#bad brain juice is making it impossible for me to be on here

[finalism]

consider this a hiatus.

[dprgod]

Drabble #2: Different.

Pairing: nonidol!felix x fem!reader

Content: smut shot, unprotected sex, breeding, fluff(?

Notes: hope y'all enjoy it😁👍🏻

Since your teenhood you and all your friends thought you'll never change your disgusting taste in man, always falling for the bad boys, always dropped with your heart on the floor, that's why you decided not to date until you fixed this little big problem of yours.

You met Felix because of his stubborn ass, lately you've been taking yourself to this little dates visiting calm not very known restaurants, he saw you once on a brunch and lost his opportunity to talk to you, he cleared land, seas and the sky to find you again. At first you found creepy everything he did to know you, but you gave him a chance.

Felix was different to all the guys you've dated before, Felix is pretty, he's gentle, he cares about you, he's passionate, he's not afraid to show his feelings, certainly something new for your heart. He made you love again, there you were, always babying him, loving the skin ship and pure kisses, but something was missing.

"What's missing for you? The guy gives you everything you ever asked for" Chris said frustrated, your best friend was the no. 1 fan of your relationship, sometimes you think that if you break up he'd change you for Felix, you ain't blaming Chris.

"I don't think I can talk bout this with you, Chris, you're a man"

"Eyo, I'm your friend, if it's something sexual I can even give you advice" it felt wrong, but you needed to vent this to someone as quick as possible."He's too vainilla, I love him but yk, I wish he would bend me over and rail me"

"Okay, that's a lil too much for my ears you freak" he said with his infamous red ears, you laugh. He smiled creating a plan on his mind.

Days passed and you tried to forget that small issue, Felix invited you over to make pumpkin pie and watch movies, perfect date for the fall but he was weird today, nothing you couldn't ignore. Low lights, cinnamon and pumpkin candles, his sofa was full of blankets and pillows, he was sweet as per usual, you two changed into pijamas and baked a delicious pie, the time was around 12:34 am and you were cleaning the counter top while Felix was decorating the pie.

You felt something someone behind you, hugging your waist, leaving kissed on your nape and roaming hands on hips and stomach, not mentioning the boner on your back. This wasn't your boyfriend, it felt distinct, it felt stronger and sexier.

"Felix?" you sight to his touch.

"Sssh baby, let me take care of your wishes" his hands made room to your clothed center, ghosting his fingers in your clit and folds making you whine, trying to get out of his lock to touch him but it was impossible, when did he get so strong?

He took your breast and kneaded them like a baker for a living, you could feel your legs getting weaker. "I'm gonna take you right here and you'll like it, okay sweetheart?" he was expecting an answer, foolish Felix, he turned your face around, your deer eyes full with excitement and lust made him twich in his pants, definitely he should do this more often "please Felix, I'll love it".

He pulled both of your fluffy pijamas, you moaned cuz of the mix cold breeze and juices in your pussy, he bend you over on the counter and caressed your back slowly making you impatient. "Lixie please, put it in already" you pleaded, and he smacked you ass. "I'm giving it the way I want, don't be a brat now" he teased your entrance to make you suffer a little, but he couldn't even hold it like this, he you bottomed out in one go making both of you moan out loud. Exactly what you wanted, pain and pleasure.

He trusted slow but strong making you a mess "That's what you wanted, hmhm? Me fucking you dumb, baby?" he groaned, you couldn't even think at this point "You could've ask sweetheart" he said going faster, your pussy vibrated around him, the effect of his newly dominance and deep voice was messing with your brains.

Hitting the right places you were trying to hold onto anything close to you, the known sensation of a knot on your stomach was coming closer, Felix knew because of your clenching around his cock, he kept his pace and moaned close to your ear, he knew how his voice made you a total slut. "Felix! Felix! I'm cummin" you moaned, he smiled hitting in you and letting himself go too, cumming inside of you, riding both of your orgasms.

You panted with your face smacked on the counter, trying to process the juices spiling out of you and how did he knew about this fantasy. He started giving you back kisses, giving you comfort "How about a hot shower and movies, babygirl?" you slowly turned around with help, his face full of freckles was too cute to know he fucked you a couple minutes ago.

Almost on the verge of falling asleep on his arms you needed to know how he full filled your fantasy out of nowhere "A little bird told me, and I'll do anything for you" he said and gave you a kiss on your forehead, your eyes felt heavy on his embrace, your last thoughts were love, comfort and a self note to thank your big nose bird friend.

[nkogneatho]

"𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇?"– 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐄

—cw: fem!reader, lap grinding, nipple pinching, kishibe wearing boxers, don't come at me, not proofread.

—wc: 500 smtg

#masterlist #ko-fi #taglist

Kishibe always sticks to his schedule. He takes his work seriously. I mean why wouldn't he? It's the matter of humans and devils co-existing in this mess of a world. Work is important, but it is not his priority. It's you.

He's been working too late on some secret project. It probably has something to do with Makima. Although, he is so secretive about it. You didn't want to bother him. But what about this sudden heat in your stomach? What about the pool between your legs? Needy days make you so horny that you find the most basic things hot. So basic because why are you biting your lips at him typing on his laptop?

Kishibe had grey t-shirt on, with the only two buttons on the top undone and black boxers (yes the old man wears boxers). You walked up to him. Your eyes just stared at him. He was confused but it all went away when he saw the wetness drooling down your legs through your shorts.

"Come. Sit here, sweetheart." He pat his right lap, ordering you to sit and you did. "You know I will never neglect you right?" You looked away and blushed. That's right. He never dismisses you.

"I was just— I just didn't want to bother you."

"That is stupid. You will never bother me." He smiled. Wait. But something changed. It's the look in his eyes. They went from soft to "I will take my time with you." Kishibe is not expressive but you've been with him for too long to not able to read his eyes.

"Now..." he got close to your left ear, "shall we have fun?" Shivers crawled your spine. In a good way. In an exciting way.

You started slowly grinding on his lap, your clothed pussy gushing out juices and lacing his skin them. God, did he like way you moved on him. All of a sudden, your eyes darted to his left hand, only to find he was on call with his colleague.

"Kishi—"

"Don't worry it'a on mute," his hand moved to your breasts and started fondling them. "Until now. Yes, Yuki. Sorry about that. Where were we?" And that's what that smile earlier was about. He knew. He knew that you were too needy to stop halfway so he might as well get some fun out of it. He is such an asshole. You would think his brain should start shutting off as his age goes up but it's quite the opposite. This man gets sharper day by day.

You tried. You tried to keep your mouth shut but your approaching orgasmed made that impossible. "Ah. Mhm...ah fuck—AH!" He pinched your nipples and glared at you to shut up. "Hold on Yuki. I guess there's a cat entering theough the window," he pressed the hold button.

"Alright, baby." He looked at your furrowed brows. "If you cum with your mouth shut, I will give you my cock to ride for the whole day. Can you do that?" You nodded. Of course, you wanted him. So fucking bad that the moment he paused the call, your hips moved faster. All you could think about was having his cock inside you for the whole day.

Your fingers gripped his t-shirt, your eyes shut and you came so hard that he could feel your cum trailing down his thighs. You rested your head on his shoulder and he ran his fingers through your hair. When you sat back to look at him with doe eyes, all he could think of was how you were such a good girl for him.

"Uhm I am sorry Yuki but I think I need to go. The needy cat has made a mess," he ended the call, and immediately got up with you in his arms and placed you on the bed. He discarded his boxers on the floor, and started stroking his semi-hardened dick. "Go ahead. It's all yours, my love"

Taglist: @azanthys @romiyaro @denji-star @bbytamaki @eijirhoe @yuutakittie @aizumie

[gatoru]

hange your human anatomy professor (modern au) giving you, their cute lil student, a private anatomy lesson <3

teacher's pet | hange zoe x reader

cw: oral, power dynamic, professor!hange, top!hange, bottom/pillow princess!reader, dirty talk, praise, squirting, reader is in college, overstim if you squint, porn without plot.

Professor Hange Zoe is, to say the least, a very intriguing person. 

With a messy ponytail of dark brown hair that left a few loose strands fall right above their jawline and dark eyes scanning the room behind thick glasses, your Anatomy 201 professor would lecture unlike you’ve ever seen before. 

Thin, long fingers rubbing chalk against the board, drawing what you guess was supposed to look like a brain. You can’t help but pay attention to their hands, so slim and clean, with perfectly cut nails. 

It was impossibly hard not to daydream when looking at them – what their plump lips feel like when kissing your neck, what their waist feels like in your hands, how their hands feel like removing your clothing…

“The cerebellum holds an important part when it comes to the nervous system…” They start, motioning their hands towards the drawing on the board.

Hange’s eyes momentarily lock with yours, setting your soul ablaze with the brief eye contact that held a meaning only you could understand. 

Meet me after class. 

-

“You have to learn how to be more careful” Hange whispers, placing open mouthed kisses on your neck. Their hands grip your waist forcefully, while carefully placing you on top of their wooden desk – thankfully, Zoe seemed to clean their office before you showed up. “Could see you biting that pen throughout the lecture. I bet you can’t even remember anything I said…”

You let out a breathy laugh, doing your best to quickly open the buttons of the white shirt they’re wearing, revealing their slim but toned body. You gently rake your nails through their back, earning a gasp from your professor. 

“As a matter of fact, I can recall something about a cerebellum, or something like that-”

Hange’s lips glue against yours, moving softly and sending waves of electricity through your whole body. They pull your skirt up, a single digit teasing your soaked pussy through the thin material of your underwear.   

“Oh, yeah? And can you remember anything else about the nervous system?”

As if your body could understand Hange better than your mind could, your hips buckle against their teasing hand. They remove your panties, discarding the lacy material on the floor.

“This little thing you did here, is your body telling you you want more friction, anything to relieve the tension in your sweet cunt, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling dumb – but not in a bad way. In a “Hange is here, and they’ll take care of it” way. There was something about their touch that set you alight, while making you feel safe amongst the flames.

A single digit enters your pussy with ease, soaking your professor’s hand in your juices, moving deliciously against your velvety walls. You whimper, which earns a frowned look from Zoe, as they place a palm over your glossy lips. 

“Quiet.” It’s not a question. “”What if someone hears us? What if they find out about the things we do? About the things I do to you?”

You nod, simply – still attempting to muffle your own moans of pleasure. Your legs are spread against the table, and Hange is placed right between them, lowering themself to face your core, smiling brilliantly when they do so. 

“If you behave, I can take care of this for you.” They say, removing their finger from the warmth of your cunt, and placing a single kiss on your clit. “Can you behave?”

“Yes, professor.”

Your breathy words are enough for them: Hange dives in your pussy without having to ask twice, sweetly lapping at your sensitive clit as they pump two fingers in and out of your needy hole. 

Desperately, your hands find their messy hair, lightly pulling on it, causing them to groan against your core. The ecstasy that filled your body was something unlike anything you’ve ever felt before in your life. They suck on your clit, lightly, just enough to make you want more. 

“Hange, professor, please… need m-more” You mumble, looking down at the divinity kneeled between your legs. Their fingers grip tightly on your thighs, encouraging you to touch them back even more. 

In moments like this, Hange didn’t really care about their pleasure – actually, they did. But the sounds that escaped your pretty mouth, and your body’s reaction to their touch was something that fulfilled any sexual fantasy they’ve ever felt. 

Their fingers curve inside you, moving faster and with more expertise now. They brush against the right spot inside you, causing you to forcefully bite your lip, grinding you hips against them.

“C’mon, can feel you’re close already. You can cum, it’s okay, I got you.”

And so you do.

Your orgasm feels like the earth stuttered on its axis, all movement stopping as your body was filled with a white hot feeling. The bubble of warmth that once was forming on your lower abdomen explodes, making your juices stain Hange’s face and mouth. 

Slowly, awfully slowly, Zoe ceases their movements in order to let you come down from your high. 

“Good.” They whisper against the crown of your head. “You did really well for me.” 

You smile, placing a kiss to their cheek, brushing accidentally against their lips. Hange smirks, kissing you one more time – their kiss never fails to make you lose your breath. 

-

“When can I see you under different circumstances, professor?”

Your question seems innocent enough, but Hange knows better. They know enough about what you want from them, and what you expect from them.

“Hopefully soon.” There’s not a hint of a lie or joke on their tone. “Then you’ll be all mine, okay?”

[real-odark]

hi! i have a question, have you experienced an art block? if so, is there any way you got out of it and just... started drawing? i've been suffering from an art block for i think *checks notes* 6 years now... uhhh... how did you find your style too?

HELLO ANON!! i yap so im gunna put my response under the cut but i hope my ?!! babbling ?!!??! helps

to answer your question yes i most definitely Have experienced art block..... very frequently between months i'll have chunks of time where its literally impossible for me to feel like anything i'm doing is good or even have motivation to draw and its a NIGHTMARE <\33

usually when this happens to me to work out of it i like to start by doodling ideas i have as much as i possibly can (especially little jokes between characters i made/like) and then slowly work my way up from like a bajillion little cartoon simple doodles into a slightly more complicated style and then usually i can work myself back in to doing some bigger pieces !! (even though i dont do thoughs that much even out of art block lmao but u get the idea,,)

and. well HOLY MOLY. i cannot say i have had an art block as long as u before my fine sir Holy bejeezus...,...

but i'd say to help develop your style i know everyone says this but its true, FIND INSPIRATION!!! (this is to help with your style and motivation because inspiration does NUMBERS for me it actually gets juices flowing instead of just forcing my brain to come up with something just cuz its "original", hell yeah draw that meme template if u wanna if it gives u inspiration worms... OK back to style now my bad)

finding other peoples art styles i like and breaking down what i like about them has helped me with making my own art SIGNFICANTLY and i still do very often, so thats why my art style changes a lot very frequently 😭

and dont tell anyone i encourage this but i totally take features i like from artists whose styles give me the brainworms. LIKE OBVIOUSLY IM NOT TRACING but what has helped me so much over the years is trying out different styles, like. a mix and match sort of??? i completely learned how i draw hair from a tiktoker i used to watch like 6/5 years ago,,, and to this day a lot of people still comment on how i draw it so YA!!! i have also developed by trying different anatomy styles (like. stylized Versions) for what makes me most comfortable, and different simplicities of facial features (like detailed eyes or just. Dots. like fr go wild if u like how it looks)

but most of all remember that your art will NEVER have to be a definitive thing!!!!!! even your FAVORITE artists if u look at their art from like. 4 years ago i can guarantee you you can see how their style has developed. basically what im trying to say is dont stress about having "your own" style if you think thats like going to define your art!! YOU DEFINE YOUR ART!!!! so if u feel like changing your art literally entirely at any point. DO IT! if having a style helps you to draw though i totally encourage finding one but it Also does not hurt to try other styles as u progress in art

thank u sm for the ask it is Not every day i get to yap on here (yes it is) ((i do very frequently)) (((sorry for bombarding u with this response LMAO)))

I HOPE THIS HELPED IN SOME WAY AT ALL !!!!*AND IF NOT UHHH.:.,. maybe find someone who isnt a random teenager on this app for real advice HELP

[septembersghost]

Since you are having a harry day, I love how harry's song doesn't give you much tea. Like if we listen to Taylor's songs we know which one's about joe,harry,Jake etc....like she uses different imagery for each. She used red colour for jake to symbolize how painful and passionate it was, fire imagery for harry because it was easily extinguishabld but have potential to burn brightly, golden for joe because his heart is gold and it is good,beautiful, valuable all at the same time.She also narrates well. But harry simply confesses his thoughts and feelings as a song without having a backing narrative. So it means different things to different people. This is why he doesn't explain songs. As a private person it allows him to be vulnerable without people using it as a double edged sword (like Taylor). So we live in a world where grape juice is about olivia or ex or something else theories can coexist because it is vague on purpose. We enjoy the song for what it means for us, not what happened in his life or who it's about.

i get where you're coming from, i have a lot of complicated thoughts about this! for me personally: We enjoy the song for what it means for us this remains true for me for every artist i love and connect to, whether i know the specific details or not, but i understand that varies from listener to listener.

with taylor, her strength is in such strongly personal writing - whether it's diaristic, as a lot is, or more loosely autobiographical but with some fantasy sprinkled in (ie: folkmore) - she is beautifully adept and giving details to paint a picture, being self-referential, leaning on specific metaphors and imagery to conjure specific situations. and for those of us who've been here for a long time, there's a richness in that because we can piece the stories together, understand exactly what she's talking about, and click in to each emotional facet, each story, as they transform and as they're a part of her. the magic of it is then when we take those songs, knowing what/who they're about, and transform them into our own. since i'm a documented red stan, i'll use that as an example - my mind, of course, knows those songs are centered on jake, and can analyze them from that perspective and empathize with what she's detailing, how that relationship made her feel, why it affected her deeply. but then the songs also have that other life in my brain, where they're mine, and subjectively emotional about my own memories, or my own associations to apply to them. same, with, say, my love for lover. i have never been in love like that, i've never had a longtime partner, so technically i have no real way to relate to the full depth of love she feels for joe and the golden daylight of that, and YET, it still totally resonates because i'm a romantic, because i love love as a concept, and because it was such a source of warmth and comfort to me in a dark time that it took on its own happiness and meaning. the archer being so dear to me and so relatable when it's all centered inwardly. "help me hold on to you" more being about life itself than a loved one. and i think there's real value in BOTH aspects of her art.

unfortunately, taylor has had constant inescapable media scrutiny, and we have the knowledge of all of these things, so we can pinpoint relationships and inspiration, and it's impossible to talk about her intent without mentioning those relationships and events. idk if it's fair to categorize it as "tea," even though maybe we unavoidably make it that. when it's weaponized against her, that double edged sword as you mention, it's awful because it isn't her fault, and it's like...she should be allowed to speak her truth and process her experiences without shame, and the amount of cruelty and misogyny and trauma she's endured is terribly unfair. the fact that our analyses in relation to her voice and her way of telling these stories relies on that awareness isn't a bad thing, it simply. is.

She used red colour for jake to symbolize how painful and passionate it was, fire imagery for harry because it was easily extinguishabld but have potential to burn brightly, golden for joe because his heart is gold and it is good,beautiful, valuable all at the same time. i just want to say that i love how you phrased all this, and agree.

and then harry to me, his approach is more like stream-of-consciousness or even conversational. and he's fortunate that he has been able to keep some things more private, by far the songs dissected most are the one we know are connected to taylor, so is that really an effect from him, or from her? it's a conundrum, and we all navigate a balance in that however we can.

he does use illustrative details - the fridge light washes this room white, there's no water inside this swimming pool, does he take you walking 'round his parents' gallery, the coffee's out at the beachwood cafe, kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor, you sunshine/you temptress/my hand's at risk, i fold/crisp trepidation/i'll try to shake this soon, you sit high atop the kitchen counter, you're trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels, you showed me a power that's strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days - but he's also a bit more abstract. i don't know if this comparison will make sense, but i think of taylor as a pre-raphaelite painter, and harry as an impressionist. both have distinct beauty, but capture the picture differently.

like this

both are women in gardens with roses, both are beautiful, but the way they depict the scenes has a different effect. the brush strokes, the details, they evoke their own atmosphere. the distinction makes them their own special artists, and i love being able to discuss that, and am grateful to have/keep both.

[rainsmediaradio]

Eminem ft. Juice WRLD - Godzilla Lyrics

Eminem ft. Juice WRLD - Godzilla Lyrics Intro Ugh, you're a monster Verse 1: Eminem I can swallow a bottle of alcohol and I'll feel like Godzilla Better hit the deck like the card dealer My whole squad's in here, walking around the party A cross between a zombie apocalypse and B-Bobby "The Brain" Heenan which is probably the Same reason I wrestle with mania Shady's in this bitch, I'm posse'd up Consider it to cross me a costly mistake If they sleepin' on me, the hoes better get insomnia ADHD, Hydroxycut Pass the Courvoisier (Hey, hey) In AA with an AK, melee, finna set it like a playdate Better vacate, retreat like a vacay, mayday (Ayy) This beat is cray-cray, Ray J, H-A-H-A-H-A Laughing all the way to the bank, I spray flames They cannot tame or placate the Chorus: Juice WRLD with Eminem Monster You get in my way, I'ma feed you to the monster (Yeah) I'm normal during the day, but at night, turn to a monster (Yeah) When the moon shines like Ice Road Truckers I look like a villain outta those blockbusters Godzilla, fire spitter, monster Blood on the dance floor, and on the Louis V carpet Fire, Godzilla, fire, monster Blood on the dance floor, and on the Louis V carpet Verse 2: Eminem I'm just a product of Slick Rick and Onyx, told 'em lick the balls Had 'em just appalled, did so many things that pissed 'em off It's impossible to list 'em all And in the midst of all this I'm in a mental hospital with a crystal ball Tryna see, will I still be like this tomorrow? Risperdal, voices whisper My fist is balled back up against the wall, pencil drawn This is just the song to go ballistic on You just pulled a pistol on the guy with a missile launcher I'm just a Loch Ness, the mythological Quick to tell a bitch screw off like a fifth of vodka When you twist the top of the bottle, I'm a Chorus: Juice WRLD with Eminem Monster You get in my way, I'ma feed you to the monster (Yeah) I'm normal during the day, but at night, turn to a monster (Yeah) When the moon shines like Ice Road Truckers I look like a villain outta those blockbusters Godzilla, fire spitter, monster Blood on the dance floor, and on the Louis V carpet Fire, Godzilla, fire, monster Blood on the dance floor, and on the Louis V carpet Verse 3: Eminem If you never gave a damn (Ayy), raise your hand 'Cause I'm about to set trip, vacation plans I'm on point like my index is, so all you will ever get is The motherfuckin' finger (Finger), prostate exam ('Xam) How can I have all these fans and perspire? Like a liar's pants, I'm on fire And I got no plans to retire and I'm still the man you admire These chicks are spazzin' out, I only get more handsome and flyer I got 'em passin' out like what you do when you hand someone flyers And what goes around comes around just like the blades on the chainsaw 'Cause I caught the flack, but my dollars stacked right off the bat like a baseball Like Kid Ink, bitch, I got them racks with so much ease that they call me Diddy 'Cause I make bands and I call getting cheese a cakewalk (Cheesecake, yeah) Bitch, I'm a player, I'm too motherfuckin' stingy for Cher Won't even lend you an ear, ain't even pretending to care But I tell a bitch I'll marry her if she'll bury her Face in my genital area, the original Richard Ramirez Cristhian Rivera, 'cause my lyrics never sit well So they wanna give me the chair Like a paraplegic, and it's scary, call it Hari Kari 'Cause e'ry Tom and Dick and Harry carry a Merriam motherfuckin' dictionary on 'em Swearing up and down they can spit, this shit's hilarious It's time to put these bitches in the obituary column We wouldn't see eye to eye with a staring problem Get the shaft like a steering column (Monster) Trigger happy, pack heat, but it's black ink Evil half of the Bad Meets Evil, that means take a back seat Take it back to Fat Beats with a maxi single Look at my rap sheet, what attracts these people Is my 'Gangsta Bitch' like Apache with a catchy jingle I stack chips, you barely got a half-eaten Cheeto Fill 'em with the venom and eliminate 'em Other words, I Minute Maid 'em I don't wanna hurt 'em, but I did, I'm in a fit of rage I'm murderin' again, nobody will evade I'm finna kill 'em and dump all their fuckin' bodies in the lake Obliterating everything, incinerate a renegade I'm here to make anybody who want it with the pen afraid But don't nobody want it, but they're gonna get it anyway 'Cause I'm beginnin' to feel like I'm mentally ill I'm Attila, kill or be killed, I'm a killer bee, the vanilla gorilla You're bringin' the killer within me outta me You don't wanna be the enemy of the demon who entered me And be on the receivin' end of me, what stupidity it'd be Every bit of me's the epitome of a spitter When I'm in the vicinity, motherfucker, you better duck Or you finna be dead the minute you run into me A hundred percent of you is a fifth of a percent of me I'm 'bout to fuckin' finish you, bitch, I'm unfadable You wanna battle, I'm available, I'm blowin' up like an inflatable I'm undebatable, I'm unavoidable, I'm unevadable I'm on the toilet bowl, I got a trailer full of money and I'm paid in full I'm not afraid to pull a— Outro: Eminem Man, stop Look what I'm plannin', haha Read the full article

[bruciemilf]

I so desperately crave a fic where Bruce forgets all about an interview he scheduled with Clark, specifically, with our boys in this portrayal

He's swallowed up by that ginormous red hoodie Jason always forgets at the manor. It's got a soft undertone of beer and pizza clinging to it, and knowing Jay, the chances of that changing are close to none.

It's Bruce's favourite thing to wear.

Below that, Dick's sweatpants have to be snaked tight around his waist. He's wearing Tim's ridiculously soft socks, Batman themed as well, a flock of bats starting from his calf and gathering into his famous cowl on top of his foot.

On his hands, he's sporting two bracelets that Damian and Cassandra asked him to help craft. He accepted, of course, because his little Damian looked astray, eyebrows down and eyes worried, scared of rejection.

They were both terrible at it. Cassandra had a great time. And Bruce's dark green and sunshine gold bracelets pleased Damian greatly.

But he had no time to shower that morning; His ribs were moaning still, every step he took feeling like Bane's brutal, sledgehammer punches, hitting him right in the gut.

And Dick stole all his conditioner, and Steph smuggled his skincare products, exfoliants, bath salts, and everything she could get her grabby little hands on, and gone she was. Tiny fingers, big damage.

But that was fine; He didn't expect anyone today. He'll just scarf some blueberries and yoghurt and gulp down four espressos before burying his nose in Jim's earliest case.

That's what he thought

Before modern day Adonis suddenly emerged I his living room.

This man, he's...He's... he's beauty. That's all Bruce can muster in his flustered mind, brain itself blushing, cheeks hot and soaring with a fierce flush. Which was impossible to miss with his paleness. God.

There you are! Got me scared for a moment there," oh no. He makes deep voices sound cute. Those pearly whites had no mercy on Bruce, neither did that boyish grin, glowing silver and warm. " Thought I'd fall through a secret door and straight into a shark tank. "

Say something. Say something funny, come on, he's joking with you.

" ... Why are you In my house?"

Fuck.

"This man, - Clark, Bruce knows who he is. Out of all the bad things that had to happen today, being surprised by his favorite journalist just had to be one of them, - blinks, some grin cut down, and Bruce curses in his mind.

"Um. Your father let me in. Did you forget,-"

" I forgot you were coming. I, uh. I," he stuttered; He hasn't stuttered since he was 16, and had to pitch that board meeting to a mile long table of greedy, silver artefacts in suits who wanted to snatch his company. " I, - Coffee. You want...Coffee?"

"...Sure. I'd love some."

Was it just Bruce, or did this report carry a note of amusement in those words? Bruce scrambled for the first cupboard he could see, " NO!"

Clark jumped on his feet, making a dash for him behind the kitchen island. Bruce almost choked, because up close, he could notice the buttons and seams on that baby blue plaid shirt fight for their lives. " What's wrong?!"

" We're out of coffee," he hissed, muttering a ' damn it, Tim, I TOLD you to replace it' but no matter. He had to find Clark something else. " Uh... Water? Juice? Do you like orange juice?"

He could see it, the corners of Clark's lips tugging upwards, " Orange juice is my favourite drink. But it's fine, really. I'm here to unbury your deepest darkest secrets, not have lunch," he smiled, then, most likely noticing Bruce simply froze in place, he added, " That was a joke!"

Bruce forced a laugh, " Of course. Why would I have something to hide? I have nothing to hide," Very well, that sounded entirely too suspicious. " I mean, not anything illegal. Just... Secrets. The normal amount."

Clark nodded, endlessly patient, this saint of a man, " I've had my share of that. Don't worry, Mr. Wayne."

" Oh, just Bruce. That's my name."

The taller man smiled, " I'm just going to ask you about your involvement in renovating Arkham and maybe Mr. Grayson's podcast, but that's all. I won't try to fish for information. I don't believe in peer pressure and bullying."

" I know," his mouth spoke without him, " I, uh, I know you. Your journalism, I mean! My youngest enjoys your online interviews. We watch you together. I'm a fan of your writing, thought. It's magnificent. "

Even if Clark blushed to be polite and thanked him quietly, Bruce wanted to dive off a building without a grappling hook.

" Uh... Bruce? You're murdering your orange."

True enough. The fruit was entirely empty in his clenched fist, spilling over his hand and pooling on the floor. Bruce cursed. Slamming the sad, deflated remaining on the counter, he simply said, " I'll cut this now."

" Okay." Nodded Clark, clear, perfect blue eyes fixed on Bruce and his hands. Bruce only prays his fingers won't tremble like his heart is.

He stabs the orange.

It squirts all over his hoodie, and Bruce offers no reaction. It's almost worth it, this pit of mortification slowly, tortuously devouring his body, to see Clark's impressive frame shake with laughter behind his giant hands, goofy glasses crooked on his nose.

" I'm sorry," he sounds as dead as he feels. " The orange has retaliated." That did it; Clark was full on laughing now. Humiliation burned like liquid fire over Bruce's face.

If Dick were here, or Alfred, he'd hide his face into their chests like a shameful child. But neither are there, so all he can do is slowly place the knife on top of marble, and stand there like a statue.

Coming off his high, Clark watches him closely, a speckle of mirth shining on blue. " You know, you're nothing like I thought you'd be. As much as I enjoy this, you should change."

" I'll try. I don't want to be like this, either."

Clark grinned. " I meant your clothes, Bruce."

" ... Yes. I should. I have a large collection of clean clothes. Because I do my laundry regularly. I know how to do laundry."

Why are you still talking?

Then, gone was that angelic, fond grin from Clark's Greek statue of a face. He smiled hotly, almost...Sultry? At Bruce now. Something saucy. Sweat was sticking to his skin. " Do you want me to pick something for you?"

"... Please?" He squeaked.

Twin steps went inside his bedroom, and they didn't come out for a long time.

[lacontroller1991]

Burnt Skies (Rick Flag x Fem!Reader)

@h-hxgirl​

Requested by Anon: Saw this captain boomerang fanfic where he finds she's pregnant while they're on mission, I was wondering if you could maybe do something similar for Rick

Author's Note: He would be so protective of the reader fr fr, also this is gonna be angst angst angst so just beware

Warning: Death, pregnancy, language, blood, major character death, spoilers

“Hey (Y/N), you ready to go?” Rick’s voice echoed through the room before he halted, seeing you on the floor, head in the toilet.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” you replied weakly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and flushing the toilet.

“Are you sure? Are you feeling alright?” He asked, rubbing your back as you looked up at him with a small smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you there,” nodding his head, he walked out the door with guns strapped to his body on his tac vest. Looking at your reflection, you noticed a slight greenish tint to your face. Ignoring the wave of nausea, you made your way out of the base and to the plane. Walking up the ramp, you took a seat next to Rick who looked at you with concern in his brown eyes.

“Baby, maybe you should sit this one out. You aren’t looking too hot,” he whispered in your ear as you brushed the notion off. After all, you did have a really bad gut feeling about this mission.

“I’m here. I’m going,” you stated firmly as he looked you over one more time before shrugging his shoulders, knowing it was of no use to argue with you.

----------

The plane ride was hell. With the criminals being loud and Harley’s non stop chatter accompanying your periodic bouts of nausea, you were ready to get the hell off of the plane and right into combat.

“Alright guy, get ready to drop,” Rick shouted as the cargo door opened to reveal water beneath you. Once he gave the signal, you jumped into the cool water and began to swim your way to the mainland, waiting for the rest of the team to catch up to you. After everyone, save for the Weasel, had made it to the shore, you glanced over to your boyfriend who was laying next to Harley.

“Hey guys, it’s me. I’m the guy who called you and I brought my friends,” Blackguard shouted into the open, raising his hands while ignoring the shouts coming from the rest of the team and your boyfriend, Waller’s distant cursing ringing in your ear. Next thing you know, there was gunfire in every direction and things went to chaos. You quickly sought shelter behind a rock and shot off a few rounds into the woods, hoping to take down some of the Corto Maltese soldiers. “(Y/N), watch out,” Rick shouted at you as you turned to see what he was talking about, but it was too late before a large piece of debris from one of the trees knocked you out cold.

You woke up to machines attached to your body. Feeling the bile rise in your throat, you tried to get out of the restraints and look for a place to dump the contents of your stomach. Suddenly a pan was placed in front of you and that was all you needed to release the bile. Groaning at the light, you looked around the room and was surprised to see a cleanish room which plenty of nurses occupied.

“Ah good, you’re awake,” a voice commented as a rough hand pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at one of the generals you were tasked to take out.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” You asked, squirming your body against the bed, trying to loosen some of the restraints.

“Mi amore, we are treating you. Seems you have caught a parasite,” he replied before summoning the nurse over to you, carrying a plate of food and some juice, “you’re government must really be struggling if they’re sending pregnant women into the field,” he mentioned as your blood ran cold.

“That’s impossible,” muttering to yourself, your head went fuzzy at the concept of you being pregnant. With Rick’s kid.

“On the contrary, when we brought in your friend and you, we noticed certain things,” motioning down to your stomach only brought awareness to the fact that you were practically naked in a room full of the enemy.

“Let me go,” you pleaded, pulling your arms as much as you could.

“I think not,” he replied before nodding to one of the nurses who moved to turn on a machine and attach it to your head. Screams of agony soon left your lips, blocking out the sudden spurts of gunfire in the halls.

----------

Harley laughed maniacally as she gunned down multiple soldiers, enjoying the way they were dropping to the floor. She needed to get out of there. She needed to find the others. After the last one dropped to the floor, she moved toward the door before hearing a piercing scream echo down the hallway.

“Sounds like someone’s having fun,” she ran her tongue against her teeth before skipping toward the scream. Slamming open the door, she raised the guns in her hand, ready to fire, until she saw you laying on the table surrounded by nurses.

“No one messes with Flag’s girl,” she muttered to herself before unloading the magazine in the room. All of the nurses slinked to the ground, covered in a pool of their own blood. Rushing over to you, Harley unstrapped the restraints and head piece before taking out the IV and looked for your clothes.

“Where the hell are ya clothes?” She asked, searching high and low before she found a bag filled with your bloody uniform. Helping you sit up, she noted the way you looked super frail but practically glowing at the same time.

“Harley,” you whispered out to her before passing out on her shoulder. “Awww, this would be really cute if not for the circumstances,” she stated out loud to herself, peering out of the window and seeing a guy in a helmet run across the street with Flag. Wait a minute, Flag! Running out the door, she ran around the corner before stopping in front of the two men.

“Hiya guys! What’s up?”

“We’re here to save you, is (Y/N) with you?” Rick asked with hope in his voice as Harley nodded, wrapping pale fingers around his wrist and dragging him back inside and through the pile of bodies she had claimed. At the sight of you, Rick ran to your side and hugged your limp body.

“What’s wrong with her?” He asked, fighting the tears that were beginning to surface.

“Don’t worry puddin’, she’s just asleep,” shrugging her shoulders, she left the room as you stirred, fluttering your eyes open.

“Rick?” You questioned as he rapidly nodded his head, placing kisses all along your face.

“Thank God you’re ok. I thought I lost you.”

“Rick, the doctors found something,” memories of the conversation you had moments ago replayed in your brain. You’re pregnant.

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered, mind still not comprehending the fact that you were pregnant. After all, you had been infertile most of your life. Avoiding his gaze, you waited for his response.

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to be a dad,” he whispered, causing your head to snap up and see a smile play against his face.

“You want this? I don’t know if it’ll carry to term. You know that I’m infertile.” Placing his lips against yours, he pulled you into his arms, hugging you as close as he could to his body. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed back before a throat clearing interrupted you.

“This is sweet and all, but we have a fucking monster to kill,” DuBois stated as you looked up at Rick who smiled.

“Stay here, I’ll come back and get you.”

“I’m not leaving your side,” you replied as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re pregnant. No way in living hell am I gonna allow you to do this. You’ll stay here and that’s an order,” you and he both hated when he had to pull his rank, but you realized it was necessary in cases like this.

“Just come back to me,” pulling his lips down against yours for what feels like the last time, you encoded this moment into your brain, remembering the way he tasted.

“For you? Always.”

----------

He should’ve known you were going to follow them into Jotunheim. Not only were you stubborn, but you still had that nagging feeling that something was going to happen. Sneaking past the military, you found a window and busted it open with your elbow before entering the building. Landing with a soft thud, you looked around the room and noticed Peacemaker going down a dark tunnel. Running after him, you made sure to stay hidden by the numerous pillars. Peering around the corner, you saw Ratcatcher standing next to Rick, however Peacemaker was pointing a gun at Rick.

“Nobody is saying what they did was right,” Peacemaker stated, hand unwavering.

“They experimented on children!” Rick yelled as more explosions went off in the distance.

“That information gets out and it causes an international incident. Keeping the peace is worth any price, including the life of a hero like yours, sir, so please. Don’t make me do this,” your stomach churned. You knew that Captain America wannabe was no good, and now your love might just pay the price. Suddenly, rocks collapsed all around you, obscuring your view of Rick and Peacemaker.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, picking up rocks and trying to make a hole for you to get your body through. Your efforts became faster the more you heard the two men grunting. After successfully digging a hole big enough for you, you crawled through as you heard something like porcelain shatter and choking.

“You mother fucker,” Rick stated through gritted teeth as you watched in slow motion, Peacemaker’s hand grasping a large shard.

“Rick!” You shouted out before tackling him off Christopher’s body, not getting out of the way soon enough as Peacemaker lodged the porcelain into your lower abdomen. “No!” Rick shouted as Peacemaker threw you off. In the distance somewhere, you heard a gun go off before hands wrapped around your body. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)?” Rick called to you but you couldn’t hear him, your mind venturing off.

----------

The sun lit your face through the blinds, dancing in your eyes and creating a multitude of hues, a warm body pressed against you.

“Morning sweetheart,” voice deep from slumber, Rick rubbed his eyes as he let out a yawn. Stretching in bed before your 5 year old daughter came running into the room.

“Mommy, daddy. It’s Christmas!” She squealed excitedly, waking up the baby that was next door.

“Yeah it is baby, you excited for your presents?” You asked as she rapidly nodded while Rick slid out of the bed.

“I’ll go grab little Digger,” he commented, kissing your forehead and your daughter’s head. Getting up, you went to grab a coffee before the doorbell rang. Moving to open it, you saw Harley’s painted face waiting for you with Nanaue, Cleo, Robert and Abner carrying presents.

“Merry Christmas dollface,” she exclaimed, pulling you in for a hug before running off to see her god daughter.

“Come in guys,” you motioned for them to enter as Rick rounded the corner, your 10 month old in his arms.

“So this is the little guy, huh?” Cleo asked as Sebastian waved a hand at the newborn, earning giggles from the baby.

“Yep, Digger Anthony Flag, meet your family,” Rick lifted up the baby’s arm, making him wave to everyone.

“I’m proud of you guys,” Robert commented, slapping a hand on Rick’s back as everyone shuffled into the living room, Nanaue taking up most of the space.

“Thanks man, it wouldn't have happened without you.”

“Alright, everyone ready for presents?” You asked the room with Harley by your side, Harleen in her arms. Rick placed Digger in Cleo’s arms before walking up to you and bringing you into his side.

“I love you, Mrs. Flag.”

“And I you, Mr. Flag.”

----------

Groaning, you felt an excruciating pain in your abdomen and a feeling of loss?

“(Y/N), baby, you’re awake,” his tired voice resonated in your ear as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, his hand not leaving yours.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you commented as he sniffled, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to escape.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he noted, petting your hair and placing another kiss on your forehead.

“And leave our kid without a father? I don’t think...”, realization dawned on you at that moment. The sudden feeling of loss and the pain in that general area washed over you as you began crying. “Oh God, the baby is gone, isn’t it?” You asked through tears as he let a couple slip down his face, nodding and trying to smile through the pain. Choking back a sob, you turned your face away from him as tears continued to fall.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, squeezing your hand. Shaking your head, you refused to meet his hazel eyes, “(Y/N), look at me.” Turning your head, your eyes locked onto his as he continued to smooth down your hair.

“We’re alive. We’re both alive. That’s all that matters,” he replied, crawling into the hospital bed with you and pulling you against his chest as you cried into his shirt.

“What if I never get pregnant again?”

“We will. I’ll make sure of it. I’m done with the fucking task force. Waller can find someone else to puppet. But I’m done. You’re done. We’re gonna get married and have a nice house. I’ll get a new job and we’ll figure it out. I promise.” Kissing the top of your head, he wrapped his arms around you as you calmed down.

“I love you,” you whispered against his chest as he hugged you closer.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Author’s Note: Well this was way longer than I intended it to be. But hope you enjoy!!

[blahkugo]

𝟓 ༒ 𝔥𝔬𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

⤷ dirty valentine m.list

⤷ complete bnha m.list

dabi / touya todoroki — daddy kink

a/n: it’s just pure filth. needy!rc & dabi being a dick daddy.

wc: 1.3k

tw: consensual somno, overstim, daddy kink (obvi)

It’s always a pleasure to see Dabi asleep.

Not in fitful naps filled with nightmares, murmured pleas, and sweat-soaked sheets—or the occasional post-battle concussion—but actually resting. He doesn’t get much sleep to begin with, and when he does there always seems to be a grimace attached, a tick of his jaw that makes your breath catch, worried for the safety of his subconscious mind.

But on rare occasions like tonight, you get a little glimpse of your boyfriend truly at peace. Chest rising and falling at an even pace, loose black hair tousled across the pillow, cheeks softly flushed. He looks content, for once, and it makes your heart soar.

It’s really too bad you’re as horny as you are.

Dabi always demands you wake him at the slightest of necessities, claims he’d much rather be buried inside your tight, wet cunt then fighting comatose demons. You should, given how often you’ve woken up to him tonguing it, licking and slurping you as though he’s parched and you’re a glass of water on the nightstand. It’d be a welcomed surprise, really, to turn the tables for once.

Still, you don’t want to be a bother, don’t want to be the needy little thing you always are for him. He deserves to be looked after too—and besides, the sight of him so tranquil is almost enough to quell your salacious thoughts. Almost. You can’t truly deny the slick dribbling down your thighs, the way he could have you satiated and fucked asleep with a few pumps of his wrist.

But maybe you can have the best of both worlds, take this rare chance to play caretaker while still getting yourself off.

So you begin your little mission, clambering over to where Dabi lays peacefully and snuggling up against him. Your actions are silent, completed with the utmost caution as to not risk rousing him. And his warm body welcomes you, stirring only to pull you closer.

When you’ve successfully wrapped a leg around his thigh, you test the waters by humping against it once, twice—softly at first—only focusing on your own pleasure when you’re certain he won’t awaken.

Soon, you’re rutting shamelessly, lost in the chase of your high, a hand clamped tightly over your mouth to stifle gasps and low moans. The friction of your clit against his rough thighs is pure bliss, the slick that drizzles across his skin only provoking you further.

What would Dabi say if he saw you like this? If he’s stirred into consciousness by your sharp inhales and the helpless little juts of your hips against him? It’s dirty, you’re dirty, for getting so worked up over his unconscious body. Knowing him, he’d probably–

“Enjoying yourself, princess?”

The sudden quip makes you jolt, shocking you out of your thoughts as you rush to feign innocence. It’s no use, of course; judging by the smirk on Dabi’s face, it seems he’s been watching you for quite some time.

“I- I was just–” You struggle to explain yourself, feeling heat blossom in your chest at being caught in such an obscene position.

“Well don’t stop on my account,” he tempts, voice dangerously gravely, low enough to make your gut tighten and your legs tremble. “Looks like you’re doin’ just fine on your own.”

You can see the smugness in his lidded eyes, the way he shifts himself up against the headboard, throwing his arms behind his head and repositioning you directly on his lap. All the while, he ignores the whimper you let out, the quiver of your bottom lip as you silently beg for him to touch you. This is a punishment, of course, a petty consequence of trying to fulfill your own needs when he’s right here.

So, what can you do except follow the command? You begin grinding against him again, eyes trained on the beautiful man in front of you. He doesn’t say a word, simply watches as you bounce pathetically, desperately attempting to regain the rhythm you had fallen into only moments ago.

But with his gaze glued to your body, it’s impossible. Now that he’s fully present, you can’t help but long for the rough graze of his fingers, for the feeling of being poked and prodded by the nimble digits that know every inch of your warm walls. And he knows good and well how badly you want him to reach out, to allow you to melt beneath his touch.

Finally fed up with your failure, you mumble a soft, ‘please help me,’ eyes trained anywhere but his own.

“What was that, baby?” Dabi presses a finger to your chin, lifting it so that you’re peering up at him once again. “Didn’t quite catch that.” The look he gives you should be illegal, all pointed teeth and hungry eyes, an amalgam of pure arrogance and satisfaction that even a hero wouldn’t dare challenge.

Your hands dart out to grab at his arm, still helplessly writhing against his heated skin, “P-please daddy, need you.”

Within seconds, you’re lifted, then placed with your knees on either side of his bare leg. Dabi doesn’t bother with flipping you around, seemingly content with watching you fall apart completely on display. One hand remains fastened behind his head, but the other finally moves towards you. His fingers ghost across your thighs, coating themselves in your juices while he inches to where you need him most.

“Poor little baby,” he hums, swiftly sinking two knuckles into your wet cunt, “can’t get yourself off without daddy’s help, yeah?”

The sudden stretch makes you keen into him, hands scrambling for purchase on his biceps. Dabi curls his fingers upwards, pressing against gummy walls at the spot that makes your stomach heavy and your eyes clench shut. In just a few seconds, you feel yourself far closer to paradise than your own ministrations ever got you.

Soon, time is lost on you. You’re unsure of when you reached your first peak, or how many times you’ve cum since, though Dabi’s lithe digits never let up. You’re still meeting his thrusts, rubbing your clit against his palm with every pump and whining incoherently.

The only thing you know, the only thing that truly matters in this moment, is the God in front of you—his touch, his smug grin, his incessant urging that ‘you can take it, princess,’—but your nerves are on fire. You’re unable to voice your concern, too stimulated to offer anything but pathetic squeals and cries of ‘daddy, daddy, daddy,’ over and over again.

“T-Too much– ah, s’ too much,” you sob between gasps, upper body dropping against his chest when you can no longer support yourself. Instead of stopping, it only makes Dabi press harder—but he allows you the simple reprieve of curling into him, moving his free arm to caress your sweat-soaked head.

“Been saying that for a while now,” he grunts, wincing when your fingernails dig into his pecks, “but your sloppy cunt’s still gushing all over me, yeah?”

“I- fuck, I-” You can’t help but stutter, babbling through fuzzy thoughts. Every single part of you begs for release—muscles aching, skin sheen with sweat and tight walls clenching on their own—but he’s right; your body still humps against his every thrust, sorry little movements that achieve nothing but making you beg and blubber louder.

“One more time, princess,” he coos, throbbing cock straining against your ass, “and we can sleep.” Somewhere in your hazy brain, you know he’s lying, know he’ll be wide awake for days to come.

Dabi never gets a good night’s sleep, but it’s fine; he’s always quite content fucking you unconscious.

[anntidote]

: ♡ love tap - mattsukawa issei

— “i want all of you, and i mean all of you...” ♡

pairing: mattsukawa issei x fem!reader

warnings: smut, fluff if ya squint, lit rally what’s plot?, SIZE KINK, descriptions of fat cock, belly bulging, ahegao face, brain rot (dumbification), squirting, unprotected sex (wrap b4 ya tap), penetration, smidge of aftercare— did i mention issei’s horse cock yet?

summary: according to google, a ‘love tap’ is a sign of affection shown by a simple smack or hit. but in your case, mattsun uses something else... and it’s quite big...

the first time you saw mattsun’s cock, something in you short circuited.

he’s just so pretty. a slight curve to the right and vein on the underside. his tip flushed the same rose of his cheeks, as it whimpers in precum that makes you salivate. but this is besides the fact of his sheer size.

this man his huge. girth needing two of your hands to barely wrap around the base of him, and you’d extend your jaw as much as you could. weighing heavy on your tongue when you gave him a blowjob- only a couple inches in and you’re gagging.

you simply feel so bad.

mattsun had probably gone through women who couldn’t take it. if you’d ask- he’d recount stories of how they were afraid he’d genuinely break them in half, how a girl dislocated her jaw, and so on.

and although there’s nothing wrong with saying no— holy shit, he must have had blue balls for so long.

and that’s most likely why mattsun is whimpering, even when he’s above you. barely keeping himself together as you pant, reaching up to stroke his cheek affectionately.

his arms at either side of your head and barely holding himself up. he lines his tip up at your entrance, breath hitching at how your small hole sputters at the contact. still sensitive from the other orgasms he’d diligently prepped you with. but even so...

“are you sure about this?” he hesitates, eyes boring into yours, trying to find any hint of doubt. “you don’t have to do this for me.”

you resist to roll your eyes, thumb stroking against his cheekbone. your response, hot against his skin when you look at him with a coy look.

“i want all of you, baby.” and you feel his eyes widen when you push your hips against his, the mere tip stretching your walls and having your mouth drop slightly open. your initial even tone, now a bit airy.

“and i mean- all of you.”

to mattsun, that statement meant two things.

the first one is reassurance. and it warms his heart on how willing you are to love him, and i mean, all of him. it’s kind of traumatizing to have women reject you so many times because of your size- yet here you are. so pliant and wanting him, and the entirety of him.

the second one is... well- “ah fuck-!”

your moan sends a shiver down mattsun’s spine as he’s slowly sinking into your heat. cock so thick that your mind fuzzes up like an old VHS tape, and he groans in tandem with you. your body curling forward at the delicious burn- his cock nothing like you’d ever taken before.

he moves his hands to rub against the side of your thighs reassuringly. “y-your cunt is so tight, baby... ah shit- i might break ya...”

your pupils are cloudy when you say words that make mattsun’s stomach churn.

“please...”

mattsun should be laughing, ‘cause fuck— you want him to break you?

you’d already made a dark puddle against the sheets- your arousal is undeniable and sending mattsun for a loop. he takes his hand and reaches down, rubbing along your pussy to find the button that makes your vision speckle. and your legs unconsciously spread wider, a moan falls from your lips.

and it’s when he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, is when your breath is knocked right out of you. your cunt, speared open by the sheer girth of mattsun’s cock. and you blink at the blurry vision you have, your vocal cords null, as you try to suck in a breath but absolutely failing- as it feels like you’ve been split in two. his cock, simply too much for your small body.

“fuck, baby.” he hissed from above you- the feeling of your velvety walls enveloping the entirety of him feeling so... so... good.

all you can think about is how heavy his balls feel against the skin of your ass, but it’s hard to put together any thoughts when your guys are being rearranged. your lungs never having a mere second to expand.

and mattsun wishes you could see how you look right now.

drool running down your chin when his cock drags out slowly, your cunt clenching when you take in a greedy breath. tears beginning to stream, and your brain processes with one thought, and one thought only.

mattsun’s cock is fucking huge.

and when you squeeze around the tip of him, he’s already pushing back in. your whimpers are delicious against his ears when he rolls his hips against yours, even when your hands find a purchase on his shoulders.

“sh-should’ve fucked this cunt sooner if i-“ he breathes, his fingers gripping against the meat of your waist. and you’re crying as he sets his pace, thrusting, and your vision going hazy- almost as if you were a virgin again.

“you’re...so... big- agh!!” your throb around him, sucking him in greedily- but you simply can’t help it. the feeling impossibly good, thrumming through your veins.

you wanna get fucked full.

“uhh... aah...” you could barely keep your eyes open at the sheer speed and force of his thrusts. balls slapping against your ass and pleasure clouding your rationality.

“cunt so tight, ya can’t let me g-go...” he grunts out, thrusting a tad faster, gripping your hips and sure to bruise.

the moan that escapes you is pornographic and embarrassing— something mattsun would love to tattoo into his ears. especially when you’re whimpering incoherent phrases, cheeks wet with tears, and eyes half lidded— simply because you’re being speared by his cock.

and a curse escapes him, finally noticing the obscene squelch that rings louder and louder, with every brush of his cock against you. “ ‘m gonna fill ya up, doll. fill ya up nice and good.”

he can’t fool you with how clenched his jaw is, and the tightness in his gut that threatens to pour over. the stutter in his hips and how your toes curl. the intensity of the ordeal building higher and higher. and when you deliberate clench around his shaft, feeling every ridge of him- it’s almost painful.

yet it only takes his name to stumble from your lips to let the dam, overflow.

“issei, please—!!”

“fuck fuck fuck!” mattsun groans, settling on longer strokes and burying himself inside of you. filling you with utter warmth that poops against your inner walls in milky ropes. “ah shit-“ only for him to fuck his seed into you, and the tantalizing spasm of your walls against his sensitive length sends him for a frenzy.

“issei-!” your chest tightens, almost as if you can’t breathe. your back arches, a familiar pressure beginning to push a limit, and your alarms beginning to go off. “issei- issei-“ you try to say, but your pussy just grows tighter and tighter. your body thrumming, and burning up in utter heat, when you gurgle his name.

“c’mon, babe. a-almost there.” he punctuates with a specific thrust that makes you cry out.

you’re already sobbing at this point. moans are broken and everything is incoherent nonsense- but that’s what mattsun wants. and what he wants—

you’d gladly serve.

“issei—!”

and it’s too much, when the pressure snaps. the intense burn as your squirt, cumming all over the length of his shaft and hips. and it keeps coming with every thrust. you feel your juices trickling down your thighs, and hear your boyfriend curse under his breath. specifically when he reaches down to the slight bump in your stomach, pressing slightly, and feeling the tip of his cock adjust.

and your cum sloshes inside of you, mixing with his, and it chases mattsun’s cock when he pulls out. crippling past your lower lips and onto the cotton sheets below.

you’re a wreck.

cunt utterly abused and lips swollen. lashes wet, and cum slowly trickling between your thighs. bruised, tongue lolling out- only able to nod when mattsun strokes your cheek, asking if you wanted a bath.

but not before he takes his softening cock, and giving a light slap to your sputtering cunt. you jolt, sending him a death glare.

“ ‘‘twas just a love tap, baby.” he responds with that stupid, know-it-all smirk, before you hear his feet patter against the bathroom tiles, and a flick of the faucet.

the second thing, that “all of you” told him is simple.

that he loves you. tapping or not.

[moxfirefly]

Oooohh for the NSFW prompts, I'm hesitating between 23 or 48 for Donnie (with a female reader), which are two different moods 😂 Whatever floats your boat 💜

Friend I adore what you provide us with on the daily so I’m gonna do both for you 🖤

I can make this shit work.

"Are you asking me to fuck you stupid right here?"

"I wanna take my time with you tonight."

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

"I wanna take my time with you tonight."

That had been his message when he had told you that he was on his way. Whenever Donatello wanted to ‘take his time’ with you, you knew far to well that it would be a delicious frustrating night ahead for you. The tall terrapin had something that many of your past suitors did not, copious amounts of patience.

For lack of a better term, he was a fucking tease. He lived to wind you up too tight and taut you’d be a babbling begging mess in no time. It was half the fun for him, the other half was purely watching you come apart thanks to him. It wasn’t about chasing his own pleasure, he got his fill by giving you yours. You had stricken gold with him nevertheless.

True to his words he had taken his time.

He had taken his god damn sweet ass fucking time.

Donnie had written every numerical equation with his tongue in between your legs and then he planned to write more just to see how far he could take you before something like Latin started dripping out of your mouth. The heat that had broken out on your skin was a testament to your own desire to prove him wrong. You had white knuckled the sheets to the point of pain, you had squished his head with your thighs in such a way you were sure he must have a headache by now.

He only led up for a few seconds whenever he caught your hands pushing his face further into your folds. Chanting how close you were, how close you were to cumin and just as you felt that band at its breaking point, he would seize all movement of his tongue.

Donnie had the fucking audacity to chuckle against your thighs when you felt actually close to sobbing. You sought out his mouth by lifting your hips, enticing and lulling him with your scent but he was drunk enough on it. Being wrapped up in your taste, your desire staining your inner thighs and his chin. A tentative poke of his tongue on your overheated and engorged clit only proved to shock you. For a brief second he felt the need to test out a theory that with just poking his tongue he could probably unravel you into pieces.

Your sweaty face found his brown orbs, staring up at you with every intention to drive you crazy. As he stuck his tongue out, a long and slow languid lick, you felt your pride and resolve shattering. It was there, in the sweat that beaded down down your neck and onto your breast.

He had to be suffering, right?

He couldn’t just hold off this much?

Even he had to want to bury himself and forget all logical thought and chase his own desire within your heat...

Right?

When Donnie pulled back you were ready to legitimately cry your thanks. You were ready to swallow every last bit of pride and praise him to such an extent that he would only need to pay his thanks back by finishing you off. You ran your hands up his long torso, enjoying the way he tensed up with desire. His member had been steadily leaking by the looks and feel of it, it rested just at your navel, close enough for you to grip it and slide him in home.

Your chest heaved, each greedy intake of air making your breast sway enticingly for him. His churr was evidence enough, as he examined the wreck he had turned you into with some patience and his mouth. He leaned down and licked in between your breasts, pressing his face onto sweaty and heated flesh. Maybe his patience is running thin, maybe it’s the chance to get him to give into those baser needs.

“Mhm, come on” You lift your hips rhythmically, each sway making his length slide in between your lips, each movement making him coated with your juices. For a few seconds you have him trapped, eyes closed and hips following your hypnotic moves. Donnie’s eyes flutter open, large fingers gripping your hips and stalling your movements.

“Aren’t we sneaky” He smiles.

You feel your body tremble, you have never craved release this bad, so much so that you feel you can throw a tantrum over it. Smacking your hands on his chest you whine and the bastard smirked.

“Donnie if you don’t fuck me this very moment I’m going to explode, I’m going to fucking go mad” You clasp your hands behind his neck, urgency and need in your eyes and voice. He chuckled, the absolute bastard just chucked.

“I’m begging you! Please fuck me!” You pull him down, and kiss him feverishly, so much so you can taste yourself perfectly. It only serves for more heat to spread through your already hot skin. You let go of his lips with every intention to find your release and push him towards his own.

Turning onto your stomach you lift your bottom and feel a gutural noise travel out of his throat. Donnie’s hands land on your rear and lower back. “Please please please” You chant, pushing your thighs together for friction. You reach back to grip his hand and urge it towards your hair. “I wanna feel you so bad, please Donnie I don’t know how else to fucking say it, fuck me” You moan when he grips a chunk of your locks, hips pressed forward.

"Are you asking me to fuck you stupid right here?" You’re pushing back against him, the heaviness of his cock making your eyes roll back with anticipation. “Fuck me stupid please!” You don’t care, to hell with pride.

To hell with it. You feel your eyes water in relief when he pushes into you, it’s so easy with how absurdly wet you are and that mere fact makes Donnie mumble out ‘fucking hell’ so softly you’re sure he tried to swallow it. The genius is lost, high on the sensation of how you flex and grip him, that first slap is so wet sounding that Donnie’s hips stutter. He’s made this mess of you, and no matter how many times he manages to do so, it never stops amazing him. He keeps your rear up even if your thighs are trembling, later he’ll be upset about bruising you but right now he likes the contrast of his hands on your flesh, squeezing and pulling.

“Such a perfect, good girl” He enunciates each praise with a slam of his hips. You’re babbling already, honestly you don’t care, complete embarrassing nonsense could leave your mouth if it meant he could keep this up. Donnie marvels at the site before him, he’s always enjoyed the contrast in size, the way his dark length disappears in your pink folds, how perfectly he stretches it.

He pushes you down on the bed, thrust getting quicker, messier and harder. He keeps most of his weight off of you by supporting himself on his forearms, but the proximity is perfect for you. The burn of his plastron rubbing against you makes you moan. Your fingers wiggle towards him and he understands, he wraps a forearm around your neck and it hits you.

Your release crashes in and around you, so hard your barely able to make a proper sound. Donnie knows you’re cumin by how impossible tight you get, so much so you almost push him out with how ridiculously wet you are. A mixture of an inhale and a sob leave you. “That’s my fucking girl” Donnie groans into your hair, unrelenting pace not letting up.

When he buries himself with one final thrust you feel the intensity of his orgasm, each rope making your toes curl. It’s enough to almost nudge another surge of need from you. He’s churring so much, so deeply it makes your hot skin breakout in goosebumps. Gusts of warm air hit the back of your neck as Donnie tries to find the on switch in his brain after that, he’s panting and doesn’t want to collapse on you.

It’s scattered there on your neck,

‘I love you so much’

It’s mumbled onto your moist pillow,

‘I love you too’

[subtle-edge-of-rot]

BESTIE HOW DID I MISS POLY SINCLAIR HOURS YESTERDAY???

Been absolutely fiending for more brotherly love lately if my constant Bo brainrot didn't make that obvious. So here's a couple snacks. Yes yes you never sleep alone. Here's how they wake you up.

Lester tries, he really tries, not to wake you. He gets up stupid early for work and doesn't want to disturb you because he knows you need your rest and well, you just look so relaxed and comfortable. But when you sleep with Les you become an absolute tangle of limbs and it's impossible to extricate himself without disturbing you. So when you blink sleepily and look up at him, he kisses your forehead and tucks the blanket around you and whispers, "Sorry, sweet pea, keep sleepin'." If you're still out when he leaves he comes back in for one more sleepy kiss. Sometimes he does this a bunch of times because he keeps forgetting things and has to come back in and he HAS to kiss you goodbye for his very last thing so probably by the third time you're actually awake for real lol.

Vincent moves like a specter so you never notice him leaving the bed. He will bring you coffee or juice, whatever he's also getting for himself, set it beside your bed for when you wake. He won't actually wake you up unless he has to, and if he has to, he will start with gentle caresses on your cheeks, kisses on your neck, stroking your shoulders and back. It coaxes you back into consciousness slowly and tenderly and you wake up like a Disney princess. Being woken up by Vincent is the softest, most sensual way to rejoin the living you've ever experienced.

Bo wakes you up by trying to extend the amount of time you both spend tucked in bed. When his alarm goes off he turns it off and then latches on to you. If your alarm goes off he will stop it for you and bury his face in your chest. If you try to tell him it's time to get up he will say, "Then what're you still doin' in bed" and absolutely not let you up. Will go so far as to lay his full weight on you to keep you from leaving. And then of course will complain about the morning being half over already lol.

It goes without saying that these men are each greedy for you in the worst way and if they wake up with a hunger things go very differently. 👀🥵😩 But oops I'm out of time!

I think everyone missed it yesterday tbh I didn’t get a lot of traction on the idea, but it’s taking off now which is awesome—I could talk about this all day, I’m down bad for a poly Sinclair experience.

Your Bo brain rot has been my obsession lately. Please tell me there’s gonna be more parts to your dilf Bo story because I am obsessed with the version of him that you’ve created and I want to know the entire story lol, I read and re-read your fics! I’m also so excited to see what you have to say about literally sleeping with each of the brothers.

You’re dead on about Les! He’s a cuddle bug and when you sleep with him, you’re going to be all tangled up with him, no ifs ands or buts about it. You’ll be one tangled knot of limbs by the time he’s getting up for work. He really does try not to bother you but with the way you’re intertwined he can’t help making you stir. He’s also kinda loud when it comes to getting ready, pacing through the room, digging through his belongings, turning on the light when he can’t find his keys. It’s probable that you’ll be fully awake by the time he gives you that final goodbye kiss, handing him his thermos of morning coffee before you’re climbing back into bed with a big yawn. You’ll get a few more hours of sleep after he heads out, but it’s likely one or both of the twins will come and lay down with you. They’re all so needy for you.

Vincent is a light sleeper, and he doesn’t sleep for long—his sleeping schedule is fucked. That being said though, he’s considerate and very, very quiet when he slips out of bed to go make some tea for the two of you. He lets you sleep for as long as possible, only waking you when it’s absolutely time to get up and get the day started. You’re right though, he’s the best one to wake you up, as he’s gentle and makes sure you come to in a way that isn’t jarring or annoying. It’s likely he’ll have some food for you as well. He’s thoughtful.

Bo isn’t a morning person, so he’ll try and linger in bed with you for as long as possible, going as far as to lay on top of you when you try to get a move on so you can start your morning chores around Ambrose. He’s grumpy and clingy and desperate to stay warm and cozy with you, even though he’ll be grumbling that the entire morning was wasted away.

[13uswntimagines]

Family’s Hard (Kristie Mewis x Reader)

Request: part 2 of the fic with Kristie that you post today! Maybe something with the r and Kristie both getting call for the national camp and we see a bit of what happen at camp with mal. pt 2. Maybe with both the reader and Kristine on the USENT roster and the fallout with Amal because of the reader being there. part 2 of the reader and mal meet up again joined by the team

Pt. One 

You had never been more unhappy while staring at a plate full of pancakes in your entire existence. You loved your typical practice meal (and your girlfriend of almost a year’s hand on your thigh while you ate it), but you weren’t enjoying the disapproving glare you were getting from across the table. She had been like this the moment you stepped off the plane, and you feared she wouldn’t stop until camp was over. 

It wasn’t like you decided to sit at this table to annoy Mal. Kristie wanted to sit with Sam, and you weren’t about to brave the dining room all by your little lonesome (plus you liked the team's Tower of Power and enjoyed watching the siblings banter).

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, pushing your chocolate chip pancakes around the plate, and keeping your eyes trained on your fork. 

“You ok?” Your girlfriend asked, her lips caressing your ear. You didn’t miss the way your older sister's nose scrunched at the looseness between you and the older midfielder. 

“Just tired. The flight from Houston was super long,” You mumbled, shrugging lightly. 

“You sure?” Kristie nudged your cheek with her nose and squeezed your thigh. You had been jittery since you left your shared apartment in Houston to head for camp and no amount of reassuring from your girlfriend seemed to be helping. 

“Psh. The flight home from France was exhausting, and then we had to get ready for good morning America. That was crazy, right Sammy?” Mal said with a wicked smile, completely cutting you off. Your mouth clicked shut and Kristie squeezed your thigh again (her jaw working overtime to prevent the scathing comment from leaving the tip of her tongue). 

Mal had been impossible since you stepped foot into the hotel the USWNT had commandeered for camp. She had swung between outright bitchy and underhanded reminders of Jill's preference of her over you all day and Kristie was getting sick of it. Your shoulders slouched a little more with every remark, every jab clouding over a little bit more of your sunshine. 

“That was pretty crazy,” Sam nodded, watching you and her sister carefully. She was trying to run as much interference as she could, but it seemed your sister wanted to make you as uncomfortable as possible. Almost like she was trying to drive you off the team. 

“Definitely not as crazy as that party right after we won. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much champagne in my entire life. Not even after we beat Texas,” Mal added, and you shivered at the memory, wilting under her glare. 

It was your freshman year (and coincidentally Mal’s senior year), and the first time the two of you had ever really played against each other. UCLA decimated your team and took over a frat house to celebrate. From what you heard, it was one of the biggest parties Texas A&M had ever seen. 

Kristie sighed, wrapping the arm that was on your leg around your back, rubbing soothing circles. You leaned into the touch, still playing with the food on your plate, trying to hold your tongue and not rise to Mal’s prodding. 

“From what I hear there was a lot of alcohol after Houston won the challenge cup,” Sam nodded, sharing a look with her sister and side-eyeing her friend. 

“That was just beer, Sammy. It wasn’t as classy because no one cares about an arbitrary chaos cup win, especially after we won the World Cup. It’s all about scale,” Mal continued, completely ignoring the glare Kristie had pointed at her, enjoying the way you were squirming in your chair. 

You shoved your plate away, giving up on eating. You didn’t want to be here. 

“I'm sure. I’m gonna go. The uniform staff wanted to see me anyway,” You mumbled, just loud enough for Kristie to hear you (or so you thought). 

Mal’s vicious smile grew. She just couldn’t seem to help herself when it came to you. You were always chasing after her, and this time she had done what you couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to give that up yet. 

“I’d tell you to switch names, but all I can suggest is to pick a number you can actually live up to,” She sneered. 

Your entire being froze and you blinked owlishly at your older sister (taking comfort in how Kristie's arm tightened around you). 13 had been your number since high school, but you knew that Alex was a vet and you weren’t stupid (or disrespectful) enough to even dream of trying to take it. You knew you would never be even close to the level of Alex Morgan. 

You had accepted that and Instead chosen a different number, one you were proud to wear. You had no control over the last name on your jersey (until Kristie and you decided you wanted to get married, if you wanted to get married, and that was still pretty far off). 

“Come on. They wanted to do a quick check-in with me too,” Kristie said, standing and dragging you with her out of the room, her eyes sending daggers towards your sister. She was done watching you collapse back into yourself. 

****

Sam stared at Mal’s Cheshire Cat grin, her mouth agape. She didn’t understand why your older sister was being like this, or how she could continue eating as though she didn’t just rip you apart. (And at this rate someone had to stop her before Kristie killed her). 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sam said, leaning forward and resting both elbows on the table. 

Mal shrugged, taking another sip of her orange juice. “What? I’m just being realistic,”

If you didn’t want to hear stories about their triumph at the World Cup, or how awesome the party was afterward, you could just find yourself a new seat (and take your girlfriend with you- you always did have to outdo her). 

“You were a little harsh babe,” Rose said softly, patting the forward's hand. 

Sam scoffed loudly, shaking her head. “She practically crumbled under that last comment,”

It was painful to watch your shy bean self withdraw back into the shell her sister worked so hard to crack. Even if you had Kristie here to support you, she wasn’t sure how long you would last without bursting into tears or getting into a screaming match with your sister. You were under enough pressure as it was. 

“She’s just overly sensitive. If she wants to play in the big leagues she’s going to have to learn to stand up for herself,” Mal rolled her eyes. 

It was a going joke in your family that Mal got the brains and beauty, while you just got the leftover emotions. Ever since you were kids, she had been the extroverted one saving you from bullies and being the “good example” that her parents wanted her to be. But this was her thing, and she didn’t want you horning in on it. (It was also a slight protective instinct too. She would rather be the one giving you shit than the media. They were ruthless and you would probably never forgive her. The road to hell was paved with good intentions after all.)

Sam sighed, taking in how Mal’s eyes tighten just a touch beneath her nonchalance. As much as she wanted to pretend she didn’t care about you, it was obvious that she did. The questions now were if she was willing to have a change of attitude and if she would even be able to repair the damage she had already done. 

“Just be careful with how far you push her, alright?” Sam said thoughtfully. 

Mal rolled her eyes again, any care she may have felt disappearing. “I know what I’m doing Sam,” 

“I really hope you do, because I remember what it was like to always be trying to live up to your older sister and how difficult that was. And Kristie knew when to cut me some slack,” Sam said, raising her eyebrow at the younger woman. 

She really hoped she could get through to her before Mal lost you, and Kristie kicked her head off. 

*****

You sighed into Kristie's lips, enjoying the way her hips pinned you to the wall and her tongue explored your mouth. You weren’t one for public displays of affection, but she had dragged you into an abandoned corner of the hotel after your sister's clear display of disdain. 

You guessed an upside to being at camp with Mal was your girlfriend's desire to cheer you up. You always responded better to physical contact (which was why Kristie used it to help you calm down all the time). 

You hummed as the hands under your shirt made their way up to cup your cheeks, her fingers tangling in the baby hairs at the back of your neck. She let the kiss continue for another minute, before pulling back, so her lips were just barely ghosting over your own and your foreheads were touching. 

You futilely tried to push off the wall and chase her lips, only for her to chuckle and pull back so you couldn’t reach, keeping you pinned with her hips. 

“Ah, no more kisses until you say it,” She mumbled, her breath fanning across your lips. 

You whined. You loved how supportive Kristie was, but you didn’t want to do this right now. You didn’t want to go through your normal reaffirmation routine. Not after the shots, Mal had taken at you. 

“But-“

Kristie chucked at the keening whine again, shaking her head (both at how adorable your pout was and because she was standing her ground). She learned a long time ago that the best way to stop your mental spiraling was for you to say how worth it you were. “No buts. To get what you want you gotta say it,” 

You huffed, I ally opening your eyes to look into Kristie’s determined blue. She raised her eyebrow at you. 

“I’m an amazing person, no matter what anyone says,” You mumbled, looking away from your girlfriend. She hummed, using her thumb to tilt your chin back up. 

“And?” She asked, a smile playing on her lips. Your pout deepened. You were set to start and Mal had made you feel bad about it. Now Kristie was trying to get you to admit that you deserved the opportunity. 

The two of you stared at each other for a long minute, and you debated in trying to get back to the kissing again, to not say the last part of your mantra. Kristie's thumb ran soothingly over your cheek as if she was reading your mind. “Come on babe,” she said softly. 

You bit your lip, finally giving in. “I shouldn’t feel guilty about opportunities I receive,”

“Good,” Kristie smiled, leaning back in to connect your lips. You smiled back into the kiss. Maybe things weren’t so bad if you got this treatment after your sister was mean to you, even if Kristie was trying to get you to finally confront her about her behavior. “And for the record, you can always say you’ll have a cooler last name later,” 

*****

This was getting out of hand. Very out of hand. You hit the ground again, your face scraping against the turf after another bad tackle. You groaned, pushing yourself up off the turf and brushing yourself off, ignoring the hand of the defender in front of you in favor of taking the hand your girlfriend offered. 

Kristie glared at the blond defender, very pissed off that she was pushing you so hard. “Fucking watch it Sonnett, another tackle like that and I’ll beat your ass myself,” Your girlfriend growled, brushing a stray piece of turf off your back. 

Emily shrugged, awkwardly scratching the back of her neck. “Just trying to test the Rookie. Need to make sure she can handle a little pressure,” 

She liked you, but with the pressure, Mal was putting n you, she thought that they were all going to go hard. To show you exactly how difficult this game could be and how much you needed to work to be on their level. 

“I think Mal is doing enough of that on her own,” Kristie raised her eyebrow at the woman, still rubbing the turf off your back and cringing at the new burn. If this hadn’t been a teammate’s doing, she probably would have killed them by now. Ripped them limb from limb for touching you, but you didn’t need that. You needed her support and not her overprotectiveness. 

“She actually needs to be able to play against Canada,” Sam said, patting her back. Emily shook her head. Mal was right. She would rather be the one to go hard on you and prepare you than some random defender who didn’t care at all. 

As far as she was concerned, Mal’s plan was still in effect and you were going to have to pull some trick to get past her again. 

****

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Kristie threaded a ball through the gap between Becky and Julie, straight to you. You turned, taking advantage of the gap in the backline, dribbling across to try and get a clear shot. 

You didn’t see that gap collapsing. You didn’t see Emily and Midge racing towards you until it was too late. There was a loud crunch as you were caught between the two defenders, and tumbled to the ground. 

The reaction from the rest of the team was instant. Kristie raced over, followed closely by Sam. Both women kneeling down next to you, trying to get you to roll over. It seemed that another blue blur was already laying into the two defenders. 

“Lay the fuck off my sister,” Mal yelled, shoving Sonnett back from where her shifting form was standing over you. 

Emily held her hands up in defense, stumbling away from you. “I’m just trying to keep the intensity up, exactly like you are,” 

Mal growled audibly, stepping up to the taller defender and wrapping her fist into her shirt. “It’s different. She’s my sister and I’m the only one who gets to fuck with her. Got it,” she said her voice deadly calm. 

Emily nodded rapidly, her eyes wide as Mal straightened her shirt, patting her shoulder. Emily backed away slowly, her hands still extended, terrified that Mal (and your girlfriend) would decide to actually kill her. 

Mal nodded once the offending defenders were far enough away from you, before turning in your direction. 

You were finally on your feet, shifting awkwardly and rubbing the back of your neck. 

“Thanks,” You mumbled as she approached. 

She smiled, pulling you into a very strange hug.“You got it, kid. I love you, even if you’re not as good as me yet,”

She let you go and winked. You smiled and trotted off back to your position, warmth filling you. Sure you weren’t on the best terms, but you were sisters and the act was like a white flag. A truce. 

Kristie caught Mal’s arms as she passed. “Learn to lay off a little bit. I don’t want to have to hurt you,”

Mal nodded. You were family mad the only one who got to mess with you was her. She would kill anyone else who tried and she was glad you had gained two protectors. 

[jackrrabbit]

be a little bad /// Hawks x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: College AU 🍺 Frat boy Keigo pours you your first drink and decides he’s going to help himself to more of your firsts.

A/N: Hawks just makes so much sense as a frat bro 🤧 @koiibito​ thank you for working through ideas w/ me…& remember when I told you this was going to be short?? whoops 🤡

Tags/warnings: dubcon/coercion, inexperienced reader, fuckboy Hawks, overstimulation, alcohol, inebriated sex, problematic frat culture stuff, idk what to call it but peer pressure? to drink etc., all characters are adults

How long have you been sitting here?

You feel like there’s some kind of immense weight holding you down, making it impossible for you to stand up off this ugly couch that’s been crammed into the corner of the room to make space for the dance floor. You and this couch have become good friends over what you think has been the past hour—at first you occupied yourself by looking at the people playing beer pong, but after the fourth time you had to decline one of the players’ offers to join, you decided to stop making eye contact. So you sit on the couch, you stare at your phone, and you wish you were back at your dorm—or, better yet, back in your hometown with all your high school friends.

But you’re not. You’re here, multiple time zones away from anywhere you can call home, and all of your high school friends are asleep. And the one person—the one person you’ve managed to make friends with since orientation is the one who dragged you to this freaking frat party and then proceeded to abandon you. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to tell you that as a new pledge of this frat, he’s going to be on “door duty” checking ratios and giving sardonic responsibility talks for the next two hours.

Which leaves you here, sitting on the couch and trying to avoid the more questionable stains that you can barely make out in the seizure-inducing strobe lights. There’s a can of beer icing down your palms and you adjust your grip so it doesn’t leave a damp spot of condensation in your lap. It was your friend who gave it to you before he disappeared (“you don’t even have to drink it,” he’d said, “just hold it and no one else will pressure you to get another drink”).

It smells foul. You’ve had sips of beer before, and you can never understand why people drink it voluntarily. But maybe…maybe now that you’re in college, maybe now that you’re an adult, you’ll enjoy the taste. You raise the can to your lips and chug down a heavy gulp.

Ugh. Still gross. You wince and wipe your mouth.

“Not a fan of natty, huh? Good taste.” A hand appears out of nowhere to pluck the can away from you and you jump, nearly smacking your forehead against the stranger’s chin. He pulls back. “Whoa! Careful there.”

“…That’s mine,” you say half-heartedly as the guy tilts up the beer—your beer, your decoy drink—and takes a long draught.

“You’re not missing out. This stuff is piss,” he says, grinning down at you.

He’s not the first guy to hit on you at this party (what is it about lost-looking girls that draws frat boys in like moths to a flame?), but he is the best-looking. Long, swept-back blond hair; equally long eyelashes; a hint of scruff on his chin—he’s pretty and masculine at the same time. You let him take the seat next to you and lure you into a conversation, and he’s nice, too—laughing with you about how bad the beer tastes and sympathizing with your criticisms of your first experience at a frat party. You fall over yourself apologizing when he lets slip that he’s a brother (“social chair, actually, so if the party sucks it’s on me”) but he tells you it’s okay, that no one likes going to parties alone, not at first.

His name is Keigo Takami. He’s a junior, a marketing major, and he joined the frat in his first semester. According to him, the fraternity is a great group of guys (“I mean, they’re a bunch of jackasses, sure, but they’re well-meaning jackasses for the most part”) and all the rumors about frat parties are overblown.

“Seriously, you’d be having fun if you were drinking,” Keigo tells you. “These parties aren’t intended for a sober audience.”

“Sure,” you scoff, but it’s not serious. You are having fun, talking to him.

He gasps, mock-offended. “Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you. Stay right here, okay—don’t move a muscle.”

When he gets up, the dense crowd on the makeshift dance floor parts to let him through to the stairs leading into the upper floors. It’s kind of amazing. Everyone else (yourself included) has to wade through, pushing and shoving past the teeming throng to get anywhere, but for Keigo it’s effortless.

He’s back in just a few minutes, holding—oh god, how typical—a red plastic cup filled with a kool-aid red liquid that smells sickly sweet. Is it actually kool-aid? You take a whiff and can’t detect the tell-tale bitter alcohol fumes. “Is this…?”

“Mm, that’s jungle juice. The frat’s secret recipe. It’s good, try it.”

You raise the cup but hesitate. Is this really a good idea? You’ve been warned about stuff like this so many times. You don’t have to do it just because everyone else is.

Keigo catches your hesitation and frowns. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, I just…haven’t…”

“Hm? Don’t tell me this is your first drink? Aww, little freshman baby.” He’s mocking you, looking down on you, and you hate it. You’re not a baby. You can play with the boys.

You make eye contact with him before you tip back the cup and gulp down the juice, letting the full contents slosh down your throat. It’s syrupy-sweet and tastes like fruit punch and oranges so it goes down easy, a lot easier than you thought it would. A drop slides out of the corner of your mouth but you lick it up when it runs over your lip.

Keigo whistles. “Damn, down the hatch. That was…that was kinda hot.”

If you’re blushing, you hope he thinks it’s because of the drink.

He’s faster when he gets you the second cup. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol. Keigo won’t tell you what’s in it or how much (“secret recipe’s gotta stay a secret, y’know? It’s in the bylaws”). Halfway into the second cup you start to feel dizzy, which Keigo says means it’s working. He pulls you up off what you’ve semi-affectionately begun to think of as your couch and guides you onto the dance floor. The music is heavy and blaring loud, thudding through the speakers and making the walls shake, making you shake as it travels through the sticky floor up into your body. You sway haphazardly but Keigo’s got you by the arms, pulling you out of the way of the crowd, pulling you into him.

“Looking a little unsteady there, baby,” he says, and—and, you hear him, you do, but he’s talking to you from underwater (or, no, that’s just what it sounds like? or—) um. Beaming his voice into your brain or something?

Keigo laughs and you giggle and it feels good. “Better finish that or you’re gonna spill it,” he says, putting his warm hot hand over yours, guiding the cup back up to your face so you can finish off.

You’re in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by writhing bodies so it shouldn’t surprise you when someone’s elbow smacks into your back and jostles you so the jungle juice spills, spills out of your mouth dripping down your chin onto the dress. You process the interruption a second too late and the sticky red liquid is already staining your skin. …Feels good, you think first, because the drink is cool and refreshing and it’s so hot in here, steamy warm, everyone pressed up against everyone else like you’re pressed into Keigo, and then oh no—oh no your dress—but at least it’s a dark color, at least the stain won’t show—

“What did I tell you about spilling?” you sort of  hear Keigo say, and then you sort of feel the weight of his hand wiping away the juice from your mouth, and then he sticks his face up close to yours and oh my god oh my god he’s kissing you.

There’s something indescribably weird about it, his tongue thrashing over yours like he’s trying to lick the juice out of your mouth while you try not to flinch back from the taste of the beer he was drinking earlier. But he’s so solid, so steady, the only still thing in a room full of movement—when your eyes move away from him into the twisting mass of bodies and flashing lights you feel dizzy, so you keep your gaze locked firmly on him. He wraps his arm around your back and you instantly feel better and lean into him, lean into the kiss.

You’re drooling by the time he stops kissing you. “So sweet,” Keigo says, wiping a pearl of saliva off his mouth. “Little sloppy, but I can work with that.”

You don’t get it. You don’t even know if you would get it if you were sober. What you do get is Keigo’s hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you through the crowd to the staircase. Once again the people move aside for him, like the Red Sea for Moses, you think with a little laugh and he looks back at you and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

You stop, halting at the base of the stairs and squinting up at the bright yellow light in the stairwell, so invasive and clinical after the strobing darkness of the bottom floor. There’s something hard pressing into your side when you try to lean on the wall. There’s a name for that thing, isn’t there? B…ban…bannister, right? You grip the bannister with one hand to hold yourself still and resist Keigo tugging you higher up the stairs.

“W-Where’re we going?” you ask. It’s weird—your voice doesn’t sound like drunk people in movies. It’s not slurred or unintelligible. To your own ears, it just sounds high, and fast, and…nervous.

“Going upstairs,” Keigo says patiently, still pulling gently at your arm. “Gonna get some air, ‘kay? I’ll show you something cool.”

“O-Okay…” Something cool? You want to see something cool, even if you’re practically tripping over the stairs trying to stumble up them.

One of the brothers is guarding the entrance to the upper floors (no doubt ensuring that wayward attendees don’t try to take the party upstairs into the personal bedrooms). He nods at Keigo when he passes, but when he catches sight of you—you with your hair mussed, lipstick smeared, flushed cheeks and wobbly steps—his eyes narrow. “She good?”

Even in your boozy haze, it doesn’t escape you that the question isn’t directed toward you. He’s asking Keigo.

“Her? She’s fine, she’s fine.” Keigo throws his arm over your shoulders like you’re old buddies. “I’m taking her to my room, it’s so fucking hot down there I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah…” the other guy says, gaze still focused on you, but he doesn’t move to the side to let you through.

“Oh, come on.” Keigo steps up onto the same stair as him so he can look him in the eye. “I said she’s fine, didn’t I? She’s having fun. Aren’t you? Tell him you’re having fun, (Y/N).”

His tone isn’t any less sociable than before, but—are you imagining it?—he’s not really asking, is he? “Um, I’m having—having fun?”

Oh. Oh no. Why did that sound like a question?

The brother waits a moment, and then shrugs and steps aside. “Whatever, bro.”

Keigo’s bedroom is on the third and highest floor of the sprawling mansion where the fraternity makes its home. Flags are pinned to the walls—one with the colors of your university and one with the fraternity crest—and on top of his desk there are trophies lined up in meticulous rows: track and field, swimming, cross country, fencing. The bedroom is a rare single, one of only a few in the crowded house, which Keigo explains is because he earned it as a member of leadership when he was elected social chair (“it was unanimous—well, almost, a couple of the douchebags voted for themselves but—“)

You’re trying to listen, you really are. But your head is spinning. Now that you’re out of the feverish swampy heat of the dance floor downstairs, you feel marginally more sober—and also more aware that you’re inebriated. Keigo’s voice is steady and soothing like the rest of him. The timbre, the intonations, the casual lilt and dip of his speaking make more sense to you than the words themselves.

“Here, have this. It’s rum. Tell me what it smells like…” Keigo puts something in your hand—a tiny little cup, a plastic shot glass—and you have to use all your concentration to hold it still enough to let him fill it with red-brown liquid out of an unlabeled bottle.

When you carefully lift it up to your face, you can smell the alcohol. It smells sweet, too—like vanilla, vanilla and something fruity and heavy. Bananas?

But mostly it smells like alcohol.

“It smells like banana bread, doesn’t it?” Keigo asks, pouring himself a shot too. “Try it.”

You take a tentative sip but even that meager amount is sickeningly bitter in your mouth. You hold it on your tongue for a second trying to taste the ‘banana bread’ and then swallow a few moments too late, hoping you don’t look as disgusted as you feel.

“Not like that,” Keigo laughs, tipping his own shot back and downing it in a single go. “Like this. Your turn.”

“…Keigo…” You’re not sure what you want to say. You don’t want the shot, it tastes bad and you’re already drunk. You’re a smart girl, a careful girl. You should know better. You do know better. But it feels like—it feels like, even though he’s not making you do anything, somehow it’s too late to say no.

“C’mon, (Y/N). It’s just a little shot.” He taps his empty glass against your almost-full one. “And look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just take you back downstairs…is that what you want?”

Back downstairs. Back to sitting by yourself and waiting for your friend and turning down offers. Is that what you want?

Keigo’s gaze dips down to the ground and he shifts a step forward. “Now…maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you want that. ‘Cause when I saw you sitting on that couch, you didn’t look like you were having such a good time, hm? Am I right?”

“…um, I guess?”

“Yeah…you looked so sad and lost and lonely I couldn’t leave you alone. Admit it...” He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. “You were waiting for someone to catch your interest. You were wishing a guy like me would come rescue you. If I’m wrong, I’ll take you right back downstairs and leave you by yourself for the rest of the night, okay? But if I’m right…”

You can smell his hot breath on your face—vanilla and sugar and bananas and rum.

“…take the shot.”

It’s not so bad the second time. You’re quicker and you don’t bother holding it in your mouth. The liquor sears your throat clean and when you get over the unpleasantness, it really does taste kind of like banana bread.

“Ohhhh… Not so bad, is it?” Keigo takes the glass from you. “God, you—you complain, but you really take it down like a champ.”

“Alcohol tastes nasty,” you reply, wrinkling your nose. “Why’d people do this for fun?”

“It’s not about the taste, not at first,” Keigo laughs. Weird. It’s like he’s always laughing.

“Then what?” At your next exhale, you squeeze your eyes shut and reopen them. Ah. Ah. The room is moving again, spinning, contracting and dilating. There’s something relaxing about it, like you’re being rocked on gentle waves in the ocean. You feel floaty, comfortable, pleased.

“Well…it’s nice, isn’t it? Isn’t this nice? Helps you not think so much, not worry about the consequences.” Keigo’s arms are wrapping around you again, anchoring you in place. His torso is warm and hard against yours. “Lets you be bad.”

“Mmm…” You blink up at Keigo, admire his jawline and his lashes and his pretty gold eyes. He looks like a boy you would’ve had a crush on in high school, an older boy who never would’ve given you the time of day.

His hand is rubbing circles over your back, shifting the fabric of your dress along with his palm. “So what do you say?” he murmurs. “Wanna be a little bad?”

You do. You want to be bad and naughty and reckless. You want to make dumb, drunken decisions that you’ll laugh about with your friends in a few years. You want to do things you’ll regret, because you’d rather regret the things you had the guts to do than the ones you were too scared to try.

You inch your arms up past Keigo’s shoulders and tangle them in his fluffy hair, tugging gently at the different strands until you work up the nerve to pull his head to your level and kiss him. Even though you initiated it, he immediately takes the lead and the force of his mouth writhing against yours has your neck twisting back to accommodate. His tongue pushes against yours again but you don’t mind it this time. Your spine is arched and you’d probably be falling backward if his hand wasn’t bracing your lower back before sliding down to grab your ass.

“God—“ he breaks the kiss— “goddamn, look at you.” He’s gripping your dress, lifting it, pulling the fabric up over your hips and up to your waist at the same time as he showers kisses over your cheeks and your jawline and your neck.

You lift your chin (how strange that you’ve never done this before and still it feels so natural) to let him bite and suck scarlet marks onto the thin skin of your throat. “Keigo—“

“Baby,” he sighs, his breath stirring the hair falling over your neck. “You’re gonna be a killer, I can tell… You’re sweet now, but fuck, you’ve got no idea.” His hands are under the hem of your dress giving your ass another squeeze before he pulls the skirt up.

“Killer? What do you...” He’s backing you onto the bed, kicking off his shoes, and you do the same.

“Shh, that’s for me to know and you to find out. Arms up,” he tells you, and you slowly comply, letting him take the dress off your shivering body to leave you in your panties—no bra, not in this dress. Keigo holds the dress in his hands for a second before he drops it to the floor. “This—you know what, this is how I knew you were a virgin, this little dress, who the hell wears a dress to a frat party—“

“A virgin?” Hearing him say the word hits some kind of trigger in you and your eyes go wide. Without thinking, you fold your arms over your breasts and pull your legs up to your chest.

“Not a virgin virgin, it’s just what we call freshie girls who’ve never been to a party before—“ Keigo starts to clarify, but when he catches your reaction (your overreaction), his eyes narrow and he sits on the bed over you, knees straddling your legs. “Wait. Are you—you’re not actually a virgin, are you?”

You look to the side, cheeks hot, wanting to deny it but knowing there’s no way you’ve got the mental fortitude to really convince him.

“Fuuuck,” Keigo breathes, leaning over you and framing your face with his hands. “Baby. You just keep getting sweeter, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “’s embarrassing…”

“You should be glad I asked, or you’d be…like crying and bleeding and stuff, right? God, it’s been a while since I had a virgin.” He scratches his forehead and then his hand comes down to absently stroke the soft inside of your thigh.

It tickles. It tickles and you feel goosebumps rising to attention on your leg and a silly little laugh bubbles out of your throat. An involuntary shiver passes through you.

Keigo smirks and ducks down to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. It’s light—it’s nothing—but the rough stubble on his chin scratches over your skin and you giggle again. He nudges up higher on your body, so close you can feel the heat of his breath through your panties, and his hands grip around your waist to keep you in place.

Everything’s moving so quickly. You wonder in the back of your mind, the tiny part that still has a decent grasp on sobriety, if you’re ready for all of this. Then you wonder if anyone’s ever ready. How are you supposed to know? When it’s the right time, are you not supposed to be nervous? You are nervous, but the liquor is taking the edge off, making you more comfortable, maybe even keeping your mouth shut when the sober version of you would’ve stopped this a long time ago. You don’t know.

But what you do know—what you do know is that Keigo is easing your panties down off your legs and then nosing back in to kiss up your thighs and latch his mouth over your pussy.

“Mm—oh, fuck—“ What are you saying? You’re not a moaner, you don’t even say ‘fuck’. You’ve always been able to keep quiet when you’re by yourself. It’s like Keigo’s tongue flicking over your clit is pulling the voice out of you.

He wriggles the tip of his tongue over that sweet spot and the breath falls out of your lungs in what is undeniably a whimper. You feel so tense with the effort of keeping still, blood rushing to your pussy, and your thigh spasms where it’s nestled next to Keigo’s cheek. “You ever done this before?” he hums between licks.

“N-No…ah!”

“Ever cum?” His tongue returns, licking you up and down in lazy strokes, spreading your juices all over your dripping cunt.

“…hahhh, yesss…” Yes, you’ve had an orgasm before, in your own bed on your own fingers. When you do it to yourself it’s detached and methodical, a means to an end. You keep your mouth closed and you barely move and you get it over with. It’s not like this, wet and sloppy and out of your control, teasing, giving you almost exactly what you want but not quite.

You’re moaning. You’re moaning. You can still hear the throbbing music of the party downstairs, and you’re moaning your little heart out, whimpering, crying with little ah-ah-ah’s that anyone who can hear would recognize immediately.

When you do it yourself, it’s not like this. It’s never like this. Keigo moves from slow to quick unpredictably, always pulling you down right when you feel that pressure building in your core. It feels good enough that you’re annoyed—no, not annoyed, downright pissed when he sits back up on his heels and licks the wetness off his own lips.

“What’re you—I was, I was gonna—“ you start, trying to organize your thoughts. It had felt good. You’d wanted it, wanted more, and now your pussy feels all warm and wet and needy, pulsating with the lust he stirred up in you.

“Gonna cum?” Keigo leans down and kisses you, long and slow. “Sorry…but I’m selfish. When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

His arms flex in the yellow lamplight as he pulls the collar of his shirt over his head. You’re sprawled over the sheets on your back, not sure what you can say so you just watch. It helps that there’s plenty to look at—the hard planes of his abdomen forming the tell-tale dips of a six-pack, perfectly-formed lean muscle (all those sports trophies, you think to yourself), and the V of his hipbones disappearing under the hem of his pants…which he’s currently taking off as well. There’s something to be said for the benefits of spending more time at the gym than you do at the library.

Every part of Keigo Takami is impressive—he’s a work of art in human form. And when he pulls down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out to bob against his stomach, you’ve gotta admit that that is pretty impressive too.

Impressive…and intimidating. You bite your lip looking at it. Keigo pumps himself up and down, and every time his fist moves down to expose the thick pink head, you wonder the same thing: how is that supposed to fit!?

Keigo must see the sudden anxiety on your face, because he smiles (reassuringly? arrogantly? or is he just delighting in your discomfort?) and lifts you like a kitten with his hands under your armpits. “Up, up, on your knees, legs together—perfect. Now turn and put your hands on the wall.”

It’s so much easier to follow his instructions than try to consider what would happen if you said no. His callused hands petting over your waist make you feel like you’re doing the right thing. But—still—the nagging anxiety of having something so big in your pussy doesn’t go away.

You hear a drawer opening, and you turn away from the wall to see Keigo squeezing a clear liquid from a bottle in his hand and spreading it meticulously down the shaft of his cock. Lube? That’s good, you’ve heard from your more experienced female friends that it’s good to be extra wet the first time…but there’s something else, something you’re missing, isn’t there?

You try to think, try to ground yourself and understand, really understand what’s happening to you. What are you missing? The bed is squishy and soft under your knees, the air is windy somehow (is there a fan on? you hadn’t noticed), and the music downstairs is so loud you can feel the vibrations through the wall you’re pushed up against. And. And. You try to think. What are you forgetting that you’re not allowed to forget?

You can feel his cock, too. Keigo’s hands grip the flesh of your hips and he leans his chest into your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders so the two of you can touch skin to skin. The head of his cock bumps against your mound, raw and hard and heavy. Skin to skin.

Skin to skin.

It hits you in a wave of panic and you whip your head around and push desperately back at Keigo’s solid shoulder. “Wait! Wait, Keigo—the condom? Are you wearing a condom?”

His hand wraps around your wrist and pins it back against the wall, and he bows down to nip a a little spot on the crook of your neck. “Calm down, we don’t need one.”

“No, we—we need it, I need it!” you squeak out, trying to push away from Keigo but he’s got you sandwiched between him and the wall and those perfect muscles you were admiring earlier are definitely not just for show.

“I said calm down. I’m not gonna go inside.”

“…What?”

He rocks his hips forward and his dick bumps up under your pussy again. “Ever heard of thighfucking?”

No, you’ve never heard of thighfucking, but you’re an intelligent girl and you might be drunk but you’re not so drunk that you can’t piece together what he means. Your interpretation is reinforced when you feel Keigo slathering liquid—lubricant—over the lips of your pussy and between the tops of your thighs. It feels cold and weird—slippery slick, like lotion—but even the barest second of his fingers brushing over your clit reignites the need from when he ate you out and you shudder.

“Keep those knees together for me, baby,” Keigo says, and with no further delay he pushes his cock in between your thighs, aiming it perfectly to slide between your pussy lips so the head will bump up on your clit.

“…ahh, Keigo, wait—oh!” The full weight of Keigo’s body shoves against your back every time he thrusts. You’re too weak for this, too delicate to stay in position. Your elbows buckle under the pressure and your face is about to smack directly into the wall until Keigo laces his fingers in your loose hair and yanks you back from it.

He’s got no trouble holding you down, keeping you perfectly posed with your soft thighs molded tightly around the cock driving between them. Your head is craned back from his hold on your hair and he lays hungry kisses over your mouth, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. He’s right—he is selfish, and you know that this position is about him, not you, so it takes you by surprise that the longer he fucks his cock between your thighs and your dripping slit, the more heat you feel rising up in your cunt.

It’s not right. It’s not supposed to be like this. Your first time doing anything with a boy isn’t supposed to end up with him using you like he’s humping a pillow, thrusting his slippery cock into your thighs and groaning in your ear. It’s all wrong, and it’s definitely wrong that you’re getting off to it.

But now you know why he ate you out and left you high and dry (well, not dry) without making you cum—because the heat and the friction and the feeling of every ridged vein sliding over your clit, his hips smacking with a wet slap against yours, the smooth head grinding over your pussy—all of it is making your thoughts swirl like your brains are sloshing around in your head, and not just because of the alcohol.

“Fuck,” Keigo purrs, ducking forward to bite the shell of your ear and then running a soothing tongue over it. “Fuck, baby, you like that? Is that virgin pussy getting all wet on my dick? You’re twitching, I can feel you…”

“…Mmph, ah, I, I—please—” You can’t really talk, not when he’s knocking the breath out of you with every thrust. But you need more. It’s not fair, having to make do with the uncontrolled jerks of his cock over your upper thighs and the outside of your pussy. He’s fucking you like he couldn’t care less about whether you get to cum—which, if you had the ability to think about it, he probably doesn’t. Certainly not as much as he cares about your soft, lubed-up skin squeezing so deliciously on his cock.

You grind your hips down a little, sticking your ass back toward him to get a better angle and—ugh, ugh it works, the pressure on your clit increases, and you keen desperately, begging him to fuck your thighs faster harder deeper. He yanks on your hair, snapping your head back so your whimper chokes up into a squeal, and—god, are you imagining it?—but you swear you feel the stiff length of his cock throb in between your legs with the head nudging on your belly.

“Uhnn…baby, baby, baby,” Keigo chants in your ear. His voice is heavier and jagged with the puffs of breath that are coming out in time with the roll of his hips into yours. It sounds…needy, almost. “G-Good girl, keep those legs tight, just—just like that…my good little sweetheart, angel, virgin. Gonna make me cum? Yeah? Make me cum with these pretty fucking thighs?”

“—Keigo, I’m—mm!” You can’t say it, even the thought of announcing you’re cumming like some kind of pornstar makes you cringe, but even if you don’t say it, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the electric shock that passes through you, sending tremors through your body.

You’re crying out, loud, louder than the music downstairs maybe (or at least it feels like it). There’s nothing you can grip for purchase so one hand just scrabbles against the bare expanse of the wall while you curl the other into a fist and dig your fingernails into your palms.

Fuck, is it the alcohol? Is it the liquor that’s making it feel like this, so overwhelming and heady you don’t even know where you are? You vaguely try to remember how you got here (something about blond hair, an easy laugh, and sugar-sweet liquid coating your tongue), but it’s not important, who fucking cares when the cock pistoning between your thighs is still rubbing up on your clit, still stimulating you, still sending sparks of heat up through your spine and making it impossible for you to breathe without moaning, much less think.

“Keigo…Keigo I came, please ahh—it, it hurts,” you whimper, trying to shift your hips up off his cock to relieve the pressure on your sensitive clit—but he won’t let you.

Keigo’s grip on your ass digs in deeper, harder so he’s probably leaving bruises, and the hand in your hair pulls your head back toward his. His voice is a growl, so low and scratchy that it sends a chill up through your body. “Don’t move. Don’t you—don’t you fucking move. Stay right fucking there.”

It scares you.

It scares you, but his dick is rocking over your pussy, making you crazy, making you lose your grip on whatever other physical sensations you can still feel. You’re limp except for your thighs pressed into one another as tightly as you can manage, letting Keigo hold you up. It doesn’t hurt, not really—but it’s horrible, it’s too much, it’s like you’re trapped on the edge, cumming and cumming and cumming and cumming while you squeal like you’re being tortured, and you are, you are, you are, you are—

—it's torture.

But not pain. It doesn’t hurt. It’s mind-bending, oppressive, awful, you want it to stop but—oh god oh god—you’re helpless and you don’t get to make it stop, you don’t get to make that decision, it’s up to him. He decides, Keigo decides, and Keigo decides to keep fucking into your thighs, keep spreading your pussy lips apart and teasing your clit, so you just roll your head back and stop trying to convince yourself it doesn’t feel incredible.

You barely notice him speeding up—you probably wouldn’t notice at all if you couldn’t hear the beat of your moans, paced in time with his body slamming yours against the wall, increasing in frequency. He releases your hair (you swear you can feel blood rush back into your head when you’re finally able to lean forward) and his hands go back to your hips, guiding you to rock yourself back on him so his last few rabid thrusts finish with the head of his cock rubbing firmly against your stomach.

“Ugh, goddamnit fuck, baby, yesss, stay still, stay right there,” Keigo groans, and you’re so blissed out from the overstimulation that you barely even feel the twitching of his cock between your legs and the spurt of thick, hot liquid on your stomach.

Oh.

Oh god.

When Keigo finally picks his hands off their bruising grip on your ass, you drop directly onto the bed, barely remembering at the last second to roll over onto your back so his semen (his semen, which is spread over your lower belly like a Jackson Pollock painting) doesn’t stain his sheets.

You stare at the ceiling and what do you know, there is a ceiling fan, blades spinning in lazy circles that make you sick when you try to follow them. So you close your eyes.

What are you feeling? What are you supposed to be feeling?

Anger, probably. Fear? Well, you won’t deny that there are hints of both of those emotions swimming underneath the hazy surface of your drunken psyche, but they’re overshadowed by what you’re really feeling, which is relief, relief that the stimulation is over, relief that it felt good, relief. And—since you’re too out of it to stop yourself from admitting it—satisfaction.

There’s a rustling, paper slipping against paper, and then you can feel Keigo wiping his cum off your bare stomach with a tissue and then dabbing at the smears of wetness between your legs. When he’s satisfied that you’re clean, the bed creaks as he lays down next to you. He’s panting.

Reluctantly you open your eyes and roll onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look down at him: golden hair spread out in a halo around his head, pale lashes and brows, a healthy glow of sweat over his forehead. You hadn’t seen it before, but there’s a tattoo curling over his biceps from where it must originate on his back—red feathers, wings, inked permanently into his skin.

Angel, Keigo called you earlier. But really, between the two of you…he’s the angel. In appearance, if nothing else.

His eyes drift open and the corner of his mouth tilts up, pleased to see you inspecting him. “How was that? Did you have fun being naughty?”

You and him both know exactly how much fun you had, and if you said it you’d just be stroking his ego. “You’re not a good guy, are you,” you say instead.

“Never said I was.”

“Then why didn’t you…have sex with me? For real?” you ask after a beat. The question’s been weighing on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining.” A hand comes up to comb through your mussed hair unhurriedly.

“I’m not…” You still want to know, though.

“Mmm…baby. You didn’t want this to be your first time. Believe me, you’re not supposed to lose your virginity to a guy like me. No—don’t pout, come on. Your first time is supposed to be, like, soft and special and romantic, right?”

The girl you were one month ago, before you moved away from your hometown to come to college, she would have agreed. But you’re not that girl. You’ve been to your first college frat party, you’ve had your first drink and your first shot, you’ve kissed a stranger and you’ve done…sexual things with a man for the first time. And you’re okay with it. So you roll your eyes. “I’m not some fourteen-year-old drawing hearts in my notebook. I don’t need soft,” you tell him, hoping you sound bold and sarcastic.

Keigo chuckles and pats you on the head. “Don’t knock soft fucking, it’s got a time and a place like everything. I just couldn’t do it. Not when I saw you sitting there looking so lonely—you were like, hmm…like a rabbit in a den of wolves. You looked delicious.”

Oh god, you’re blushing again. This isn’t good for the nonchalant cool girl persona you’re trying to cultivate for yourself.

He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your lower lip. “I don’t think I could’ve been soft with you if I tried.”

A sharp rap on the door has both of you tensing, and Keigo only has a second to yank a blanket up from the foot of the bed over your naked bodies before the door is slammed open so hard that it bangs against the adjacent wall. “Jesus, get the fuck out!” he barks to the intruder, and it’s weird to hear the authoritative note in his voice reminding you that within this house, he’s someone who commands respect.

You tuck your face into Keigo’s chest and hope wildly that the person who just walked in 1) didn’t see anything and 2) isn’t the friend who brought you to the party, because if word gets around that you’re the girl who ‘slept’ with an older frat boy at the first party of freshman year, you’ll never live it down. Regardless of your own sexual liberation or whatever, you’re well aware that this isn’t the kind of reputation you want to start your college career out with.

“Sorry Kei! But we need you downstairs, we’re out of alc and the music stopped and no one knows how to fix the speakers!” the brother says, shielding his eyes with his hand, but he doesn’t leave the room. At least it’s not your friend—you breathe a sigh of relief and Keigo automatically smooths a hand down the back of your head in response.

“I’m kind of busy,” he seethes, and—you’ve gotta admit, there’s something marginally funny about seeing him caught off guard like this. You bite down on a laugh and he looks at you curiously, one thick eyebrow quirked.

“I’m really sorry, man, but the President said you’ll be on puke clean-up duty tomorrow if you don’t get your ass down there. His words, not mine.”

“Tomura, of-fucking-course…shitty incel has it out for me…” Keigo curses under his breath. “Give me five minutes.”

As soon as the door is closed, you’ve got your feet on the floor, groping around the discarded articles of clothing for your dress. You smooth down your hair with your hands and hope you look like any other tipsy freshman instead of a girl who just got pseudo-fucked. Keigo winks at you and taps his cheeks under his eyes; you take the hint and wipe away the smudges of mascara and eyeliner that migrated out of place during your…activities.

Your phone is safely in the pocket of your dress and you’re all but ready to leave the room (hopefully there won’t be anyone in the hallway to see you) when Keigo, still pulling on his pants, tugs you back by your wrist.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply uncertainly.

“Aren’t you going to give me your number?”

What? Really? You’ve heard plenty about how frat guys like him operate, and nothing Keigo’s done (except the whole ‘no penetrative sex’ thing) has led you to believe he doesn’t fit the stereotype. And the stereotype doesn’t involve sleeping with the same girl twice, especially if that girl is an awkward freshman who is apparently too innocent for him to get his dick wet with. “What do you want my number for?” you ask.

“Do I have to spell it out to you?” Keigo’s fingers lace with yours and you stumble forward into him so he can kiss you.

It’s light, chaste even, but it’s not fair because he knows, of course he knows—a kiss like that is going to leave you wanting more. “Yes,” you tell him, just to be contrary.

Keigo laughs again, and you do your best to memorize the sound of it. “It’s so the next time you decide you want to be a bad girl…you know where to find me.”

[opluffys]

Caught- Donquixote Doflamingo x Reader

another from my archive account, luffys. putting it here just cuz i guess. anyway i hope you guys enjoy!

-smut/nsfw-

This was your chance. Your one and only opportunity, it was like a flashing gold sign right in front of you. Seize your chance!

You sighed in discomfort. How long has it been? You honestly stopped keeping track, but due to how sensitive you felt, you knew that it had been a while.

The tap of your heels were no doubt annoying the two grown men seated next to you. They were, however, too focused on the leading mans words, as the number of you were trapped in a meeting.

The way Doflamingo hadn't spoken to end the meeting told you that everyone would be here a long time.

Perfect.

You rose from the leather confines, muttering a polite excuse. When nobody seemed to object, you beelined your way out of that boring lecture, seeing the confused eye of Rosinante settle on you before fully disappearing behind that door.

You unconsciously pumped your fist high, making a small sound of happiness that your ridiculous plan had actually gone to fruition.

You moved your way past the many doors, seemingly lost in a maze on the marble floor. You clicked your tongue when you remembered that your room was at the end. How lucky you were.

You burst inside your chambers, kicking off the dark heels and rushing into the small bathroom, seeing the small scratches visible on the mirror from your last fling.

"I should do something about that..." You hummed, quickly shrugging away any thoughts of the previous man who held you tight.

You bumped your hip against the door, hearing the soft click, affirming that it had closed. Too excited to take any other further precautions, you decided the setting was good enough.

Your available hand scrambled against the sink for purchase, nearly slipping on nothing in pure bliss. You curled your fingers further inside of you, delving deep into your velvety folds.

Muffled gasps and groans continued to fight their way out of you as your fingers pushed farther than you thought possible, causing a louder sound to rip its way out of your tightly sealed lips.

More scandalous moans left your lips, feeling three of your fingers pump in and out of you felt phenomenal. You decided to take it nice and slow, resting against the sink as you began to spread your fingers inside of you, attempting to get a stretching sensation.

Who knew when you could get another chance like this, after all?

After hitting the wall of seemingly no longer caring, your fingers started to ruthlessly thrust inside your dripping core, the liquid spilling onto your spread thighs as if you've come out the shower.

Your eyes were closed, your painted lips slightly agape in pleasure. You could feel that high. You were chasing it for so long, you were right there. Just one more graze from the perfect angle... It was as if you were pushing a large boulder over a hill, you were at the top, about to push the rock over. Your chest heaved with excitement, glee filling your body from the toxins your brain received.

You couldn't move.

You prayed that you were dreaming.

"This is what you skip my meeting for?"

You didn't have a response. You didn't want to respond. You wanted to curl up and become invisible to the entire world right now.

He moved his fingers, and so did you, causing an involuntary moan from your lips after brushing against your swollen clit.

How did you not hear the man coming in? He was a giant for goodness sake! Did you not lock the door, even so, the bathroom door should've been locked as well...

"I expect an answer when I talk to you, (First Name)."

Pink flooded your vision. You didn't want to believe this.

"My apologies, Young Master." You panted, your body still stimulated from your previous actions. "I did not intend for any of this-"

"No, no. We all get urges sometimes." He chuckled, seeing the state of peril you believed to be in. He appeared behind you, your hooded eyes widening at his ridiculous speed.

His tanned digit swiped at your wet folds, eliciting a shameless moan from you. Without warning, he quickly shoved two of his long fingers inside your tight pussy, feeling the way you tightened against him made the man grin wickedly.

You would question what he was doing if you weren't drunk off of your own pleasure, placing your forehead against the counter and just letting your sounds of bliss flow.

"I could give you something better than just my fingers."

Your thighs twitched in excitement, trying to tighten, but with Doflamingo's strings, any movement was impossible.

You couldn't bring yourself to speech, to moving at all, especially when he dared to push his fingers down to his knuckles. Curling them against you.

"Yes." You breathed, you honestly didn't mean to say anything. Somehow the affirmation had slipped out.

How heinous of you it was to see all of the actions being committed from the mirror. A part of you actually enjoyed this, getting attention from Doflamingo himself, what kind of woman doesn't want that? Those bronze abs were just begging to be touched by you. That short blonde hair screaming to be in your vice grip, screaming the mans name behind you without fear.

Doflamingo had zero hesitation, after hearing your breathy plea, he dropped his pants, only leaving the ever-so tight confines of his boxers on.

He dragged his fingers out of you, ignoring your whines of protest. He pulled the briefs down slightly, enough to expose the reddening tip of his desperate member. His cock was leaking giddily, how excited the man felt was not what he portrayed. Little did you care, though. You just wanted to feel full of your own boss, the thought of peeking in the mirror often to see how he reacted within you made you further leak with excitement.

Doflamingo languidly palmed his erection, causing more precum to dribble down his impressive length. He groaned lowly, eliciting an excited whimper from you.

The man behind you was huge, so all you could expect was a large size as well.

"Finish what you had started."

You felt an uncomfortable heat rest on your cheeks. How could you finish pleasuring yourself while your damn boss stood behind you so calmly?

"Young Ma-"

"Do not make me repeat myself."

God, that dangerous undertone of his voice nearly made you finish right then and there. Why couldn't he just shove himself deep inside of you like any other man?

Your shaky hand returned to your slick folds, using your skilled fingers to spread and rub yourself shyly. You bit your lip as to not make much noise, but when you curled your fingers- oh..! You couldn't stop yourself from that sweet moan leaving your mouth.

Making noise was favourable to you, though. With every heavy breath you drew, a shaky exhale left Doflamingo's lips, stroking his painfully hard length with vigour.

"How bad do you want to get fucked?"

"S-So bad..!"

You had no control over yourself, words just came out of your mouth with ease, it was like your cognitive function was completely switched off.

Again, you were so close. Atop that damn mountain with the boulder just barely pushed over the edge. You felt bliss in your fingertips, just brush over that spot one more time, and curl your fingers at the right moment-

You wanted to scream.

So suddenly he had filled you to the brim of his cock, head kissing your womb with every thrust back into you. He was so fucking big, he was splitting you. But oh, did it feel divine.

Incoherent words left your lips, red staining the material of the sink.

"You take me surprisingly well..." He grunted, it seemed as he was enjoying himself more than he had let on...

"I... I thought..! You were in," Your hand flew to your mouth, stopping such a loud and unclear sound, you felt embarrassed hearing that come from you.

"Ah, my meeting. Yes, I was taking charge of it. But it was rather boring, seeing as you had left to do such a devious thing, no?" Doflamingo chuckled, large palm on the soft curve of your ass. He never faltered, not for a moment, such fluid and beautiful thrusts. It's like he knew your body from the inside out, his length just hitting every spot in you that made you go crazy.

You felt delirious, such a big cock breaking and stretching you, you couldn't ask for something better. Groans left Doflamingo's lips as he leaned lower to you, hard abs meeting your back.

Your head turned to the side, seeing the man fucking into you beside you. You couldn't help yourself, you wanted to feel all of him, and it wasn't like the two of you would ever do this again, anyway.

You met him in a sloppy kiss, lips covered slickly and teeth colliding every now and then. It was painfully passionate, kissing while you felt him inside.

His free hand rushed to your sore clit, rubbing harsh circles into it. You broke the kiss and whimpered nothing but affirmations.

All you could comprehend was Doflamingo's huge body ramming into your own, making you see stars. You didn't think about how loud you were, you didn't think how Rosinante's room was right beside yours, you didn't think how you were yelling Doflamingo's nickname, such a thing only close allies could call him.

No, you didn't think of it at all.

All you felt was white hot pleasure while his full lips crashed into yours, his hands were of an expert surgeon, tweaking and pinching all over your body.

Finally you could push that oversized rock over that damned cliff. You felt as if you were free falling from such a high distance, hands running through the creamy clouds.

"Ahh, Doffy..!" You screamed, tightening around him impossibly while bumping your head against the sink, feeling every muscle in your body become useless.

Your juices soaked him, making it easier to slip in and out of you. A strangled groan left him after feeling your soft flesh squeeze him ever so tightly. He couldn't hang on much longer, feeling his high quickly approaching.

Many curses left Doflamingo, quickly unsheathing himself from within your warmth to release thick white ribbons onto your back.

"You should clean yourself up." He said, smiling widely, knowing full well you could no longer walk properly.

A frown settled onto your lips, your eyebrows furrowing. You wanted to turn and glare at him, but alas, after practically having your body wrecked by a huge man, it wasn't possible.

"Ass." You mumbled.

He laughed, amused at your courage to say such a thing to him.

You held on to the edges of the sink to make your way to the shower. It was as if you didn't know how to swim, holding onto the corners of the pool to support you.

You felt an arm support your deadweight, assisting you to the shower.

"Looks like I'll have to help you further." He grinned.

Needless to say, you could no longer walk around as much as you liked for the next week.