#dropped everything to draw this scene

[masonjarart]

"My last sin is that I hate you"

[shadelorde]

grumpy,,,,

[mimzaucracks]

Superquest doodles

I'm an ardent the-other-three-1987-turtles-would-just-laugh-at-Raphael-and-his-misfortunes-in-the-episode truther, which resulted in possibly one of my most fun and favourite doodle dumps.

These drawings are specifically how I imagine the 1987 turtles would've/could've been in that episode.

[gilfrespecter]

Listening to coinstar by the growlers and thinking about mel so hard I get nauseous

Ridiculous stream of conscious in the tags apologies but not really

[earl-grey-crow]

✨pond theories✨

[varjopeura]

a tomtom

[cherriicou]

oh my god please write an older bf!mingyu i love ur scoups one sm 💗 (did i mention to put creampie in? did i) 👁️👁️ thank u babes mwah

hehe ofc! glad u enjoyed it mwahaha

olderbf! mingyu x college student! reader (f)

a/n; pls don’t use tinder guys… // word count; 1.2K

content; age gap, size difference, overstimulation, consensual recording, sending nudes, creampie, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, spanking, car sex, public/semi-public sex, degradation, praise kink, riding, smut with the smallest amount of plot

OLDER BF!MINGYU who met you through a dating app his friend forced him to go on. he usually ignored all the young girls who sent him thirsty messages and had their bodies on display on their profile. but you were different. only cute selfies, cat pictures, and your interests were shown on your page, drawing him to get interested in you. so he messaged you first!

OLDER BF!MINGYU who noticed your like in art so he immediately suggested taking you to a museum as your first date <3 he was the sweetest man you’ve ever met. yes, he was way older than you but it made everything 10x better. he knew how to treat you well, he made you feel safe, and he even dropped so many compliments on you that day it made you squirm in your seat.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who noticed you staring at his arms every time he helped you pick up something or every time he extended his arm out to pay for your meal. his ego was boosted then, making sure to flex them every once in a while when he saw you looking. you looked so adorable, your pretty face blushing, thighs squeezing together while admiring him. he needed you.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who, at first, tries to be soft with you. you were so much smaller than him, he was almost scared he’d break you :< that was until you started playing little games. bending down when you decided to wear no panties under your dress or skirt, fingers grazing over his crotch while you had dinner. all while giving him a innocent look. oh, he was tired of playing nice with you.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who has you salivating all over your chin and tits. he’s fucking your face so roughly, your makeup is completely ruined and you have no thoughts whatsoever as he holds your face firmly with his hands. ‘fucking brat’, as he stared straight into your eyes, groaning from the tears that started to fall down. he was not afraid to show you that he was enjoying the way your mouth was taking him in so well.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who loves to overstimulate you. he knows you love it despite your whines, ‘g-gyu no more,’ as you try to push his head away from your sensitive pussy. but he just continues licking and sucking on the spot he knows drives you crazy. you don’t even realize it, but you start grinding on his mouth, feeling the smile form on his lips. ‘doesn’t seem like you want me to stop, baby.’ god, he could taste you all fucking day while having you squirm over him. lapping your juices for being such a good girl the other day while you took his cock in your mouth <3

OLDER BF!MINGYU who takes and picks you up from college; his expensive car catching the eyes of others as you happily walk to greet your boyfriend. glaring through his window to any of the young guys looking at you get into his car. oh, and his favorite thing is take your mind off the stressful day that just passed. panties shoved to the side as he plunges his fingers in and out of you while driving home. 'that's it, princess. use my fingers,' your moans and whimpers take over the entire car as you hold onto the arm that he is using to pleasure you in the passenger seat. his eyes directed towards you every once in a while to see the fucked out expression on your face. he doesn’t care if people can see the lewd scene from outside, as long as you’re taken care of!

OLDER BF!MINGYU who LOVES to fill you up. 'where you want it, baby?' sweat glistening on his forehead as he continuously rams into your sweet spot, orgasm right on edge. 'i-inside, please,' he already knows you want it in you, but he just loves hearing you say it while he's fucking you. his grip on your hips gets harder, making you squirm in both pain and pleasure. his thrusts get stronger as he finishes inside you, making sure all of it is released in your abused hole. 'fuck, look at that,' his breathless groans let out as he pulls his cock out of your sensitive cunt. he takes his phone from the bedside table, and you hear the sound of the record button as he spreads your ass out. both of your cum leaking out of your pussy so nicely. you think he's done until he uses his fingers to take as much fluid as he can to shove it right back inside your hole :3 'ah g-gyu..,' you let out. he smiles at your coos, landing a playful smack against your ass before pulling you up to kiss your lips.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who is annoyed at this stupid meeting his employees set up with him. he just nods away, eyes locked on the presentation, mind spinning faster than he could organize his thoughts. ding! he reached for his phone to find messages from you, as well as a video linked to it. 'miss you <3,' he smiles at the cute text, then opens the video to find himself growing hard and smiled swept away. it's a video of you, one hand holding the phone to show your naked body while the other hand is rubbing your clit. he turns down the volume completely before your moans can be heard in the basically quiet conference room. he's livid. you're at home, smiling at the 'seen' notification on your phone. it wasn't until time passed you started to worry, not a single message was sent back from him. you're screwed.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who has you bent over his lap, fingers messing with your pussy for what seems like hours. your ass was practically red and bruised from the amount of smacks it has taken. all while you plead, 'mm sorry gyu please,' he smiles. you think he is going to give into you fully, ready for him to put you in missionary or on all fours. but no. instead, he lays down with a cocky look on his face at your confused, needy expression. 'come sit on it, doll,' he can't be serious. he puts his hands behind his head, eyes never leaving you as your legs tremble. trying to put as much energy as you can to climb on top of him and fully sit on his cock. the pleasured look on your face almost makes him fold, he wanted to take care of you himself but you needed to learn. learn that needy girls don’t get awarded.

OLDER BF!MINGYU who almost feels bad for you. you're struggling so much to grind on dick :< the burn your thighs are feeling is insane, and he is just staring you down. 'g-gyu,' you whine while fighting for your life to continue riding him. 'hm? gonna cum, already?,' you nod, hands placed on his chest to try to help your body stabilize. your eyes meet his again and you give him the biggest pout, gasping as he finally thrusts into you once roughly, 'gonna make a mess on my cock like some needy slut?,' his hands grab onto your hips. he's being so mean but you know you'll love it later.

OLDER BF! MINGYU who thinks you've been punished enough and plants his feet flat on the bed, then immediately starts to fuck up into you. the tip of his meanly thick cock repeatedly slamming into your cervix. his hands frantically touching you all over your body, from your tits to your neck, to even putting his thumb into your mouth as you struggle to take what he's giving you. 'mm my sweet girl,' you salivate around his fingers as you feel yourself about to cum. you should take more pics often..

[aneertawrites]

jealous!Sylus x fem!Reader

a/n : saw this edit on tiktok and got the urge to write... ++ the green eyes are a metaphor for jealousy! sorry for the confusion <3

tags : light choking, thigh smacking, jealous sylus, porn w no plot, oral sex (reader receiving), raw sex, rough sex, yeah....

The room was stifling — not from heat, but from tension. Laughter rang out, glasses clinked, and a hundred dignitaries buzzed with small talk beneath golden chandeliers. You stood near the bar, dress hugging your frame just right, heels biting into the polished floor. You’d worn this to be taken seriously.

But the man beside you had other ideas.

A diplomat. Polished smile. Lazy eyes that kept dropping to your chest like it was a conversational cue. He was leaning closer now, voice a little lower, fingers brushing your arm as if it were casual.

It wasn’t.

You didn’t recoil. That would draw attention. Instead, you gave a tight smile and angled your body just enough to distance yourself — not enough to cause a scene, but enough that he would notice.

And he did.

Across the room, you could feel Sylus’s gaze like a hot wire threading through your spine.

He stood near the edge of the crowd, drink untouched in his hand, suit tailored so sharply it cut. His expression was unreadable — not angry, not even annoyed. Just… focused. Like a predator watching someone else circle his territory.

You turned back to the diplomat and forced a laugh at some forgettable joke. But your attention was split — half on this conversation, the other locked onto the man across the room whose patience was starting to burn.

When the diplomat finally excused himself, you exhaled. And then Sylus was there.

Not a second later. Not two.

“I thought you were working,” he murmured, voice low and calm, but loaded.

“I was.” You tilted your head, studying him. “Didn’t realize conversation counted as betrayal now.”

“He was flirting.”

“Barely.”

“He wanted to fuck you.”

Your breath hitched — not at the words, but at the cold certainty behind them. Sylus’s voice didn’t rise. He didn’t look flustered or possessive in the way other men might. No, he was composed. Still. Like someone who already knew he owned the battlefield.

And the way he was looking at you now?

Like he owned you, too.

“You’re imagining things,” you said — a challenge, not a denial.

His lips curled. Not a smile. A warning.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t ask where.

Didn’t need to.

He led you down one of the quieter halls — away from the glittering noise, past locked doors and diplomatic signage. The second he found a private room — lights low, a lounge clearly reserved for someone far above your paygrade — he keyed it open and pulled you inside.

The door hissed shut behind you.

Silence.

You turned to face him, but he was already on you.

One hand gripped your jaw, tilting your face up, and the other flattened over your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

“You want to let men like that flirt with you?” he murmured, voice quiet but sharp as broken glass. “Then look at me when they do it.”

You gasped as his mouth crashed into yours — hard, punishing, furious. The kiss tasted like jealousy and unspoken obsession. Like everything he’d been holding back since the moment the diplomat touched you.

His hand slid from your jaw to your throat — not choking, not quite — but firm enough to own. You whimpered into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily.

“You think I’ll just stand there while someone else imagines how you sound when you come?” he rasped, voice like smoke. “Not a fucking chance.”

You didn’t get a chance to answer.

He spun you, pressing your back to the wall, grinding his hips into yours so you felt just how hard he was. Every line of his body screamed restraint — but it was unraveling fast.

“Sylus—”

“You’re mine,” he growled, mouth against your ear, one hand trailing down your side, over the swell of your ass. “Say it.”

You swallowed, breathing fast. “I’m yours.”

His teeth grazed your shoulder, not gently.

And then he was everywhere, hands pushing up your dress, lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck as he shoved your panties aside. His fingers brushed through your folds, and he hissed.

“Dripping for me,” he muttered, smirking against your throat. “You like it when I get like this.”

You gasped as he slid two fingers inside you — thick, deep, curling just right. You bucked into his hand, shameless already, grinding against him.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Be greedy for it. I want to feel how bad you need me.”

You moaned, breath stuttering as his thumb found your clit and started tight, perfect circles. The pressure built fast, too fast, your thighs shaking, your voice caught in your throat.

But then he stopped.

You whined, frustrated — hips jerking forward, chasing friction.

He chuckled darkly, lips brushing your ear. “Not yet. You don’t get to come until you mean it.”

“Mean what?” you panted, eyes wild.

“That you’re mine.” He reached around and unzipped his pants, dragging his cock against your slick heat teasingly. “All the way. Not just when it feels good.”

You looked back at him — flushed, half-dazed, aching. “I’m yours, Sylus.”

His eyes blazed.

And then he was inside you.

One hard thrust — deep, brutal — and your mouth fell open in a silent scream. He didn’t give you time to adjust. Just pulled out and slammed in again, setting a pace that was fast, relentless, perfect.

You braced against the wall, moaning, gasping, crying out his name as he pounded into you — thick and heavy and everywhere.

“That’s it,” he growled, voice low and vicious. “Let them hear you. Let them all fucking hear how good I fuck what’s mine.”

You shattered.

No warning, no buildup — just white heat and pleasure so sharp it tore a scream from your throat. You clenched around him, whole body convulsing, and Sylus groaned, slamming in harder, deeper, his rhythm breaking.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasped. “Gonna mark you from the inside out.”

You moaned his name, and he followed — hips grinding deep as he came, hot and thick inside you, holding you so tight you thought he might bruise your hips.

You were still gasping when he pulled out of you, slow, deliberate — and the heat of him spilled down your thigh, warm and obscene.

You tried to catch your breath, head falling back against the wall, but Sylus didn’t move away. Didn’t even give you space to think.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, breath ragged. His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “I should stop.”

You blinked, dazed. “Then why haven’t you?”

He smirked.

Because you both knew the answer.

He gripped your jaw, angling your face toward his. “You let him touch your arm,” he murmured, like he was still tasting that fact on his tongue. “Let him lean in. You smiled for him.”

Your chest rose and fell — fast, desperate. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Then you won’t mind if I fuck you until it does.”

That growl in his voice made your pussy clench all over again.

Without warning, he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands dragging your thighs apart, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He looked up once, green eyes stormy with hunger.

Then he devoured you.

Not gentle. Not teasing. His mouth was wet heat and filthy precision, tongue flicking and circling your clit with sharp, relentless purpose. You cried out, hips jerking, trying to squirm away from the overstimulation, but his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place like a man possessed.

“You don’t get to run,” he muttered between licks, voice vibrating straight through your cunt. “Not from this. Not from me.”

You were already so raw, every nerve electric, and now he was dragging you back up the edge — fast, merciless. You were moaning like a damn prayer, head thrown back, hands in his hair, thighs shaking around his head.

He sucked your clit hard, once, twice — and you came again with a sob, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Your knees nearly buckled, but he caught you, hands firm under your thighs as he kept eating you through it.

“Fuck—Sylus—sensitive, I can’t—”

“Yes,” he growled, standing again, towering over you now, voice harsh and hungry. “You can. You will.”

He shoved his pants lower again, cock already hard, again, and this time, he didn’t even bother positioning you.

He manhandled you onto the nearest velvet lounge, pulled your legs open wide, and slid back inside with one brutal thrust that made you scream.

No warm-up. No restraint.

Just raw, unforgiving heat.

He fucked you like he needed to ruin you, like nothing short of breaking you open would be enough to satisfy the jealousy still burning under his skin. His grip bruised your hips, his pace punishing, deep, his pelvis grinding against your overstimulated clit with every stroke.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, eyes locked on yours, sweat slick on his brow. “Say it again. Scream it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, head falling back.

“Louder.”

You cried out, voice cracking. “I’m yours, Sylus—fuck, I’m yours!”

He slapped your thigh — not hard, just enough to make you jolt. “Don’t you forget it.”

You were close again, ridiculously fast — his cock hitting every perfect spot, his hand reaching down to rub your clit again despite the tears pricking at your eyes from the intensity.

“Come on my cock,” he demanded, voice a low snarl. “One more. I want to feel you break.”

You shattered.

Your whole body bowed off the lounge, legs locking around him as your orgasm slammed through you — harder than the last, deep and full and wrecking. Your vision blurred. You sobbed his name.

He groaned like a man unhinged and slammed into you once, twice, deep — then came with a guttural sound, hips grinding into you, his seed spilling inside you for the second time. Hot. Heavy. Claiming.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull out.

Just stayed inside you, panting hard against your neck, arms around you like he needed to anchor himself.

You were both trembling, breathless.

“I need you to know something,” he whispered against your skin, voice quieter now, but still sharp. “That I will not share. Not even your attention. Not your smile. Not a fucking glance.”

You turned your face toward his, blinking through the heat and fog. “Then keep reminding me like this.”

His lips brushed yours.

“I will.”

masterlist

taglist : @etsuniiru @kyokoyya @i-messed-up-big-time @firefly1103 @gracekerzzz @mcdepressed290 @sylusgirlie7 @plzdonutpercieveme @m00nchildwrites

[rafesangelita]

so anyway I was thinking about something about bitchy!Kook!reader (since she's my ultimate favorite)

maybe rafe has gifted her a promise ring at some point in their relationship, and despite all their highs and lows, even in their worst nights, she has NEVER taken it off

and maybe they are in a heated argument and they're mad at each other (but not broken up, just mad) and they are attending a party and he notices that she isn't wearing it, so he loses his absolute shit and drags her somewhere, making a scene and telling her how much he cares about her (in his own way, ofc) and how hurt he is until she simply smirks and tells him that she's taken it off because she's getting it cleaned up

-🦉

warnings: arguing, slight angst, light fluff

a/n: join my private community for girly talks! ♡ you can comment under this post, send me a message, or leave something in my ask box for an invitation!

“can you fix your face? ‘at least try to act like you want to be here with me right now?” rafe whispered in your ear, a slight pinch of irritation lacing his tone. you swallowed thickly, flashing him a glare as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders so he wouldn’t draw any unnecessary attention towards you two. “i told you i wanted to leave a long time ago and instead of wrapping things up, you disappeared for another drink. i’ve been sitting here on this couch with you for over two hours now, listening to your idiot friends talk about their latest escapades. how about you fix your fucking face?”

rafe looked around to make sure no one caught any of the words that just left your mouth, his jaw clenching as he gripped you by the back of your neck. “is that how you’re gonna act right now? that’s what we’re doing?” at this, you trailed a hand down rafe’s stomach, your nails digging into his flesh hard enough to make him hiss and let go of you. “grab me like that again and i’ll leave your ass in front of everybody.” rafe knew that wasn’t an empty threat, considering you’ve already done it before and topper still hasn’t let him live the embarrassment down.

rafe gave you a curt nod, his eyes raking down your form before they rested on your bare fingers. “what the fuck?” he spoke out loud, the group conversation coming to a halt. without another word, rafe got up, dragging you along with him as he guided you two outside to his truck. “oh, now you wanna go home?” you scoffed, managing to pull away from him before he hoisted you into the passenger’s seat, his body wedged between the door as he took ahold of your hands. “i know we’ve been fighting a lot recently, and i’m sure we get on each other’s nerves all the time, but taking off your ring? are you fucking serious?”

your eyebrows knitted in confusion, your mouth barely opening before rafe started going on a rampage. “i bought you that ring to uphold a promise to you, y/n, and i’ve kept it. through all of our bullshit, through all of our problems, through damn near everything; you’ve never taken that ring off. even when we were close to leaving each other once and for all, you were still wearing it. that ring saved us, and now? you’re just giving up like that?” rafe sounded pained, his voice dropping slightly as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. “rafe—” you tried to interject again, but still he continued.

“i love you, and i know i fucking suck at showing it, but you know i do. you’re the only person who puts up with my shit and still loves me as i am. you work with me even though i make it really hard, and you don’t throw my mistakes in my face every chance you get. you’re patient with me when i least deserve it.. i could go on and on about everything you do for me.. please just put your ring back on.” you weren’t expecting rafe to pour his heart out to you, your anger from earlier dissipating into nothing as your gaze softened. “i can’t—” rafe groaned, kneeling down onto the step bar of the truck as he held your hands to his chest.

“why?!” you couldn’t help but laugh, your resolve crumbling as rafe looked up at you desperately. “what’s so funny? i’m literally about to have a panic attack right now.” you laughed harder, shaking your head. “rafe, i’m getting my ring cleaned! i’ve been trying to tell you since you dragged me out here but you kept interrupting me.” your boyfriend let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulders falling in relief. “when did you take it?” you helped him off his knees, rolling your eyes as he pulled you into his embrace. “remember, i told you i was going to the mall with chanel? i dropped it off there and i’m supposed to go back for it tomorrow..”

rafe nodded, his hands running up and down your back. “well, we better get you another ring for when you’re getting the other one cleaned. i can’t have you giving me heart attacks like that.”

[kyri45]

A final letter

Hello Everyone!

The queue is paused and everything is scheduled, which means we are ready for the finale!

I know that, in the end, this was just a silly side project for me, with everything else going on in my life. But for this occasion, I wanted to drop some words here and hope they make sense.

I started watching LMK only because a friend told me there was a "Sonadow-coded" ship. I ended up consuming the entire thing in one sitting on July 10th, 2024. At the time, I was still recovering from a bike accident that had left me with a broken right forearm—unable to draw for a little over a month. (I did try drawing with my left finger, but it wasn't exactly fun.)

Not only that, but it was summer, and I couldn’t enjoy the season or practice my main sport, windsurfing. To say I was feeling the blues is an understatement. I remember being in physical pain just from not being able to draw my sillies. But then, watching LMK did something to my brain chemistry that my little undiagnosed autistic self had never experienced before. It hit so hard that I’ve been physically unable to rewatch the show SINCE that very first day. (And y’all still call me the CEO of this fandom. Bro, I just work here.)

A lot of you have asked what inspired me to start this comic or to draw LMK fan art in the first place. While my usual answer is, "I saw Shadowpeach and thought MK could be their lovechild, given his appearance," the moment that actually started it all was THIS ONE—

(I HAD TO REWATCH THIS SCENE TO MAKE THE GIF AND IT HURT ME ON A MOLECOLAR LEVEL)

I have… a thing for characters who discover their entire identity was something else all along. It consumes my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I live for identity crises, for characters who thought they knew who they were, only to be forced to rediscover themselves, their existence, and their place in the world. If you give me a story where a character has to go through that, I will like it—regardless of how bad the rest of the story is.

Pair that with loads of trauma, daddy issues, the pressure of a legacy, and world-ending stakes, and congrats! Now I’m obsessed, and I will not stop thinking about it for the rest of my days!

At first, my brain just wanted to release some of that energy with a small, four-panel post about the monkeys discovering that MK was technically their kid.

That was supposed to be it.

But since I never seem to learn my lesson, it didn’t stay like that. Because once I started drawing, I just... continued.

And

I

never

stopped.

A lot of you have also asked how I found the motivation to draw so much, to never take a break. Well, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it one last time: I am my number one fan. No matter how much you laughed, cried, screamed, or went feral over this story, I did all of that and more. Because I got to think about the chapters months before they released. I got to daydream about them. I got to watch them come to life—first through sketches, then line art, then dialogue. And finally, I got to witness your reactions and see the incredible creations you made, inspired by my story.

So yeah, in a way, it was almost an addiction. A good addiction. Because, for the first time in my life, I actually understood what loving art means.

I’ve been drawing for ten years, working professionally for five, but I never loved art before. I just liked it because I happened to be good at it. But creating this comic made me understand why artists say, "Oh, I’ve loved drawing since I was a child!" This was the first time I allowed myself to create purely for my own enjoyment. Something I hadn’t had the privilege to do for a long time.

Other than making me feel even more single than I already was, this story somehow also helped me a little with my own family relationships. So yeah. Crazy how the gay monkeys changed my life.

Of course, I never could have predicted how much traction my AU would gain. Man, y’all were really starving to latch onto something this silly. /j

But yeah—thank you. Thank you for sticking around until the end, for having the patience and trust to follow the story even when I made you rage with angst and cliffhangers. (The statement in my bio still stands: I am not responsible for any physical or emotional damage my art has caused.)

I’m absolutely shit at thanking people, or at writing, or at talking in general, honestly. I’m the furthest thing from being good with words, so I hope the final chapter will be enough to show you my gratitude.

Through this story, I met so many wonderful, talented people. I watched as fans across different platforms found each other through memes and fanart of the AU. I saw artists start their own AUs inspired by mine, growing their own communities. I witnessed an explosion of creativity and collaboration through our takeovers. And I laughed along with you all.

And yeah—at its core, this story has always been about love. Whether it’s platonic, sibling, parental, romantic, or whatever the hell Mac and Wukong had going on for millennia.

At its heart, it’s a story about family.

And maybe, in the end… the real family wasn’t just the one in the comic, but the one we’ve found together along the way. 💛

See you all at the finale.

Love you all, freaks /affectionate

Jade

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝑭𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅…

. . . where Matt and Chris decide to test how close Doll and Bunny really are and show them who they belong to. Find Bunny's POV here.

warnings: SMUT, possessive behavior, exhibitionism, gay tbh, fingering, pussy squelching. pairings: Doll x Matt | Bunny x Chris notes: combined au with @muwapsturniolo - find her part here.

“-feels good, hm?” Matt purrs. 

His fingers were torturously teasing you, sliding over your pussy through the thin fabric of your pj shorts over and over again. It’s a surprise to you, but for him – this was planned. 

The blanket covers the lewd scene from Chris and Bunny sitting on the couch opposite of you. Heat pulses through your body, your chest clenching and stomach tensing as you feel Matt’s cold fingers slide under the bridge of your panties.

“You like this, don’t you?” he husks, astonished by how much your pussy is sobbing. 

His fingers slip upwards, drawing tight, focused circles around your clit as he spreads you open to really feel. Your breath hitches, your hands coming down under the blanket to grab on tightly to his wrists. 

“Matt,” you whimper, your head falling backwards and onto his chest. 

Your boyfriend looks down at you with a soft mischief. His eyes are sparkling with excitement and lust, his fingers beginning to slow. 

“No…no, please.” 

The whispered plea only makes his smile spread further. “Yeah? You want me to touch you like this? In front of them…” he says, nudging his head over in the direction of Chris and Bunny. 

You nod fervently, your mind absent of anything but desire – anything but need. 

“Ask Bun if she’s okay.”

Your eyes bulge as you feel him start to circle your swollen clit with his fingertips. 

“Do it or I’ll stop.”

Fuck.

You hold on hard to his wrists, your gut continuously tightening as you breathe in a large puff of air.

“-you,” a moan is muffled as you bite down hard on your lip, the feeling of Matt’s fingers starting to tease your entrance mind-numbing. 

This is torture. 

But for Matt and Chris, it’s so fun. 

Your voice is beyond shaky. Stutters and a weak tone make your face feel impossibly hot, but Matt’s fingers…they’re so distracting. Matt nibbles on your ear, warning you silently, urging you to speak.

And you do.

"-you ok b-bun?"

Matt almost laughs at how weak you sound. But, he focuses his energy elsewhere. 

Bunny replies and you can’t help but notice the way her voice is shaking, the way the blanket covering her seems to be moving so peculiarly. 

“M-matt,” you moan, feeling his free hand start to tease your hardened nipples through the thin tank top on your body. 

Your mouth drops wide open. Matt’s palm massages against your sensitive pussy, your clit being abused perfectly as he fucks his fingers inside of you, curling them right against the spot that make your thighs clench together.

But he keeps you spread.

In fact, it’s almost purposeful how obvious he makes his hand moving beneath the blanket. Like it’s payback. 

Your eyes trace over Bunny’s face, seeing her features so delightfully twisted. 

She looks so pretty. 

Chris is whispering against her ear. 

Your brain is too fuzzy to connect the dots, too helpless to focus on anything but how good it feels. 

“Fuckkkkk,” Matt purrs, kissing along the rim of your ear, “-squeezin’ my fingers so – shit,” he seethes, the pain burning in his wrist as he feels your nails dig in. 

It’s nothing but encouragement to him, forcing him to give you everything as he keeps his palm grinding on your clit, his fingers fucking you relentlessly. 

You’re so close. 

The knot in your stomach is overbearingly daunting, building up more and more as you feel your legs start to quiver. 

“-let go,” Matt urges, “-cum all over me lookin’ at Bun, yeah? Thaaat’s right,” he soothes, his fingers rolling to a stop as your body finally relaxes.Matt is nothing but thrilled, his teeth showing as he smiles at Chris sickly. They’re both proud – they’re both so excited to scheme more.

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Lavender

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Nature had always been your life. How fitting that it could now cause your death.

Warnings: angst (with a happy ending!), mentions of vomiting and blood.

a/n: Hello hello! This is perhaps definitely ass, but I really wanted to write for these two because I'm hopelessly in love with them both. Please enjoy!

Hanahaki Disease 花吐き病 (Japanese) is a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear.

The natural world had always brought you peace. The softness of the grass under your feet, the gentle breeze blowing against your skin, the tender feeling of a flower blooming by your hand. You were a green witch, after all.

That was what had driven your family away. You had been 12 when you first sprouted a lily from your hand. You were more curious than scared; you had always sensed there was something that separated you from the rest of your family. Something about the earth’s treasures had always called to you. 

But even at your young age, you knew who you were living with. Sharing your abilities was a recipe for disaster; a sure fire way to have you outcast from your family.

So you did your best to keep your powers a secret, honing them in private, away from the watchful eye of your parents.

When you were 20, the inevitable happened. You were meant to be collecting berries for dinner when you had spotted a Willow Tree. It was worse for wear; you could feel it pleading for help as you approached it with a soft smile.

“It’s alright,” you soothed the tree as you gently placed your palms against the soil where its roots rested, “You’ll be alright.”

You closed your eyes, focusing on strengthening the roots as green magic pulsed out from your hands, through the soil, and into the tree itself, which began to heal instantly.

The snapping of a twig broke you out from your trance, turning your head to see your mother fleeing the scene. Your heart dropped as you quickly stood, moving to follow her.

She was too fast. By the time you had returned to your cabin, everyone and everything was gone. Your entire family had left you.

You fell to your knees in the middle of what was once your home, tears rolling down your face as you stared at the ground. Numb, broken, grieving.

You don’t know how long you stayed in that spot. You didn’t eat, you didn’t sleep, you just sat, staring, longing.

It wasn’t until a cold hand lifted your chin that you realized you weren’t alone anymore.

“Hello, darling,” a voice said softly, and you locked eyes with one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. Her brown eyes were intoxicating, drawing you in. You tilted your head at her in confusion and intrigue. Who was she? What was she doing here?

“You’ve been sat here for a week, darling. No food, no water, no sleep. You’ll kill yourself if you keep up like this,” she said as she looked at you curiously.

Your eyes widened in realization. Death. 

She shook her head at you gently, sensing your fear. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not taking you. It’s not your time,” she said, stroking your hair gently. 

“Thank you, Lady Death,” you stuttered out, in awe of her soft nature, directly contrasting the connotation of her very existence.

She smiled at you in response. “You can call me Rio, sweet girl.” 

There was a moment where you two merely looked at one another before she looked away, taking on a rather stern expression. “But I feel the need to tell you, sitting here and mourning your abandonment will only hurt you. It’s not your time. So don’t let it be. Get up, you’re coming with me.”

You stumble away from her in confusion. “I thought you weren’t taking me?”

She shook her head. “I’m not taking you to the afterlife. I am, however, taking you in. You’ll be staying with Agatha and I.”

You knew that name. You had read about it during your private studies.

“Agatha? Like…’The Witch Killer’ Agatha? That Agatha?” you asked cautiously.

Rio cackled, extending her hand to you.

You took it.

And so began the years you spent with Death and her lover, Agatha Harkness. The two women were vastly different to their reputations that had preceded them. Sure, they both had a fierceness to them. They had to, in order to survive their daily lives filled with corpses and taking souls.

But, with each other, they held such a softness. Rio often came back from a long day exhausted and drained. Death didn’t tend to be a fan favorite, and people made it evident, shouting at her and berating her as she escorted the souls of their loved ones to the afterlife. But Agatha greeted her at the door each evening with a hug, simply holding her for minutes on end, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as Rio visibly relaxed into her hold.

And Rio returned the favor, treating Agatha with a love full of tenderness and warmth. Comforting her after each nightmare, preventing her from overworking herself, giving her soft apology kisses after any arguments.

Before long, you knew almost everything about the pair. You learned about Agatha and her son, and his loss which nearly tore Agatha and Rio apart. How Agatha was only a ‘Witch Killer’ to keep Nicky alive as long as she could. How Rio held such anguish and guilt at having to take Nicky’s soul. How Agatha once held it against her but now loved her as fiercely as ever.

The two were made for each other, and though they welcomed you with a similar softness to that which they showed each other, you chalked it up to them taking pity on a girl who was abandoned by her family. You knew they could never love you like they loved each other.

But that didn’t stop you from falling for them. It happened subconsciously; you never meant for it to happen. But when your heart panged in longing at seeing Agatha and Rio curled up in each other’s arms in the living room, you knew it had happened. It panged even further as you looked down, noticing a red carnation that had bloomed in your palm against your will.

You were determined to ignore it. Surely you could enjoy their presence without focusing on the way your stomach flipped when Rio smiled at you, or how your heart seemed to triple in size whenever Agatha would stroke your hair in affectionate greeting. But what you had to do became evident one morning.

“We’re headed out for a bit, doll,” Agatha said as you sat at the table eating the breakfast she had made for you.

You nodded. “Okay! Don’t stay out too late, I’m making your favorite for dinner, Ags.”

She beamed at you, making butterflies flare up in your stomach so violently they made you uneasy. “You’re a gem. Isn’t she just?” She turned to Rio, squeezing her hand gently.

“Oh, yeah, she’s the sweetest,” Rio replied, winking at you as you feel your heart beat faster.

The two bid you a final farewell before leaving for the day. As soon as they left, you began to feel an uncomfortable itch in your throat. You furrowed your brows, attempting to clear your throat to ease the discomfort, but to no avail. Eventually you began coughing. It was a cough that made you feel sick, made you feel like something was really wrong.

And when you coughed into your palm and saw the petals of daffodils, your suspicions were confirmed.

You had heard of Hanahaki disease but had always believed it to be a myth. Your heart dropped at the realization that your love for these women was going to kill you.

You had to leave.

So you did. You packed up that day and left, traveling solo for centuries as you studied the disease you suffered from. 

Luckily, it impacted witches differently than humans. As your lifespan tended to be a lot longer, the disease was longer lasting; escalating at a slower pace before killing you altogether.

For the first hundred years, it had mostly been a consistent burning in your throat and coughing up various flower petals. Miserable, but bearable nonetheless.

After those hundred years, it began to escalate at a quicker pace as the flowers bloomed quicker and sharper. After 200 years of this disease, you were weaker than ever before. Coughing constantly, a never ending sensation of your insides burning, vomiting flower petals and blood.

Yes, there was the option of surgery, but you couldn’t bring yourself to allow that option to become a reality. You didn’t want to forget the love you held for Rio and Agatha. They had shown you kindness and softness like none other. You would die before you let yourself remove the memory of them from your very soul.

And you were getting close. You knew your time was running out.

And so, after another long day of slowly dying, you stared up at the sky, longing for your loves, even though you knew it could never be.

It was then that you felt yourself being sucked into the ground beneath you, and you let out a yelp at the shock.

Before you knew it, you were clawing your way out of the ground, now in a completely unfamiliar place. You were on a path in a strange, dystopian-looking forest. You could feel the magic buzzing around you as you pulled yourself up from the ground.

“Who is that?”

“I thought we already got a green witch?”

You heard a gasp and looked up to meet a pair of blue eyes you had longed for night after night for the past 200 years.

“Agatha,” you said quietly, tears welling in your eyes before you could stop them.

A familiar voice said your name and you shuddered at the sound.

“Rio.”

The two women stared at you and you stared back, unsure of what to say.

“So, are you gonna introduce us to the new girl, or…” a witch in a pink dress asked and you broke your intense stare-down to introduce yourself by name to the coven of witches. 

“I’m a green witch,” you explained.

“We’ve already got one,” a teenage boy said, pointing at Rio awkwardly.

You knew well and good that Rio wasn’t here as a green witch, she was here on work business, but you didn’t want to blow what seemed to be a cover, and you also didn’t have a damn clue where you were, so you played along.

“Well, you know summoning spells, you never know how many you’re gonna get…” you tried cautiously, still feeling the gaze of your former housemates burning into the side of your head.

“Y/N, a word?” Agatha finally asked, and you gulp before nodding and following her and Rio to a secluded part of the forest.

“Hey guys…what’s up?” you asked with an awkward smile, trying to ease the tension.

Rio narrowed her eyes at you, crossing her arms. “What’s up is that you up and left 200 years ago without so much as a word to either of us. Care to explain?”

You tried to look to Agatha for support, but she wouldn’t meet your eyes. Your stomach turned at the thought that you had upset these women you loved so deeply.

You took a deep breath, staring at the ground. “I had some business to attend to. I didn’t want either of you to get wrapped up in it.”

“Was your business ‘killing yourself?’ You look rough,” Rio said, a teasing smirk hiding her worry.

“Thanks,” you rolled your eyes, some tension releasing from your shoulders at the knowledge that Rio wasn’t angry enough to ignore you.

“You left without so much as saying goodbye,” Agatha said quietly. She sounded so hurt, and you couldn’t believe you had brought this on the pair, but you knew they deserved to love each other in peace, not be burdened at being the cause of your death.

“Ags, I’m really sorry, I should’ve said goodbye, I just-“ you were cut off as a violent coughing fit shook you, causing both women to raise their eyebrows at you.

You turned away from them as you coughed a plumeria flower out of your throat. You quickly slipped the flower into your pocket and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of your mouth before turning to face the two witches again.

The eyes on you were soft and concerned, but you shook your head at them, shutting down their questions before they even asked. “I’m fine, just a cough.”

Rio opened her mouth to protest when a witch sporting orange streaks in her hair interrupted.

“I’m sorry to get in the middle of whatever this reunion is, but I think it’s time for our next trial.”

You furrowed your brows. “Trial?” You began to realize that you had no idea where you actually were.

“Duh, we are on the Witches Road, after all!” The teenage boy exclaimed, leaving you even more confused.

The road isn’t real. You knew all about the song that Agatha had used to lure her victims in. 

“Wait, but-“ you stopped yourself from questioning any further when you saw Rio subtly shake her head at you, a silent plea to not reveal the truth of the road to the group.

You nodded in understanding, deciding to save your questions for later. “Alright, where’s the next trial?”

You looked up to see the group staring at something behind you. Agatha and Rio were particularly fascinated by it.

You turned around and your stomach dropped. You saw a cottage. It’s covered in vines and moss, making it appear worn down. But you thought it was beautiful. Perhaps that’s because it was yours. And Agatha’s. and Rio’s.

You looked at the path leading to the cottage. It was covered in flowers. You took a deep breath.

You just got here and already you were being given a trial.

As you and the rest of the coven approached the cottage, you couldn’t help but turn to the women you desire the most for comfort. 

Rio had an arm wrapped around Agatha’s waist, her thumb gently stroking the witch’s hip bone. Agatha looked up at her, smiling in gratitude, and Rio pressed a soft kiss to Agatha’s forehead.

Your stomach churned at the sight, and you felt bile rising in your throat. You painfully swallowed it back down, cringing at the effect it had on your throat, already raw from the thorns slowly tearing it to shreds.

“You good?” The witch in the pink dress asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.”

The inside of the cottage looked just like you thought it would.

Home.

The same furniture, same pillows and blankets, same decor on the walls.

Your eyes filled with tears as you remembered all the time you had spent here with the women you loved more than anything.

“Doll,” a gentle voice said, and you turned to see Agatha looking at you softly. She approached you slowly, holding a hand out for you, but you took a step back.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing your face and continuing to move through the house.

“This is new,” you heard Rio’s voice from the room resembling your bedroom. 

You entered and were greeted with a tapestry on your wall. It showed 5 flowers. Below the woven flowers was a message:

The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke. For if they never cared, a life cannot be spared.

“It’s my life,” you breathed out, staring in horror at the plants on the tapestry.

Rio nodded, running her fingers along the tapestry as she identified the plants.

“Lily. Rebirth,” she began.

“The birth of your powers, the birth of you as a witch,” Agatha identified.

“Willow Tree. Loss.”

“The loss of your kin. Being abandoned by those you called family,” Agatha continued.

“Red Carnations. Deep, affectionate love.”

Agatha went silent at this, her brows furrowing.

“Daffodil. Unrequited love.”

Rio and Agatha were visibly shaken by this point. What hadn’t you told them? You were in love? With who?

Rio snapped her head to look at you upon seeing the last flower.

“Plumeria,” she said grimly.

Agatha’s eyes were wide. “What does that mean?” 

Rio only continued to look at you.

“Rio, what does that mean???”

Her question was answered as you began to cough violently again, the sheer force of it bringing you to your knees.

Agatha rushed over to you in a panic. She looked at the rest of the coven in terror. “What’s happening to her?” she cried as you began to choke.

“The words she never spoke will slowly begin to choke,” the teenager said.

“Hanahaki disease,” the witch in pink breathed out.

“What the hell is that?” Agatha was crying now, watching as petals and thorns made their way out of your mouth covered in blood.

“A disease that affects someone facing unrequited love,” Rio said in realization.

As she put the pieces together she knelt in front of you in an instant, anger coursing through her.

“You left because of this,” she said, her voice low, “You thought we didn’t love you, so you left?” she asked incredulously.

“Didn’t want—you to—-see me die,” you gasped out, fighting for air as you began to cough up more and more blood.

“You’re not dying, Y/N. I won’t take you,” Rio choked out, her sorrow getting the best of her. 

“Better this way,” you managed, and Agatha choked out a sob.

“It’s not, doll, we love you, we love you,” she cried helplessly.

The whole coven stood in shock. The two women they feared the most were in the most pain they had seen since they began to walk the road.

Both women hold you tight, desperately trying to convince you of their love.

Rio grabbed your face to look at her. “There’s a reason I took you in that day, mi vida,” she whispered as tears fell down her face, “I felt pulled to you. I knew you would be special to me. Aggie and I love you so much, please believe me.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips to yours, ignoring the blood and petals and thorns and focusing on you. Just you.

When she pulled away you gasped, finally able to gather air into your lungs.

Relief was visible throughout the entire coven. They had only just met you, but seeing how your existence being threatened had brought absolute devastation to two of the most intimidating women on earth had shaken them.

As you began to breathe again, you sagged against Agatha.

“You’re okay, doll, you’re okay now,” she assured you as she gently ran a hand through your hair.

The door to the cottage slammed open, and the rest of the coven took it as their cue to leave, giving you three a moment to recover.

As you laid against Agatha, you looked at Rio with tired eyes. “Sorry for getting blood on you,” you rasped, causing the woman to roll her eyes at you.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” She scolded before taking both of your hands in hers. “I. Love. You.”

Tears filled your eyes at her earnest confession. “I’m so sorry I ran,” you began, your body shaking, “I saw the love you had for each other, and how much you had healed each other, and I couldn’t hurt that. I didn’t want you to see me die. It wouldn’t have been your fault,” you said brokenly.

Agatha shushed you, kissing the top of your head. “You shouldn’t have run. It would’ve saved us all 200 years of agony,” she said, and you hang your head in guilt.

But then you felt a cold hand lifting your chin. And suddenly you were 20 years old again, looking into the eyes of Lady Death herself. 

But this time, instead of looking at you with curiosity, she looked at you with something much stronger. She looked at you with love.

“But we’ve got you back now,” she said, smiling tearfully at you, “so we’re taking you in. Is that okay?”

Your body wracked with sobs as you nodded, and both women were holding you in an instant. Your back was against Agatha’s front as her arms wrapped around your waist. Rio straddled you, her arms wrapping around your neck as she pulled you close.

And out of the cracked wooden floor of that cottage, something bloomed.

Lavender. Healing. Love.

[bonnibelleangelica]

3 Exercises To Improve Your Writing/Manuscript

1) Sentence Patterning 🎨

Print off a random page of your work and use different coloured highlighters on each sentence depending on how long they are. You might notice you’ve been stuck in a rhythm without realising it. A rainbow is what you want to see!

2) Stickynoting! 📝

Write out each scene (or topic change) on a stickynote thats colour indicates how plotheavy it is. A few fluffy, relaxed scenes are fine, but you don’t want half the book to be pointless. Likewise, you also don't want every scene to be insanely over the top.

3) Pindropping 📌

Draw a line, mark out the major events of your story, then drop in every revelation, character introduction, first mention, shift and development. See how dense certain areas might be vs others. Do you throw everything at the reader in the first chapter? Or do you hold back too much and leave your audience clueless.

Here are some examples I did for my book!

Click “My Writing Tips” in the tags for more!

Click here to check out my book! @statusquoofficial

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 4

[oop- more interaction with our Yautja 🤭 I love your comments and your support, they keep me writing more 💚]

(Tagging @celticsrightbuttcheek for their ongoing support 🥰)

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts.

This is it… this is happening, you told yourself.

You could hear the guttural sounds of the two aliens battling nearby. Quietly, you slipped out of the chamber that had served as your only protection and crept around, desperately searching for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon.

Your panicked hands rummaged through drawers, the noise loud enough to draw the xenomorph’s attention toward you.

That split second of distraction was just enough. The Yautja drove its talons deep into the xenomorph’s ribs, earning a piercing hiss before tossing the creature aside to avoid its acid blood.

You had studied xenomorphs long enough to know their blood could melt through nearly anything on contact.

You had, unfortunately, learned that the hard way.

You could run now. This was your chance, both creatures were locked on each other. You grabbed an intravenous stand and with your hands trembling you began slowly backing out of the lab, keeping your eyes locked on the xenomorph.

Somehow, you felt the Yautja wouldn’t hunt you. You weren’t a worthy challenge in comparison.

The xenomorph, however, would kill anything without a second thought.

It hissed in your direction, and your stomach dropped. But then it looked to the left, where the Yautja had moved to flank it. Strangely, it felt like you and the Yautja were circling the xeno together, like predators converging on a common enemy. The Yautja seemed to notice your synchronized movement, perhaps thinking the same as you.

The enemy of my enemy…

The Yautja wasn’t quick enough this time. Already wounded and bleeding, it didn’t react fast enough when the xenomorph made its choice.

You.

The weaker one.

You froze in fear but stood your ground as the creature lunged. The medical probe you clutched became your only defense. You collapsed under its weight, struggling, your head thrashing side to side as its inner jaw shot out, aiming for your skull.

You held it off, just long enough.

The xeno’s weight lifted suddenly, and you gasped, the breath finally returning to your lungs. You barely registered what was happening, before your eyes locked on the savage scene before you.

The Yautja had pounced. It didn’t roar or cry out. It fought in silence, its primal, brutal attacks overwhelming the xeno. No armor, no advanced weaponry, just claws, fangs, and fury.

Everything you’d studied about their kind told you they were strategic, calculated warriors. But this? This was personal.

You remembered then—this was a younger Yautja. Not an elder. Not even a forehead scar to mark its first successful hunt. That explained the lack of discipline, the rage driving every blow. It wasn’t fighting for honor. It was fighting to end this, no matter the cost.

Please…

You whispered to yourself.

Please run.

This wasn’t your place anymore.

The xenomorph’s tail twitched, about to strike a fatal blow to the yautja’s back.

You saw it, just in time.

You ran forward and shoved the tail aside with your probe before it could pierce through the Yautja’s chest. The predator paused, its masked gaze snapping toward you. It growled, low, furious. It didn’t want your help. This was its fight. You were in the way.

But there was nothing honorable about dying in blind rage, you thought. You ignored its warning growls and pushed the tail aside again.

That second of distraction was all the xenomorph needed. With a violent shove, it knocked the Yautja off of it and launched itself at you.

You hit the floor hard. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, you couldn’t move. The xenomorph raised one deadly arm for the finishing blow—

But it was yanked off you before it could strike, though not without pain: its claws had grabbed a fistful of your hair, ripping it clean from your scalp. You screamed in agony.

The Yautja’s reaction to your scream was unlike anything you expected. A deafening roar erupted from its chest, a sound so raw and agonizing that it made your blood run cold. You clutched your ears, trying to block out the piercing noise.

The predator had lost all restraint.

It straddled the xenomorph now, attacking like a beast possessed. It grabbed the creature’s jaws, prying them open with brute strength. The xeno shrieked and hissed, its inner mouth striking out and biting the Yautja’s hand, but the predator didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

With a final, sickening snap, it broke the xenomorph’s jaws apart, ripping one entirely off and tossing it across the lab. Then it backed away quickly, avoiding the toxic spray of its blood.

It roared loudly, as if savouring its victory.

You lay there, breath ragged, heart pounding, staring at the terrifying figure before you.

A true menace, in spirit and flesh. It was deadly and the only thing alive besides you in the room.

The Yautja moved slowly now, chest heaving. It looked at the xenomorph’s hand—still clutching strands of your hair. It knelt, touching them gently, its fingers strangely delicate as they brushed against the human hair. It took a second, trying to make sense of what it meant for you to lose strands of hair.

It meant something entirely different in Yautja culture, you figured, since their dreadlocks were more of an organ than hair.

The Yautja now turned to you and slowly stepped closer.

You instinctively backed away, just a little, unsure of its intentions.

Were you next?

It knelt before you, head tilted slightly, its eyes fixed on the bleeding spot on your scalp. You both stayed still for several long seconds.

When it finally moved, you flinched and shut your eyes.

You expected pain, maybe claws digging in…but instead, you felt the soft weight of its fingers pressing near the wound, careful, almost… curious.

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe too hard, just stared as it tilted its head, like it was trying to make sense of your bleeding. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, confused as hell, not knowing what to do. Run, fight, say something?

“It hurts,” you whispered, even though you knew it wouldn’t understand.

It stopped.

To your surprise, a soft purr started rumbling in its chest. You squinted up at it, trying to understand what that meant again. The sound rolled out of its chest in slow, steady waves, and for some reason you could feel it in yours.

You didn’t want it to. You were still scared. You should have been scared.

But that sound…

It was doing something to your nervous system, whether you liked it or not. Your shoulders dropped without you realising it. Your breathing slowed. It was like being wrapped in low-frequency sound that you couldn’t shake off. Some primal part of your brain responded to it like it meant safety. Calm.

You didn’t get it.

When you looked up again, it was still making that sound. Still not moving. Still just watching you quietly.

You noticed its arm then, coated in green blood. Your eyes widened in shock. You reached out instinctively, wanting to check the wound, but stopped halfway, afraid it might lash out.

But the Yautja didn’t move. In fact, it seemed to wait.

“Will you let me help now?” you asked, half-joking. If it had let you help earlier, maybe it wouldn’t be this bad.

The alien let out a low grunt, a sound that could’ve meant anything, but didn’t seem like a no.

You stood slowly, and it rose with you. When you moved, it mirrored you, as if still watching your every step.

You made your way to a specific cabinet. You remembered the tools the Yautja came with when they were captured to be studied—medical equipment and some kind of salve that you had studied before. Human medicine wouldn’t help it, but this… this might.

You reached up to the shelf and grabbed what you needed. The Yautja stood close behind, waiting. You turned to show it.

Its reaction was almost funny, looking between you and the supplies as if realizing, maybe for the first time, that you’d been capable of helping all along.

It grunted again, sounding… annoyed, maybe. Then it strode over to the operating table and sat down with exaggerated weight.

You hesitated.

It flared its mandibles at you, letting out a louder noise this time, clearly impatient.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, suppressing a strange urge to laugh. You didn’t know why, but the way it behaved—almost human—was oddly comforting. And a little terrifying.

[strawberry-nugget]

I'm back with more delicious Situationship! Kirishima smut. This time you do it on Bakugo's couch in the middle of the day. As always this is in universe as most of my Kirishima fics/ drabbles

Pairing: Kirishima x fem!reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, p in v sex, making it fit, Kirishima has a big dick like always, fingering (f! receiving) Kirishima talking us through it, praise, creampies, unprotected sex. All characters are 20+

Would a normal person consider it acceptable to be filled to the brim—eyes stinging with tears—while riding their situationship’s out-of-this-world dick, straddled in his lap on his best friend’s couch?

No. Obviously not.

Would you?

...Apparently, yes. Very much yes.

You and Eijiro have been house- and dog-sitting for Bakugo and his girlfriend while they take a rare vacation to the Okinawa Islands—much-needed time off, according to the frantic way she packed. With no one else available, you both volunteered. It’s been uneventful, sweet, even. You’ve spent your days feeding their excitable corgi, Ichigo, who’s now fast asleep in the bedroom, and your nights curled up on their couch with whatever’s on TV and a juice box each, pretending things between you are casual.

And casual they would be, had you been napping. You definitely should be napping.

The original plan was to go for a run with Ichigo tonight, so a nap should have been crucial to save some energy.

But Eijiro is a menace – especially when you’re watching a movie with anything sexual in it. Everything riles him up normally, even watching two people kiss on the big screen, but the movie you’re watching now has the longest sex scene you’ve ever seen in cinematic history and frankly? You’d be lying if you said you aren’t a little horny too just by watching. And so, dazed by the soft heat of mid June and the sun shining a little too warm through the white curtains, you don’t mind how Eijiro’s pointer finger is rubbing firm, absentminded circles on your clit.

A second ago, his palm had been resting innocently on your thigh—warm, wide, calloused—until it wasn’t. Until his fingers started drawing soft shapes just under the hem of your loose and flimsy pajama shorts. Until you leaned into him with a knowing little sigh, and he grinned against your temple like the world’s most patient sinner.

That’s how it always starts.

You think you’re stronger than this. Think you can just finish the movie, giggle through the tension, maybe tease him later when you’re both tucked under the sheets in Bakugo’s impossibly clean guest bedroom. Like this would be the most considerate thing to do in your situation.

But then his voice drops, barely above a whisper, finger still firmly teasing over your clit.

“You want it, don’t you?”

Eijiro says it, but in that cocky, performative way. He says it like he already knows. Like he’s seen the flush bloom across your chest before you even realize it’s there, just when a gasp shakes deeply in your bones.

Your breath stutters. He feels it—where your back brushes his chest, where your thighs twitch in his lap, where your slick is already soaking through the stupid thin fabric between you.

“You’re already throbbing,” he says, not to tease, but to marvel. Like he’s genuinely in awe of how fast you give in for him. How easy it is to break you open with just one finger and a quiet voice. “Haven’t even kissed you yet, baby.”

He turns his head, presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. It lingers. Like he’s thinking about how far he can take this without ever moving you from your spot on the couch. And you’re thinking about how far you’ll let him.

The movie is still rolling behind your half-lidded eyes, soft piano music bleeding into the room. You feel far away from it. Far away from everything except his fingers on your clit and the warm noon sun, licking at your skin past the soft hum of the A/C.

You let your legs fall wider on instinct. Let the back of your head drop against Eijiro’s collar bones as your hips tilt forward, wordlessly chasing more friction. And Eijiro—sweet, depraved Eijiro—just hums like it’s the greatest compliment you could’ve given him.

"Want me to touch you properly?"

You nod, already dizzy.

But he taps your thigh once with his free hand, cocking an eyebrow. Voice ever so quiet when he says: "Use your words, pretty."

Gosh. He always makes you ask for it. Makes you give it to him sweet and slow and whole—even when you’re dripping and needy and about to cry from how bad you want him.

“Please,” you whisper, voice barely hanging on. “I need you.”

He grins like that’s what he’s been waiting to hear. Pulls his hand back just long enough to shove your shorts to the side, fingers dragging your soaked panties with them. They don’t make it far. He wants you messy. Bare. Right where he can watch you lose it for him.

He hisses, like clothes hurt him as he tries to tilt you with his hips, clothed cock bulging in his basketball shorts underneath you. His fingers trace across your soaked slit, catching some sleek from your entrance and bringing it to your clit, flicking it with the tips of his fingers in a tentative ticking motion. You shudder in response, past the moan he lets out in the crook of your neck, followed by a tender peck of his lips on your skin.

Then he slides one finger in at once, easy and slow, and you cry out, half-muffled by the way your head falls against his shoulder.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, voice breathy, reverent. “Already so fucking wet. Fuck.”

He fucks his finger into you, slowly, his bulky thumb rubbing parallels on your clit. It’s not even rough, not at all. It’s quiet, controlled, the only messy thing about it is how his thumb is trying to push back the hood of your clit to get that reaction he knows too well that he can draw out.

When he does so, your spongy walls tighten around him, gushing a new wave of sleekness. Eijiro is so content with how messy this is. His eyes are dazzed, star crossed and all he can actually think about is how messy your pussy lips feel on his fingers as he’s touching you, rubbing you, stirring your insides up.

Honestly, he could just cum on the spot by just the thought of it, but he reminds himself he needs to prep you, and if you come now, then it’ll just be easier for him to slide inside you.

It doesn’t help that the two of you barely have sex– he’s too scared that he’s going to hurt you just by his size and it takes you ages to let loose around him and enjoy yourself. He wishes things were different and that he and you could both change, but this isn’t a notion for this exact moment. He’s not a buzzkill. 

“Can i add one more?” he hums against your neck and you shriek

“it’ll hurt!” you admit, but then you feel his dick throbbing against your lower back and you’re reminded of what’s to come if you’re not preped enough “k-kay Eijiro, just- just do it slow, please”

“of course” he says, kissing the skin under your ear “i would never hurt you, sweetness”

He means it. You know he does. It’s stitched into the way he moves—careful and slow, like your body is some sacred thing he’s been entrusted with, like every slick sound between your legs is a hymn only he gets to hear.

So when he eases the second finger in, slow and steady, watching from above at your face for every flicker of discomfort, you grip onto his arms like you’re holding on for dear life.

"That’s it," he whispers, like he’s coaxing you through a dream. His bicep flexes under your palm as he adjusts the angle of his wrist, sliding in deeper. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Feels okay?”

You nod. Your breath catches. Your hips twitch in his lap as he starts to move again—really move now—scissoring his fingers just enough to stretch you open while his thumb circles your clit in slow, aching spirals. Your hips are locking, jerking forward and up and he’s doing his best to keep up with your twitching.

"F-fuck—Eiji—"

He presses his forehead to yours from your side, lips parted like he wants to swallow every sound you make. “I know, I know. Just a little more, okay? You’re so tight, so fucking good—gonna take me so well, I promise.”

You whimper, helpless against the building heat, the fullness, the feeling of him working you open like you’re something precious. It’s not just arousal—it’s intimacy so thick you can’t breathe through it. The weight of being wanted like this, known like this. 

And oh– the absolutely squelching sounds your cunt makes every time he scissors his fingers. You’re so unrealistically wet and only he can bring that out of you. 

Eijiro groans softly when you clench again, when you gasp and rock your hips down, chasing something you can’t name yet.

“That's it,” he murmurs, voice low and breaking. “Get me all messy. Want you to cum on my fingers. You need it, right, sweetheart? Wanna feel good for me?”

You nod too quickly, voice caught in your throat. The raspiness in his voice is doing bad, horrible things to you. Your stomach is tied into a knot, your lower abdomen burns, your back is adorned with painful shivers.

His fingers speed up—not rough, never rough, just deeper, firmer, more sure of you. And you swear your soul leaves your body when he shifts his thumb again, just the tiniest adjustment, right over that soft, aching spot that makes you keen.

“If you give me one right now i’ll slide in easier babe”

You grind down onto his lap without thinking, chasing it, overwhelmed, lost in it. His fingers curl deep inside you, finding the spot he knows by muscle memory, and your vision goes white around the edges.

“Eijiro—!”

“There you go,” he pants, his own hips twitching beneath you. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Fuckin’ let go, let me feel it—”

Your body shakes.

It hits you hard—flooding you in heat, crashing through you in waves—and you moan like it’s being torn out of your chest, nails digging into his arms, then his thighs, eyes fluttering shut as you soak his hand with your release.

Eijiro is still whispering praise, still holding you through it, even as you slump forward against him, boneless and burning. Underneath you, his cock twitches so violently it makes your stomach flip.

And the worst part? The part that makes your chest ache?

He’s talked you through such an intense orgasm and you haven’t even kissed yet.

In desperate need for each other's lips, you try to shift positions, while clothes fly everywhere– You don’t even think about the angry Bakugo who’s going to find your bra underneath the couch days later when he cleans up. No. You lurch onto Kirishma, shirtless now, after getting him out of his underwear too, wrapping your arms around his neck, straddling his lap and stopping just before his face.

Your lips brush. So tenderly, like a harsh kiss could ruin this moment.

You shift in his lap, heart thudding too hard in your chest to ignore. The space between your bodies is next to nothing now, flushed skin against skin, the tips of your breasts brushing his chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. You’re still panting, still slick and twitching from your orgasm, but the need hasn’t gone anywhere—it’s changed shape, deepened, thickened, curled low in your stomach like a second heartbeat.

Eijiro’s hands settle on your hips, big and reverent, grounding you. His thumbs stroke soothing circles into the soft parts of your waist as his eyes search yours.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, voice gentled by nerves and restraint. “We don’t—have to. I know how hard it is for you sometimes.”

You lean forward until your forehead presses against his. Your lashes flutter. “I want you.”

“But—”

“I want all of you,” you whisper, mouth barely moving, breath caught on the words. “Just go slow. Please.”

And that’s all it takes.

He lifts you slightly, just enough to grab himself—his cock flushed and heavy, leaking at the tip, and so thick it almost makes you hesitate. You’ve seen it before. Felt it. Tasted it. But nothing ever prepares you for the moment he tries to fit inside you.

Especially not like this—raw and tender and trembling in his lap, with your bodies strung so tight you might snap.

“Okay, baby,” he murmurs, lining himself up. “Gonna take care of you. Just—breathe.”

And you do. You hold your breath as the head presses against your entrance, and you swear you can already feel the resistance—how tight you are, how your body has to make room for him.

He pushes forward, barely a nudge, and you gasp—your whole body tensing as the stretch sears up your spine.

“Just the tip for now” he says “tell me when to move”

You grunt in response, crazed out from the initial stretch and the thought that your hips have nowhere to go but against him. Still you wiggle your ass just a tad, enough for his tip to stir inside you slightly. It’s still too much though.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, coaxing you through it like it’s a dream he doesn’t want to end. His thumb circles your clit now in slow, aching spirals while his cock works you open. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Feels okay?”

You nod, chest rising sharply. Your hips twitch in his lap as he keeps moving, each motion careful but deliberate—controlled strength, the kind that leaves you aching and open.

“Eijiro,” you whisper, unsure if it’s a plea or a warning. Your body is slick and ready, but your mind can’t fathom how he’ll fit.

He slows his touch, gaze dark and full of heat and worry. “We don’t have to. Not if it hurts, baby.”

But you shake your head and pull him in, peck his lips just once as you pull off of him. “I want you. Just—slow. Please.”

His breath stutters. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of you. Promise.”

You lift your hips as he lines himself up again—gripping the base of his cock and rubbing the head against your entrance, collecting your slick. And then he nudges forward—barely—and your whole body tightens around him, breath caught in your throat.

“Shit,” he groans, voice strained. “You’re so tight. So fuckin’ wet—god, I can feel how hard you came.”

You whimper, forehead against his, trembling with every slow, shallow push. This time it’s halfway in.

“It’s okay,” he breathes, voice shaking. “You’re doing so good—so good. You’re just—fuck, you’re so tight around me—”

Your nails dig into his shoulder blades. Your legs tremble and shake on either side of his hips. Inch by slow inch, he works himself in, pausing every time your breath catches, every time you flinch, every time you whimper against the side of his neck.

It’s excruciatingly slow. Hot. Full. A pressure that borders on pain but flirts dangerously with pleasure, makes your thighs quake and your lashes flutter and your cunt flutter around him.

“Almost there,” he says, groaning low in his throat like it physically hurts to hold back. “You’re doing so fucking good for me, baby. Just—little more, yeah? You can take it. I’ve got you.”

Your jaw slackens, and a soft whimper escapes you. The sensation of him inside you feels unreal.

“I know,” he whispers, brushing a kiss against your cheekbone. “You’re doing so good. Let me in, baby, nice and slow…”

It’s overwhelming. The stretch is deep, relentless, and hot—like you’re being split open with care, molded around him inch by inch. You cling tighter to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you rock your hips ever so slightly to help ease the burn. It stings, but it’s a good sting—one that pulses in your lower belly, that tightens your thighs around him.

“I-It’s a lot,” you gasp, biting down on a moan. “You’re so—fuck, Eijiro—”

“I know, I know,” he pants, his own voice shaking as he watches your face. “Almost there. Just a little more. You’re taking me so well. Can i take it out one more time?”

Your breath catches. He’s still not fully inside. You can feel how thick he is, how much more there is to go, and it makes your cunt flutter around him, trying to suck him in even as your body struggles to stretch enough.

He grits his teeth. “Jesus, baby—you’re gripping me so tight.”

His hands tremble slightly as he shifts his hips forward, sliding in another inch—deeper, heavier—and your walls flutter again, clenching around him on instinct.

You sob a breath out, forehead pressed to his as your body adjusts. Your legs are shaking, your lower belly clenching, your cunt absolutely gushing around him. And the way he’s watching you—eyes wide, like you’re some miracle he doesn’t deserve—makes it even worse.

“Wanna kiss you,” you breathe, voice cracking. “Please…”

Eijiro groans, almost brokenly, and finally leans in—his mouth meets yours with a softness that contradicts how hard he’s pulsing inside you. It’s a kiss soaked in longing, open-mouthed and wet, tongues slow and searching. You moan into it, distracted from the ache of the stretch by the heat of his lips, the way he cups your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

Finally, true to his words, he pulls out again, his chest hitching as your slit still kisses his tip and lets your bodies tend to do the work. He slides back in with such whimsical ease, that a lamp forms in his throat. He wants you so bad. Like this, when the sun burns through cement jungles outside the window and white curtains bathe you in beige light.

Tears pool in your eyes from the stretch, from the feeling of being opened, from the way his cock presses deep and full and relentless against your soft, aching walls. Every vein and curve of him kisses your insides with no room for air to get trapped in.

You’re panting. He’s trembling. And for a long, aching second, you don’t move. You just exist like that—joined, stretched, holding each other through it.

Then his hands slide up your back. Gentle. “You okay?” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours, lips ghosting the corner of your mouth.

You nod—barely. “It’s big. You’re big. But it feels… good. Just full.”

“Too full?” he asks, lips brushing your jaw, voice low and thick with need and concern.

“No,” you whisper, “just… need a minute.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t thrust. Just holds you, lets you adjust. Kisses your temple. Rubs your back. Stares at you like he’s not inside you almost all the way to the hilt. Like he doesn’t secretly enjoy watching you split yourself open for him.

And when you finally roll your hips—just a little, just enough to feel that stretch anew—he groans like he’s being broken open too.

He captures your lips in a final act of aid and then—He finally bottoms out. 

When your hips meet his again, flush and he’s fully sheathed inside you—it feels like a victory. Like your body wasn’t made for anything else but this. But him. You feel him everywhere. Deep in your gut. In your throat. In your spine.

“Eiji” You pull back from the kiss, eyes dazed, and whisper, “You’re all the way in…”

His voice is a condescending  wreck. “Fuck, I know. Baby, you’re—holy shit—you’re so perfect.”

You don’t move at first. Neither does he. You just breathe into each other, foreheads pressed together, hearts thundering like the two of you have just survived something bigger than yourselves.

“You okay?” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “Can i move?”

You nod. Barely. “Yeah. It’s—so much. But I want it.”

That’s all he needs. His hand skims up your spine, grounding you, while his hips roll forward just enough for you to feel the shift of him inside. It’s a single inch, and it makes you gasp—tight, shaky, like the breath has been knocked from your lungs.

He stills immediately.

“Too much again?” he asks, voice low and thick with restraint.

“No,” you breathe. “Don’t stop.”

So he does it again. Another small roll of his hips, just enough to start a rhythm. The drag of him inside you—slow and steady—is intense, your cunt stretched to the limit around his girth. You can feel every inch, every vein, every twitch of him pulsing inside you.

Your arms wind tighter around his neck, legs locked at his waist, clinging to him like the pressure of his body is the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

“Fuck,” you whisper, forehead pressed against his temple now. “You’re so big, Eijiro… I can feel you everywhere—”

His head drops to your shoulder, and he groans, ragged and low. “God, you’re fucking perfect. Can’t believe I get to be inside you like this again.”

You hate how he says it, like he misses you all the time, like he’s going to change it, just by saying the words, but, fine– you’ll ignore the angsty burn in your chest for now. You literally have bigger things to focus on at this very moment.

It simply has been a while since the two of you did this, or since you had sex in general, but you tell yourself you’ll be fine, once the big stretch is done, you’ll fuck like there’s no tomorrow, here, in his arms, on Bakugo’s couch.

It's true, when he says he doesn’t want to hurt you, he means it—down to his bones. Every movement is reverent, careful. His thrusts are shallow at first, just enough to coax your body into accepting him. He doesn't want to hurt you. All he wants is to feel you open around him, get used to him, melt into him.

He kisses your neck again—softly, repeatedly—like his mouth is trying to tell your skin what the tender half thrusts of his cock can’t say out loud.

“Doing so good,” he murmurs. “So good for me, baby.”

You moan, softer now, a little less desperate—more surrendered. The pain starts to fade, replaced by something else—fullness that doesn't hurt but stretches you open in a way that makes your toes curl. That makes your eyes sting.

And when he finally pulls out just a little more, then pushes back in, deeper this time. Your walls flutter around him, wet and wanting, and your hips twitch down on instinct.

“Fuck, sweetheart—” he hisses through his teeth. “You’re gonna make me lose it if you do that again.”

You bite your lip and whimper, already aching for more, for him to move faster, harder. But he shakes his head, making you groan in disappointment when your request isn’t met with.

“Not yet,” he pants, kissing your shoulder, your jaw. “Let me take care of you. Wanna feel all of you first.”

He slows it back down—grinds into you with slow, heavy rolls of his hips that make your whole body quake, make your arms shake where they’re wrapped around him. Every thrust presses deep, presses true, filling you so thoroughly it aches somewhere high inside your stomach.

The air between you is hot, humid, thick with your mingled breaths, only broken by an occasional, coolingA/C breeze, and the wet sounds of your cunt taking him over and over. Skin slapping on sweaty skin.

Eijiro keeps mumbling something similar to ‘take it’, and even if it’s too slurred, too unclear and spoken against your skin, it makes your lower abdomen irk with lust, want.

You whimper something incoherent—maybe his name, maybe a plea—and his mouth finds yours again, this time more desperate, more hungry. He kisses you like he’s drowning in you, like he needs the taste of your mouth to survive the stretch of your body around his cock. You tighten around him again, and his hips jerk, falter. His breath stutters hard into your mouth.

“Baby,” he groans. “Don’t—don’t clench like that or I’m not gonna last…”

You whisper against his lips, drunk on the feel of him, “Don’t care. Want you to cum. Want to feel it.”

And the growl that rumbles from his chest feral and broken makes your whole body seize.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, hands gripping your waist now as he begins to thrust with a little more force, more need, more control over you, the drag and push of him still careful, but no longer just for your sake. It’s for his too. Because he’s so fucking close.

You feel so good around him, soft and hot and just perfect. Like every single ridge of your walls was made to accommodate him raw, just like this.

And he’s already unraveling, you can feel it in the way his rhythm falters. Just slightly, just enough to betray how close he is. His hands tremble on your hips, dragging you down to meet each thrust with growing desperation. You kiss him then and there, as he rocks you against him. A tender, too soft and feathery thing, that's no tongue and brashness, but all love and the unspoken fact of how well his lips fit against yours.

“God—fuck, baby, I can’t—” he gasps, burying his face in your neck again, to hide his blush. “You feel too good, I’m not gonna last…”

You roll your hips instinctively, chasing it now, grinding into him with wet, filthy little sounds between your bodies. 

“Then don’t,” you whisper, kissing the shell of his ear, voice all honey. “Wanna feel you cum inside me. Wanna be full of you Eiji…”

He lets out a strangled noise; somewhere between a sob and a moan and suddenly it’s all teeth and tongue, a frantic kiss, his lips crashing into yours as he thrusts deep, deeper, hips stuttering as your walls flutter and suck him in. You break the kiss with a cry, clinging to him like you’re falling.

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

You clench around him, deliberately this time, pulsing tight and hot, and that’s all it takes. His whole body locks up, muscles taut as a bowstring, a raw, guttural groan ripped from his chest as he spills inside you. His hips jerk with each wave of it, and you feel it—thick, hot, endless—filling you, pulsing deep in your core.

It doesn’t stop there.

You whimper at the sensation, overstimulated already, and your own orgasm hits like a shiver down your spine—sharp, sudden, making your limbs tremble. Your nails dig into his back as your cunt clenches around him again and again, milking every drop. You’re not even sure who’s shaking more. 

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Just breathing. Just trembling. His forehead against yours, sweat-slick skin sticking together, your walls still twitching around the softening heat of him.

He hasn't pulled out yet. He doesn’t move enough to make you horny and aching again.

Eijiro lets his arms cradle you close, by the waist like he’s afraid to speak his mind. And then, softly—brokenly—he takes the chance and whispers it.

“I missed you.”

The words fall against your mouth, barely there, but they land like a stone in your chest and fall into the pit of your stomach like a burning comet.

You don’t answer, you don’t know how. You just kiss him again. Slow. Deep. Tasting the ache on his tongue.

Because you missed him too. Even if you’ll never say it. Even if you two were only meant to house sit for Bakugo and his girlfriend for today.

“You didn’t come!” He says, more lighthearted this time, seeing you won’t respond to his previous statement. “Let me change that, want you to come on my cock”

By the way this takes place a year before the events of get him back!

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Dividers by @/enchanthings

[lazysoulwriter]

menace to lovers - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: married chaos, actress!wife!reader, playful banter, soft family talk, one brain cell between them and it’s in love

---

"don’t you dare bring up the audition story."

pedro grins across the table, already leaning in like he’s about to spill national secrets. “i have to. it’s actor-on-actor, baby. full disclosure.”

“pedro.”

“sweetheart.”

you stare him down, and the crew watches in mild terror and total fascination as this becomes a silent battle of wills… that you lose.

he smiles. “so the first time we met was during a chemistry read. and she—god, she walked in with this oversized leather jacket, sunglasses indoors, chewing gum like she owned the studio.”

you groan. “you’re embellishing.”

“no. i turned to the casting director and said, ‘i’m in love with her.’”

you hide your face in your hands. “he did not say that.”

“i did!” pedro laughs. “and then she absolutely annihilated me during the scene. had me stumbling over lines like a damn rookie.”

you peek through your fingers. “you did drop your script on the floor.”

“and you laughed at me, on camera.”

“it was endearing!”

the interview veers wildly between flirtation and genuine answers.

“you steal my skincare,” you accuse.

“you use my shirts as pajamas and never give them back,” he counters.

“you eat my chocolate and then blame the dog.”

“you’re married to me. that was in the vows.”

but then—

“has having a family changed the way you approach your roles?”

pedro goes quiet for a moment, smile softening.

“yeah,” he says, looking over at you. “everything feels more grounded now. like… i’m not just doing it for myself anymore. i’m building something. with you.”

you feel it in your chest — that warm, heavy love that never really leaves.

“same,” you say. “when we’re filming in different countries, i miss the chaos. the laundry on the couch, you singing in the shower, our daughter waking us up at 6am to tell us she saw a squirrel. that’s my real life.”

he reaches across the table, takes your hand, kisses your knuckles.

“you’re my real life.”

the internet explodes after the interview airs.

they’re not actors they’re just in love with each other and it’s annoying pedro: ‘she laughed at me on camera and i fell in love.’ me too, king. you can’t convince me that their daughter didn’t draw all over the bathroom mirror and they kept it there.

someone posts a gif of him kissing your hand and captions it:

this is what every romcom has been trying to achieve since 1992.

and you? you just curl up next to him on the couch that night, laptop glowing with fan edits, while he throws an arm around your shoulder and says, “you were so hot in that interview. we should do more.”

you smile. “we should. but next time, i’m telling the embarrassing story.”

he laughs, already terrified. “deal.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

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