. Didn’t feel earned. It felt borrowed, temporary, fraudulent.

You shook yourself out of it, exhaling slow before slipping out of bed, padding across the floor to your wardrobe. Focus. Get ready. Move.

You pulled out two outfits, snapping a photo of both before sending them to Ben. His response came fast.

That one. Good fuckin’ girl.

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping up your neck as you bit your lip, shaking your head before sending him another—this time, of you wearing it.

With that, you grabbed your bag and headed out.

The day passed in a blur.

Lectures, notes, the steady rhythm of campus life pulling you into its familiar current. By the time lunch rolled around, you were settling into the café with one of your friends—the same girl from last Friday, the one who had tried to get you to leave before Ben decided otherwise.

She barely let you sit down before she was grinning, eyes alight with curiosity.

“So,” she started, leaning in, “how was last weekend?”

You hesitated for a beat, then gave a small, knowing smile. “It was good.”

Her eyes widened, and she let out an excited noise, smacking your arm lightly. “Good?” She echoed. “Babe, he was fucking gorgeous.”

You laughed, shaking your head, sipping your drink. “Yeah, I know.”

“Are you seeing him again?”

You glanced up, watching her reaction carefully, then nodded. “Tonight.”

Another excited squeal, another wave of gushing, but it didn’t bother you. It was nice, in a way—to talk about him in this context, instead of just feeling him consume you whole.

By the time you finished lunch, she had pep-talked you into oblivion, and you headed back home, your steps a little lighter, a little more confident.

When you arrived, the car was already there. Butcher was waiting, leaning against the door, arms crossed.

You slowed, raising a brow, and he tilted his head in acknowledgment.

“Just gotta take my bags and stuff up,” you told him.

He waved a hand, gruff and dismissive, barely looking up. “Go on, love. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You smirked, shaking your head before heading inside, quickly changing into something better suited for the night ahead.

By the time you came back down, Butcher was already in the driver’s seat, waiting. You climbed into the car, settling into the back, watching the city blur past as he pulled away. The silence stretched just long enough before you finally spoke.

“How are you?”

Butcher snorted. “Like you give a fuck.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I do give a fuck.”

He glanced at you in the rearview, lips twitching in something almost amused. “Yeah, well. Ain’t dead yet, so I s’pose I’m alright.”

You huffed a laugh, fingers drumming absently against your thigh before you glanced at him again. “What exactly is your job?”

That earned you a raised brow.

“My job?” He echoed, tilting his head slightly.

You nodded, watching as he rolled the thought around in his head before giving a gruff, nonchalant shrug.

“Eh,” he muttered. “’M kinda like Ben’s assistant.”

Your brow furrowed. “Assistant?”

Butcher smirked, shaking his head. “Well, that’s the posh way of sayin’ it.”

You snorted, amused and intrigued, watching him as the car weaved through the city, each answer leading to more questions, each detail peeling back another layer.

You shifted in your seat, watching the cityscape blur past in a wash of headlights and neon. The weight of the day sat low in your limbs, the lingering haze of routine blending into something less familiar, less structured.

The car was silent except for the quiet hum of the engine and the occasional clink of Butcher’s rings against the steering wheel as he shifted his grip. His gaze stayed forward, focused, but you could feel his presence as easily as if he were staring straight at you.

You cleared your throat. “Hey—thank you.”

Butcher didn’t react right away, just quirked a brow, flicking his eyes toward the rearview mirror for a split second before looking back at the road. “For what?”

You shrugged, resting your temple against the window. “First of all, for picking me up from the apartment.”

He snorted, shaking his head like it was the bare fucking minimum.

“And,” you added after a pause, something clicking in your head, “for finding the apartment.”

At that, Butcher let out a low, amused exhale. His mouth pulled into something almost smug, but he didn’t say anything, just kept driving.

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Ben chose it, but you found it.”

“Yeah, well.” He shifted slightly in his seat, rolling his shoulders. “Gotta make sure you’ve got a roof over your head, don’t I?”

There was something unspoken in that. Something heavy, something you weren’t ready to unpack yet. You let it sit for a moment, your fingers drumming absently against your knee, before swallowing and speaking again.

“And… for the Plan B last weekend.”

That made Butcher snort. Loud. Like he genuinely found that funny.

You immediately regretted saying it. Heat flashed up your neck, and you turned toward the window, cursing yourself internally.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, shaking his head. “He said you were a shy one. You really are, ain't ya?”

You grumbled something under your breath, shifting in your seat. “I just—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Butcher cut in, still amused, still shaking his head. He let the moment breathe for a second before glancing at you again. “You’re gonna have to work on that, y’know.”

That caught you off guard.

Your brows furrowed, head tipping slightly. “On what?”

Butcher sighed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He waved a hand, his rings catching in the dim light. “The whole bloody embarrassed about everythin' bit.”

Your frown deepened, stomach flipping in something that wasn’t quite discomfort, wasn’t quite intrigue. “Why?”

He let out a gruff, knowing chuckle, shaking his head. “If you plan on keepin’ Ben, love, you’re gonna be flaunted about. You’ll be fuckin' exhausted if you’re constantly blushin’ over every little thing.”

You stiffened slightly, fingers tightening on your knee. “What do you mean?”

Butcher didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just exhaled through his nose, something deeply amused and vaguely pitying flickering across his face before he waved another hand.

“Nothing,” he muttered, voice low, dismissive, but still loaded as fuck. “Just sayin’—best get used to eyes bein’ on you.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t quite know why. Didn’t quite know what he was really saying.

Not yet.

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @kayleighwinchester @lyarr24 @imtheworst123 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @cevansbaby-dove <3

[marsmaximoff]

i’m begging you. namgyu x reader, it’s lights out and namgyu needs to relieve his stress, SMUT!!! but consensual duh

🌑; lights out * ✧₊☽⋆˚

content warning: fem!reader. smut. unprotected. exhibitionism. praise/degradation. light choking. fingers sucking. getting caught. cum swallowing.

word count: 1k

author's note: oh, anon, if only you knew the way i smiled when i read the request.... anyway, first time posting smut (you can tell), and can we talk about how fucking weird writing it is? i did what i could, also english is not my mother language so bare with me. im sorry y’all 😔😔

dividers by @cafekitsune and @strangergraphics <3

voting leaves the room plunged into an eerie environment. you lay awake, haunted by the hopeless souls, when some ruffling is heard and your bed sinks slightly. you don’t need to ask to know who it is.

“you good?” he doesn’t have to utter a single word to show his agitation. the sounds he lets out are proof enough.

“i can’t fucking fall asleep. those x motherfuckers are riling me up the wrong fucking way.” he scoffs while finally lying down. uneasiness is clearly staining his voice, and you know that tone; he’s on the edge.

“you high?” he snuggles closer to you, pressing his back to your chest before playfully whispering in your ear, “how’s that feel to you, baby? mhm?”, his hard-on against your lower back. 

“fuck” 

“exactly,” he purrs. “i’m desperate as fuck.” needy hands begin to roam all over your body. “and you’re gonna help me.” he leaves a sloppy kiss on your neck before rasping out, “right?” his fiery breath has goosebumps exploding on your skin alongside a certain pressure starting to arise on your belly. still, you’re surrounded by hundreds of strangers all piled up mere inches away. “can’t you get out and jerk it off?” his frisky laugh intensifies your arousal and you feel yourself getting hotter with every word he mutters. how can someone’s voice be so damn attractive? “why the hell would i do that when i have you right here? come on, be good for me.” his hands move underneath your shirt, and the dangerous mix of his alluring tone with the fire the physical contact is igniting on your back while he caresses it with his fingertips turns your brain into mush, making it almost impossible to stay sensible. 

“shit, gyu. here? now?” you make an incredible effort to fight your lust, “shhhh. don’t you wanna help relieve my stress?” and he shatters all of it, sending your remaining clarity away.

“fuck, yes.” you turn around and immediately yank his face towards yours, finally tasting heaven-like relief. “good girl,” he pants against your lips. “you feel so much better.” the kiss is messy and hungry. desperate. like you need it to survive. and in a way, he does. 

when your tongues make it too laborious to breathe, he pulls back with your lower lip caged in between his teeth. “why don’t you ride me a bit, mhmh? make me forget those assholes.” you don’t think ‘no’ could ever be a possible answer, not to him. so you nod, already craving that pleasure, and he quickly removes your green sweatpants. he doesn’t bother prepping you or even pulling your underwear down, tho, he’s way too gone for that. he simply grabs you by the hips and makes you sit on top of him. nothing else. the work is yours to do. 

without hesitating, -you want this way too bad-, you take his reddish, stiff member out and give it a few strokes. he grunts and you can't take it, so pushing your panties to the side, you sink in.

“yeah, that's what i'm talking about.” he gasps, totally unconcerned about the circumstances, as always. who cares about the other players when your pussy is taking him so deep? you however, bite your lips to hold back a moan while moving up and down, following a leisurely rhythm, not wanting to get too carried away. although the speed doesn't really matter. he feels wonderful, and a few seconds are all he needs to have you seeing stars. “you're so wet, such a perfect slut for my dick.” you shiver at his praise and he chuckles, gripping your waist with such passion it hurts. but only because you have to suppress your burning satisfaction.

“ride me harder.” the sight of him lying back, talking to you like this with the way he’s staring, has you instinctively bucking your hips. the pace escalates, and you slowly let loose. the grinding turns into bouncing, whimpers become full moans, and you're both so fazed the bed screech accompanying your noises goes unnoticed. 

you use his lean arms as support, gently tracing his perfect veins as a comfort gesture. “god, you’re so good…” your voice is groggy and strained. “i know.” you could get pissed at his overly confident attitude, but truth is you find it hot as fuck. he knows no one could make you feel like this.

“i- i’m- i’m sorry, could you please be quieter, if it’s not too much trouble?” 

it takes you a moment to process what’s happening, your lewdness acting as a blinding veil, but namgyu answers for you. 

“give me bullshit like that again and i’ll break your face, whore.”

the random woman is astonished as well as appalled. she apologizes again and seemingly leaves her bed, the footsteps dying out.

“fucking cunt. bothering me when i’m railing my girl...” he pushes you down and gives you a harsh kiss, the new position snapping you out of your trance. “what the fuck? ur still hard?” you ask through moans. “goddamn, if you knew how fucking good your pussy feels, you’d understand. ‘ts a damn drug.” at that, your walls clench, his sweet talk getting you every. single. time. and it motivates him to change positions, laying you on your side, as you were initially. but you're still a bit weirded out, and he notices. how could he not, with how well he knows your body?

“focus on me. don’t want you thinking ‘bout that or anything that isn’t me and the way i’m fucking you, got that?” his hand travels to your throat and adds a bit of pressure.

“yeah.” 

his girth perfectly stretching you out turns off anything that's not his cock, his movements get harder and deeper due to the still present indignation. “i’m close, gyu…” you cry out, yearning for that release. “of course you are, with how fucking much you’re leaking,” those words only make it worse. “i think you were just as desperate as i was, huh? such a perfect nympho for me”, he groans, thrusting faster. your head lolls back, resting on his shoulder, his dick hits you with such precision it’s hard to even keep your eyes open. slender fingers climb up your skin and reach your lips, which you instantly part letting out a low moan. with that, he pushes them inside, pressing down your tongue. and you suck them with all you’ve got left, licking and slurping while he fucks you in both holes. 

the double pleasure takes control over your body and you start to notice your shakiness. “gyu…” you babble, the capacity of forming full sentences is gone, not only because of his hand. “cum on my cock like a good girl, come on.” he demands against your neck, and your brain listens, as usual, sending throbs and contractions through your hips. your belly drops as if from a plane, he abandons your mouth eager to hear your falling over and you don't disappoint, squeezing his biceps while panting for air. “oh, fuck…” the aftershocks keep going while he pulls out, “damn, you drenched me” you’re not in your right mind to fully comprehend yet, “now, i don’t want it to go to waste, so you’re gonna swallow me up real good. yeah? not gonna drop any?” you answer by sticking out your tongue, and before you know it, the thick, salty, warm liquid fills your senses. you swallow and hear him sigh, relieved.

“shit, i’m spent. you’re such a good stress reliever.”

he falls asleep on your bed and ends up snuggling against you :3

❤️‍🔥 want more namgyu?

[shirakow]

❝ 𝓗.OME SWEET HOME ! ”

caleb x fem!reader / love and deepspace .

warning(s) include: SPOILER WARNING, nsfw content, hair pulling, porn with no plot, refers to readers vagina as ‘her’, and kinda sad? idk i randomly put sad parts bc i remembered his painful signal card

note: it’s been so long since I posted and I gotta say i rlly love caleb so ofc i had to post abt him. originally i played the game bc i wanted to make my mc cute but then i saw caleb and i kinda forgot abt my mc. she looks bomb tho

“It’s like she’s welcoming me home…” Caleb grunted into your ear, his hand pressing down on the light protrusion on the pit of your tummy—evidence of how deep he is in your heat. Snug and tight around his fat cock, just the way he loved it.

Tears brimmed the corner of your eyes as your tiny hands clawed at his back, your nails often bumping against the metal plates of his bionic arm.

“C-Caleb…”

A groan from him, “Yes, pip-squeak? That you or your pussy talking to me?” He grinned from ear to ear.

You’ve never once heard him talk such vulgarities towards you, especially not to your core of all things. Though you would be lying if you said you didn’t find it the least bit attractive.

The moment you—well, he adjusted to being inside you, he ground his pelvis against the curve of your ass. Each roll of his hips causing his eyes to flutter shut as he tried his best not to cum prematurely.

He was a man, through and through, and he wasn’t just gonna let his woman go high and dry. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint you and your pretty cunt.

One, two, three teasing thrusts came from him, the next ones more subtle and shallower than the last.

It was absolute torture, he was so deep inside you yet he barely even moved an inch? Shouldn’t he be more lenient? Nicer? Has the Fleet completely changed his generosity? These questions swirled around your head like cartoon birds, eating away your brain and turning it into mush.

Even your pussy cried out for more—leaking excess juices down his cock to taint his balls. The wetness was enough to resemble the tears that flowed freely from your eyes, and it almost broke Caleb’s walls down.

Almost, but not quite.

Caleb smiled, one of mischievous intent as he cupped your cheek and cooed at your pitiful expression. “You know I hate it when you cry…” Another shallow thrust.

“What does my girl want?” He was teasing you now. He pressed his forehead against yours, merely a breaths away from your quivering lips that which he thumbed and toyed with.

“Just say the word,” he whispered under his breath, the old Caleb you knew slipping past the Colonel front he put up ever since he joined the Fleet and it brought a sense of reprieve in you even for a moment. “Fast? Hard? Slow?” With each word he uttered, he gave a brief example before stopping completely.

You arched your back, pressing your chest against his as the need inside you began to grow like the plague, begging to be cured.

Caleb gave a sharp thrust before stilling his movements once more and kept his pelvis flushed against your rear, patiently waiting for your words of encouragement.

“Come on, pip-squeak…” Caleb pressed feather light kisses on your neck, “Talk to me.” A whimper escaped your lips at his words. “I…” You started while he hummed in response, non verbally telling you to go on as his bionic arm trailed down your sweaty body to cup your breasts.

Tweaking and flicking your pert nipple in between his cold, metallic fingers while closely watching your expressions, hyperaware of every detail on your face. Your pores, your lashes, your glossy eyes, your flushed cheeks—Christ, he wanted to move, now.

If you don’t beg soon enough, he’s gonna take matters into his own hands and make love—no, fuck you just the way he wanted.

“Please, move… I can’t—I can’t take anymore—“ a squeal erupted from your throat the moment he pulled his hips back and thrust back inside harshly immediately after those pleas left your mouth. The wet squelch of your pussy were music to his ears as he finally took what he and most especially you wanted.

His movements never faltered, it grew more fervent if anything, as if wanting to imprint his length along your gummy walls—to get you addicted to it. Caleb doesn’t know how long he’s fantasized of being inside you, claiming your cunny and fucking it into the shape of his cock so that it would fit him and only him.

Years of fisting his own hand, imagining it was you finally coming true. He could almost cry because of it. Caleb used his free hand to wrap your legs around his hips to pull him in deeper, closer to you. He felt like he was gonna die if he doesn’t merge with you; he needed to occupy the space between the both of you. He needed to feel you.

“Hold onto me,” he rasped, sweat dripping from his forehead and onto your face: your fucked out face that he loves so much. “Don’t you dare let go until I tell you to.” His words left no room for argument, and so you did. You held onto him like it was your life’s mission.

Your hands clawed at his toned back, leaving faint crescent marks and thin red lines on his scarred skin. “Caleb, Caleb—“ you sobbed uncontrollably, the tip of his length hitting every sensitive spot in your pussy.

As if he was born to be inside of you, born to be your partner, born to be your soulmate. The thought left a bitter taste on your tongue. Soulmate.

Sensing your sudden shift in mood, Caleb furrowed his brows and buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and cradled your head, his hips never faltering in its speed even if he sensed the doubt in your eyes.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it.” He grunted, moving faster and harder—the head of his cock finally hitting that spongy spot deep inside of you. Your eyes flew open and instinctively scratched him harder, his name falling from your lips like a desperate prayer. “That’s it, focus on me, only me, Caleb.” He wanted to relieve you of this internal pain so only the thought of his cock was left in your pretty little head. Thoughts of how much he can make you feel good, not the latter.

He closed his eyes shut the moment your gummy walls squeezed around his shaft, as if to say he should never leave your heat, and he will gladly oblige if you told him not to.

A bubble formed at the pit of your stomach, one that was just about ready to pop. Moans reverberated around the room, paired with the sounds of your coupling and the headboard hitting the wall with every violent thrust Caleb gave you—knocking the wind out of your lungs.

Your nails continued to dig into his skin almost desperately, causing a groan to sound from Caleb. “Harder, scratch me harder…” He urged as his bionic arm left your thigh to rub at your erect pearl in fast and tight circles.

The cold metal hit your clit and you immediately choked on your moans, the feel of it sending shivers and electricity down your spine. Complying, you did as he asked of you, and scratched his skin harder. Caleb groaned and accidentally fisted your hair which he still cradled.

It was the only way he could feel you—the pain you gave him, emotionally and physically. A side effect that came with the experiments at the Fleet, and he wishes he could turn back time to the moment where everything went wrong and give you all the love you deserved. Even if it hurt, he’ll go through hell and back just to feel you on his skin once more.

“Cum for me, pip-squeak…” He huffed into your ear, “Show me just how much you missed me.” With a few more thrusts, you eventually came—squirt dripping and spraying all over your sweaty bodies.

It didn’t take long from Caleb to follow, giving a particularly harsh grind of his hips and he came deep inside of your womb, effectively filling up the void of your tummy as he collapsed on top of you. The two of you heaved for breath but you seemed the most out of it.

Caleb panted and began to pepper kisses along the skin of your neck and rubbed the back of your head as a way to apologize for pulling on your hair. “Are you okay? Did I go too hard?” He asked breathlessly and used his arms to push himself up so he wasn’t crushing you with his weight.

Caleb rested his body on his elbows as he cupped your flushed cheeks to check up on you. You gave him a faint nod and smiled, “Mhm…” You nuzzled into his palm and turned your head to gently kiss it. “I’m okay…”

He sighed in relief and nuzzled his nose against yours, “That’s good… I didn’t want to hurt you.” His lips found yours, moving it in tandem with the beating of your hearts as he remained snug in your tight heat. “That’s the last thing I wanted…” He eventually separated from the kiss and stared at you, love and affection lay bare in his eyes.

He never wanted to pull out. Was he even talking about your core anymore? Probably not. Either way, it didn’t matter. Caleb laid on his side and pulled you in close gently, not wanting to put more pressure on your sensitive pussy. His arms caged you in his embrace as he inhaled the scent of your shampoo and let his eyes flutter shut.

“I won’t ever leave you again…” He whispered, “I promise.”

[queer-n-here]

I JUST SAW YOUR POST ABOUT WANTING TO BRANCH OUT TO DIFFERENT FANDOMS

AND THAT YOURE OK WITH MHA

BAKUGOU X READER PLS PLS PLS

Like brat Bakugou x brat tamer reader, breaking down his rudeness until he’s begging for it. PLS I wanna fuck him till he cries pls

(Sorry for the hornyposting oops k bye)

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yesssssss!!!

Fuck yeahhh brat taming Bakugo let's go!

(This was my initial reaction to recieving this req, no shit)

Contents: Lil headcannons bout taming Baku! Hope you like em!

Warnings: Smut, top male reader, edging, mentions of overstim near the end.

Bakugo, his ENTIRE character, screams 'I'm a little brat' like nothing else.

So I can see him being rude to you, too, mocking and joking around about some of your habits to piss you off. What that dumbass doesn't think of, however, is the consequences of his actions.

You grab Bakugo by the wrists and pin him to the bed you two were sitting at, press your knee between his legs and push them apart, holding him down despite his struggles.

"Look at you, all riled up just from some jeering." He says, smirking and completely oblivious of his fate. "What is it, haven't taken you- mmf!"

You cut him off with a kiss first, letting go of his wrists momentarily to rip his clothes off of his body.

Bakugo wouldn't admit it if you put a gun to his temple, but he loves being manhandled like this. You're stronger than him, which is something he tried to be in denial about earlier, but not anymore.

So when you enter his asshole without preparing him, he gives up the struggle and scrambles to find purchase to ground himself.

You fuck into him, making his hips buck up into yours. You hold him down, and began thrusting into him at a pace so slow it has him losing his mind.

You're hitting all the right spots, and the stimulation is making his back arch and eyes water, but its not nearly enough. Bakugo tries clenching around you, trying to rile you up to get you to fuck him senseless the way you sometimes do, but you just hiss and tighten your hold on him, pace slower than ever.

And it doesn't take long for him to lose his composure and fall apart in your hands. He's reduced into a needy mess soon, chest jolting as his breath hitches, hands grabbing at your shoulders so tight you feel his blunt nails dig into your skin.

"More, ah! [Name] faster!" Is the only string of comprehensible words that he can utter soon.

"Oh?" You grit your teeth against the sparks of pleasure each thrust is sending up your cock. "You wanna get fucked, hmm? Then why weren't you acting like it just now, Baku?"

And he just whines, feeling your tip barely brush against sweet spot this time, the denial of that pleasure he knew you could give him so intense it made him see black spots in his vision that he had to blink to clear.

So he begs, he begs like the whore he is in bed, like the cock-addicted little slut you've made him, who wants nothing more than to have you rearrange his insides to the shape of your cock.

You take pity on him, like c'mon, you can't keep edging him forever when your own cock is pulsing with want, right?

So you bend him in half and plunge into him, your pace like that of a wild fucking animal as you thrust into him, finally giving Bakugo what he wants.

Bakugo lays there, his brain slowly turning into mush as you finally, finally fuck him, his moans loud even over the sound of skin slapping against skin with each of your thrusts, sweat soaked hair sticking to his forehead.

I mean, the night is still young tho. Maybe you can overstimulate him next, rip orgasm after orgasm from him till his entire frame his shaking, till his dick is shooting blanks, till he passes out on the bed under you from exhaustion, leaving you to clean up the mess on the bed. Who knows? 😉

[merakiui]

Do you think Jamil would use his um to hypnotize darling into being his dorm’s fuckhole? Or a fuckhole between him and octrio cuz I do love gangbangs with guys that have a super slimy side. Maybe someone is recording the gangbang for jack off material that might also be used as blackmail material if needed?! Or maybe it gets you stuck in a contract as their sex doll before it escalates to cam girl to bring in some profit or maybe doing some exclusive live late night shows at the lounge hnnnnng. I’m sorry it’s just that gangbanging has been doing a number on my brain and I’m ready to combust

OOOOO omg yes absolutely!!! WAIT,,, Jamil doing that out of hate..... just pure dislike for you, and it scratches some sadistic part inside him to see how you come undone with the help of his hypnosis. Hypnotizing you to be Scarabia's silly cock-slut...... just a dumb hole for everyone to fuck into,,, free use...... in my mind Jamil wants nothing to do with those fish, but if he somehow owed some sort of debt to them or if Azul was on his tail about how grateful Jamil ought to be for their help during the events of book four..... maybe he would be inclined to do it but only once and then that's that; debt paid!!! orz whatever happens to you after that when you're in the arms of the fish is your responsibility. >:)

The ideal and underrated combination would be Ruggie and Jamil. One slimy guy who can turn your mind to mush and all he needs to do is have you look into his eyes so he can utter the spell, and another slimy guy who can take complete control of your every move..... the potential!!!! Their cooperation in Glomas was so scrumptious..... Jamil hypnotizing you while Ruggie's making you spread yourself open for both of them...... the two of them exchanging looks and trying to see who is the most devious between the two of them, but clearly they're both enjoying it because Jamil is smirking and Ruggie won't stop snickering..... </3 terrible men......

But back to Scarabia!!! I love the idea of Kalim wanting to repay Octavinelle for all of their help (much to Jamil's dismay), so what better way to do that than throw a big celebration!!! :D and those slimy fish certainly aren't going to object. The dorm doesn't even need to get you drunk when you're hypnotized and maybe Kalim doesn't even realize that's what happened because he's too busy having fun and forcing more food and drink your way..... orz and because Scarabia is so thoughtful and has the foresight for these things...... one way or another, you're being spread out on the luxurious carpets in Scarabia lounge and someone's passing around condoms and lube and toys and the whole thing quickly becomes all about sex because you're so cock-drunk.

Hehe thinking about Jamil who doesn't partake at all, merely watching from the sidelines as you're plowed raw by some of the students, as they move your hands towards their waiting dicks, as you choke on cock and get covered in cum, as Jade and Floyd sink their teeth into your shoulders and neck while fucking you at the same time, etc etc. I think Jamil would get the most pleasure from the moments after, when the party has settled down and you come to from the hypnosis and you're left with this gaping emptiness inside you as you realize you were just used by so many guys, some of whom you thought were your friends. Why would you have sex with so many guys? That's not like you at all!!! >_< waaa the panic...

And Jamil who smiles and will play at being your friend when in reality he could care less. AAAAA HE'S MEAN....... I love Jamil who gets sick satisfaction from having you depend on and trust in him.... as if he isn't the cause for your misery.

[archivedzeke]

fucking könig so hard he cant even talk english (i have big brain rot rn im sorry)

that’s hot. nothing’s better than fucking this killing machine dumb is too sexy to fathom.

you’d have him in a mating press, his muscular legs dangling in the air as you drive your thick cock in and out of his sopping hole—the sweat from working him over dripping from your chin

he was at least three orgasms in now and so we’re you, his insides have been pumped full of your cum and he was on the brink of tapping out himself—he’d like to think he had pretty good stamina, but when you’re drilling into him like he’s some two dollar whore, that thought is rendered untrue.

every bit of resolve he was clinging onto breaking instantly. you’re watching it all, you watch in utter fulfillment as his cock twitches once more and a whimper leaves his throat—eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his cum paints his messy abdomen once more and he begins to babble.

“look at that baby. you’re all dumbed out aren’t you king?” — he lets out the most delicious whimper, before answering in a warbled tone. “i-ich werde verrückt!” (i’m going crazy)

“please! please! züchte mich ♡!”, (breed me) his hole clenches around you, pulsing rhythmically around your heavy dick. he wanted your babies. “fuck! you look so pretty love. that’s it! talk to me like a good boy.”

his voice is reduced higher in pitch, and every word he speaks is covered in his heavy german accent.

“füll mich bitte voll! ich will meh!!” (fill me up please! i want more!)

now that really turns you on. when he starts speaking his native tongue, that’s when you know his brain has become nothing but love mush. konig throws out random pleases in german, want and just heavy in his eyes.

“want me to cum in you again pretty boy? fill your sloppy pussy with my kids hm?”

he nods his head and spews out what he can. “y-yess! please please! k-küss mich!”, he manages to get out while drool leaks down his chin. and you comply, laughing into the kiss as he tries his hardest to reciprocate the feeling. (kiss me)

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Fit for a King - WIP - "You are tiny"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König fanfiction scenes and chapters that do not yet have a coherent plot

planned content/TW: rivals to lovers, König x fem!character (not too descriptive to make it accessible for more readers), social anxiety killing machine König, badass friendly FMC, dual POV, secret relationship, switch energy, NSFW, adult themes, strong language, violence (more details are still unclear, gonna update as I go), authentic austrian german

a/n: well, my brain isn't letting go of this newest obsession of mine, so I will appease it and write some scenes/chapters that come to mind. i have written more original work and less fanfictions and our boy (and KorTac) is hard to research, but I'll try my best to stay some-what cannon to the lore. it'll also probably get darker down the road.

if your character doesn't have a tragic backstory, why not give him one?

A not so meetcute

(CW: some mature language)

I strut along the hallway, I'm already late to report for duty and turn the corner abruptly. I collide with somebody else at full walking force and almost get pushed to the floor, if the big figure blocking the light shining from above wouldn't have caught me. "Ouch.", I yelp, more surprised than hurt, even though I feel like ran over by a truck.

I steady myself to look at the "truck". I look up and I keep looking up and up. At first there's just this chest, a huge chest, in a simple compression shirt, but oh boy. The weapon holster is what I see next, sitting snug at the side of his torso. Shoulders, big broad shoulders, and normally you would expect to have a head sitting on top of them and a face looking back at you. I guess, he has one as well, even though I don't see one bit of it. I strain my neck to finally meet his eyes.

But all I see is the dark black of a… sniperhood? A T-shirt? I mean, it looks like a t-shirt, that somebody cut holes in to fashion themselves a kind of mask. The front is stained with bleach, two streaks coming down from the eyeholes... My eyes widen as it sinks in who this is. König. KorTac operator, field combatant and one of my superiors. Shit. I've heard some rumors about him. And it seems like at least some of them ring true.

"You are tiny.", he states matter-of-factly, his Austrian accents shining through the uttered words. It's the first thing he says to me. "And you are... not.", I retort. I can't make out his expression as it so obviously is hidden by his mask. He nods, turns around and heads down the hallway where he came from. I shake my head. What the hell was that?

I stretch myself, feeling the impact of the collision already. My god, that was like being hit by a battering ram. I heard that his specialty is breaking down doors with brute force. I thought this to be ridiculous, but now as I watch the gigantic muscled man strut down the hallway, quickly disappearing, I do believe it. 6'10" killing machine. Ridiculous.

I shake my head again and make my way to the meeting room. Ridgeback is already waiting for me.

______________________________________________________________

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Verdammt. Ah, des hast du ganz super g'macht.* I tell myself sarcastically in my head as I basically run down the hallway. She must be one of the new hires. Must be. And you almost turned her to mush. Mus. Brei. Human remains splattered against the wall. I curse myself again. I didn't even apologize. "You are tiny." No shit, Sherlock, everybody is tiny compared to you. I continue to mock myself. Fuck, Shit, Fuck.

"Ridge, since when do we hire children?", I ask him as soon as I enter the room. He doesn't even look up. "We don't." He keeps reading. "Then why did I just almost run over a recruit that didn't even reach my waist?" – “Because compared to you, everybody seems tiny.” He sighs and looks up at me. “None of our personnel are under 6’, not even the women.”

“Even the new recruits?”, I ask him again. He furrows his brow. “What did you do, König?”, he wants to now. “I may or may not have almost trampled one of them.”, I say, kleinlaut***. He sighs again. “I think that was Müller, she’s actually on her way here.”, Ridgeback says. “Müller? Is she german?”, I ask in surprise. I didn’t hear such an accent on her, but to be fair, she only said like three words… and I wasn’t really paying attention to her words anyway.

On cue, the door opens and I fall silent. “Permission to enter, Sir?”, she says with a clear voice. Not at all seeming like I almost turned her into pulp. I take two steps back to stand in the back, trying to blend into the wall behind me – which I already know from experience is not going to work. “Come in.”, Ridge says. “Müller, right?” She nods and approaches. My focus is fully on her, all the small bits I noticed about her before are still there. She’s not wearing a mask because it’s not necessary off mission. You know, like you normally would. She has laugh lines. Around her eyes and mouth. Fucking laugh lines. She doesn’t look like she belongs here.

The two of them are talking, but I catch every single time when her gaze lands on me, even if it’s just from the corner of her eyes. I fight against the urge to turn away every time she looks at me, when I hear Ridgeback drop the old s-word. Sniper.

My ears perk up and I finally pay attention to what they’re saying again. “Your track record is almost immaculate, Müller. You’re gonna be an asset to the team on the next missions.”, he says to her. I can see that she tries to hold back a proud expression or smile on her face, but she doesn't really succeed at that. God damn it, a sniper. I groan and make my way to the door which doesn’t go unnoticed. “König.”, Ridgeback pipes up. “You wanna show Müller the way to the dorms?” as I already have my hand on the doorknob.

I still for just a moment and the roaring sensation of anxiety seeps at my feet and crawls up my body until it’s nested at the back of my head. I can’t talk to her. Not after embarrassing myself before. “Nein.”, is all I say before I’m out the door.

*God damnit. You did a really bang up job. ** two different words for pulp/mash *** meekly (word for word: 'smallloud')

[mattywrites]

Love Her To Death (Pt. 2)

The fragrant night air offered thin comfort. Just enough to stave off complete and utter madness. The cabin was a little larger than I remembered it being although the true dimensions were obscured by the darkness. Trying to recollect my evening was like trying to think clearly after half a dozen shots of bourbon and chasing it with six pack. The details just weren't making any fucking sense to me. Reality has this crazy way of pressing down on you, regardless of your state of mind, and the image of Zee's brain matter brought me to my knees. I threw up what felt like half a litre of pale, viscous mucus, and it was agonising, like my body decided to reject the lining of my stomach and force it up and out of my throat. While on my knees recovering from this violent expulsion I noticed an eerie like of noise. No crickets or insects, no flapping of bat wings or night birds, nothing save for the occasional flutter of tepid breeze. Pulling myself up I turned back towards the cabin and began to feel my way around. Snakes and spiders were the least of my concern. Was I in Queensland? New South Wales? Where the fuck was I? Zee and I were driving, I would've sworn we pulled off somewhere to snacks, but it was blurry. A complete haze of night driving and or bodies contorting together, cocks and cunts, the two of us pressed into one another like victims of a volcanic blast and the subsequent pyroclastic flow. The moonlight glimmered off another window, this one caked in the detritus of age, but there was something about it. The glass wasn't opaque but I struggled to make out anything beyond the window pane... it was just void. Void of anything bar old dust and cobwebs. This was starting to unravel and untangle like a cruel joke, like I was on the set of some ridiculous Japanese gameshow, or one of those Saw movies. I decided that the best course of action would be to just keep moving. Fuck the questions. I had to call for help. If I end up in a padded cell, or a jail cell, at least I wouldn't be here, out bush, stuck in a cabin with a my dead fucking girlfriend and that vile fucking hole in her skull. That hole with the bloody jags of bone and the grey, stewy mush. The image of the viscera and her pale skin tattooed in my mind permanently. I'd need laser removal after this was through. This wretched fucking hell.

[your-divine-ribs]

Movie Night

Thought I’d start posting some little blurbs here since I’m so slow to update my stories // this one is nsfw and if you’ve already read it on the slut blog no you didn’t lol 🤭

I’ll try and write a little something naughty for Sam next xxx

Blurbs/Minifics and Headcanons Masterlist

It's movie night at Van's and you're both sitting on the sofa, pressed up tightly together, snuggled up nice and cosy under a fluffy blanket. It all starts off pretty innocent, but of course with Van it doesn't stay that way for long. He has one hand on your thigh under the blanket, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the soft flesh of your upper leg, edging ever closer to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You steal a glance at him, see his gorgeous profile illuminated by the flickering light emanating from the TV screen. He looks serene and relaxed, completely unmindful of the fact that his fingertips are straying further and further into risky territory as the minutes tick by, his featherlight touches making your breathing deepen and your heart thud hard in your chest.

"You okay love?" He asks as he turns to face you. "Enjoying the film?"

"Errr yeah... yeah it's good," you mumble, your cheeks warming slightly. In truth you don't have a clue what's unfolding on screen, you'd tuned out thirty minutes ago when Van's fingertips had started to work their magic, your skin now awash with tiny goosebumps.

"You sure? 'Cause you look a little... distracted."

You don't miss the subtle smirk on his lips, the hint of mischief glowing in his eyes. He knows damn well what he's doing, you're sure of it, but you're not going to give him the satisfaction. You don't want him to know that he's capable of turning your brain to utter mush with just the barest of touches.

"Distracted? No... not really, I'm just err... a bit zoned out... but I'm enjoying it... I really am."

"Okay if ya say so," he murmurs, lips quirking knowingly as he turns back to the screen, not looking at you when he speaks again. "'Cause I'm quite happy to turn it off if ya wanna do something else instead. Just say the word."

You mumble out a disagreement of sorts, trying hard to control your breathing, determined to focus on the film, or something else... anything but the tempting feel of his touch, the way the very tips of his fingers have just brushed the trim at the edge of your panties. There's no mistaking it now, his efforts to tease you are clear as day even though he's feigning complete ignorance to the way your body's reacting to his touch. If he let his fingers trail an inch higher he'd probably feel how you've soaked through the lace just thinking about what you want him to do to you.

Dirty girl... that's what he'd call you. Then he'd sink his fingers deep inside your needy cunt, make you ride them until you were shuddering in his lap, begging for more. God, how he loved to hear you beg for it... those sweet little moans he couldn't resist.

The filthy thoughts running through your mind just make you even hotter, your skin prickling with desire as you surreptitiously ease your legs wider apart, inviting him to take this further. You're past caring about looking needy now, the film playing on the TV just background haze.

"Van," you sigh, pressing your hips upwards, feeling a calloused fingertip inching ever closer to your heat.

"What's up love?" He enquires, his free hand curling around your waist to shift you closer, pulling you up on to his lap. "Thought you were enjoying the film? Didn't think you wanted to miss it? Or did you want something else really?"

"You know what I want," you pout prettily, letting your head lol back against his chest, the comforting warmth of his body solid and reassuring against your back. "It's all your fault for teasing me... I was watching it, but then you went and got me all worked up and now I can't concentrate."

"Oh I'm sorry baby," he chuckles lowly, pressing his lips against your neck, his stubble lightly scratching at your skin. "Maybe I can make it up to you huh?"

He pulls you down even further into his lap, the feel of his hardness digging into your ass through the soft material of his sweatpants, a confirmation that your dirty thoughts are wholly reciprocated. You grind down on him, relishing the throaty groan of need he lets out.

"This is what you really wanted huh?"

There's no subtlety now, he hooks a finger under the seam of your panties, pulling them aside to access your already drenched flesh, sighing in satisfaction as he drags his fingers through your wetness and you moan in response. He knows your body like he knows his own, the exact pressure you like, the pace. He knows the curses you'll mutter out when he presses two of his long slender fingers inside you, smirking against the skin of your neck when you clench around him all hot and wet and tight.

"Fuck... like that... just like that."

You ride out the pleasure on his fingers, the film long forgotten, your sweet moans and the lewd sounds of your wetness filling the air.

[navybrat817]

Hi sorry if this is obvious but how many parts have you posted to HYT?

I came across it a day or so ago and I literally read the last chapter you posted about them talking about what kind of double date the four of them would go on…

I thought I’ll test the water anyway I could have swore that was like part 13?!? 🤔 and it was fantastic obviously!

So last night I started it from the beginning and like just read from midnight through to like 3am I liked all the posts and I apologise for not commenting but my greedy little brain just needed so consume and at that time I dunno what kind of response I’d have left..

Anyway let me land my plane, I feel like I’ve lost some chapters somewhere the next part I see is part 8 but theirs a strike through it and like I said I swear I’d read a part 13, please do tell me if my brain has officially turned to mush and I’m talking absolute drivel

If you’ve made it this far. Get yourself a drink 😂

I do love the story especially when she forgot herself in the fitting room of the boutique with him I was so feeling a sort of way like “she just gives in like that?” and then in the next breath she’s storming out with a single dress and is so done, but before the chapter is out she’s back in there… like the utter mind fuck that is Bucky Barnes poor girl!

Hi, lovely! No apologies necessary. There are 17 parts and I believe ALL the links should be fixed now. The only strike should be through Part 18 since that isn't posted yet. So my apologies for any confusion. Life has been crazy!

I really feel for this reader and anything she does I don't see as her easily giving in so far. I see it as a combination of her being afraid and him very much wearing her down because she has had virtually no breathing room. As you said in that chapter alone, she's worn down a bit, shows a bit of that fire, and Bucky finds a way to put the fire out for the time being. It's insane!

I do hope you enjoy what's to come. 🥰 And a drink sounds good right now simply because it has been a long week. I hope you're having a good weekend! Love and thanks. ❤️

[kennedyslvr]

TENNESSEE WHISKEY, STRAWBERRY WINE — CHAPTER 10 (AO3)

woo! double digit chapters baby! lessgoooo!

chapter is kinda tame but i love building the relationship tension. 🤍 hope u all enjoy it nonetheless!

full chapter here!

The sound of my phone vibrating on my bedside table pulls me out of my slumber. I groan deeply, my face muffled by the plushness of my pillow and the wet stickiness of drool slicked to the corner of my lips. I furrow my brow, hoping that tiny vibration was just a trick of my ears, and that I’m still deep within my dreams.

I had dreamt of him. Again. Most of my recent dreams have revolved around him. His voice. His warmth. His scent. My brain turns to mush when it comes to the likes of that man, and I don't entirely mind it. Then again, I've always had a little bit of a fascination with older men. I don't know why—I like to blame such a fascination on all of the smut I read in my spare time.

My phone vibrates once more, this time telling me that I was indeed not in my dreams where me and the ranch hand are sharing a drink and cosy conversation in front of a fire without any clothes on. I let out a soft whine, pouting as I thrust my arm out from under the warmth of my gray waffle-textured comforter and feel around for my phone. My fingers clutch it at the edge of the bedside table and I pull it towards me, rolling onto my back with a low grunt.

I was right to change out this mattress. Memory foam is perhaps the best thing I have ever slept on—no noisy springs to contend with or risk digging into my naked flesh. I blink away the blurry vision as I peered at my phone, first noting the time—just after nine in the morning—before seeing the new notification.

An email alert.

I’m positive that I’d turned on my out-of-office status before flying out here, but as I go to click on the notification to check out the message, I already know exactly who had sent it.

Below is the important work that you have been hired to do, and that you have been neglecting. We can't all jet off to sun ourselves in the country. Please get to it soon, before the next quarterly meeting. Don’t disappoint me, Deanna.

Of course—out of office statuses do not truly exist to my mother. How this alert has managed to come through when I have most definitely—I had checked before reading the email—turned off the notifications is a conundrum that I don't really care to solve right now.

I’m presented with two options—ignore the woman, and risk her calling me incessantly until I follow her orders. Or, I respond back to her email and remind her again that I’m out of office right now, and would be out of office for the foreseeable future.

But even then, that would also result in a phone call, most likely. I deliberate over each option carefully before going with the latter. I hit the ‘compose email’ button and began to type.

If you couldn’t already tell by my status on Teams, I am out of office for the foreseeable future due to a family emergency that you could not be bothered to concern yourself with. I am not ‘sunning myself in the country', I am spending valuable time with the grandfather you dragged me away from when I was a child. When I decide to come back to work, I will look at the work you have sent me. Until then, fix the situation yourself. You ran this company well enough without me before—you can do it again.

I can already hear her admonishing me for my lack of manners as I pressed ‘send’, letting my email loose. But I don't care for that woman’s judgement right now—she has already ruined a perfectly good morning.

I groan again, throwing my head back against the plush pillows. I squeeze my eyes shut and lift my hand to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose and uttering incoherently under my breath. Then I squeak as a sharp knock thumps on my bedroom door—a familiar three knocks in quick succession.

I clear my throat, pulling the blanket up a little more around my naked frame—well, underwear-clad frame. I like sleeping in my underwear, it was more comfortable. Especially now that I’m not in UK climates anymore but in hot-as-balls Southern Texas.

With my modesty preserved, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Come in.” I yawn. The doorknob rattles as it turns, and Grandpa leans up against the wood frame. He has his coffee in hand, as always, and I highly doubt that it’s the decaf coffee beans I had bought from the grocery store yesterday in an attempt to replace his regular dark blend.

[ihopeitgetsokaysoon]

You awake, to a pop inside your head. Facing an apparatus, an uncomfortable tube down your throat, and blurred vision, you try process your surroundings. It's bright at first, as your eyes try hard to refocus. It feels familiar, and placable, though you lack the words to put with the feelings. As you blink, your vision begins to clear. But you still don't feel your body, you don't think to, it's supposed to just. Be there, isn't it?

"Ah, good, you survived. Wonderful." A warm, low voice is heard nearby, the room is hard to gauge the size of, and you hazily can barely understand where you are, let alone the realization you're not alone. "Can you speak?"

"Mmh." Warmth. Thats all you know. Warmth in the tone, yet a corner of your brain chews at it, nagging and pulling, a basic instinct to get up, to run. Your body jerks involuntarily with them, to find it cuffed at either arm.

This is not a hospital. Is it?? Where am I? You Look, trying to focus on a purple glow and a figure sitting next to you. Your body starts to feel like mush.

You gaze numbly, and sigh, everything feeling unresponsive, so deadened you don't even feel panic in a way that matters. You don't care enough to. You just lie there. So tired thoughts just drool out of your head.

"My sympathies for their skull." A fluffy, cute looking creature chimes in, and your only thought, Bnnuy,,, "Probably as dull as the rock it landed on."

"Now now, our guest came a long way," You see a purple light in your vision again, and the figure tenderly touches your face with a gloved hand. "Didn't you, dear?"

"Ah..." Words attempt to form in your scrambled membranes, and all that follows are sounds that mean nothing. The world around you becoming more clear, and you begin to notice it resembles a lab. It's so dimly lit for a lab, save for a light shining on you. It hurts...

"Shh, shh I know. It's okay, you don't have to speak." You wearily lean into the glove as it gently rubs a thumb across your cheek.

It moves away as the figure shifts to sit back down as the child-sized creature approaches you. You dumbly take in what details you can keep track of. A hat…. pants. What is this thing?They look at you with mild pity it seems.

You gag as the creature removes the tube, a growing awareness in your body of itself. The creature responds with nothing- utter neutrality that you'd find unsettling in anyone else. They look you in the eyes a moment, after the tubes length has been removed and set to a small table with tools. Hurriedly they look away when you meet their gaze, turning attention towards an IV drip, and a syringe. When did they grab that?

Your haze refreshes. Your awareness dwindles, and your body falling slack. The progress you made with feeling your body is obliterated in mere seconds as you forget something just on the corner of your mind. Like why you felt terror. Terror? Fear?? Of… Who…

"Hush, just a little longer and you'll feel better. Fixed. Well, more, a better state. You will be just fine." Who... Who's voice is that..?

"Sir you can't keep doing this to them. You need to let them wake up eventually." You hear another voice now. … Was… Bnnuy…??

"Any pain I can spare them at this stage is time I am willing to spend. I will let them wake up when the pain is over." The deeper and more relaxed of the two voice you can hear speaks once more. Held in a very firm but. Feels dimmer than when he spoke to you.

"I have time. The pain will be over in 3 months. This medicine will be enough, they won't even feel this."

".... Sir." He's right. You do feel nothing. Your vision goes dim. your fragile awareness fades and your body grows pleasantly warm. "That's not what I'm saying."

[s0ft-d3cay]

The Eyes of Cain, Love Violently

Shigaraki Tomura x Male Reader | (Edited: 2/14/25)Bro...my brain has been mush for the past few weeks, car shit aside. The creative worm has exited, but i have needs...so here's a little fic i wrote last year but never posted.

WARNINGS: War implications(nothing graphic), set during season ,right before the ACTURAL war arc, reader has super speed, flirting, reader gives Tomura a sort of mute against AFO’s influance(because FUCK AFO!!), mentions of infiltration, reader is mentioned to be a Lieutenant, Y/N is used

WC: 777

Morning came not long after, that nagging in your gut only grew as he made his way up to the second level. Seating up at his radio, turning it on to listen to any chatter. Running into a private line, one Y/N figured out was filled with heroes.

Gut twisting at their conversation of infiltrating the hospital. Switching the radio over to the PLF immediately, receiving a quick response and told to stand by. Then nothing for the next five minutes static came through instead. Heart dropping, quick switching back to the heroes line.

"We have both the Doctor and Shigaraki…"

That was it, catching a glimpse of his phone blowing up with texts and news alerts, turning on his earpiece only confirmed his theory. Overwhelming shouts and pinpointed bombs of war sounded over. "What the hell’s go-"

"I’ll catch you up when you get here, I need you to inform and lead your squad immediately!" A woman’s voice cuts him off, her voice desperate and commanding. That’s all he needed to hear to speed up. "Copy that, I’ll see you in five." Replying back, switching on the earpiece.

Running back towards the mansion, now face to face with the remains, completely disintegrated and caved in. "Lieutenant, what are your orders!" The yell pulled his attention towards his comrades, the man immediately ordered them all to split up in groups. Two in the sky, six on ground, and three with healing quirks scouting out the wounded and dead. They all split, leaving the lieutenant.

The mansion had been breached…the lab looked to be completely destroyed. It hadn’t been even twenty minutes and things have already gone to shit. Dust clouded his vision to the sounds of destruction, the echoes of both heroes and villains.

Without a second thought, he ran straight to Tomura. He speeds over to the scene within seconds, seeing the now white haired man right in front of him, standing towards his destruction. Faced away, a red cape curved around his still frame. The utter image of the man before he made him grin, deep down he’d missed his leader dearly.

"You’re out quiet early, Grand Commander..." Y/N playfully cut the silence, watching him perk up and turn around. His white hair flowing in the wind, covering his pretty face partially. Ruby eyes gleamed soft, his expression a breathless of relief. The slight breathy exhale of his name as the villain leader steps closer.

Smiling wide, he speeds over to Tomura. The two men embrace for a moment, breathing in each other presence within the chaotic atmosphere. "I-uh, I like the cape, it really brings out your eyes." Y/N commented quietly, a rumbling chuckle vibrated against his chest in response. A sound he’d grown to miss over the last few months.

Tomura bizarrely flinches and curves towards Y/N, whining in pain as his arms tighten. Softly, he strokes the man’s head, continuing to embrace him. His heart sinking as his worries grow. Trembling, his voice fluctuates between whispers and his low tone. "…It-it hurts, I-I can hear h-him.." He pulls away, eyes frantic over Y/N’s. His breath heaving and stuck in his throat, strained in his words.

"I-I thought it wouldn’t I…I thought I’d be stronger-! Then mast-" Tomura sighs out in a gutter groan through clenched teeth.

"I have something that can help.." The other man reassured, bringing up a small vial of vibrant indigo liquid. Gently taking the vial in his shaky hand, Y/N grasped his wrist, steadying the white haired man. Popping off the top, he nods towards the other before drinking it. Blinking a few times, his shaking dissipates at a slow rate.

"Better-" A flash of orange light in the distance tears the two villains towards the unfolding war before them. Both glancing over to it, Y/N’s earpiece goes off immediately. "Lieutenant, we need your assistance-"

"Y/N we need you here now!"

"Copy that." He replies, glance back at Tomura, his red eyes on his own with the same intense stare. Knowing the chance either of them had in the moment of chaos, no longer giving them the time to reconnect. "Your welcome party might need to be set back a few hours, you don’t mind right?" Y/N jokes, walking backwards with his arms shrugging to his sides.

The white haired villain watches with a crazed expression, "I better see you when this is all over, you still need to 1v1 me." His raspy sarcastic tone pulled a laugh from the other man.

"If we’re lucky enough, I might be back in time to fight with you." He retorted back with a softened smile.

"I’d really like that, Lieutenant."

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights of any of the characters I write about, all the rights go to their respective creators.

[feb25]

the last couple of days felt so uncomfortable and I partially blame the weather - there is something about cold wet spring days that gives me massive sensory overload - but the worst part was this dense brain fog, feeling like my head was physically heavy, like my brain turned into mush, almost like I couldn’t utter any meaningful words.

trying to remember some of my mental pain is hormone induced, some of it is just me automatically ascribing thoughts to the familiar physical state of tiredness, some of it is the result of my maladaptive mechanisms and obtaining dopamine by making myself hurt

it’s been way worse before. I think I can cope, but it feels odd to be this way - uncomfortable, somewhat ashamed, in pain - and sit with it without turning against myself in self-destructive ways I used in the past.

still feels like I have too many thoughts. ruminating about the past, about how my entire personality has been based on medical diagnoses for so many years, about how I internalized the shame of needing medication to function properly. I feel a lot of guilt, for hurting people in the past and now and for living the life I’m comfortable in. hard to determine the difference between healthy boundaries and being selfish. I don’t know anymore. I really don’t want to go back to therapy full time, but I kinda wish I could have a couple of sessions with my therapist to just think loudly and let this mess out.

maybe I need to write more often.

[pinkanonwrites]

As a very very late Valentine's treat while I lay snug in my bed, here's some various Chai headcanons, basic and in a relationship.

GENERAL

ADHD and dyslexia, this boy did NOT do well in school at any point in his life. He was the kind of kid in class who would get the teacher going on a tangent so they'd forget you had an essay to turn in.

Class clown that everybody liked, but nobody was actually friends with. Everyone looks back in their high school yearbook and remembers some silly stunt Chai pulled, but he never really had his own circle of friends.

Listens to classic and modern rock, punk, thrash metal, hip hop, new wave, and techno. He likes a lot of kinds of music, but his favorite is always something he can bop his head along to, something with an infectious rhythm.

Never blow-drys his hair after getting out of the shower; He prefers to drip-dry.

His biggest intangible fear is being abandoned, especially by the people he cares most about. His biggest tangible fear is dolphins. ("They're so aggressive! And what for? Way too smart and way too mean. Did you know they punt sharks into the air for fun?")

Likes spicy food, but has absolutely no tolerance for it. He'll be beet red, hunched over the table, sweat dripping down his face over a mildly-spicy curry. He's got a bit of a sweet tooth too, he just loves to snack in general.

RELATIONSHIP

Chai's type is someone who he can joke around and have fun with, but also helps keep him grounded when it's important. He loves to have a partner who he can goof off with, but he needs them to have a solid head on their shoulders too, to know when to reel him in a bit. And, of course, you've gotta be able to talk music with him.

Once he realizes he has a crush he becomes a complete and utter mess, barely able to string a sentence together around the person he likes. It's painfully obvious to everyone, including himself, but something about just being around them turns his brain into complete mush. It doesn't help that he's pale and blushes very easily.

Once he's in a relationship though, it's straight back to goofball mode. Chai's a super fun, goofy, go-with-the-flow boyfriend who loves to make you smile and laugh, even if it's at his own expense. Of course, he'd much prefer if you saw him acting cool, but he'll take what he can get.

Simultaneously the most forgetful and the most sweet partner. He's terrible remembering dates and times and important events, but he always remembers your favorite song or your preferred take-out order without ever having to ask.

He loves to learn the songs you like on guitar just to impress you, even if they're really difficult. He's still in the early learning phase so nothing with super complicated fingering or riffs, but he'll buckle down and drill the chord progression of your favorite love song into his own head just to woo you with it later.

Total cuddlebug, Chai's personal space is your personal space and (as long as you're okay with it) your personal space is his. His favorite thing to do with you is a game he calls "Going Boneless" where he drapes himself over you and goes completely limp, often times dragging you straight to the ground with him in a messy heap. He has no problems weaseling right up into your space or you weaseling into his, cramming himself into a recliner with you or letting you tuck your head right under his arm while he's practicing.