#and he grabs them by the front of their clothes tugs them down and smushed their face into the wound

[redhotarsenic]

Don’t remember if I said this already but after Ascaris grows into Valantinez they CAN siphon blood out of others if they’re super close to dying because they used up too much blood ammunition whether Valantinez does it by choice or if Ascaris takes over and starts going Wild to ensure their survival

[forlorn-crows]

𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 1: 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏

pairing(s): aeon/swiss words: 656

✿

He’s barely visible under the fuzzy gray blanket that’s pulled around his body. With his legs tucked up against his chest, fabric cocooned around him, he looks like a kit drowning in a terry cloth towel after a bath. Only Aeon’s round face, screwed up in concentration with the ends of his hoodie strings between his teeth, and knobby hands, plunking away at his new basic smartphone, are visible to Swiss. 

In simple terms, he’s too cute to handle. Swiss’ fingers itch to grab and poke, squish the cuteness right out of him. Aeon grumbles something about the tiny keyboard, big pointed ear twitching as he stabs at the screen, and the multi ghoul cannot stand it for another second. 

“Whatcha doin’, bug?” he calls from his chair opposite the couch. 

Aeon chirps, peeking up from the screen. His hair sticks up on top when he lifts his head. “Hm?”

Swiss is going to scream. “I said ‘whatcha doin’’?”

“Well,” he spits out the hoodie strings, shifting a bit. “I’m trying to figure out this . . . texting thing. But Dew keeps sending me funny little faces after I accidentally send him random letters. The keys are so small, how do you do this?”

“You’ll get it, just takes some time. At least you have smaller thumbs.” Swiss wiggles both of his in Aeon’s direction. “That’ll help.”

Aeon huffs, corners of his mouth turning down, lower lip sticking out; he pouts. He’s pouting. Why must Copia always summon the adorable ones? And why can Swiss just never keep his hands off of them?

The frown remains in place even as Swiss hops out of his seat and sits down beside the newbie quint. Swiss shakes his head and chuckles. “Why’re you so damn cute?”

Aeon side-eyes him. Scoffs a little and rolls his eyes. “Cute?” he accuses. 

“Have you seen yourself?”

“I mean, yeah, I look in the mirror everyday—”

“No,” Swiss laughs, “right now. With your blanket and your little phone and that pouty face.” The multi ghoul pokes him right in the cheek, emphasizing said frown. 

“You make me sound like a child,” Aeon grumbles and flinches away, sticking his tongue out as he locks his phone and shoves it into the couch cushions. He pulls the blanket even tighter around himself. But there’s a smile tugging at his lips, even as he continues to side-eye Swiss. 

Once again, he is going to scream. “You make me crazy,” he admits stupidly, shaking his head. “I just wanna,” he makes a vague grabby-hands motion, indicating his frustration, “ugh, I just wanna scrunch you up and put you in my pocket, baby.”

“Front pockets are preferable, please.” Aeon grins suddenly, showing off his fangs. 

Swiss blinks. Momentarily stunned to silence—an incredibly rare feat for this ghoul.

“You little—” He springs into action, leaning close and poking his thick fingers everywhere: his neck, behind his ears, the dimples in his cheeks. Aeon squawks in protest, but that does nothing to stop the onslaught. He growls playfully and grabs his cheeks, squishing and smushing and squeezing. 

“‘wiss,” the quint attempts to complain—keep it together, really—through pushed-together cheeks. “‘top, bhat’re you—”

“I’m sorry, but you’re too adorable to live,” Swiss explains. “Gotta stop you before you reach mach cuteness or everyone’ll die.” Aeon whines, removing his arms from the blanket to swat at him to no avail. Swiss is quick to release his cheeks, grabbing his wrists instead and pinning his arms to his chest. 

“Gah, what the fu—” Swiss cuts him off with a cross between a snarl, a growl, and a weird noise a disgruntled-slash-scared cat would make, completely dramatic and unserious, diving in to his neck open-mouthed so he can graze his skin with the front of his teeth repeatedly with fake bites. Aeon can only toss his head back and giggle ferociously and against his will. 

“Gonna eat you,” Swiss growls. “C’mere.”

“Why are you like this?!”

𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿

[kleftiko]

❦ DANCE, DANCE

cw: mature, fem!reader, unprotected sex, cowgirl position, creampie, inexperienced!loser!shigaraki, degradation, hair pulling

“i only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me”

shigaraki lay slumped on his back. the stupid artist gloves on his hands were bugging him. he wore them every night but for some reason he kept picking at the wrist, slivers of red, irritated skin sent jolts of pain every time he scratched at it. he felt like a failure—pathetic. today had been a complete disaster and he didn’t want to face all for one like this.

the door to his room creaked open, interrupting his self deprecation. his bored eyes followed the movement to meet your head poking through the entrance. hair pushed back to show your face to him; he nearly huffed.

“what do you want.”

your eyes held an emotion that made him absolutely furious. pity. you were there to witness his defeat upon returning to base all busted and bruised; you had watched him nearly throw a tantrum at his failure of a mission, sulking and hitting things like a petulant child. the reminder made him bite the inside of his cheek harshly.

“if you say any pitiful shit, i’ll kill you.” he warned, a slight growl to his tone, and you frowned. wordlessly, you opened the door the rest of the way, revealing your bare body in nothing but your panties.

“no sympathy?” you asked and watched his adam’s apple bob harshly. his eyes bore into your body, gaze so intense you could practically hear the pounding of his heart from across the room reverberating against your uncovered skin.

god, he was so pathetic.

and you fed off it, but he didn’t care. he liked to think he let you saunter into the room towards him, when in reality you had him paralyzed with lust.

in a moment you were mounted on top of his lap; his favourite position. his hands could greedily grab at the fleshy parts of your ass, his face could smush itself between your boobs, and your hot pussy would grind on his—painfully hard—clothed cock. all he could do in the moment was desperately and sloppily suck at your tits, biting occasionally so you’d hiss at him and pull his hair as punishment. it was at that time that he didn’t care about the artist gloves anymore, if they let him grab handfuls of your ass and use you to get himself off then he didn’t care.

“you’re such a pervert, aren’t you.” your nails carded through his hair, scratching against his dry scalp, and he whined involuntarily. “throwing a little tantrum when you get home just so i would pity fuck you, huh?”

he never let anyone talk to him like that. one disrespectful word and he would have their ashes crumbling between his fingers within a second, but with you? you spit harsh, pathetic, and degrading words to his face and all he could do was spill precum from his aching, throbbing cock. you were the only one who knew he was this pathetic, never having felt the touch of a woman before you. but still, he had to try and fight back for the sake of his crumbling pride.

“watch it.” he growled, voice lifting at the end as you pulled the band of his boxers down to free his dick. “you want me to turn you to dust?”

You looked directly into his eyes.

“do it.” you challenged, moving your underwear to the side and sheathing his stiff cock inside you.

his head hit the wall harshly behind him as you bounced, losing all the bravado he tried to front in favour of releasing deplorably pitiable sounds and grabbing at you desperately.

“as if anyone would give you their pussy anyway.” you bit, mouth curling up at how quickly he crumbled. “you wanna kill the only person in the world who would fuck you? be my guest and go back to your fist.”

he whined at your words, bucking his hips up and disrupting your rhythm. you harshly tugged his hair back, jolting his neck in a whiplash-like fashion—silently telling him to behave.

it’s a miracle he listened, but you could feel the restraint he put into not sloppily fucking you, his body practically shaking. you knew if you let him, he’d unskilfully thrust into you without rhythm. he didn’t know how to fuck, but with you in charge you could utilized his thick cock and get yourself off like a toy. his fingers dug into your hips painfully, eyes screwed shut in both pleasure and an attempt to hide his tears from you, and you knew he was close. his pathetic mumbling and incoherent whines only spurred you on as you whispered condescendingly, “you okay, boss?”

you slapped a hand brutally over his chapped lips, muffling the loud, wanton, moan he let out as he spilled inside you. His body shook with his orgasm, twitching like he’d never came before from someone else’s ministrations. bouncing slowly now, he let out a string of curses at the overstimulation as you came to a stop.

“fuck.” he breathed.

as you looked down at his pathetic stature, you couldn’t help but think he was adorable—completely fucked out every time you finished with him. soft pants escaped his lips, and his eyes fluttered open, gazing up at you with a haze of ecstasy. you couldn’t help but lean down and capture his lips, tongue slipping into his mouth as his hands came up to cradle your face desperately.

he wanted to stay like that, cock softening inside you as you slowly made out, but you didn’t allow it. instead, you let go of him and slipped off his dick, a trail of his cum leaking out of you before you fixed your underwear. you always left him in a mess of his own cum, knowing he was too burnt out to do anything about it.

“see you tomorrow, boss.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 27

Part 1  Part 26

Eddie drags the kiddie pool into the gym, cursing under his breath. This is such a waste of time. They have absolutely no proof Supergirl’s powers are even real, much less that she’ll be able to contact Steve on the other side.

“This is taking too long,” Eddie grumbles.

Uncle Wayne gives him a warning look from where he’s attaching extensions to the hose they’d dragged into the gym from the pool room. “We need to figure out where he is before we go in, guns blazing.”

“He’ll be in the trailer!” Eddie says heatedly. “Like I said!”

Wayne’s brows furrowed just like the last time he’d said that. Like the idea of rich boy Steve Harrington willingly hanging out in their trailer was too much for him to take on faith alone.

Joyce, not moving from her place next to Supergirl, smiles at him pityingly. “It’s going to be dangerous, sweetie,” she says, voice low. “We need to make sure that he’s still—”

“Alive?” Will asks. He’s sitting on the bleachers, smushed between all his friends, wringing his hands. Beside him, Mike grabs one of his hands, stopping him from bruising his knuckles with the force of his pulling. Will squeezes his hand hard enough that Mike winces. He doesn’t pull his hand away, just clutches his other hand onto his own knee. Eddie aches.

Joyce doesn’t answer, but she meets her son’s gaze, eyes shining, and that’s answer enough.

“He is,” Eddie asserts, barely feeling better when Will nods.

“We’re already set up, kid,” Hopper says, dumping pounds of what looks like salt into the pool. “A couple more minutes can’t hurt.”

Eddie shares a loaded look with Will. None of them understand how quickly things can go bad over there, how hurt Steve already was. They can’t feel the way there’s a tug in Eddie’s sternum, pulling him toward the other boy.

Joyce settles Supergirl into the pool, soothing her, holding her hand. The girl looks like an alien with the dark glasses obscuring her face, casting darker shadows onto her face in the already-dark gym. She looks like a corpse, floating there, with no

Then, it’s silence. And waiting. Eddie wants to scream at her, demand answers. What’s she seeing? Is Steve okay?

Even more so when the lights start flickering again. Eddie backs up on instinct, lowering his center of gravity to crouch in front of Will as the kid clutches at the loose hem of his pant leg.

The flickering stops as the girl gasps. The lights go out, making the water she’s floating in seem like a dark pit of oil. Eddie almost excepts the dark, grasping claw of the Demogorgon to come out of its depths and yank her down. It doesn’t.

“Is Steve okay?” Will calls, voice quiet. “Is he okay?”

She doesn’t twitch, like she didn’t hear him at all. The silence makes Eddie’s toes curl into the soles of his boots to keep him in place. He feels Will’s nails through the material of his pants as the kid holds on tighter. Their collective breathing, so loud in the silence, seems like it’s echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

Then, Supergirl speaks.

“It’s dark.”

Eddie pictures Steve, huddled into himself on Eddie’s bed, waiting for them to come back to him. Maybe he’s changed into a pair of Eddie’s clothes, his own covered with blood and grime. Maybe he’s snooping through Eddie’s things. He hopes Steve doesn’t look under his bed.

“Not here.”

It hits like a punch. He staggers a little, and another small fist clutches onto his shirt. Maybe Will’s other hand, maybe one of the other kids. He doesn’t look away from the pool to check.

“What do you mean ‘not here?’” Eddie demands.

There are tremors running through his whole body. He barely feels it, wonders if he’s inside his body at all, right now.  

“Big house,” Supergirl says.

“Oh, no,” Eddie says.

Eddie thinks of that poor dog that used to always be chained up three trailers down from theirs until the Parker’s packed their shit up and moved away. When approached, the dog would cower into the front porch it was chained to, making itself hidden and small. Eddie used to try to pet it, but there’s only so much a dog can take before it turns mean, starts snapping at anything that moves.

Everyone had thought the Parker’s had taken the dog with them. They’d all shaken their heads at the poor treatment but washed their hands of the business before doing a thing to try and help.

They’d found the dog three weeks later when the smell had gotten too much. It’d crawled under the porch and died. Even when home was full of monstrous thing, it’d still drug its body back there for its final resting place.

“I know where he is,” Eddie whispers.

That first night, Steve had dragged Eddie into his closet on instinct, like it was the only place they’d be safe. Like a dog slinking under the porch to die.

Eddie runs toward the pool, feels small hands try to hold on before they give way. He drops to his knees next to the pool, barely stopping himself from shaking the little girl floating inside it. He clutches the side, shouts down at her, “tell him we’re coming.”

“Your friends,” she whispers into the darkness of the gym, “they’re coming for you.”

She’s quiet for a minute, before saying, “he says to hurry.”

“Tell him to stay where he is,” Hopper says.

“Just hold on a little longer, Steve,” she says.

“Steve?” Eddie says, quiet like he’s still sitting beside him in Steve’s closet, knees knocking as his hanging clothes shroud them. “I’m coming.”

Then Supergirl’s yelling, “Steve!” on repeat, like he’s drifting away. Like she’s trying to get to him.

Eddie reaches in for her, just as Joyce does, their fingers tangling on the girl as they both pull her up and out.

“Okay, okay.” Joyce says, “I’ve got you. You did so good.”

“Is Steve okay?” Eddie demands. His voice comes out as a croak.

Wayne crouches down beside him, old knees popping, and clutches his shoulder. Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off Supergirl. She raises her head slowly, eyes filled with tears as she slowly raises her eyes and meets his gaze, looking like she’d rather look anywhere else.

She shakes her head slowly. “We have to hurry,” she says. “He is out of time.”

Part 28

[magnolias-make-me-happy]

the days are hard (miguel o'hara x reader)

dad!miguel, fluff, heart wrenching sweetness fr <3

don’t mind me, just thinking about patching Miguel up after a particularly bad anomaly and your daughter wakes up to see you and Miguel at the kitchen table. It's the middle of the night and she’s rubbing the sleep from her eyes, dragging her favorite stuffed animal behind her that funnily enough ‘Uncle’ Hobie had given to her despite how much Miguel had groaned to you about it. You hadn’t even sensed she had gotten up, too focused on the injury after injury you kept finding on your husband's body.

you were cleaning a cut on Miguel’s eyebrow when you noticed his eyes shift to the doorway to the kitchen “mija? go back to bed baby” he rumbles out, voice soft. He winces as you finish dabbing the blood away from his forehead, quickly putting the cloth down on the table next to you as you turn to look at the little girl in front of you. “what are you doing up bug?” you say as you brush the hair back from her still sleepy face

“sensed papá come home” she mumbles out, Miguel reaches out and touches her face, his large hand covering the entire side of it “m'sorry i woke you up” he whispers. she climbs into his lap, her hands going to cup his cheeks for a moment before throwing her arms around his neck “it’s gonna be okay papá” your heart squeezes in your chest at the softness in her voice, you see Miguel's eyes go wide before they water.

his eyes squeeze shut and he wraps his large arms around her tiny frame, you blink your eyes to will away the tears before she reaches her little hand behind her towards you “mamá come” her voice comes out muffled from being smushed against Miguel's shoulder, you smile and drop your body down on the bench beside them, one of Miguel's arms wraps around your waist and tugs you into his side pressing a kiss to your temple. 

one of your daughters hands comes up to grab your hand, you press a kiss on it and lean your head on Miguel's free shoulder “love you” she mumbles to the both of you, miguel kisses the side of her head “we love you too mi vida” he whispers into her hair before he turns to you and presses his lips to yours, it’s a soft kiss full of all the love in his heart that could only be for his two girls. You break apart and rest your forehead against his, and you think that in this moment wrapped in your husband and daughters arms that everything just might be okay. 

[dadsbongos]

june 13th, 1986

American Psycho / Halloween / Scream / Friday the 13th / Fear Street / Jennifer’s Body

8.6K words

warnings - descriptions of wounds/violence (blood n gore n such), you and eddie get high, friday the 13th au

summary - On June 13th, 1986, Camp Hawkins Hills is the victim of further tragedy after its poisoned water with roadkill in the tanks, perished foods from ill-storage, and the disappearance of a young camper. Seven are left dead. One injured.

Tammy Thompson wakes up to find that her boyfriend still hasn’t quite gotten them to camp.

“Reilly,” her hair, big and bouncy, smushes against the headrest of the passenger seat, “It was a straight line from Cunningham, baby, how’d you get lost?”

“It’s a longer path than I thought,” he runs a hand through his own hair and huffs. Comically distressed about the situation.

“Then just… hit the gas,” she glares, rather lightheartedly but still apparent.

“No way, my cousin got speed trapped out around here, I’m not risking it.”

“Fine, fine,” Tammy shakes her head, “if I’m late, I won’t call for a whole week.”

Reilly tears his eyes away from the dirt road for a mere moment, just long enough to properly side-eye his girlfriend, “You’re an awful liar.”

She picks at her purple-tinted nails and kicks her feet up onto the dash, shrugging coyly. She bats her lashes at her boyfriend.

Before he can respond, his brows furrow, slamming the brakes. Tammy rocks forward, a knee pressing to her gut with the motion - her gaze flies forward, instantly meeting the body that stands in front of her boyfriend’s car.

They don’t move, though, and she can only vaguely recognize them.

Tammy sits up and pushes herself to half-hang out the window, “Hey! You’re workin’ at the camp, too, right? We’re on our way…”

She trails off when the person only stares.

Reilly and Tammy spare a glance at each other. Reilly sticking his own head out the window, “Are you… feeling alright? Do you need us to drive you somewhere?”

Tammy unbuckles and cautiously gets out of her boyfriend’s beloved Corvette Stingray, her arms fold over one another. Head tilting. She presses her lips, pink lipstick popping when she goes to speak, “Did something happen up there?”

Suddenly, she’s grabbed by the hair and slammed face-first into the hood of the red Corvette. There’s a loud crack and Tammy slips back onto her ass, mud stains her white khakis, shaky hands flying up to cover her nose. Blood leaks from both nostrils and she’s certain it's broken.

“Hey!” Reilly throws his door open and darts out from the seat, but before he can get a good hit in to defend his girlfriend, there’s a knife pulled. The blade embeds right in his gut, twisting.

Reilly tumbles backward, wheezing in pain while Tammy crawls to him on her hands and knees. Blood drips down her lips and onto her white polo.

She’s merely watched as she tries standing with Reilly, her hands desperate as they clutch and tug at his shirt. She’s relentless in her need to get him up - back in the car, she just needs to get back in the car and they’re home free.

The figure is silent. Voyeuristic.

Until they decide Tammy’s suffocated, nerve-wracked sobs are enough.

Her big and bouncy hair is snatched back, head pulled high until she’s practically standing on her knees. Reilly snaps up to try and save his girlfriend, but the gouge in his gut stings like salt to a slug - he screams in agony and terror. Blood gushes from the hole in his stomach as he watches Tammy’s skin pull against a blade.

The slit moves and opens as she screams and crashes.

Resounding numbness comes over Reilly as Tammy’s body falls over his. Her blood smears across his clothes, arms limp around his sides. He can’t be scared when he knows this is it.

No more adrenaline. No more ‘what if?’.

So he squeezes Tammy’s body, neck still leaking onto his chest, to his own as the figure lifts their knife. He clenches his eyes and feels the fear return when he actually realizes this is it. His heart burns, races, thunders, and not even the feeling of his girlfriend between his arms can calm it.

The knife is brought down towards his forehead.

“Where the hell is Thompson?” Steve throws his hands up, looking from his clipboard to your lackluster lineup with your fellow counselors as if ‘Thompson’ will suddenly appear, “Has nobody heard from her?”

You don’t get the whole point of the headcount anyway, Steve already knows that only your bosses, Murray and Joyce, and cook, Jonathan, have left since this morning.

“Thompson?” Eddie looks to you, hands jammed in the pockets of his black ripped jeans.

“Tammy,” Robin lights up from beside you at the name, “new recruit,” you gesture towards the far end of the line, where a new face sits grinning broadly, “She was supposed to come in with Argyle.”

Argyle - a friend of Jonathon’s, though the cook was displeased when his hiring was announced.

“Sorry, bros,” Argyle puts his hands up in defense, “I was at her house this morning but she said someone else was giving her a ride.”

Steve huffs and Nancy steps out of the counselor line to rub his arm sympathetically, she tilts her head, “I’m sure she’ll show up.”

“If not, it isn’t like it matters,” Steve runs a hand through his pampered hair, “We have six counselors, so it should be fine.”

“Fuck,” Robin mutters, lips pulling into a large pout.

“Buck up,” you nudge her arm as Steve and Nancy head to the campers’ cabin to count beds. You continue once Eddie and Argyle wander off, “Country singer girl probably wasn’t the best option for your little lesbian heart.”

“Yeah, but she’s so hot,” Robin groans, “And she tutored me in algebra II.”

“I know, Rob, I know,” you look up at the cloudy sky,

None of you are mentioning the elephant in the room - the way you all have to start camp later than usual because of extra safety precautions - but you can sense it. As the day grows older, lips will come looser.

When you find Eddie alone in the archery range, separating arrows into bins, you don’t have to wait. He immediately speaks his mind, as is usual for him.

“I can’t believe this shit. Opening shop was a bad fuckin’ idea,” he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small plastic bag of weed, “But hey, I’ve got treats.”

After last year?

You come closer and snatch the bag, stuffing it back into Eddie’s pocket, “Keep that shit to us, Steve and Nancy’ll go nuts.”

“My bad, sweets,” Eddie returns to organizing the arrows, “Just thought I’d give you something to make you excited about this hellscape.”

You roll your eyes but pat his chest, “Thanks, big guy.”

But really - weed? After last year?

The campers were sent home in the rain on June 13th, 1985. It was a heavy Thursday pour, something akin to needles against the skin - thundering upon the roofs of cabins and buses alike. You and the other counselors were stuck watching the children - just to make sure no heads were missing as they filled the buses. Last thing Murray and Joyce needed was a following incident. Especially Joyce.

A couple of the kids were whining as they were loaded into the vehicles - pouty-lipped and cross-armed as they asked you and Steve, the head counselor, why they were going home. Murray had drilled it into your heads - do not tell the kids anything, so help me God. Joyce was too distraught to so much as look at your lot. Steve told you and the other counselors to say that the water supply was bad.

“Just make up a reason why, they’re kids - they’ll believe whatever you say.”

Nancy and Robin were packing away their belongings while Eddie assisted poor Robbie and Layla - who sprained their ankles in tandem following a bad swing off the tallest dock at the lake - onto the bus.

Jonathan was in the kitchen. You don’t think he’s even packing - just stewing in his misery. Not that you, or anybody else, can blame him. Murray is talking to Officer Hopper, who so graciously lent half the police station for this camper extraction.

Nobody knows exactly where Joyce is. Again, not that you all can blame her.

You feel a burning marble in your throat. Shame and guilt that wells within your stomach as the campers chatter and whine about being forced onto the buses. Nobody told Joyce or Murray where they were during the incident. Everybody agreed to not snitch. Only Hopper knows, and he was sworn to silence.

But the way he looks at you all - so disappointed and despondent - is salt in the wound. It’s sickening.

Jonathan knows, too. Only because Nancy gave it up and spilled her guts under his promise that he wouldn’t tell his mother.

His stares are the worst.

Rain coils through your hair. Dipping into your eyes and clinging along the planes of your face. You can just barely make out the dismal faces of your campers through the buses’ tinted windows.

Steve senses the way you tense, your shoulders scrunching as your arms fold over your chest. He lays a hand on your shoulder, but doesn’t dare look at you. You feel sick.

“I’m gonna puke,” you don’t bother dampening your voice. Only Steve is listening - unless Joyce is behind you and you haven’t noticed.

“Wait till the kids are gone,” Steve soothes the hand down your back.

As soon as the buses were off campgrounds, you’d keeled over and emptied what was left in your stomach from lunch.

You and your fellow counselors were sent home soon after.

Just as predicted, once nightfall hits camp - lips loosen and fears crawl forward.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Robin is shaking her head with so much force that her freshly cut bob whips against her cheeks, “Like. I know I usually don’t feel good about most things, but this is such an awful idea. Putting maggots inside your nose - awful.”

“We get it, Robin,” Nancy squares her shoulders, face knit in cold defense, “We all know this is a bad idea, but there’s nothing we can really do about it, is there?”

“Come on, let’s not fight,” you toss an extra large, neon orange shirt onto your bed from your suitcase, “This summer is going to be hell, but we don’t need to pick at each other like this.”

“That’s so easy for you to say, isn’t it?” Nancy turns to you now, lashes narrowed and lips pursed, “Are you and Eddie going to be actually joining us when the campers are here?”

“Fuck off, Nancy, you and Steve were just as…” you suck in a breath and pick up the shirt Murray assigned you for this upcoming summer, “Forget it, put on your team shirts so we know they fit.”

Each counselor was the designated leader of a certain team. Last year, you had green, but now that vomit-tinted honor has been assigned to the new recruit. Well, the one that was here, anyway.

Tammy Thompson still had yet to appear.

Robin quickly tugs out a violently azure tank top from her suitcase before following you out of the girls’ counselor cabin. Nancy stays behind.

“Look, I didn’t mean anything, you know?” Robin shoves the blue tank top over her thin nightshirt, her eyes wide while staring at you, “Really.”

“I know, Rob,” you twist the bottom hem of your team lead shirt between your fingers, “Just try not to bring it up around Eddie,” you shoot her a glance, “Or Steve.”

“Or Argyle,” she nods to herself, snapping her fingers in remembrance, “He probably doesn’t need to know that.”

“If nobody’s told him already.”

You and Robin push into the mess hall to find the boys already sitting around with a schedule between them. Steve is stood behind Eddie and the newbie, his hands on his hips and a stupid curl hanging over his forehead. The ugliest pair of bright red short-shorts you’ve ever seen is snug on his thighs with a coral red shirt - sleeves cut off - over it. Eddie is snapping a pencil against the wood table, head bopping to the music only in his head.

Eddie’s team lead shirt is an inky black crop top and Argyle has a plain, highlighter green T-shirt. Both are in similarly hideous red shorts.

“Planning jobs, big-head?” Robin pops over to Steve’s side and punches his shoulder, “Don’t forget tradition.”

“Already got him in for shitter duty, big Rob, don’t you worry,” Eddie grins, then jabs the eraser of his pencil into your arm, “How do you feel about dishes?”

“Wouldn’t that be on Jonathon?” you feel your skin prickle at the thought of sharing a workspace with the boy. His stares hurt, practically burning your skin.

“We’re trying to make it easier on him, my dude,” Argyle roughly claps a hand to your upper arm, grinning wide and stupid.

“Why doesn’t Nancy do dishes?” you can feel the glare Steve shoots you and you don’t dare to shy away, “You’re not an idiot, Harrington, everybody can feel their chemistry. Except you, I guess.”

“Because they don’t have chemistry, you’re just trying to shill dish duty,” Steve leans over Eddie’s shoulder and harshly jabs his finger into the paper, “Put her down.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you lean over Argyle’s shoulder and snatch Eddie’s pencil, earning a cartoonishly huffy ‘hey!’ from the metalhead, “We’re not doing this like last year, I don’t want anyone whining about jobs.”

“I can do dishes, brochacho,” Argyle takes the pencil and marks his initials next to the chore, “Me and Jonathon go way back, it won’t be weird to work together at all.”

Nancy comes in shortly after Argyle returns the pencil to Eddie, her baby pink shirt tied up with a scrunchie at her waist. She sits beside where you stand, a small, thin smile comes to her glossed lips and her hand squeezes yours.

Jonathan arrives once the chore chart is plastered upon the counselors’ corkboard (a big, bold FRIDAY. JUNE 13TH, 1986 at the top of the page). A white shirt with the camp logo printed on it covers his heaving chest as he carries in armfuls of groceries. His dark circled eyes, deprived of and starving for sleep, crawl along your lot before he raises his arms to show off the bags.

“Anyone mind helping?”

Eddie and Argyle are the first ones over. The only ones over until Nancy is trailing after the trio to put groceries away. You look at Steve, who’s already watching her, and when he meets your eyes you raise your brows and ‘hmph’ - earning a middle finger from the man.

It still doesn’t feel quite right - being here. Too much time apart and yet entirely not enough. So much history. So many stories. Everywhere you look, he’s still there. Lingering. Smiling and waving and pleading for his life. The idea of Will Byers like that, miserable and helpless, sends a chill over your flesh.

He was a sweet kid. A really sweet kid.

Clung to mommy’s apron as a child and then he clung to you, Robin, and Eddie as a teenager.

“Can smell the outcast on our clothes,” Eddie would say.

And perhaps that was true. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Nancy and Steve, but you could tell he was more at ease around his fellow rejects. The rejects who feel left out even among their friends.

“How do you think the boys will do?” Robin leans against your side, cheek squishing against your shoulder as she looks at you through her lashes, “Without Will.”

You look to Eddie, who’s had the infamous quartet - trio now - as part of his team since they first arrived in the summer of 1980. If anybody could feel their agony as they did, it was him. And Nancy, older sister of their leader, but she was in the kitchen.

Eddie gnaws on his bottom lip, lashes narrowing into the distance, “Let’s just say I’m not gonna give ‘em shit if they don’t participate in activities.”

And nobody would blame him.

“Alright, campers,” Steve calls as the trio returns to the main hall, clapping his hands to catch your collective attention, “Big day tomorrow.”

“You’re being an idiot,” Nancy mutters to her boyfriend, though still grinning broadly. She pops him in the arm playfully before turning to the rest of you, “Really, though, be up early so we can start cleaning for the kids. No excuses,” she points right at you and Eddie, “So try not to fry your brains tonight.”

Eddie flips his fellow counselor off and you fold your arms, glaring at her as you speak, “It would only help us sleep, Barbie.”

“That’s like telling you ‘n’ Ken not to bang your brains out,” Eddie grins when Steve glares at him, tossing an arm over your shoulder to guide you out of the cafeteria, “Let’s go, darling, time to smoke the devil’s sin and bathe in his blood and all that shit.”

“I never said that!” Nancy shouts after the both of you.

“I hate when she says that shit,” you feel free to release these feelings once the doors have loudly slammed shut, “Like it’s our fault.”

“It…” Eddie seems to retract into himself, his arm is still around you but it hovers now - ready to rip away should you say the wrong thing, “I shouldn’t have brought it out. It was barely after lights out and I should’ve fucking known something was gonna happen.”

“It’s not your fault, Eddie,” you watch him step back and up the stoop to pull the boys’ cabin door open, “Seriously, if you’re at fault then we both are - it can’t just be on you.”

“I brought the shit,” he jerks his head towards the doorway, “Get in ‘n’ shut up about it. I don’t wanna think about it anymore.”

A temporary, ineffective solution. Eddie was always thinking - even when it seemed like he wasn’t, he was. Maybe not always about the most important stuff, but the lights were constantly on. And Will Byers’ disappearance was always, always resting up there.

But you grant him enough mercy - or perhaps yourself enough mercy - to not bring it up.

Nancy is quietly rearranging the pantry under dim, flickering kitchen light. Robin and Steve had originally insisted on waiting until she was done so they could walk to the girls' cabin together - but then she reached minute 30 and the two lost patience. Though, to be fair, she didn’t think they’d make it even that long.

Jonathan and Argyle had wandered off with Argyle having come back in only five minutes ago - giggly and red-eyed - for chips.

A can of corn is shoved to the back of a shelf that just barely reaches her chest, more room is made for boxes of oats and Nancy can’t help but internally groan. She really gets to missing her mother’s cooking when summer rolls around and her only food options are what Jonathon feels like making.

Sometimes Joyce brings doughnuts, though. Those are always nice.

Just as Nancy goes to slide a couple of those dreaded oats boxes to the leftmost wall, the kitchen door slips open. It must be ready to storm because the wind howls as it blows through. A chill brushes against her legs and billows the hem of her skirt.

Her shoulders scrunch and Nancy narrows her eyes at the door, but the flickering lights make it difficult to see who stands there.

“Hey,” she can just make out the hair - then the lips - then one final healthy burst of the bulbs illuminates them completely, “I’ll be done soon, I swear. It just…” she shakes her head, permed curls bouncing, “just bugs me when things aren’t where I want.”

Footsteps thud on the kitchen floor as she returns elbow-deep in the pantry.

Nancy isn’t quite used to feeling afraid.

Sure, horror movies send her heart racing and the morning of a test is anxiety-inducing. But she’s never felt such absolute terror - well, except last year. When Will Byers wasn’t in any of the cabins and couldn’t be found within a hundred miles of the campgrounds.

There’s a body behind hers. The heat leaks onto her neck and while Nancy usually doesn’t fret over personal space, this feels new. Odd.

“Back off a bit, will you?” she nudges the chest behind her with a rather gentle elbow. The chest doesn’t move. Nancy turns towards the body, “Seriously, get back.”

A hand comes to her throat and she quickly snags her nails into the person’s wrist. Then claws at their face.

Another freezing brustle of wind crashes over Nancy as she’s lifted up, up, up - her slips come off her feet as she kicks at the attacker. Their hand tightens around her throat, pressing her back into the wall with crushing force.

Just when her vision is beginning to spot and bruise in blacks and yellows, she’s dragged away from the wall and slammed back against it. Then again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

She thinks she can hear her skull split. And she can definitely feel when the blood begins to trickle past her hairline and down her neck.

Blood and stray hairs cling to splintering wood in the pantry entryway, Nancy’s hands fall limp, and with a final hack and kick, the rest of her falls limp, too.

More cold breeze flutters through as the oldest Wheeler’s body thumps onto the wood panel floor like a cinder block. Blood creeps down her curls and flattens, rolling across the wood. Leaking between the cracks.

The kitchen door is slammed shut and locked. Body alone and bloody and cold.

“Billie Jean, I will say,” Eddie blinks at you - slow and stupid - with bloodshot eyes, “isn’t a shit song.”

“Wow,” you muse, wetting your dried lips, “‘s pretty big for you, Eds.”

“I know, right?” he takes a final hit of the joint you’d been passing back and forth before putting it out in his bedside ashtray, “If you tell anyone… you’re dead.”

“As if,” you turn to your side, burying your face into the pillow of Eddie’s bed, “Do you think he’s out there?”

“Don’t,” he points at you dangerously, then lays at your side, “Don’t start that right now.”

It truly isn’t a good idea to start this right now. While you’re both high. Vulnerable. But it’s now, as you’re in a loose head with no ties to your tongue, that you can actually bring yourself to ask.

“But what if he’s…” you pull your head from the pillow, and the tight ache in your chest grows worse, “You know?”

There. Terrified. Cold.

“He’s not,” Eddie looks at you, dead serious for once, jaw tight, “We looked. I looked. Just- “ he sits up on his knees and turns his head away from you completely, “let it go.”

He picks at the curled hem of his crop top and no matter how you angle your head or lean over his thigh, he won’t meet your eyes.

“I looked everywhere for the kid, if he were out there, I’d know it,” Eddie’s voice is soft but undeniably strict. He swallows the lump in his throat, brows knit tightly, “Will’s dead.”

You sit up now, too, your body feeling just a little too slow. A little too slugged. You wrap your arms around his and lay your chin on his shoulder, “‘m sorry for bringing it up.”

But you can’t help the thoughts that creep. The idea that maybe you didn’t look everywhere. Maybe Will is starving, dehydrated, restless.

You bury your head into the sleeve of his crop top.

Joyce still couldn’t look at any of you when you’d all arrived at the campgrounds.

Murray and Hopper were a little more forgiving. Though Hopper wouldn’t allow his daughter back, much to her boyfriend and friends’ dismay, he could at least shake your hands before leaving. Murray could pretend-punch your guts as a surprise attack and grin when you all would huff (his usual behavior).

But nobody blames Joyce for her distance.

You all lost her son. Through pure, unadulterated negligence, you all were at fault.

And that’s what bugs you most about Nancy, when she pretends it was only you and Eddie occupied when Will went missing. It was her, too. She and Steve.

Robin’s fingers pluck through the collection of cassettes Steve brought to camp, brows furrowed, “You listen to music like a douche.”

“Hey,” he guffaws, “hey! You like those bands, too.”

“Yeah, but - like, it’s different when you listen to The Smiths and when I do,” she turns to look at the man as he gathers clothes for a shower, “You’re a bitch and I’m cool.”

“Other way around,” Steve throws one of his old Hawkins High pride shirts at Robin’s head, “I’m gonna take a shower while the freaks are smoking out the cabin, so if you need anything…” he pauses at the doorway and shoots her a sardonic smile, “don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Robin throws the shirt at him while the door slams shut.

Mere seconds later, she can make out the sound of his shower head sputtering to life, then consistent jets of water hitting ceramic walls. Robin searches for something in the cabin to do, but both you and Nancy have hidden your more interesting possessions from her snooping nature. And there’s no point in going through her own things, she already knows what’s in there - no fun.

But what is fun is sparking debate between you and Eddie while you’re both high, so she stretches, fingers reaching high to the ceiling until there’s a soft pop at the base of her spine, and begins towards the door. It creaks as she lugs it open, a cold wind blows over her exposed arms. Chills race up her freckled skin and tingles up her nose.

Hawkins’ nights were hell frozen over, even in a beautiful summer.

Robin jumps, a hand flying over her heart as if to steady it, she groans and glares at the person who dared scare her, “You can knock when you wanna come in, you know?” Robin steps aside and down the stoop, leaving the door open, “It’s just Hair in there right now, so I dunno how much fun you’ll be having.”

Her elbow is grabbed before she can leave, though. The strength of the grip surprises her, eyebrows flying up in shock.

A humorless laugh escapes her painted lips, Robin quirks a brow at her holder, “Do you… need something?”

She’s met with silence.

Cold eyes. Dead eyes.

“You need to let go,” Robin’s quieter than she wants to be, fear shakes her hand when she tries prying away from her holder, “Seriously. I’m gonna scream.”

At that, she’s yanked forward and inside - the cabin door is slung shut. Robin goes to make good on her promise and scream - more genuine than she was originally swearing - but a hand is quickly swiping over her mouth. It presses so tight her teeth begin to ache.

The hand over her mouth squeezes, Robin claws at every inch of skin she can reach. Steady, harsh water hitting ceramic clogs the sound of her whimpering. She chokes on panic and unshed tears, legs kicking as she’s brought up to your bed.

Your bed because you were last to pick and left with the annoying knobby bed posts that creak whenever you shift.

Robin feels her eyes sting as she’s dragged up by the grip on her face and, in a harsh, quick, cruel slam, bashed over the leftmost knob at the foot of your bed. Her head cracks open and she knows she’s bleeding, though it feels numb. She’s tossed onto the carpeted floor and her eyes can barely stay open long enough to notice the kitchen knife in her attacker’s hand.

She whines, a hand going to the back of her head and pulling back to see it smoothed over and dripping in crimson. Robin looks up at the blade as it’s brought down. She chokes on her blood. Sharp and suffocating through her chest. The heart. Blood fills her mouth and leaks between her parted lips, eyes wide.

The knife is pulled out and stabbed down again. Into her stomach, right below her breastbone. With jagged, jerky tugs - the knife slices through her puckering skin.

Inside the bathroom, the water cuts.

Steve holds his eyes shut as he reaches for the towel he’d set out. Patting his face dry, Steve quickly rustles through his hair with the towel and ties it around his waist. It’s quiet as he brushes soaked framing hairs from his face. It’s quiet as he steps out of the tub. It’s quiet as he reaches for his shirt. It’s quiet. Robin Buckley is many things, but talkative and loud are what most immediately comes to mind.

So he abandons his clothes on the granite bathroom counter, feet crossing the cold tile floor to the door. Steve cracks it open enough to stick his head through and screams at the sight.

Robin is sprawled on the ground between her and Nancy’s bed with a kitchen knife through her throat. Her head is turned to the side, hair matted and covered with blood. Stomach gaping and leaking. Blood puddles and runs on the floor below and Steve can’t breathe.

His shock washes away enough for Steve to dash forward, he collapses onto his knees and cradles Robin’s brutalized body. Her blood slips over his skin and Steve can’t breathe.

Robin is useless in his arms, her head lolls back entirely and blood is already drying at her chin and cheeks. It clings to her neck in speckled patches. Her eyes stare wide and dark and sparkless at the moldy ceiling and Steve can’t breathe. It’s brutal. It’s evil.

“Robin- !” Steve manages to catch his breath, one hand smoothing back blood-crusted bangs, and shaking when she doesn’t respond, “Robin, please, Robin - get up!”

Robin’s once blue tank top is dyed unevenly - purple and crimson - it’s shredded at the stomach.

“Robin!” Steve’s hands are red and he knows she’s gone. There’s no chance of his beloved best friend responding to his calls, but there’s something in his heart that makes him hope. Just one more time, she’ll wake up, this will all be over soon. Just one more time.

“Robin…” his ears are ringing with her blood staining the snowy towel at his waist, he doesn’t hear the steps behind him.

Robin Buckley was a lot of things.

She was loud. She was chatty. She was spacey. She was energetic. She was overwhelmingly unhelpful in most cases. She was a terrible listener when something disinterested her. She was lovable and loving. She was his only friend when he and Nancy took a break. She was his Platonic (with a capital ‘P’) soulmate.

And she was supposed to go on a date with Vickie this weekend before the campers arrived.

He doesn’t hear the steps and he doesn’t hear the final click of shoes stopping behind him on the wood flooring.

Robin Buckley was dead.

A grunt rips through the attacker as their knife drives right between the blades of Steve’s shoulders.

His body jerks forward, Robin tumbles out of his arms as Steve tries ripping himself away with a scream. The pain is flashing - hot and blinding - and it ripples down his spine.

Steve can’t even get up, can’t even turn, before there’s a solid kick right in his stab wound. It sends him back to the floor, cheek to cold, hardwood. A shoe cracks against his head, holding him down, before a knife splits through his side. His throat raws while he shrieks. Pain and panic and pure terror rings through the bloodied jabs and up to his lightening head.

Steve tries against the very will of God to push himself up and fight, run, anything to save his own life and rescue those that remain. Who remains? Oh God, is Nancy okay?

Another piercing ram into his side sends all thoughts scattering. And as the pierces grow faster, tougher, more animalistic in their devouring of his flesh, he’s unable to think long enough to plan his next move.

He’s breathless. Numbing.

The attacker rips another hole through his skin and muscle and Steve can’t breathe.

“Did you hear that?” you stand from the bed, sobering as the time drags on. You look through the soft white curtains that hang over the cabin mirror, right at the girls’ counselor cabin, “Am I going nuts?”

“No and no,” Eddie is half-asleep, sprawled out starfish-style on his bed and scratching at his exposed stomach. He yawns, eyes closed and lashes fanned over his cheeks, “You didn’t smoke enough to start hallucinating, so stop trying to freak me out.”

“I’m not trying to freak you out,” your head snaps away from the window and back towards Eddie, face stern, “And if I didn’t smoke enough to hear shit then that scream had to be real.”

“All the more reason to stay inside,” his eyes flutter open and narrow at you, “I’m not walking in on Harrington and Wheeler again.”

“That wasn’t a sex scream, Munson,” you replay the sound in your head and turn away from the mirror completely, not seeing the killer step out of the cabin, soaked in your friends’ blood, “That was, like…”

Agony.

“That was violent,” you whisper, almost as though you’re afraid to admit it to yourself.

Eddie sits up, sluggish and tired, he blinks at you through what remains of his high, “What are you saying?”

“I’m going out there,” you nod resolutely, “We have to call Hopper.”

Eddie watches you as you move to where the emergency ax is held behind safety glass. He watches you smash through the glass with your shoe and haul the heavy weapon over your shoulder.

“I know what I heard, and I’m not- “ you think back to that final night. On the rainiest night of that summer, “I’m not gonna be stoned and useless again. I refuse to do nothing.”

Eddie is used to staying put and running away to keep himself safe. It’s never something you’d judge him for, if he wants safety then you can’t fault him for that, but you’re not going to let it happen like it did last year.

When you heard a camper walk by and assumed it was to use the bathroom. When you heard five more campers walk by. You stayed in bed with Eddie - passing a joint between yourselves and convincing each other that everyone was fine. You stayed in bed while Robin was sleeping hard enough for five people just one mattress over. Joyce never found out, but you lived with that knowledge - and the knowledge that Steve and Nancy were fucking in the other cabin the entire time - for a year. Unless Jonathon or Hopper told her, a violation of their separate promises, Joyce doesn’t know, but you can’t forget.

Will went missing because of your inaction, and you refuse to let it happen again.

Eddie stands up, bites the chapped skin of his bottom lip, and approaches the cabin door, “Alright. Yeah,” he sighs and you can see his fear in the way his body is so unnaturally tense, “Will, this one’s for you.”

The main office is cluttered but you manage to find the phone easily. It sits pretty on Murray’s paper-scattered desk and you run to it like a mouse from a snake.

Your shared path from the boys’ counselor cabin to the office was largely spared of attackers, and your shoulder was left aching from the weight of the unused ax.

But you refuse to let up, dialing the number directly to Hopper’s office. Back when things weren’t tense and it truly was like a big family at camp, you and your fellow counselors enjoyed teasing Joyce for personally pining the number to her corkboard.

Now, you make Eddie keep watch outside the office windows as Murray’s phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

It picks up, and a voice you’re dreading answers, “Yeah?”

Your heart thrums heavy, mind blanking for the moment. Then he repeats himself, dragging out the vowels in a way you’ve always hated.

“Murray?” you hear Eddie’s body thump against the frame of the open office window, you assume tossing himself onto the wall in that dramatic way he always manages, “Why- where’s Hopper?”

“Going to you,” Murray stresses the word and you can see him blinking at the wall like you’re the idiot, “Where’s Joyce? Get her on the phone.”

“What do you mean where’s Joyce?” the ax burns at your shoulder now, forearm beginning to burn and sore at its weight, “Isn’t she with you?”

“She left to check on you guys an hour ago, I sent Jim because she never called like she was supposed to.”

The drive between camp and the police station was twenty minutes if you went the speed limit and Joyce always did. She should be here.

“You… haven’t seen her?”

“No,” you clench the phone tighter in your hand, throat tight and gut clenching in that way it does before you retch up bile, “why did Joyce come?”

“Huh?”

“Why was Joyce coming?” you can’t find air, too thin and sparse, your arm hurts like hell, “You two were supposed to be out all night,” your knees are weak, they tighten and buckle, “Why was Joyce coming?”

“Oh- “ his reply fails you, the line cuts.

“Murray?” you drop the ax to the ground, that hand already flying to the phone so you can dial Hopper’s office again, “Come on, come on. You’re kidding.”

The line is dead.

Entirely dead.

“Fucking- !” you throw the receiver down and pick up the ax, fighting down rising tears and panic as you do, “Fuck!”

When there’s no question, no worries, no input whatsoever from Eddie, you realize how silent he’s been. You feel sick.

Eddie’s body has thumped against the frame of the open window. Jaw slack and left eye wide. In his right eye is an arrow.

The arrow has run completely through his skull, its head sticking out the back, clunked with blood and brainy mush.

You pull the ax tight to your chest, the wood scratches your neon orange shirt and you feel it like an anchor. The thing tethering you in this office. Heavy as the smooth wooden handle buries in the dip of your chest.

Blood oozes from the wound in his eye and you can already see where the red is drying in his eyebrow.

Sneaking past the body as if it’ll jump back to life, you press the office door open cautiously. After ensuring a clear path, you rush out and to the girls’ counselor cabin. Robin and Steve are still there.

They should still be there.

They’re there.

You stumble back, terror shredding the burning muscles that hold your ax. You crawl backward and slip down the stoop, your head smashes on the dirt floor in your fall. Scrambling, you grab the ax from the cabin’s landing and stand back. Staring through the doorway, you still see them.

Their bodies are obscured only slightly at your position, you can still see Steve laid over Robin at the waist. His sides ripped open and Robin’s head tilted so far back that her now listless and dull eyes are staring straight through you.

Retching, you dry heave the sick that desperately wants to claw its way up your throat. Using the ex as leverage, you push yourself up and run to the last place you saw Nancy. The kitchen door is jammed and that should’ve been a sign.

You should’ve turned away. Should’ve run.

But the blood is pumping in your ears and your skin is numb and cold.

Your arms ache and shake and burn while you swing the heavy ax into the kitchen’s back door. It feels endless and you just want to go home. You wish you never came back. You don’t count the swings, you just know it feels like absolute hell. Eventually, the wood is weak and chipped enough for you to push it through with your bare hand. You manage to twist the knob and pull the door from inside.

God, you should’ve just run.

The back of Nancy’s skull is caved and pulped and forming bruises in the shape of a handprint take place around her neck. Blood stains the pantry doorway and stray hairs stick to the skin patches hanging off the more pronounced jagged edges.

You run now, turning away and towards a campers’ cabin that still has the lights on.

A week ago, Murray and Hopper came around to make sure all the camper-friendly doors with locks on them were removed and replaced.

This cabin is locked from the outside.

You bang on the door with your free hand, urgent and nauseous, ready to ax the damn wood down if whoever’s inside doesn’t answer you in the next two seconds.

It swings open to reveal a lax Argyle and the heavy musk of marijuana. His eyes are bloodshot and narrow, lips split dumb, and teeth on display, “Need some help, my dude?”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on here?” you shove Argyle into the cabin and jam the door shut with your body, back pressed so hard against the wood that you’re going to have indents left behind.

His brows raise, a rigidness hitting his body, “Oh, shit, am I fired if I don’t?”

You turn your head, eyes clenching shut at his words, “How were you locked in here, Argyle?” you stand up from the door, ax still wound tight to your side, “Who locked you in here?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Argyle cards his fingers together and gestures loosely at the door, “Jonathan locked me in here - seemed real urgent.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“Nah, man,” he shakes his head, “Just that I should stay in here. Thought it was, like, a hazing thing.”

“People are dead, Argyle,” you grab his arm and begin towards the door, “We have to go.”

When Joyce is missing and Jonathon nowhere to be found, you can’t risk looking for them. You just have to make it to the van. If the van has been spared of tampering, anyway.

So you lead the way, pushing open the cabin door and holding up the ax. It’s pushing and straining at your arms, but you refuse to let it go. You can’t lose it.

Argyle is hot on your tails, body tense but not nearly as much as yours - whether it be his disbelief or the weed, you aren’t sure. Either way, your body is paranoid and your mind is left reeling as you search the path through cabins to the main gates - where those damned buses took campers away on that rainy night.

It feels like it should be raining now. Like you should be fighting muck and slosh and a figure behind a hockey mask.

You don’t seem to hear the steps behind you. Neither does Argyle. Despite crunching dirt and heavy breathing, you two are oblivious as you cross the path to the camp van.

An ax is held above your head, your chest is rising and falling in little bursts that entirely betray your fear. Your body is shaking. Argyle is no help, but that’s not necessarily new.

The footsteps grow closer as the van comes into sight. Neither of you hears. Neither of you sees. You unwisely drop the ax, right at the last second, and run straight into the driver’s side door - desperately pulling. So desperate, you can’t make out the body behind the tinted window.

Argyle is snatched by the hair, a hand clasping tight over his mouth before he can alert you of the looming danger.

You’re prepared to begin crying by the time you actually manage to haul the van’s door open. But instead of a leather seat, you see beige, satin pants. You stumble back and note the emptiness of your hands - you dropped the ax.

Like an idiot, you went and dropped the ax before you were safe.

The hard, dirt-clodded ground is a terrible landing - the force practically punches air straight out from your lungs, and pebbles lodge deep into the meat of your palms.

Now, you hear the footsteps from behind.

Your eyes crawl up those beige, satin pants and you’re frozen in indecision. Should you run? How do you run? Where could you go?

A hand roots through your hair and tugs your head up and back.

Joyce Byers lays passed out, a rag soaked in what you assume to be chemicals, tied around her face, in the driver’s seat. You look up at the face that looms over you. Cold eyes. Dead eyes.

Bangs cling to his forehead and there’s blood splattered and dried over his skin and clothes.

Jonathan lifts the ax above you. High, high over his head.

Argyle lays on the ground, a deep, gushing ax wound laid right where his eyes are.

Your heart races. Burns. You can’t die. You won’t be torn to shreds by Jonathon’s hatred.

You swing a fist up and right into Jonathon’s groin - he doubles over in a hoarse groan, the ax tumbles to the ground and kicks dirt up around it. Before he can recover, you fly to your knees and push up until you’re racing into the nearby woods.

Jonathan screams after you, you can hear him. You can’t run fast enough. You can feel his blood-and-dirt crusted fingers at the base of your neck, his breath hot on your ear. Toe of his shoes clipping the backs of your own. Twigs and branches snap against your exposed skin - leaves dragging viciously over your face. Like the greenery itself wants you to know that you, and your fellow counselors, deserve this. You all deserve Jonathon’s hatred, but you’re just too scared to die now.

So you continue through the woods until you end up fumbling over a dug-out tree root. Your shoe is ripped from your foot, jammed under the root, as you shriek and tumble.

Mud bubbles from a puddle when you land face-first.

Pushing yourself up, you turn as Jonathon grows closer. Mud clings to your clothes and flesh. The mud reminds you of that night.

The trees climb higher. Moonlight grows tighter. Strangled between the canopy. The ax blade glints, though - blindingly so. Like a mouse to a snake, you cower.

Like Will Byers that night, you can sense your impending doom. The sword of Damocles - Jonathan raises the ax above his head, his foot landing between your legs and splashing mud over your neon orange shirt.

You can’t ask why. You know exactly why.

[FUCK TUMBLR.COM PICTURE LIMITS]

On one end of the hall outside Officer Hopper’s office is you, Eddie, Nancy, Robin, and Steve. On the other is Joyce, Jonathan, and Murray. Joyce is wringing her hands, sobbing hysterically as she rocks. Murray mutters, shaking his head (“Five- five - counselors on duty and not one them. Not one saw him.”), a new hire is surely on their way if the camp is even to be open next year. Jonathan, however, doesn’t shy away from you all - he stares ahead.

Cold, dead eyes.

You and Eddie and trying so hard not to lean that you’re both awkwardly ramrod straight. Eyes split between squinting at the fluorescents and widening cartoonishly so that nobody notices you’re both squinting. Nancy and Steve have untucked shirts and still smell of sweat and Nancy’s overpowering sugary perfume. Robin is only awake because of the current mystery.

You probably should’ve known that Jonathon wasn’t going to let you all go.

If anything, you’re shocked Joyce hadn’t done something herself.

…

Jonathan’s arms jerk up from their position and he swings. With more force than you’ve ever thought was possible for Jonathon Byers, he swings. The shine of the moonlight on his ax slides up, up, and off the metal as it comes down.

You don’t get to see the flashes of your short life, though. Either by angels or your friends, or maybe even that forgiving heart you always admired in Will Byers, there’s a pop. Just as he’s going to give the final push, right into your heaving chest, his chest arches forward.

His fingers split off the ax’s handle and it tumbles until that blade is buried deep in the gash of the ground between your legs - mud splashes up from the impact. Jonathan stumbles back, blood sputters from the middle of his chest and painting his white shirt.

Red and blue lights flash bright on the trees and you can hear the sound of leaves crunching and mud splashing under heavy boots. Jonathan thuds onto his back, clawing at the hole through his sternum, gasping for air and choking on the blood that froths to his lips.

You’re dragged off your ass by Hopper. Carried out from the woods and back to the main entrance, where Murray and two EMTs are standing around a waking Joyce.

Joyce spots you through bleary eyes - you’re smeared in mud and sweat and tears and you’re left clueless as to why she seems so relieved.

She runs to you, pushes her business partner and the EMTs aside to wrap her arms around you so tight that you almost lose oxygen. Her hands pet over the hair that her son had knotted his own hand through not an hour ago.

When the both of you part, Joyce frets over your face, cupping your cheeks and inspecting each exposed slice of skin for injury. Eventually, you settle your hands over her forearms, gently pushing her back.

“Ms.- “ you cut yourself off, hands curling tighter around her arms, “Joyce. When Will… when Will went missing- “

“Honey,” she shakes her head, “I know. Jonathan- “ her eyes flit down to her shoes, then back to you, “I know.”

Hopper puts a hand over your upper back, angling you and Joyce towards the open back of an ambulance. Neither of you is outwardly injured, but anything to get you out of here.

Away from these corpses. Off these bloodied grounds.

You and Joyce are loaded into the back of the ambulance together, her hand tight around yours. Neither of you speaks. Too afraid, too ashamed, too stuck. But this silence is different, no longer stiff and abrasive - now it’s simple. Neither of you has anything to say so you don’t.

Joyce hugs you close to her side and your eyes slowly begin to drift shut. Muscles going lax against her, breathing slowly evening out. Joyce follows your lead shortly after and the two of you are left that way by the EMTs on your sides. The two of you sleep tenderly, calmly, blissfully unaware of the state of Jonathon’s corpse in the woods.

…

“He really killed all these kids and went down to a shot like that?” Officer Powell looks over to his partner, Callahan, as he jots down notes about the scene.

“Kid’s still human,” Callahan shrugs, turning away to find where you and Joyce were led by their boss, “Come on, we should get back to Hopper.”

Powell takes a lingering glance at Jonathon’s blood-speckled, dirt-stained body before following after his partner. Leaves and twigs snapping under their heavy boots as they go.

Clouds slowly gather in the dark, starry sky. Thick and purple under the moon. They begin to weep gently over the camp, sprinkled rainfall that pitifully patters against the cold, pallid skin of Jonathon Byers.

The water is freezing in the Hawkins air.

A finger twitches. A leg jumps. An eye opens to see the worms that have begun inching to the surface.

Jonathan Byers rises, ax in hand, as the rain grows heavier.

[imamxdel]

[ SIT ]  for one muse to finger the other who sits in their lap fully clothed,  keeping an arm around their waist to make them stay still. { Quin and Harper }

fun bedroom times // @svnandmccn

From their very first kiss, Harper tried not to focus too much on her wants. For someone who was pretty naive on adulthood and maturity, she was secure in her desires as a woman and knew what she wanted. And there were only so many times she could look at Quin's arms and not imagine how good they'd look around her neck.

For as sweet as they were, they decided to be open with each other. Harper loved that they could share how they felt without worried about what they'd think, and found it so freeing to discuss their wants. It was also a little silly how they could speak about such filth while casually watching a show together, and not feel phased.

"I've never squirted before. I'd like to try."

She'd also learned pretty quickly that Quin was the type to take on a challenge and refuse to lose. They'd gone from casually discussing their day, to Harper mentioning her wants, to Quin pulling her to the bedroom and tossing her on the bed.

She didn't have any time to recover, still bouncing on the mattress, to him sitting against the frame and pulling her on his lap, back on his front, and suddenly Harper was thankful she liked wearing short skirts. At first, for is cuteness, though once he started rubbing his palm over the dampness in her panties, thankful for easier access.

Almost immediately, Harper started to whine at the touch. Her fingers gripped on to his jeans and knotted the wetter she felt herself get. "Touch me, touch me," she begged, the stupid panties getting soaked through that every crease of her folds could be seen through the fabric. Harper felt some of her wetness slide down her core when Quin grabbed the top of her panties and pulled up, smushing her clit against the fabric. It made her gasp.

Quin's other hand came down, both grabbing on to her panties and ripping the fabric until it ripped apart. He seemed just as impatient as she was to get the ruined panties tossed off the bed, though she hoped next time he'd shove it in her mouth instead. Rather than taking off the skirt, it was flipped up and he tugged on her crop top until her bra was exposed, and tugged down. He also learned quickly in their relationship that his innocent girlfriend had nipple piercings.

With one hand covering her breast with its weight in his palm, Quin shoved two fingers inside Harper and hooked them and started to thrust hard and fast. The petite woman almost immediately started to squirm around in his hold, not having expected the pleasure to be that intense and direct. Her legs closed around his wrist instinctively -- then a soft scream filled the air when his hand came down and slapped her thigh while hooking under her knee to open her legs back up again. Harper once again felt another drop of her arousal slid down her core.

"Keep your legs open." Harper, unable to find words, nodded her head and started to flick her nipple with a finger. Quin must not have liked seeing her touch herself, slapping her wrist softly, smearing his palm in her wetness, and spreading it over her nipple to start playing with it. His other hand hooked two fingers back inside her and thrust again, this time Harper taking it and looking down in shock at hearing the wet sounds coming out of her. Breaths heavy, chest heaving, and Harper warning with each whine coming out of her that she was getting close.

"I'm gonna make a mess...Quinnie--" she begged, hearing him literally growl and seemingly intensify the depth of his fingers. Harper's back arched on his chest and watched in shock as she squirted all over the bed, her wetness soaking the sheets they'd just cleaned. Never in her life had she felt that good -- and hearing Quin softly chuckle, his hand coming down to softly smack her core, Harper gasped out, feeling the last of her wetness trickle down her folds.

[pennylanewrites]

kinktober // october 2nd // kageyama tobio

hatefucking

pairing: kageyama tobio x afab!reader

genre: smut

word count: i did not count let’s say 2k+

cw + tags: enemies to not lovers, a lot of swearing, degradation, impact play (slaps / both receiving), anal fingering (fem!receiving), brief gagging

kinktober masterlist // hq masterlist

‘fucking kiss already’ ‘the sexual tension makes me wanna gag’ ‘he has a thing for you, you know’

were all things you heard constantly about you and number 1 of your college’s volleyball team. it didn’t exactly help that he was the captain, and you were the team’s manager, meaning you were somehow always stuck together.

you weren’t sure anymore why you claimed to hate him so much, why he pulled on your hair every time he walked by you, why you stole his change of clothes just to spite him after he lost a match. but it was fun, and that was all that mattered.

okay, and maybe he’s a bit good on the eyes, so seeing him come up to your dorm in just his towel is a bonus.

this day was like every other after a friendly match. you congratulated the team, made the plans for the victory party and left them to take a much needed shower.

kageyama always took longer than everyone else in the shower, making it so easy for you to run in, take his bag of new clothes and run back out, towards your single dorm.

and just like every other match day, there was a loud, somehow sounding annoyed, knock on the door.

“come in.” you yelled out, pushing the black and gray bag under your bed, laying on it and grabbing your phone.

“clothes.”

“yeah, there is a lack of them.” you looked him up and down with a shit-eating grin. the white towel hung low on his hips, showing off pale skin, a prominent v-line and a happy trail of trimmed black hair starting from his belly button and disappearing under the towel.

“you’re acting like a child.”

“i’m not the one who stole your clothes this time.”

“my bag is under your bed.”

“no it’s not. see?” you slid it back out and placed it on the mattress, opening it to reveal his clothes, “those are mine.”

“really?”

“really.”

“put them on then.” he leaned against your desk, hands folded against his bare chest.

“you’re annoying.” you rolled your eyes and pushed the bag towards him with your foot.

“and you’re immature.”

“i hate you.” you groaned, falling back on the bed and huffing loudly.

“fuck you.”

“i’d like to see you try.” you teased, cackling obnoxiously when you spotted the bright blush creeping up his chest, neck and cheeks. you hopped off the bed and stepped in front of him, looking up with a raised eyebrow. “you do show up at my door naked a lot for someone that hates me.”

“you don’t really leave any other choice, ___.”

“you could get dressed in your dorm and then get your stuff. do you want me to see you naked this badly?” you pressed your palm against his stomach, sliding dangerously low, low, lower...

“obviously you want to see me like this,” he swiftly grabbed your wrist, tugging on it softly and pulling you one step closer, “otherwise you wouldn’t do this every other day.”

“oh, fuck you!” you exclaimed, feeling heat rush up to your cheeks.

“fuck you!” he responded, before both of you engaged in a ridiculous, heated staring contest.

“you’re infuriating! i wish i could just,”

“just what?”

“nevermind.” he mumbled, looking off to the side as he picked up his bag of clothes.

“and you’re a stuck up little-” you didn’t have the time to finish that, because your cheeks were smushed again two large hands, and your mouth was against another mouth, one that loved to talk shit about you.

“what was that for?” you exclaimed, out of breath after the sudden gesture.

“so you would shut the fuck up.” he panted against your ear, kissing down the side of your neck, giving you less and less time to think because all you could even begin to think of at that moment, was the dangerously close tent in his towel.

“is that a gun in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

“see, that’s what i’m talking about. annoying bitch.” tobio grabbed a fistful of your hair and slammed his mouth against yours once more. he tasted like his favorite energy drink when his tongue slipped past your lips, exploring your own taste of toothpaste, bubblegum and something else he couldn’t place.

“fu-fuck, you’re-”

“stop talking and lay down so i can ride you.” you cut him off with a playful tap against his cheek, perhaps one a bit too strong to be just a tap.

you did pay attention to his reactions, however. he had grunted when you had pulled his hair as he kissed you, and his cock visibly twitched under the cotton fabric at the small slap.

“you sure you can handle me?”

“don’t be too cocky, mister captain,” you pushed him down the dorm’s bed, watching the towel around him come undone and his cock spring against his abdomen.

you were always sure he was big; you didn’t, however, expect this much girth and length and a pretty bright red tip that leaked for you as he rested a hand between your thighs.

“off.” he tugged on your sweatpants, and you obliged, stepping off the gray fabric in seconds. tobio pulled you into his lap, kissing you again. you moved your hips against his erection, both of you gasping into the kiss as he bit and pulled slightly on your bottom lip.

“pretty hot for an annoying bitch, huh?”

“shut up.” he grunted, bringing a hand between the two of you, feeling up the wet spot on your underwear that he had been the cause of.

“make me.”

and so he did.

he quickly pulled your underwear to the side, not wishing to waste any precious seconds of what would probably be a one-time thing.

“you gonna ride me or what?” tobio proceeded to fold his arms and place them under his head, looking up at you with a smug grin.

“stop being such a fucking,”

“such a fucking what?”

“asshole.” you spat out, pressing the tip of his cock against your slit as you looked down at him angrily.

“fuck you.” a sharp slap was delivered to your cheek, making you turn slightly to the side, your hand coming up to touch the stinging mark as you sunk down on his cock.

“aw, are we getting heated?” you teased when he furrowed his eyebrows and arched his back off the bed, breathy moans filling your dorm room when he bottomed out.

“not really, you’re not doing that good of a work.”

“really? that’s why you’re twitching inside me? pathetic.”

“that’s just because -ah, ah fuck- you’re clenching like it’s your first time, asshole.” he retorted to your insults, now desperately grabbing harshly onto the fat of your hips to slam you further down his cock.

“what’s up, lover boy? about -nghh- to cum already?”

“can you even make me cum?” he scoffed, but the sweat on his chest, the blush on his cheeks and his panting breaths gave him away. not that you were better anyway, clenching as hard as possible while you stayed right on the edge of your orgasm, building it up so much that it felt like it would be ripped out of you with force.

“how about you shut up for once?” you smirked and leaned down to kiss him roughly, before exchanging your tongue for your index and middle finger against his tongue. with excitement, you watched him wrap his pink lips around your fingers and suck on them with his tongue.

“look at you, you’re good for something, tob-fuck!” you arched your back and leaned down to collapse against his chest when his ring finger started prodding on your puckered back hole. the slick he was collecting from where the two of you met with his fast thrusts was enough lube for his finger to slip in the tight hole.

“ka-kageyama! f-fuck, you’re going too fast, i’m gonna fucking-”

“yeah, yeah?” he tilted your head to the side to have better access to your neck and bit down your pulse point, making your walls flutter around him hard. “you’re gonna cum for me?”

“i’m not-not doing it for you! fuck, fuck, fuck, i’m coming! i hate-”

“i hate you!” he drowned out your words with his before kissing you softly, soft enough that it seemed out of place, as he pumped his finger inside you quickly to coax you through an orgasm.

“too sensi-sensitive.” you breathed out, legs shaking as tobio pulled you off him and let you fall next to him. “wait, you didn’t...”

“don’t try to play nice now.” he tilted his head to your side and bit your shoulder before getting up. “next time you want to be annoying, try not to cum so fast.”

“fuck you, kageyama.”

“i mean, you tried.”

taglist: @hottie07 @coyloves @honeyspalette @annoyingorang @kenmakai (if you wanna be removed send in an ask) (bold couldn’t be tagged)

[troubatrain]

twisted in bedsheets - m. tkachuk

a/n: this is straight up smut.... like minimal plot mostly filth. but i hope you guys like it, i may give it a part two if anyone wants to see it but i don't know yet. big shoutout to my resident whores @hookingminor & @tkafuckit ily both sm

taglist : @barzysreputation

warnings: it's smush time (smut)

You almost wanted to make fun of him.

A part of you wondered, what did a single, twenty three year old, professional athlete who lived in a different country most of year need a house this big for? That wasn’t your business, and really neither was showing up two days after Matthew moved in with a bottle of wine and silly housewarming gift to make yourself feel better about where his little brother, also known as your best friend, was. You knocked loudly, hoping the car in the driveway meant Matthew was home and you weren’t wasting your time.

Matthew was inside, finally getting some peace and quiet after spending the day listening to his mother and the interior designer he hired argue about throw pillows. He jumped at the knock of his door, not used to the way it echoed through the house he bought on a whim. You were standing on the other side, bouncing on your heels with a bag in your hand and Matthew couldn’t help but smile.

Matthew always had a soft spot for you, Brady was your best friend and just like Matthew found himself watching out for Brady, he did the same for you. It was easy to keep it like that for years, Brady being far more possessive because you were his friend and not Matthew’s and not everything needs to be about you Matt, but it’d gotten harder lately. It was sudden, one summer Matthew came home and you were lounging by the pool and he swore his dick twitched in his pants, and it just wasn’t getting easier. It wasn’t easier when he tried to convince himself that there was an age gap between the both of you, even though it was barely two years and no one would blink an eye. It wasn’t easier when he beat the Senators and you quietly told him he had a good game because if Brady caught wind of it he’d lose his mind. And it sure as hell wasn’t easier when Brady mentioned your boyfriend constantly.

Your boyfriend who was having a party that Matthew knew for a fact Brady was at, but why weren’t you? Matthew couldn’t possibly get his hopes up, knowing if you were single he’d find some way to break your heart and you didn’t deserve that. That was the thing, Matthew ruined people and you were a far better person than he was to begin with. Matthew opens the door regardless, a smile on his face when he meets your eyes.

“Hi,” You beam, trying to play off like you were happy when you were just looking for a distraction that didn’t involve driving around and crying to Taylor Swift, “I, uh, congrats?”

Matthew chuckles, cocking his head to the side and opening his door a little further for you to come in, “Thank you, you really didn’t have to bring a gift.”

“It’s rude not too,” You scold, tapping Matthew in the arm and forgetting for a second you weren’t talking to Brady.

You pretended like you couldn’t feel it, the way his arms felt like a solid fucking rock and it was getting harder and harder to shove down that silly crush you’ve had since high school. You remember it so clearly, the moment Matthew went from Brady’s brother to just Matthew. You were a freshman, a dorky quiet kid who everyone knew not to mess with exclusively because Brady would kick the shit out of them, and you overheard a few girls in Matthew’s gossiping about how cute he was. Then it hit you, just as Matthew was leaning against his car to drive you home - he was cute. Cute turned into hot quickly, and you spent summer after summer wondering if you’d be bold enough to make a move.

You watched as Matthew pulled out the picture you’d framed for him, one his mother had taken of the three of you as kids. You were at the same ice cream shop you went to after every Blue’s game, chocolate ice cream smiles on your faces.

“You dropped your ice cream right after my mom took this,” Matthew hums, smiling at the memory himself.

“And you gave me yours because you felt bad for me,” You finish, hence the reason you chose that photo in the first place.

“You were crying,” Matthew nods, remembering the way his heart broke when he saw tears well up in your eyes. Even then, Matthew was a protector, constantly defending the people he held close to his heart, “Brady wouldn’t even share his… speaking of, isn’t there a huge rager you could be at right now?”

“Something about a party at my ex boyfriend’s doesn’t sound fun to me at all,” You sigh, hoping you wouldn’t have to explain it any further.

You didn’t have a boyfriend anymore.

It was all Matthew could process, his brain malfunctioning because he couldn’t believe it. Matthew gave you a sympathetic smile, “Let’s crack that bottle open then?”

You agreed, following Matthew into his yard to sit out by his fire pit, an early summer breeze making St. Louis unseasonably cold. He came back with two glasses, and you tried simply to ignore that his hands were big enough to hold both glasses in one, “So, Brady’s at a party at your ex-boyfriend’s place and you’re not mad at him at all?”

“I can’t be mad at Brady,” You explain, pouring yourself a glass of wine that was just a bit too big, “He doesn’t know what happened.”

“I thought you had no secrets,” Matthew questions, knowing that Brady knew everything about you and you were the same way. You turned your attention to the glass, swirling it in your hand while you seemed to shut down under Matthew’s gaze, “Y/N… it’s me, you know you can tell me.”

“It’s really embarrassing,” You whisper, “He cheated on me…”

“That’s not your fault,” Matthew scoffs, throwing an arm around your shoulders, “Why didn’t you tell-”

“He told me it was because the girl he was hooking up with was better in bed than me,” You whisper, Matthew closing his mouth immediately. He took a deep breath, his fingers scratching against your scalp while he looked straight ahead, “Please don’t tell Brady.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Matthew nods, his bottom lip between his teeth, “You’re perfect, and if he doesn’t see that he can go fuck himself.”

“What if he’s right?” You ask, taking a gulp of your drink. Matthew knew what road you were headed towards, one that was going to leave you insecure about this for the rest of your life if Matthew didn’t choose his next words carefully.

“He’s not,” Matthew shakes his head, hopping off the outdoor sofa you were on and kneeling down in front of you, “And you don’t need some douchebags opinion to make yourself feel good.”

“Would you sleep with me?” You ask, Matthew’s hand that had been rubbing your thighs gently stopped. You craved the validation, and a part of you always wondered if you had a shot with Matthew. If you were both able to drown out the noise from your friends and family, would he want you? Matthew’s hand crept up to your cheek, his thumb tracing your lip. You looked at him like this was the most important question he’d ever have to answer, and like if he said yes your lips would be on his, “And tell me I’m good.”

Matthew shut his eyes, running every possible scenerio knowing all of them include him fucking this up and hurting your feelings, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying. His lips ghosted over yours, stubble rough against your skin, “You’re sure about this?”

“Please,” You pout, not even bothering to give Matthew your best sexy face. You’d faked it enough, a year of trying to be something you weren’t to please some asshole who left for someone else anyways. Matthew’s hands slid on either side of you, his lips against yours and your hands on the back of his neck.

“Inside,” Matthew mutters against your lips, knowing if he didn’t stop himself now his new neighbors would get a show they didn’t ask for. You deserved better than that anyways. You snuck inside, your lips pressing kisses to Matthew’s neck while his arm stayed around your waist until you ended up in his bedroom. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, Matthew crawling on top of you, “I cannot believe that asshole let you slip through his fingers like that.”

“Make me forget about him then,” You let out a breath, Matthew smirking against your skin when you lit up that competitive fire he’d always had. You tugged at the bottom of his shirt, Matthew taking the hint and grabbing it from the back of his neck to toss off. Matthew’s hands slid under your shirt, unhooking your bra and swirling his finger around your nipples, pulling a moan from you.

“You even moan pretty,” Matthew could believe it, knowing just how many dreams like this, but really hearing it was something else entirely. Matthew shed your clothes quickly, leaving you just in your panties while he pressed kisses against your skin, murmurs of praise left in their wake.

“Matty,” You whimper, tilting Matthew’s chin up from where it was nestling between your thighs, “No one’s ever made me cum like this before.”

Matthew swore he was going to blow right there. The way your eyes looked into his, a trust that you were giving him that it was becoming clear you’d never given anyone. If it was anyone else, Matthew’s cocky nature would have broken through, a challenge accepted attitude that he couldn’t have with you.

You weren’t nervous but it wasn’t some secret that Matthew got around, and admitting something that seemed as trivial as what you’d told him was a big deal to you. Matthew’s blue eyes were soft, a small smile on his face, “We’ll go slow baby.”

And slow it was, Matthew was patient, trying to figure out what was going to get you off. His tongue was lapping at your core slowly, smirking at the way you squirmed whenever he got close to your clit. Your hands were in his hair, curling his overgrown hair around your fingers. Matthew’s tongue flicked your clit, your soft grip on his curls tighter, “Fuck, sorry-”

“Keep tugging on them,” Matthew groans against you, the vibrations sending a chill up your spine. His fingers were digging into your thighs, undoubtedly leaving a mark to worry about later, but you didn’t care. Matthew was eating your pussy like it was his last fucking meal, growing harder from the way you were moaning his name. You were close, your hips lifting off the bed and Matthew’s hands against your stomach to keep you right where you were. The only sounds echoing through that house were the ones from your orgasm, washing over you while Matthew finally pulled away. His finger swiped your core, sucking your cum off his finger, “Fucking delicious…”

You could feel the heat on your cheeks, holding your arm over your face from Matthew’s praise. He let out a light laugh, pulling your arm down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t be insecure, when you’re with me you don’t have to be.”

You didn’t have a second to process his words, the way say with me like this was something meant to last more than a night, because Matthew’s lips were back on yours. Your hand snuck between you, palming him through his sweats and swallowing the groan with your lips, “I want to try something.”

Matthew’s brows raised, letting you push him onto his back without a fight. You’d never been the most confident in the bedroom, and you really never tried anything that wasn’t missionary, but something about Matthew’s praise had your head held high. You grind your hips against him, a smug smile on Matthew’s face, “You’ve never been on top before?”

You shook your head no, biting your lip and waiting for why have you had the most boring sex life imaginable laugh that should have followed. It never came, instead Matthew’s hands gripped your hips and lifted you up so he could kick off his sweats and boxers. His hand fell, searching through his bedside table for a condom, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling it onto his cock. He tapped your clit with the head, his thumb that was still gripping you was rubbing softly against your skin, “Whenever you’re ready babe.”

Matthew watched you sink yourself onto him slowly, biting his lip to stop himself from cumming too soon because this was hotter than anything he could have imagined. All of those fantasies included finding out you were secretly dirty as hell, but finding out you weren’t and the trust you seemed to give Matthew because he’d never done you wrong was even sexier. Matthew’s hands guided your hips slowly, his head thrown back from the pleasure, “Am I doing good?”

“You’re doing fucking wonderful baby,” Matthew groans, grabbing a fistful of your ass. You moan, falling forward and kissing Matthew’s jaw lightly. He threw his arm around your back, fucking up into you at faster pace, “I want you cum again, c’mon.”

“Matty, I-” You whimper, a protest that you didn’t think you had another one in you until your pussy clenched around him. Your legs were shaking, Matthew stopping himself before he got too rough with you. You caught your breath for a second, Matthew pushing your hair away from your face so he could kiss you. His kisses were gentle, a stark contrast from the fact that his cock was still buried inside of you. You tried to move, grind your hips against his to get him off like he’d just done to you, but your hips bucked from the sensitivity.

“Slow down babe,” Matthew hums, his large hand rubbing your back gently, “We’ll get there.”

Getting there wasn’t hard at all. Not after Matthew had you on your back so he could keep fucking you. You looked beautiful, moaning his own name below him like you’d never said anyone’s name like that. Matthew’s head was tucked into your neck, the sounds of his skin slapping against yours filling the room until he finally came with a loud groan.

When you finally came down from the after sex high, a realization washed over you. You’d had sex with your best friend’s brother. The same brother you’d spend years of your life with. Matthew walked into his bathroom, grabbing you a warm washcloth and a clean shirt from his closet. He got back into his room, glancing at the way you were looking around his room with his sheets over your chest unsure of whether or not you should leave. Matthew leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips, “I want you to stay.”

“You don’t have to let me-” You start to protest, a weird feeling in your chest you couldn’t quite describe. You were a relationship type, hook ups weren’t your playing field and you knew Matthew lived by them. You never forgot it either, the way he slugged back a beer and looked Brady and yourself dead in the eyes and told you he swore he wasn’t built to last more than a night. Matthew chuckles, cleaning you up and throwing his shirt over your frame. He laid down next to you, pulling you against his chest and kissing your shoulder.

“I want you to stay here,” Matthew assures you, smiling wide when you tucked yourself into his side.

Hey Matty?

Yeah?

Don’t tell Brady about this.

Secret’s safe with me Y/N.

[forlorn-crows]

Dew returning from Tour and has some soft and loving reunation (is that even a word? Its a word now.) sex with Aether.

I don't know why but I'm almost crying over happines from this thought.

listen, this could be softer, it could. but its dewther. and they're desperately horny for each other. so it goes as softly as it can. but it's all love, i promise.

crow once again demonstrating she doesn't know what the definition of a ficlet is...1.4k lmao

The scent of shampoo, cinnamon, and relief curls around Aether's nostrils as he hugs Dew tight to his chest. The little ghoul melts into him, breathing him in just as deeply. Smushing his cheek into his chest.

"Missed you, firefly," Aether mumbles into his hair, voice a little watery.

"So much," Dew replies. “So fucking much, Aethe.” The admission is only loud enough for the quintessence ghoul to hear. As always. 

They pull away just far enough to look at each other, like really look at one another’s faces. There’s nothing different, of course. Simultaneously familiar and foreign. 

“Hi,” Dew whispers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hi,” Aether grins back. They reach for each other again at the same time, the fire ghoul extending his arms towards his neck while Aether scoops him up by the waist, lifting him off the ground. Dew gives him a chaste kiss before burying his face into his neck, clinging. He hides behind his curtain of hair, pressing his lips to the quintessence ghoul’s ear, daring to scrape a fang against it.

"Now get your dick inside of me before I tear off your pants in front of everyone,” he says, low and suggestive.

Aether huffs a laugh into his shoulder. "So, I shouldnt bend you over the stair railing and fuck you right here?"

Dews knees admittedly go a little weak at the suggestion. If it weren’t for Aether still holding him up, he’d surely have stumbled. “No. Don’t want any of them right now. Just want you.”

Aether hums against his skin. A playful growl bubbles up after that, right before he hikes Dew up, throwing him over his shoulder. 

“I’ll be taking this one, ghouls and ghoulettes,” he calls over his shoulder. He doesn’t need to see Dew’s face to know he’s trying his hardest to scowl at the resounding laughter from the rest of them. 

The pouting doesn’t stay long, not when Aether brings him to his room, pushing him against the door as soon as it’s closed and pulling him into a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Dew whines through his nose, desperately grabbing at the front of the quintessence ghoul’s shirt. Restraining himself from tearing it off with his claws. He can’t make his fingers work anyway, not with the way Aether threads his big hands through the hair at the nape of his neck, guiding his face however he wants as he licks into his mouth with a groan.

He’s not sure he’s ever been this hard in his infernal life. 

“Need you,” Aether says simply. “Need you so fucking badly, Dewdrop.” The use of his full name sends a shiver down his spine, threatening once again to make his knees drop out from underneath him.

He whimpers, needy. “You too—fucking hell, get your clothes off.” Aether pulls away from him like he’s been burnt, shucking his shirt off with one hand and fumbling his waistband down with the other. Dew follows suit, yanking off his sweatshirt and tshirt at the same time, toeing off his shoes and nearly tripping over himself. Somehow, they hobble towards the bed without injury, clothes flying into the corner without care. 

Aether bullies the fire ghoul onto the bed as soon as they’re both bare, pushing him down onto the sheets and engulfing him with his body. Dew groans with it, canting his hips upwards as their cocks slot together. 

“Oh fuck—oh fuck,” Dew pants, nearly shaking as his hands grope at Aether’s back, his shoulders. 

“Mmpf—can we—wait, can I just—” Aether pulls back, propping himself up on his hands, chest heaving. “Can I just—let me look at you for a second?” It’s pleading, said through a gasp. His eyes are searching his face, roaming every inch of Dew’s body. 

The fire ghoul grips his arms. “Aethe, you just—”

“Please?” Their eyes meet, so much unsaid crossing between them in a fraction of a second.

Dew softens. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah that’s—okay.” He smooths his hands down Aether’s arms, stopping just under his elbows. He looks up at his mate, searching his expression. It’s almost pained—fang poking out as he bites his lip, brow furrowed, nose scrunching, eyes shining—but underneath it is disbelief, reverence. Love. 

“Fuck, Dew,” he sighs, a little bit of laughter bubbling up with it. “I can’t believe you’re here right now.”

The fire ghoul offers a small smile in return. “I’m here.” He rubs his thumbs back and forth across Aether’s skin, soothing. “Come down here?” The bigger ghoul obliges, slotting their bodies together once more. Dew sighs happily, tail thumping against the bed as he buries his face into Aether’s neck. 

The quintessence ghoul places kisses into Dew’s shoulder, really pressing his nose into his skin. He works his way down to his collarbone, teasing a little tongue and fang. Dew drops his head back down to the bed, groaning bodily. 

“Yes,” he breathes. He drops his hand into Aether’s hair, encouraging. He mouths at the hollow of his throat, nips along his sternum. “Fuck, Aether, yes.” The ghoul above him groans low before dragging his mouth over to a ringed nipple, sucking it into his mouth. 

Dew howls, a wrecked feminine sound that goes through the break in his voice. The hand in Aether’s hair tightens to a fist, ripping a groan from him too. But he keeps sucking, swirling the metal around his tongue, working the bud until it hardens in his mouth. 

“Satanas, you’re gonna kill me—please, Aethe—hn.” Dew’s cock kicks between them, no doubt already spurting precum onto his stomach. 

“Could spend all night doing this,” he admits before latching onto the other nipple. Sucking harder on purpose, abusing the sensitive flesh. 

“Please don’t,” Dew begs, twisting his other hand into the sheets. His cock kicks again, traitorously. 

“Won’t,” he mutters. “Can feel how hard you are.”  

“Want you,” the fire ghoul whines, bucking his hips into Aether. “Don’t make me wait.”

“No more waiting,” he agrees, running his hands down Dew’s torso. “Fuck, no more waiting,” he repeats, like he doesn’t believe himself. Dew guides his hand down between them, pulling his face back up with the other. Their lips seal together with a shared groan as Aether wraps his hand around them both, stroking from root to tip. 

“Fuck,” Dew nearly sobs. “Satanas, Aether—”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “So good, Dew, fuck you feel so good.” His knuckles brush against the pool of precum under the fire ghoul’s naval, making him groan. He coats his fingers, smearing it over them both and stroking again. 

Aether only gets in a few more strokes, a few more sloppy kisses before Dew’s pushing at him again with a whine. “Unholy shit, fuck me—please, need you inside me, s’ not enough.” The quintessence ghoul moves to press his fingers against Dew’s fluttering rim. Nearly ghosts them over the muscle before Dew’s gripping at his shoulder, claws digging into his skin.

“Don’t need it.”

“Dew—”

“Aether—”

“It’s gonna hurt if I don’t—”

“Aethe, for fucks sake.” He’s wild-eyed, desperate. Aether stares, fingers still hovering over his hole. Dew swallows. "You aren't gonna hurt me, Aethe.” He huffs out the tiniest laugh. “Please, I swear to Belial if you don’t get your dick inside of me—”

“Okay, okay.” He spreads Dew’s legs, settling more between them. He gives himself a stroke, long and luxurious, sighing. He indulges in a few pulls, smirking when he sees Dew ogling him with an open mouth. “You really want me that bad?”

“I’m gonna punch you.”

“Hm,” Aether hums, lining up the head to his—notably wet—hole. He groans. “Fuck, yeah, you want me bad, don’t you?” He grips Dew’s hip and dips inside before the other ghoul can get a chance to respond. It’s slick but it’s tight. “Oh Dew, that’s—” 

“Uh huh,” Dew gasps, shaking with it. “Fucking all the way, all the—”

Aether thrusts down to the hilt, both gasping. Dew’s eyes flutter shut, mouth dropping open as his little chest heaves with breathy moans. Aether holds onto his hips like they might drift apart if he doesn’t. 

And they sit there, unmoving, heavy exhalations and sounds of pleasure mingling in between each other. Aether sinks down slowly, melting back against his mate’s body, letting the smaller ghoul tuck himself into the space that feels designed just for him. He rests his forehead against Dew's, just reveling in the fact he's there, that they’re together again.

[potatoes-is-are-food]

Miss potatinha pls can I have Touya-nii getting cucked by his incel friend Shigaraki who he teased would neva have a gf, and is now fucking touyas sister? 🙏🙏

Here you go light of my life~ I hope it’s everything you wanted, it was definitely really fun to write. 

Warnings: slightly implied incest, Touya-nii being a meanie

“Touya-nii,” you softly tug at his sleeve, wince when he swats your hand away and tells you to wait, “but Touya-nii I have to go,” you whine. He glares at you.

“Wait until Keigo gets back,” he pulls you to sit on the armrest beside him, “I don’t want you two alone together.” You don’t ask why, you’ve seen the way his friends look at you. They said they wanted to be your friends, too, but Touya keeps you tethered to his side constantly, especially when Keigo is around. It’s like he doesn’t want you to talk to anyone that isn’t him.

It wouldn’t be so bad if your brother wasn’t so mean. He tells you you’re stupid, gives you spankings if you do something he doesn’t like, pinches your thighs, flicks at your chest, and gives you hickeys you can’t hide just because he can and likes to make you uncomfortable. Makes you “play wrestle” so he can grind his crotch into your body while you squirm and try to get away, just how he likes. He makes you cry and then tells you to suck it up while he lets you sit in his lap to “make up for it,” without saying sorry. Ever.

When the blonde comes back Touya lets you go, telling you which hallway to go through since this is Shigaraki’s house and you’ve never been. You nod, give his cheek a kiss when he tells you to, and scamper off to relieve your bladder.

Just as you’re closing the door on the way out you see his other friend, Tomura. He’s never worried about Tomura being around, he thinks he’s too creepy and you’ll cry for your nii-san if he tries anything. You don’t think he’s creepy, though. He’s a lot nicer than Touya. Honestly Keigo is the one that creeps you out when he tries to touch you and makes lewd comments to see you flustered. Shigaraki usually just stares a little but it doesn’t really seem like he knows he’s doing it.

You wonder if he’s nice to you because Touya is mean to him, too. You’ve heard him say Tomura couldn’t get a girlfriend if he paid someone and a bunch of other insults. He calls him crusty and says he’s gross, and one time you could’ve sworn you saw him wiping his eyes after Touya finished berating him.

He walks back with you into the main room where Touya and Keigo are laughing at something on one of their phones. When your brother sees you he gets up, pinching your cheek.

“We’re gonna go grab some beer. Play with Tomura or something, yeah?” You nod, not wanting to risk him spanking you in front of his friends again if you said no. He pats your head and heads out with the blonde, leaving you and Shigaraki alone; completely secure in the thought that he’ll come back to you awkwardly playing video games. Or maybe if he’s lucky crying for your nii-san because Tomura’s creepy ass tried to cop a feel.

The two of you end up playing some fps game, sitting in the floor next to each other mashing buttons while you murder your opponents in co-op. You’re not horrible but he’s definitely much better than you and it’s clear he’s completely carrying you through the matches. You keep sneaking glances over at him, admiring the focused expression on his face. It’s a similar expression to the one he has when he’s looking you up and down. You’re not stupid, you can tell when he’s leering at you but for some reason it’s more flattering when it’s him rather than creepy.

Victory flashes across the screen and you set down your controller, pulling your knees up to your chest. He throws his down and goes to the kitchen to grab an energy drink, taking a sip and then offering the can to you to try. Your cheeks burn as you press your lips to the same place his had just been, barely even tasting the liquid inside before handing it back and muttering a thank you.

“Wanna see my setup? It’s way better than the console.” You nod too fast, too enthusiastically, and follow him back down the hall and into his room. It’s gross, there’s empty cans all over the place and laundry covering every inch of the floor. Several hoodies are strewn across his unmade bed and you can’t help but wish you could put one on. You watch him and listen as he tells you about the monitor and how he customized all his stuff, but you don’t understand any of it, simply nodding along and happily taking another sip of his drink when he offers.

“Can I sit?” you ask softly, gesturing to his messy bed. He shrugs, clearly trying too hard to seem indifferent, and you sit, hand smoothing over the soft fabric of his jacket as you move it aside. He sets the can on another empty one on the desk and plops down beside you, much too close for comfort if he were anyone else. You wonder vaguely if your nii-san would make him move.

“You’re cute,” he says bluntly, and you nearly squeak, face burning as you manage a small nod in thanks. He grins widely, gripping your shoulders and looking at you intensely, “So do you wanna go out?” his fingers are digging into you but all you can do is nod again, leaning eagerly when he comes closer until you’re clumsily pressing your lips together.

He almost immediately shoves his tongue down your throat, cupping your face too hard and smushing your face against his. You tangle your fingers in his hair, whimpering when he moves his hands to pinch at your hips and thighs. You cling to him as he pushes you onto your back, his old mattress squeaking loudly under you as he swings a leg over to straddle you, never breaking the kiss.

He tastes like the energy drink, his hair is greasy when your fingers run through it, and you’re pretty sure your head is resting on one of the many questionable stains littering his bed, but you’re elated. Both of you. He gropes harshly at your chest, frantically shoving your shirt up to paw at your nipples, pinching them roughly as he groans into your mouth.

You whimper when he bites your lip, and he pulls away smirking down at your trembling body. His eyes lock onto your chest and he yanks your shirt completely off before setting his sights on the rest of your clothes. You pull him into another kiss while he clumsily works off your pants, pulling them and your underwear, leaving you completely naked and him with everything on.

Blood rushes into your cheeks as he pins your arms, hungrily looking over your bare form as though he’s unsure where to start now that he’s got you. You shyly cross your arms over your chest but he takes and pins your wrists above your head, kissing you briefly before dipping down to your chest. His tongue flicks against your hardened nipple, his free hand pinching at the other one as he starts to suckle the soft flesh. He releases your wrists to grip your thigh, pulling your leg out from under him. You get the hint and wrap them around his waist, the fabric of his t-shirt grazing your clit just enough to make you jump at the contact.

He leans back and pulls his shirt over his head, letting it join the mountains of others on the floor. His eyes lock onto your pussy and his tongue trails along his lip. You’re not sure he’s even aware he’s doing it. Without a word, he delves between your legs, excitedly licking you with no technique or regard for how it feels, merely wanting to taste. You squirm and his arms wrap around your thighs, pinning you as he laps at your folds. His clumsy movements against your clit are enough to send you over the edge, and you grip his hair as you cum, crying his name as your back arches.

He wipes his chin off with one of the random articles of clothing scattered under you and flings it to the floor, crawling over you and latching onto your neck. His cock springs free as he shoves his pants down, bouncing slightly before weighing heavily down. Bigger than you’d imagined, and you’d thought you were generous. You catch him smirk at your reaction, giving it a few pumps for your viewing pleasure.

He lines up the drooling head of his cock and presses slightly in, gathering slick on it before pushing in the rest of the way. The stretch has your eyes rolling back into your head and soft whimpers leaving your lips. His head bumps your cervix as his hips meet yours and you let out a guttural moan, head flopping back onto his bed.

“Fuck,” he groans, looking down at the sight of his pubes pressed flush against your folds. He gives a few experimental thrusts, marveling at how much your walls cling and twitch around him. You moan softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and drawing him into another kiss as he starts to really move. He’s rough, like you expected, hips rolling against yours almost frantically as he fucks you into his mattress.

You’re moaning and panting into each other’s mouths moreso than actually kissing, gripping at limbs as though you’re both worried it isn’t really happening. The bed groans and the headboard smacks against the wall, bed springs squeaking loudly, however it’s not loud enough to drown out either of your moans.

For a time he leans back and smiles wildly at you, not attempting to hide his excitement. His pace is uneven and rapid, borderline inhuman. He grips your hips to keep you in place as he uses you like a toy, immediately stooping to kiss you when you give his arm a little, needy tug. He’s perceptive, trailing a hand gently along your cheek when you cling to him, still reaming you without pause.

Your tongues twirl together as his hands come up to press yours into the bed, fingers interlocked as his thrusts get more animalistic. Tears prick at your eyes, his rough treatment and the friction from his hair pushing you closer to the edge again. As though able to read your mind, he trails a hand down your body, pinching and groping his way to your clit and rolling it in his inexperienced fingers.

You can tell he’s close, his hips sputter and he groans, shoving his face into your neck to suck at your skin and muffle his noises. His treatment of your clit gets rougher, the puffy nub’s abuse bringing you to orgasm. Your eyes roll back in your head and you cry out just as the door opens, giving your brother a front row seat to your O face.

Touya’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates at the sight, Keigo’s immediately doing the same but accompanied by a massive grin. They watch as Tomura groans, unaware of their presence, spilling himself inside as your cunt milks him for all he’s worth. He presses into you deeply, humping his cum against your cervix with a shudder before he collapses on top of you, panting.

You tremble under him, grateful for his body covering yours as your face burns. You shake him slightly and he grunts in response, muffled in your neck. He looks up after a second, concerned at your expression before he turns, face going completely white.

Tomura locks eyes with Touya, both completely at a loss for words. Keigo looks over all your exposed skin he can see, ecstatic look still plastered over his face. You’re looking anywhere except at your nii-san or Keigo, trying not to cry as you pull one of his numerous hoodies over your chest.

“Uh,” Tomura starts, “we got along fine. How was the beer run?” You think you can hear Touya’s brain implode.

[infinitebells]

annoying: chapter 4

iwaizumi hajime has hated you, his assistant athletic trainer, since he knew you in high school. you on the other hand have bothered him for fun for as long as you knew him, not realizing your romantic feelings for him had manifested in that way. what happens when you two blockheads finally come to terms with how you feel?

“yakuuu how far away are we?” your head pokes through the space between the two front seats, and you can hear yaku scoff as he drives.

“like ten minutes. so sit back and be patient,” his right hand comes back and pushes your face back. pouting, you sit back and rest your head on atsumu’s shoulder. he chuckles besides you and lays his arm over your shoulder, craning his head to talk to yaku in the mirror.

“yakkun are you designated driver?” you, bokuto, and atsumu are hopeful you won’t have to stay sober tonight.

“well obviously, we are taking my car. i don’t trust any of you idiots to drive it,” his eyes stay on the road as he talks.

“yakkun! i could drive your car if i wanted to!” bokuto protests, and you can hear the slight whine in his voice as he speaks. atsumu snickers quietly at his tone, turning to press his face into your hair to try and be quiet. it doesn’t work.

“even piss head is laughing at the idea of you driving my car,” yaku gestures to the back, and you turn your head into atsumu’s shoulder to hide from bokuto’s scathing glare the the two of you.

“you’re both traitors,” his unnecessarily even voice is what pushes you and atsumu over, and you two dissolve into loud laughs with snorts mixed in occasionally.

“we love you bo!!” you lean forward and clasp one hand over each of his cheeks, smushing his face together and shooting him a wide smile. he awkwardly smiles at the position his face is in before pulling back and frowning slightly at you.

“mean. both of you,” he faces the road in spite, and you can see yaku’s shoulders shake as he just barely holds his own laughs in. after a couple more minutes of navigating, yaku pulls into a garage right next to the bar, announcing you guys have arrived.

“yayyy drinking time!” you happily skip through the covered garage, your dress fluttering around you.

“if you throw up you’re not allowed in my car,” yaku calls out from behind you, and you wave your hand back in acknowledgment. atsumu and bokuto catch up to you, atsumu walking on your right and bokuto on your left.

“it’s like i have two big beefy bodyguards. how exciting,” your eyebrows wiggle up seductively at the two of them, and atsumu snort with no hesitation.

“yeah just one. ya can have bokkun,” he pushes you towards bokuto, who just barely manages to catch you before you fall. he slings his arm over your shoulder, pulling your side into his body and glaring at atsumu.

“good cuz you don’t deserve to guard her anyways,” sticking his tongue out at atsumu, he pulls you closer and kisses the top of your head. your glare matches his, and as yaku comes to walk with you three, he looks equally annoyed with you and bokuto.

“why do you look like that piss head? you’re gonna be drunk soon anyways. i have to deal with the idiots while sober,” he grumbles, leading the way to the bar.

“why are ya always so mean yakkun! we’re friends here!” atsumu calls out as yaku reaches the door of the bar.

“you three are the children i babysit,” he says with a tired sigh before yanking the door open for the four of you to enter.

“l/n-san!” hinata’s voice carries over the staggering amount of patrons in the bar, and your eyes fall on the bubbly orange headed middle blocker across the bar. ushijima, kageyama, suna, and aran accompany the boy, and aran looks like he’s already three drinks in. you would be too if hinata was that energetic.

“hinata!!” you maneuver through the crowd, making your way over to the table they reserved and giving him a hug.

“i’m here too you know,” suna’s voice stands out in the relatively loud bar, and you look over hinata’s shoulder to glare at him.

“really? i didn’t see you behind all that shit attitude. congrats on winning by the way,” you turn back to hinata, squeezing him one last time before saying hi to everyone else.

“how come hinata gets a hug?” atsumu whines from across the table.

“because he’s the only person besides bokuto who’s nice to me,” you tell him, setting your purse down before sliding out of the chair. “i’m going to get a drink does anyone want to come with me?”you look around, realizing that komori and hoshiumi weren’t there yet.

“i suppose i will,” suna groans as he gets up, pushing you towards the bar.

“you sound so excited to do so,” you quip back, slapping his hand off of your shoulder. he smirks, leaning against the bar as you order yourself three shots of tequila.

“jesus how drunk are you trying to get?” he frowns as the bartender comes back with three identical shot glasses filled to the brim with the amber liquid.

“enough to forget my problems,” you cut yourself off by throwing your head back and downing one of the shots in record time. suna watches as you finish the second one the exact same way, and as you reach out to grab the third, a voice floats towards the two of you.

“...guys what’s up?” you freeze, turning around slightly to see iwaizumi talking to the team, hinata waving excitedly at him. he’s dressed in similar clothes to all the others guys, dark pants and a light blue button up, sleeves cuffed at his forearms. he looks offensively attractive.

“if you stare any longer you’ll burn holes into him,” suna whispers loudly in your ear, forcing you to bat his face away before turning back towards the bar.

“i wasn’t staring. i was looking at how stupid hot he looks,” you mumble under your breath, eyeing the shot in your hands. as the edge of the glass touches your lips and the fiery liquid reaches your tongue, you feel a presence make itself known behind you. you opt to ignore the presence until after your shot is finished.

“hey suna,” the liquid turns bitter in your mouth at the voice, but you force the shot down anyways before turning to see iwaizumi shake hands with suna. upon noticing you next to him, his eyes widen slightly before returning back to normal, a scowl painted across his face.

“l/n-san,” his voice is low, and the alcohol is already muddling your senses, so you can’t help the warm feeling crawling across your face.

“iwaizumi-san. always a pleasure,” your voice is even, and you smirk at the man before turning back to the bar and ordering another two shots.

“are you trying to kill yourself here? is that what’s going on? do i need to get yaku?” suna just about cancels your order, but you grab the glass closest to him and down your fourth shot of the night. you’re well aware taking so many shots in a row will definitely have you plastered, but the familiar warmth that comes with intoxication is already seeping through your brain and relaxing your senses.

“i’m fine sunarin, i’m having fun! i got two hot boys to keep me company anyways,” the words fall out before you can process them, so you miss the way iwaizumi’s stare hardens on you. suna scoffs, watching pathetically from the sidelines as you finish your fifth shot.

“i’m praying you’re taking about bokuto and atsumu,” he says, ordering himself a beer. lord knows he’ll need it if he’s going to deal with you tonight.

“obviously i’m talking about you two!” you giggle, winking at iwaizumi, who flushes bright red. suna sighs before tugging on your arm and pulling you back to the table.

“you should learn to keep your mouth shut,” he says as he sits you down next to atsumu before sitting on the other side of him. you’re unaware of how iwaizumi sits on the other side of suna.

“what’d she do this time?” atsumu takes a gulp of beer before turning back to you.

“i said iwaizumi was hot and sunarin got mad. i don’t know why though, he’s a very attractive person, and he’s got veryyy big arms. have you seen them? i’d let him choke me,” you grab a random glass of water on the table to sip on. suna and atsumu giggle to themselves as iwaizumi moves into you, glaring at you from across the table.

“hajime!!” your drunk self stumbles out of your chair and onto the empty chair right next to him. your arm moved up to rest on his shoulder.

“what are you doing?” he moves to lean back as you lean forward, but your hand catches his chin so you can speak. both atsumu and suna were watching with wide eyes at the sight before them. aran and ushijima were engaged in their own conversation, with kageyama snoozing quietly on ushijima’s shoulder. hinata, now accompanied by hoshiumi and komori, have joined bokuto and yaku on the dance floor.

“i’m asking if you want to dance with me!” you finish with a wide smile, giggling out of habit. he fidgets in his seat at the sight.

“i don’t dance,” his voice is even, strained.

“then maybe you should follow me into the bathroom and i can show you different moves,” your smile drops to something more alluring as you stand up shakily and walk towards the bathroom, not waiting for his reply. next to him, suna and atsumu are practically bursting at the seams with laughter.

masterlist

taglist: @babyoomi @honeysunny @halesandy @autumnandhotchocolate @velociraptorenthusiast @fluffyviciousbunny @darlingkuroo @youtuboo @b0bablinds @nerdynstoned @jovialweaselskeletonfan @amboisez @bbyhaji @astral-vroom @miwtze @seijqhigh @mrswhitethornbelikov @atsumubabe @lvrkuroo @navymacaroons

[love-patient-0s-writing-world]

Happy Birthday Shuichi!

Class: SFW

CW: Suggestive Scene, Implied Handjob/Sex

Word Count: 761

Note: Sorry this late but I am the biggest simp for him and I am not ashamed to say that.💜 This is really bad I’m so sorry, I may take it down later out of embarrassment.

You woke up to a warm weight on your entire body, when you opened your eyes you never wanted to close them again. Shuichi’s face was smushed against your chest, soft snores coming from him as he continued to sleep peacefully. A soft smile crept onto your face as you gently ran your fingers through his hair lightly scratching his scalp. He let out a little groan as he snuggled further into your chest. You giggled quietly at his actions that you’re sure he’ll be flustered by later, “Shuichiii~ it’s time to wake up~” you said in a sing song voice. Another groan left him as he lazily moved his head, resting his chin on your chest. He had a sleepy smile as he looked up at you “Morning (Y/N)” his voice was thick with sleep. “Good morning birthday boy~” he looked a little confused before his eyes widened a bit “I thought my birthday was tomorrow...” His face turned red as he buried his head back into your chest, how could he forget his own birthday?! 

You slowly sat up so he was sitting on your lap, gently coaxing his head to leave your chest. The blanket fell off his shoulders when he straightened out, that’s when you noticed that he wasn’t wearing a shirt...or pants. “Seems like you got home late, huh?” his work clothing was hanging haphazardly on the chair in the corner. His head tilted to the side “I did, but how can you tell?” his mind was still a bit foggy from waking up a few minutes ago. Both of your hands went to run up and down his sides, you gave a soft pinch and his breath hitched. His cheeks that had finally cooled down flared up again. “I-I was really tired...” he mumbled out. 

You cupped his pink cheeks and he melted against your palms. He leaned in to connect your lips and wrapped his arms around your neck, at first the kiss was feather soft and innocent but as the seconds passed it got more heated. Your hands dropped down to rest on his hips. Eventually you two had to separate for air, resting against the others forehead and taking in deep breaths. “We should probably go take a shower.” He just nodded not really making an effort to move, so you tap his legs letting him know he needs to get off of you. He followed you to your shared bathroom. He turned away from you when you started stripping off your clothes even though you two are about to shower together.

He stared in the mirror and looked at the now faded marks that littered his entire body, it wasn’t a secret to you that he loves being marked up and seeing them everyday when he changes. Your arms wrapped around his waist and made eye contact with him through the mirror. “Looks like I need to freshen up your marks again~” you pressed your lips against his shoulder right on top of a love bite you left. “But that’ll have to wait for tonight baby” a little whine escaped his throat. You gently dragged him into the shower, the warm water allowing his muscles to relax as he pulled you into a hug that you wouldn’t want to escape from. Your hand reached for the shampoo as he continued to melt into your embrace “I need you to turn around honey.” How could resist the sweet tone you used when asking him for something so simple. Snaking your shampoo covered fingers into his hair and scratching his scalp lightly. You’d end up accidentally tugging on his hair every now and then but he didn’t mind if his breathy moans had anything to say about it. 

Once you finished washing his hair, you grabbed the soaped up luffa and began to scrub his back. Resting your chin on his shoulder as your arms wrapped around him to scrub the front of his body. You could feel his heart beat a mile a minute against your hand, as your hands slowly made their way down his body. “You’re rather worked up despite me not touching you all that much.” a teasing tone in your voice. “Dont worry I’ll take care of you, my birthday boy~” you accentuated your point by softly biting his shoulder. “Oooh y-yes please.” Once that echoed out you started smiling against his skin as your hand slid down further. That wasn’t the only gift you were going to give him, after all it was still the early morning.

Apologies for not posting any writing for a long while but I’m going to try harder! Remember to drink water, eat something and get plenty of rest! Feel free to return whenever you want traveler, take care!💜

~Love Patient 0

[babyyhoneyydarling]

Video Girl

pairing: steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes

warnings: nsfw 18+, swearing, daddy kink, praise kink, recording of sexual acts, oral sex (m receiving) and unprotected sex.

word count: 1,865

summary: Daddy Bucky has to leave for a couple days and you aren’t very happy about it but you won’t let it stop you from having some fun of your own with Daddy Steve with the intention of making sure Bucky knows what he’s missing.

notes: Co-written by @ballyhoobarnes ! I gave her a 760 word rough draft and she worked her magic doctoring it up. Hope y’all enjoy xo

You pout as you watch Bucky leave through the door, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach settles when you watch the door close. You sigh, twiddling your thumbs while rocking back and forth on your feet; you have been glued to Bucky's side lately. You know it's not nice to play favorites, but the feeling of his cool metal arm against your warm skin, or the way his hair tickles your face when you're lying with him; it gives you butterflies in your tummy.

You tried to coerce Bucky into staying with you and Steve the rest of the night, running your fingers through his scalp, cuddling with him, and giving him puppy-dog eyes. Yet, here you were, standing at the front door almost expecting him to bounce back inside the cozy apartment the three of you shared.

Steve's large and warm hands come in contact with your shoulders, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before he's crooning it to look at you. "What is it, sweetheart?" His voice is gentle, noting your pout as you shrug your shoulders unconvincingly.

"I miss Bucky." You answer, sulking as you turn in his arms as you wrap yourself around his torso. Steve chuckles, feeling the vibrations against the cheek you've smushed against his chest. "C'mon, let's go to the couch and cuddle. I'll play with your hair all night." Steve suggests and that brings a small smile to your face as you nod. You let Steve lead you into the living room and onto the large and plush couch, setting himself down before pulling you into his arms.

Steve becomes a good distraction, for an hour at most before you're pulling a face again. "Are you still upset, sweet girl?" Steve whispers and you let out a sigh, feeling bad that Steve is left to stress over you when Bucky is gone. You turn to look at him, mulling over your thoughts as you chew on your lip when an idea pops into your head. Steve narrows his eyes at you, knowing the look you get in your eyes when you're scheming.

He shifts, turning his body until he's locked in your gaze. "What's goin' on up there, sweetheart?" Steve asks with a smirk and finds you looking up at him with big doe eyes, looking like a kid in a candy store pleading for their mother to buy them the largest lollipop they've ever set their eyes on. You don't answer him right away, instead, you place yourself on his lap.

Steve invites you, hands going to rest on your ass, your arms on his shoulders. You bite your lip, unsure of how he'll react to your idea. Still, the fire kindling inside of you was reason enough to part your lips and tell Steve your thoughts. "Well," you begin, averting your eyes from his.

"Since I'm so upset about Daddy Bucky leavin', I was wonderin'..." Your voice trails off, feeling slightly on display as Steve's ocean-blue eyes stare right through you. "Go on," he whispers, the slight bulge in his pants encouraging enough as you giggle softly. "I was wonderin' if I could suck you off, Daddy. But while you film it for Bucky." You finish confidently watching as Steve's eyes cloud with lust, his cock jumping under you.

"And then maybe you could fuck me, real good, like you always do. And we could send that too. You know, to show him what he's missin'." You mumble, eyes never leaving Steve's as you feel him get harder and harder with each word that passes through your lips. "Fuck, sweetheart." He groans, grinding your hips against his lightly. "You wanna be a good girl and show Daddy Bucky what he's missin'? Show him how well you can use that pretty little mouth?" Steve grumbles, cock straining against you as you nod your head fervently. You get up from his lap and sink to your knees between his legs.

"Shit," Steve hisses as you palm him through his pants, he’s grabbing his phone and fumbling with it as he tries to unlock it so he can record you sucking him off. He hastily hits record, eyes glueing themselves to you as you pull his cock free from its confines. You wrap your lips around him, licking him slowly as he fights against closing his eyes in pleasure because Steve needs to watch this happening in order to believe it.

"Such a good girl, so fuckin' good." He praises as you take him down further, keeping your eyes trained on the camera lens. You coat him with your saliva, taking him down further and further, fighting your gag reflex as tears start to brim your eyes. You breathe through your nose, swallowing him until your nose bumps the well-groomed hair at his pelvis.

You bob your head, gasping for air before your mouth is back on him. Your hands are by your sides, hovering over to his thighs before you stop them. No touching, both Steve and Bucky's words echo in your head as you remind yourself of their rules. "You can use your hands, sweetheart. You're bein' such a good girl." Steve assures you and you obey him.

You start by placing your hands on his muscular thighs, using it as leverage as you continue to deep throat him. You watch as Steve throws his head back occasionally when you flex your mouth around him, moving your hands to his balls. You massage them lightly, adding the slightest bit of pleasure knowing Steve loved it.

Your actions paid off as Steve let out a guttural groan, his thighs beginning to quiver as his cock twitches in your mouth. "Oh fuck, gonna cum sweetheart." His voice is so low, the sound of it sending shocks to your pussy as you moan around him. "Gonna let me cum right in your mouth, hmm? Yeah, you're Daddy's good girl." Steve breaths, chest undulating rapidly as you work him with your hands.

You stick your tongue out, placing the tip of his head flat against it before Steve cums. His abdomen clenches, thighs shaking as he spurts thick ropes of hot cum down your throat as you keep your eyes locked on the phone. You moan at the taste, letting it fall down your throat before you wrap your lips around his tip to clean him off.

Steve opens his dark eyes, grabbing your jaw, "open." The command is simple and you do as you're told, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out as Steve hums in content. "Such a good girl, finishing every last drop." Steve compliments as you give the camera a big smile. "Tasted so good, Daddy." You hum as Steve groans softly under his breath, stopping the video.

His fingers work quickly, making sure to attach the video before his thumb is working quick to hit send.

She wants you to know that she's being a good girl while you’re gone and also to let you know what you’re missing out on ;)

Steve is quick to lock the phone, grabbing it in one large hand while the other is already ushering you up the stairs and in the bedroom. Your heart is racing, excitement coursing through you as you rub your thighs together lightly. "Can you get on the bed, sweetheart? I wanna make sure to get a good angle." Steve asks and you nod your head, scampering onto the bed and sitting on your knees.

The smile on Steve's face is soon gone as he turns his head to position the phone perfectly angled towards you, the record button being hit as fast as the phone allows it before Steve is stalking his way to your figure sitting in the middle of the King sized bed. Clothes are discarded, dropping onto the floor carelessly before Steve is grabbing your ankles and yanking you down closer to him. He drapes his body over yours, enormous hands grabbing at your breasts, jaw, and throat as his lips work against yours.

They're soft and taste like strawberries and coffee, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he's gliding his tongue over it to soothe it. Hot kisses are exchanged, his tongue against yours as your fingers tug at his roots, the sound of moans filling the room. You turn your head head to the camera when Steve's lips are on your neck, the moans you're giving almost pornographic hoping to leave Bucky fuming as he grips his phone.

You pull away from Steve quickly, lips swollen and hair disheveled before you're turning to plant your chest against the mattress with your ass in the air. "Can I have it like this, Daddy?" You ask sweetly and Steve groans, unable to say no to you. "Of course, sweetheart." He chuckles, warm hands grabbing at your hips to pull your ass closer to him. You feel his cock against your ass before his tip is gliding through your folds, teasing you.

"You're bein' such a good girl, so good for your Daddies." Steve says, making sure to emphasize the last part before he's plunging deep inside of you. Your warm and tight cunt welcomes him as you scream, face buried in the white sheets as he stretches you so well. His thrusts were meticulous, rubbing his tip against your sweet spot as you let out whimpers and screams.

"Feel so good wrapped around my cock, baby. Can't wait to cum deep 'side you." Steve grunted as the sound of your moan, slapping skin, and grunts echoed off the walls and into the phone; etched into memory forever. "Harder, Daddy!" You moan, whimper as you fist at the white sheets feeling your orgasm forming in the pit of your tummy. Steve growls, holding your hips impossibly tight as fingernails digging smooth crescent shapes into your skin as you feel the coil rupture.

You come with a shout, eyes wrung shut and mouth agape as Steve's hips stutter before stilling, spilling inside of you for the second time that night. You're panting, shuddering as you feel Steve pulling out of you only to angle the camera on your ass to get a good look at his cum leaking out of your swollen and spent pussy. You moan, feeling his fingers spread your lips.

"You fucked me so good, Daddy." You giggle in a post-sex haze, locking your eyes with the camera lens as you purse your lips. Steve stops the recording before joining you again in the bed; pulling you into his lap not caring about anything but the need to feel you close. Your eyes skim the bubbles, reading Bucky's text message.

Fucking hell Stevie, couldn't you two wait until I got home? Or do I need to punish the both of you when I get back?

Your stomach flips in excitement, a new wave of wetness rolling over you as you moan softly against Steve's shoulder. His arm is wrapped around you, holding you close as the other hand is expertly typing out a message, attaching the video before hitting send.

Guess you're not gonna like this one, Buck….

Feedback is welcome and appreciated! Please go show @ballyhoobarnes some love, she is a fantastic writer! ily babes <3

[midoriyas-wifey]

Seamen

Pairing: TodoBaku x fem!Reader

Rating: E

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: uh none, dubcon if you squint???

Kinks: spitroasting and deep throating

Meowdy everyone I decided to do a todobaku x reader set in a pirate AU because it’s fun, i like the thought of stinky pirate captains fucking me stupid, and also bc i said so. Shameless PWP, i cant seem to write anything else lmao

“I have to say Bakugou, this could be the first time we’ve seen eye to eye.” Shoto shot him a somewhat smug look, prompting the other man to give a derisive snort.

“Yeah, well don’t get too comfortable,” Despite his prickly demeanor, he as well had a smug look, reaching his hand down to caress their silent pet’s chest, giving a light squeeze. His little lover gave a tiny squeak, causing both men to chuckle. Never had he thought this, but for once he was excited to share. He couldn’t wait for Y/N to be screaming their names.

Shoto just waved his hand dismissively, brushing off Bakugou’s typical surliness. He stalked over to their lover, taking her chin in his hand. He swiped away some of the drool that had trailed down her chin from the tight gag in her mouth. Didn’t want the crew hearing, did they? Well actually… they wouldn’t necessarily mind letting their crew know that Y/N belonged to them.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed at the double sensation of both Bakugou and Shoto’s attention. She was already trembling with anticipation, and they had barely started. Both noticed, and devilish smiles, all teeth, spread across their faces.

“So sensitive… you naughty little tease.” Shoto crooned, chucking under her chin with rarely seen affection, though it was somewhat tempered by the condescension of the gesture. Meanwhile Bakugou had stroked his fingers over her hair, taking a firm grip and pulling her head back.

He leaned down, peppering kisses and nips down her throat, barely there, just teasing. Bakugou grew impatient, suddenly pulling apart her thin blouse, exposing her breasts to the damp and cool air on the ship. Her delicious looking nipples tightened and perked up, much to the satisfaction of both the men.

Bakugou’s rough and tanned fingers slowly stroked down, and then firmly pinched one sensitive nipple, causing her to arch and cry out. She could do nothing but whimper, as her arms were bound with rope behind her back.

Shoto had grown tired of waiting as well, so he picked her up and tossed her onto the makeshift mattress. 

“Oi, don’t try and hog her!” Bakugou griped, but he wasn’t truly upset. He could nearly smell the arousal on Y/N, as they had kept her tied up on the chair for hours, just leaving her with the aching knowledge that at any time they would return and fuck her senseless. She had been so desperate that she left a slick spot on the chair she was in moments ago.

Both rushed at her, wanting to rip off her clothes as fast as possible. Bakugou kneeled down between her legs, ripping apart the flimsy trousers she always wore. She wasn’t wearing any undergarments, so her slick cunny was exposed to them. She weakly tried to close her legs, face flushing in humiliation at how wet she was. Neither of them tolerated that for a second, easily prying open her legs. Bakugou stroked her entrance up and down, occasionally dipping in and flicking her clit.

“Please…” She whined, tossing her head back.

“Please… what, pet? You’re gonna have to be more specific.” Shoto purred, his own dick rising at the thought of her gagging and crying around it. 

“Please stuff me ‘til I can’t walk!” she wailed, thighs trembling in desperation.

“We wouldn’t dream of doing anything else, princess.” Bakugou crooned, opening his own trousers and discarding his hat. Neither of them bothered to remove their elegant coats, as they knew she loved the feeling of the fabric and buttons rubbing against her soft skin. Bakugou easily flipped her over, and pulled up her hips until she was on her knees. However, because her hands were still tied up, her face was smushed into the bed below.

“Bakugou, untie her wrists, I wanna see that pretty mouth of hers take in my dick.”

Said man pulled out a dagger from his coat and sliced off the bindings, letting her arms fall to her sides. Because she had had them tied all day, they were extremely sore and tingling. There was no way she could support herself enough to swallow down the dual-haired captain. Not that he cared.

Both of the men kneeled in back and in front of her respectively. Shoto pulled himself out, stroking himself a few times and spreading precum over his flushed and sensitive head. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her to eye level with his slick, heavy dick bobbing in front of her face and pressing on her lips.

“Suck,” He commanded, using his captain’s tone which brooked no arguments. She obediently took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue over him. He pulled her down even further, pushing back into her throat, his balls pressed against her chin. She gagged slightly, her throat desperately swallowing and flexing around him. He started up a fast rhythm and reached down to feel the bulge of where his dick was fucking into her throat, over and over. Cute gurgling sounds she couldn’t hold back filled the air, her mouth just as juicy as her cunt.

Meanwhile, Bakugou had lined himself up with her wet little cunny, before quickly sheathing himself balls-deep inside her, no gentleness to be found.

“Oh fuuuck, princess,” He panted, “You’re so tight around me. I bet you love being filled by both of us, don’t you? Letting us spitroast you, slut? Hah?”

She whined around Shoto’s dick, prompting him to pull more harshly on her locks and groan.

“Yes… just like that, pet.” He whispered, caught up in his own pleasure.

Both men were rutting into her ruthlessly, dragging and pushing her back and forth between them. No mercy, no consideration, just fucking to reach their ends as fast as they could. And she loved every second of it.

Something about being their fuck toy just drove her crazy, and as she thought about it, her cunny clenched in ecstasy around Bakugou, prompting him to grip her hips even tighter and grind against her plush ass.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, “I’m so fucking close, squeeze around me again, slut.”

She did as she was told, and with a few final thrusts, he emptied himself inside her with a roar, still rocking against her slowly, riding out his orgasm to the last drop.

Y/N screamed at the sensation of his dick filling her to the brim with his hot cum; but he wasn’t done with her yet. His rough fingers came down to toy with her clit, relentlessly rolling and tugging on the sensitive little pearl. “C’mon, cream on my dick, do it, fucking DO IT!” That was enough to send her over the edge, pussy clutching him so tightly he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

Like a series of dominoes, this also triggered Shoto’s orgasm, his pet’s screams becoming too much around him. He grabbed her hair tighter than before, fucked his dick down into her throat, and then released into her sweet mouth. She gagged, the salty cum filling her mouth and trailing down her throat. He slowly pulled out of her mouth, groaning in sensitivity and the last dregs of his climax.

Shoto’s pale hand covered her swollen lips, with a sinful whisper of, “Swallow me, don’t let one drop spill out.”

She whimpered and nodded, gulping down his release with a shudder. He released his hand, letting her take in some much-needed air. She collapsed forward, head resting on his thighs, panting heavily.

Both Bakugou and Shoto began gently petting over her soft skin, Shoto stroked his fingers gently over her hair and used the tips of his fingers to dig down and scritch her scalp, while the explosive captain massaged her ass and trailed his fingers down her spine.

Words of encouragement flowed from their lips, telling her how good she did, how wonderful she felt around them. How much they adored her tight mouth and pussy…

They both met each other’s eyes, smirking once more.

“We can’t wait to do this again tonight, pet.” Shoto crooned. At that promise, a whimper escaped her as a shudder ran through her body. Tonight? Again?! Would these men ever be satiated? She doubted it.

[tamakissimp]

headcanons - s/o with an infant sister

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: You suddenly show up with your infant sister at school. 

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤: Kirishima, Shinso, Bakugou and Mirio

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: cursing, fluff

𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥: by anon. see here

𝕜𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕞𝕒:

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟜𝟘𝟠

a/n: i have no fucking clue how to interact with a baby so this was...fun to write

This man highkey has a thing for domestic stuff. So seeing you with a child makes his mind go into overdrive.

He will be slightly hurt that he only finds out now that you have a sister but he can't help but be excited.

After he found out that you have a sister, he will spoil her to death. He weekly gifts her shark-themed plushies and toys. His spoiling gets to a point where you have to tell him off about it.

But all he needs to do is show his big puppy-dog eyes and you can't deny him. So now 99% of your sister wardrobe are red articles of clothing gifted by Kirishima.

Just never ask him to babysit her for you, he can barely take care of himself.

To say he was surprised was an understatement. Seeing most of class 1-A fawning a baby was weird. Seeing you holding said baby was even weirder. How did you even get a baby?

"Kiri," you call out happily. You grab a hold of your sister's hand and wave at Kirishima using her hand. Her chubby finger around yours as she happily squeals. The poor thing didn't know what was going on. All she knew that there was a hoard of teenagers showering her in love and attention.

Kirishima takes quick strides towards you, pushing away his classmates. He bows down slightly so that he is eye level with your sister.

"Now who's this little pebble we got here?" he asks. You sister makes grabby hands towards him and he happily lets he grab ahold of one of his fingers.

"My sister!" you say happily. Confusion washes over Kirishima. You never mentioned that you had a sister.

"Oh," he says. He tries not to let his slight disappointment show as he lifts his free hand up to rub over your sister's chubby cheeks. Why didn't you tell him you had a sister?

His disappointment didn't last long though. His red eyes look up at you. A surreal glow seems to have formed itself around you. The sight of you with a little bundle of joy in your arms makes his heart swell up.

Kirishima would be lying to say that he hadn't fantasized of starting a family of his own. And now, seeing how beautiful and calm you looked with a child in your arms, he was sure. He doesn't hesitate before peppering soft kisses onto your cheeks.

"Kiri!" you say as you nudge him slightly. Even now, you went out of your way to make sure that your sister could remain in your arms comfortably. You turn slightly to push Kirishima off of you using your back.

"Baby, I'm sorry," he says as he turns you to face him again. You simply roll your eyes at him and ignore him, choosing to talk with Mina instead. Unsurprisingly, your pink friend couldn't stop cooing at your sister from the moment she saw her.

Kirishima stays still, not wanting to annoy you further when you are supposed to be caring off your sister. Though that doesn't stop him from making heart eyes at you. His heart swells at the sight of his domestic fantasies being fulfilled. God, he was whipped.

𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕠:

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟛𝟛𝟞

Shinso and babies don't mix well. He has no one how to act around them or what to do. It's the next level of awkwardness.

However, seeing you with a baby? Yeah, that's a whole different story. He tries to play it cool but he can't deny the fact that his heart is nearly beating out of his chest at the sight of you.

He will follow you around all day like a lost puppy. He will snarl at any classmates who get a bit too close to your sister.

Don't be surprised when he randomly shows up at your doorstep with a bag full of baby toys. Because he didn't have the best childhood, he now wants to ensure that your sister's childhood is as perfect as one can be.

Shinso stares at the child sitting before him. Drool drips out of the corner of your sister's mouth as her eyes bore into his. What the fuck is he supposed to do?

"Just look after her for a minute". That minute has now last fifteen times as long. Shinso has no clue what to do with a baby. Should he just leave her alone? Cuddle her? Talk to her?

"So," he says. Your sister perks up at his voice. "How's baby-life treating you?". In response, she lets out a happy squeal as she stuffs the plushy she's clutching in her hands into her mouth.

Shinso cringes at the thought of the stuffed animal now becoming saliva soaked. "Gross," he says. His head wipes around as he hears your dorm room door unlocked.

You stumble into the room with a couple of your classmates hot on your tail. Coos of adoration fill the room as your friends spot your sister sitting on your bed.

You press a soft kiss into Shinso's hair as you walk by him. "I'm so sorry," you say as you quickly walk over to your sister and lift her up. You cradle her to your body. You start rocking her from side to side on instinct.

"Some people kept me busy," you say while shooting a glare over to your friends. Denki and Sero quickly walk over to you and stare at your sister. Her hands lift up and tangle themselves into the boy's hair, happily tugging on the strands.

Shinso smirks at the whines coming from the pair. "It's okay," he says. His eyes stayed glued to your form as you lose your sister's grip on your friend's hair. His heart skips a beat as your sister's headrests against your shoulder.

Fuzziness flows over his mind as his thought are clouded by fantasies of what it would be like if you were holding his kids instead. He doesn't even try to stop himself. Maybe he didn't hate baby that much after all.

𝕓𝕒𝕜𝕦𝕘𝕠𝕦:

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟛𝟟𝟚

Bakugou likes to be all tough and say that he hates kids. He genuinely thinks he does. Until he sees you with your sister.

Now, he is a sucker for baby. His body tends to run warm due to his quirk and babies love to use him as a personal heating pad.

You know how people baby-talk? Well Bakugou, is a strange case. While his voice will be soft and sweet, he'll still call the people around him names. He'll be telling Denki that 'if he says another word he'll rip his toenails out' while cooing at the baby in his arms the same time. It's weird.

His life goals used to be to become the number one hero. Now, having kids is up there too. Ever since he met your sister, he hasn't been able to get the thought of little Bakugou's running around out of his head.

What. The. Fuck. "Idiot!" Bakugou yells out. You quickly wipe around. A smile creeps on your lips while you happily wave at him. He takes quick steps over to you.

"What the fuck is this shit?" he says while pointing at the child cradled in your arms.

"My sister?" you say. Oh. That explains a bit. He glances between you and the child in your arms. The resemblance was uncanny. Your eyes have the same twinkle and your sisters nose looks the same as yours. If he didn't know better, he would have said the baby was yours.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you had a sister?" he says. His tone is pointed and sharp though you can see through him. A warm blush is dusted over his cheeks.

"I did," you say as you pull your sister closer to you. Her head rests comfortably against your shoulder while her hands clutch into your shirt for dear life. "I send you a card when she was born. Didn't you see?".

Embarrassment washes through the hothead. His mom told him a month or two back that there was mail for him. A card coming from a classmate. He never bothered to open it, thinking it was from another extra in his class.

"Wanna hold her?" you ask. Bakugou gets snapped out of his thoughts. Him? Holding a baby? Anxieties run through his mind. What if he accidentally hurts him? He nods though.

You smile brightly at him as you help to ease your sister into Bakugou's hold. The feeling of someone so small against him makes his heart race. The way your sister's chubby cheeks gets smushed as she leans into him. Her hands grab into his shirt, just like she did with you.

Whimpers and coos fall over he lips as she stares into Bakugou's vermillion eyes. His shoulders drop and any tension he held in his body melts away. Fuck, he thinks. He likes this.

"See? That ain't that bad," you say. Bakugou simply scoffs. He looks down at your sister. A smile tugs on his lips.

"Whatever," he mumbles. One of his hands moves up to gently stroke your sisters head. Maybe babies aren't so bad after all.

𝕞𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕠:

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 𝟛𝟙𝟛

It is a known fact that every baby on this planet loves Mirio. Maybe it's his big smile. Maybe it's his calming aura. Nobody knows.

He is such a family man. While his dream is to be a hero, before that, having a family was his number one dream.

Mirio is quite a nurturing person. With his friendship with Tamaki, he is always looking out for him and keeping him calm. The same goes for kids. He goes into big brother mode with every kid he sees.

Mirio is the epitome of a teddy bear. While he is big, muscular and can be scary at times, he has a heart of gold. Anyone gets baby fever from seeing him interact with children.

You close your eyes as you lean back into the couch. Sweet rest, something you hadn't had in a couple of days. Your parents went on a business trip and you took on the role of babysitter.

Caring for an infant is exhausting. Sure, during the weekend you could handle it. But now that Monday has rolled around and classes started again, you felt the burden.

Luckily, you had a knight in shining armour to come and save you. From the moment Mirio's eyes landed on your sister, she hadn't been out of his arms. He's constantly fawning over her and giggling along with her.

Now, both of Mirio's laying on the couch next to you, your sister resting on his chest. A bright cartoon show is displayed on the television in front of you.

"You're an angel," you whisper out, eyes still closed.

Mirio chuckles. "You've already said so five times, sunshine," he says while brushing your hair out of your face. A lazy smile tugs on your lips as you move over to rest your head against his shoulder.

"A real fucking angel," you repeat. Mirio nods, though you don't see him doing so. He glances between you and your sister. Both of you a nearly falling asleep while cuddling into him.

"When are your parents coming back?" he asks.

"Tomorrow.". Your words are slightly muffled as you push your face against his warm shoudler. "Then I'll be free again. No baby-bound-Y/n anymore.".

"That's a shame. You'd look cute as a parent,' Mirio says. Heat crawls over your cheeks. You let out a whine while playfully swatting his chest, carefully not to accidentally swat your sister. "It's true, sunshine.".

You don't reply to him. Instead, your mind chooses to finally doze off into sleep. Mirio smiles down at you before turning back to your sister. "Both of you are cute.".