#give her an inch and shes putting a collar on you (please)

[harbingersglory]

Hello, could I have transfem Signora x fem!reader smut? Any scenario is fine, just need dom Signora railing me 😩

{☆} characters la signora {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader, dom la signora, transfem la signora {☆} warnings 18+ content, restraints, temperature play, face fucking, degradation, pet play

There's a moment of silence that lingers for far too long, the cold nipping at your exposed skin until you feel shivers wrack your body. You squirm instinctively, seeking out the fading warmth of the thick furs laid out beneath you, yet finding nothing but the cold that chills you to your bones. You can't even see, your eyes covered by black fabric, silk tying your arms together behind your back.

It's almost torturous waiting like this. Your knees sink further into the fur as you lean your weight forward slightly, exhaling a shaky breath. You begin to wonder if Signora left you there– maybe you'd annoyed her earlier and she was punishing you. You hoped not. She wasn't known for being lenient when it came to punishments.

But the brush of her fingers along your jawline squashed that fear, your breath hitching as her thumb glided over your throat, the heat of her skin making you shudder. The contrast of the cold room, of your freezing body, to the unnatural heat that simmers beneath her skin is immense– your knees would have definitely buckled if you hadn't been kneeling already.

"Did you think I'd left you here all alone? You're shaking like a dog." The soft, biting lilt was nothing more than a murmur, but for you it was impossible not to hear the pleased tone beneath the roughness of her voice. Your heart leaps into your throat when her fingers trace back up along your jawline, lifting your head and tilting it back just enough to be uncomfortable.

You open your mouth to speak, but your words are silenced by her thumb slipping past your lips instead– you don't fight back, even though the sudden intrusion catches you off guard enough you almost bite her finger instead. You almost consider doing it anyway, but she's so rarely in a good mood it feels rude to spoil it.

"Pets don't speak until they're told," She chides, pressing down on your tongue slightly and laughing at the way you almost choke in surprise. "And I don't remember giving you permission."

You can only manage a garbled whine in response, your face burning in embarrassment– but it's quickly silenced by the click of her tongue and the creak of the old chair you know sits by the fireplace, her thumb sliding out between your lips to drag you closer. Close enough to feel the rush of heat across your skin as your cheek is pressed against her thigh, her hands resting on the back of your head. You can't see it, but you sure can imagine the smug smile that must be tugging at her lips right about now.

"Let's see about fixing your little disobedient streak, darling." She murmurs, digging her nails into your scalp and tugging you even closer, the furs beneath you doing little to prevent the ache in your knees from kneeling. But you don't complain– you know what she wants, and you want it too. "Open."

Like the dog she seems so fond of treating you as, you listen– you're not as surprised this time when her fingers fill your mouth, forcing it open even further until you can feel the saliva collecting and dribbling down your chin. She doesn't seem to mind, even laughing at how pitiful you probably look, drooling all over her fingers.

But Signora is a hard woman to satisfy, and this will hardly do anything other then work her up enough to really break you in. You can just barely hear the rustle of fabric over your heartbeat, gloved hands tugging you closer and forcing you to press right up against the edge of the chair. It's almost uncomfortable, the way the chair presses against your chest, but she always has you teetering on that fine edge.

"Perhaps you can be trained after all." Signora's voice is like a balm, the heat of her body driving away the cold and urging you impossibly closer, until you feel her hand guide you down just as her fingers slip out of your mouth again– right up until you feel her cock against your cheek. "Show me that you can be obedient, mutt, and maybe I'll let you sit on my lap."

You know she's just dangling a treat just out of reach, but you can't help but reach for it anyway.

Your tongue drags across the underside of her cock, so slow you can hear the hiss that rattles in her chest halfway between pleasure and impatience. You take your time anyway, lingering until you reach the tip and press a kiss against it. You almost wish you could see her face, but she's never been fond of expressing anything outwardly when you can see it– just the idea of her brows furrowed, of her face flush and her lip caught between her teeth..it's enough.

It's not hard to imagine it anyway when the heat grows hotter, nearly turning the room into an oven before she catches herself. You aren't stupid enough to mention it, but your smile must be enough, because a low growl makes you shiver– so you drag your tongue from the base to the tip again, revel in the way it throbs beneath your tongue. For a moment you almost have something like control, your saliva dripping down her aching cock as you lap at it like a mutt.

But you're both growing impatient– the sharp click of her nails against the chairs arms makes you shudder, urging you to lift yourself up just enough to wrap your lips around the head with a muffled groan. You consider dragging it out just a moment longer, just to see if you can get her to whine, but she knows you better then you do– before you can even blink, her hand shoves you down. You, predictably, gag. Your throat burns from the stretch, but it's not unpleasant, eased by the pleasured hiss that tumbles from her lips. Signora at least has the mercy to let you get used to it for a moment before she drags you back up, the emptiness in your throat making you whine before she's shoving her cock back down your throat. Your eyes sting with unshed tears, your own sounds of pleasure muffled and garbled as she does it again– and again.

"Finally quiet, mutt?" She laughs, but it's strained– her voice quivers slightly as she fucks your throat like your nothing but a toy to her, drool dribbling down your chin and tears staining the blindfold. "If I knew it was this easy to shut you up, I'd have done it a long time ago."

You so badly want to do something, but with your hands tied behind your back and her fucking your face so rough, so fast, you can barely even think..there's not much you can do but let her, your cunt clenching around nothing. You really hope she wasn't lying about that reward, for once. You're practically dripping on her floor while she uses you, just barely able to squeeze your thighs together for a fraction of friction.

It only serves to make you more desperate, though.

"Fuck– or maybe you're too stupid to know better. You'd just let any pretty woman with a cock use you," Her breathing was getting heavier, more strained, but her grip on your hair didn't relent. Neither did the harsh thrust of her hips, her cock constantly hammering into your throat until you felt dizzy. "You're lucky I'm even willing to train a mutt like you."

Your mind starts to feel fuzzy, the words blending together until she digs her nails into your scalp and forces you down again– and keeps you there. You nearly gag again when you feel her shudder, her cock throbbing in your mouth as her cum spills down your throat, your hands straining against the silk binding them together. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, nostrils flaring and your body tensing– you don't even realize you'd briefly lost consciousness until your find yourself on her lap, rather then on your knees, her hands brushing the strands of hair stuck to your face with sweat out of your eyes.

It's the most gentle she's been all night– and likely as gently as she will be tonight. You lean into her touch anyway, groaning softly and shuddering at the taste of her on your tongue mixed with her cock throbbing against your thigh.

"I'm not done yet, darling. Did you think I'd let you get away with a little light training?" She laughs, cupping your jaw and pressing a kiss that's far too gentle to your cheek, the warmth of her body almost suffocating– but you welcome it, like you always do.

So you nod, smiling drowsily and spreading your legs like a good pet should.

[randomshyperson]

Favorite Star - Elizabeth Olsen x Reader

Summary: During halftime at the Golden Globes, two guests find an empty room. Or the one where Lizzie's dress is driving you crazy.

Warnings; (+18), semi-public smut, bottom!Lizzie, dirty talking, implied secret relationship, just sinful. | Words: 1.437k

A/N-> This is actually fluff because I'm a sweetheart and Lizzie's face after losing another award made me very upset. And as the saying goes, the devil works fast but fanfic writers work faster.

General Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3

-&-

You've been teasing her.

All day, even before the awards began, you filled her cell phone with selfies and short videos of getting dressed in your attire - A dark green suit that hugged your body just right and was chosen to match her eyes, giving plenty of material for every rumor that has been circling about the two of you. Then on the red carpet, with intense stares and hidden smirks in her direction that your Agent probably wouldn't approve of. When you finally greeted her, you even dared to whisper how breathtaking she looked next to her ear and Lizzie should have won an acting award right there for covering the way her body shook at the compliment. 

The Golden Globes party was as full as usual, and it was blistering hot and tedious. She still had to deal with an annoying host, and when the break finally happened, Elizabeth wasn't the only one who breathed a sigh of relief that the performance had been interrupted.

She made her way through the crowd towards the toilets, offering polite smiles to any of the known guests she crossed glances with and somehow, perhaps because she caught your eye before standing up, Lizzie knew you were following her.

Her heart leaped in her chest when she felt her wrist being gently grabbed. She caught a glimpse of your dilated pupils before you took the lead, holding her hand and guiding her into the first empty room you could find.

You let go of her hand to wrap your arms around her waist, a gentle push to have her against the closed door. Lizzie was still blushing because she was sure Meryl Streep had seen the whole thing.

Your lips were on hers in the blink of an eye, and all she could do was sigh, her eyes closing on instinct. Fuck, she missed this. It seemed like forever since you last kissed, Lizzie was almost beginning to think she'd imagined it.

When you broke apart, you were a little breathless, your eyes shining in her direction filled her stomach with butterflies.

"Hello, gorgeous." You greeted her with a smile, your hands stroking her sides. "Lizzie, this dress is... fuck."

She blushed at your affected tone of voice, smiling shyly. Her hands went to the collar of your dress shirt, and she stared back at you with the same intensity.

"I'm glad you like it." She whispers even though the room is empty and the noise of the party outside is enough to drown out the sounds inside. "Do you know what the best part is? How easy it comes off..." She teases naughty an inch away from your lips, pleased with the shaky sigh that escapes you. Your hands tighten a little more firmly around her waist and Lizzie bites her lip before instinctively thrusting her hips towards you. The cue is answered immediately - You grab her dress to put up a little so your thigh can fit between her legs, giving her something to grind against. But instead of giving in completely, she’s all too aware of where she is and the short time you both have before the end of the break. So Lizzie fiddles with your tie. "We can't. Not here."

You pout, the hands on her hips giving a tentative pull, forcing her to grind down into your flexing thigh, and her determined gaze falters into an aroused expression, the blood flowing not only to her cheeks but down her body, at a speed that makes her gasp for air. The hot knot on her lower belly making her dizzier by the second.

"Why wait, when you want it so badly?" You challenge back as if you knew how about the ache between her legs. You lean in to attack her collarbone with kisses that turn her into a panting mess, struggling to keep her eyes open. You gently bite the most sensitive spot behind her ear that you have learned to memorize and Lizzie lets out a soft whimper, her hips thrusting forward on instinct.

But there's movement outside. Footsteps and a soft bell. Break time is about to be over. Lizzie grumbles, the firm hands on your shoulder pushing you gently.

"We have to go." She says, but you don't let go, you pull her face to yours and kiss her hard. Your tongue makes her knees go weak and the only support is your thigh between her legs. She whines again, wishing she wasn’t wearing a dress at all. "Baby, they'll notice-" She manages to pant between your firm kisses, but she's grinding against you with a little more frenzy in the next second. Your hands move under her dress and Lizzie lets her face fall into the space of your neck, unable to care about the lipstick staining the collar of your shirt.

She choked on a moan when suddenly, your fingers reached forward - you just pushed the fabric of her already ruined panties aside and sank them inside her without warning. The throaty moan that escapes her is muffled on your skin.

It's ridiculous how helpless she is; riding your fingers in chase of her climax in near despair. And you're not gentle either, your thrusts are deep and quick inside her because you can't afford to prolong this and the second warning bell will ring soon. The cameras will be turned on again, your chairs will be empty, and more gossip about a possible relationship between the Marvel stars will surface in the media.

But Lizzie is coming hard against your hand, so she can't care about any of that right now.

It's one of the quickest orgasms she's ever had in her life, but she doesn't have time to feel embarrassed about it. You remove your hand to suck your fingers clean as she tries to breathe normally again, her hands gripping your shoulders so she doesn't slip to the floor due to her shaky legs.

You turn your face to her next, kissing her intensely and Lizzie moans at the taste of herself on your tongue. You smile as you break away.

"I kinda wanna skip the party and take you home, Miss Olsen." You let her know sweetly, and Lizzie lets out a short, breathy chuckle. 

But the second bell rings, and the cameras have been turned on. She curses quietly, and you help her to stand up properly.

"Come on, let me help you with this." You ask, your hands pulling her face to lessen the mess that has become her lipstick as she tries to do the same with you. 

But she knows, she knows for sure that her worn-out dreamy expression, the mess in her hair, will give away what she’s been up to. And that not only the other guests, but the fans will know too.

She swallows dryly, tugging at your hand. "They'll know."

You hesitate before giving her a small smile. "Is that so bad, Lizzie?"

She takes a deep breath, her lips cracking into a small smile. "I just... hoped to share the news in a different way."

You absorb her words for a moment, trying to ignore the warm happiness blossoming in your chest. Lizzie wants to go public. You steal a glance at the door before looking back at her and sighing. "Okay, I have an idea."

The whole thing goes very quickly; you pull your cell phone out of your pocket and take a picture of your lipstick-stained shirt collar. She looks at you with a frown.

"What...?"

"Well, you're not on Instagram so this is as good as it gets." You explain, letting her see the photo and the small caption that simply read “a good-luck kiss from my favorite star”. Lizzie felt her face burn, and she giggled nervously. This would cause some commotion, she could already imagine Twitter going insane trying to guess who you were talking to. Knowing her fans, they probably already knew.

She stares at you to say; "Your agent is going to kill you. Not only that, they'll drown you with questions when we are out of here."

You chuckled, offering her a wink. "It was totally worth it."

She approaches again, stealing a short kiss before touching the door handle. "I'll fix my makeup, you go ahead."

You pout. "But my picture was so nice..."

Lizzie rolls her eyes with a laugh. "I never said you couldn't post it." She teases, and it's her turn to give you a wink before walking out the door.

This woman is still going to be the death of you. Honestly.

[ellsbclls]

can’t stop thinking about ellie finding a strap while she’s on patrol . . . ( 18+ minors please for the love of god don’t interact )

stumbles upon this desolate ‘adult world’ where, in an odd and rare display of post-apocalyptic serendipity, it’s last breath clings to the still blinking open sign. waves at her with red and blue fingers that say “we’ve got what you need!” and while jesse flattens a wrinkled maid costume against his lean frame, she manages to stuff the harness into her bag before he could see it and give her a whole patrol’s worth of regret

can’t stop thinking about how shy she gets when she first brings it up to you, because there are a slew of things that ellie is, and shy has never been one of them. so it ticks you off at first, puts you into high gear, squares your shoulders and tightens your spine until you finally see what she’s talking about — long, and girthy, and so shiny that the fluorescents drown out the pseudo-veins. the only reason you laugh is because you’re trying to cover a flustered sigh.

can’t stop thinking about ellie making a home between your thighs. one arm hooked around the dip where your tummy meets your leg, thumb stroking against your clit, sending you up the fucking wall with how feather light her touch is. absent minded. and the other is pulling at your lip , clearing a path for her tongue to lap at your folds, your sweet little hole, all nice and lazy with it . she’d be at it for minutes, hours, fucking days if that’s what it took to make you wet enough for her, all “gotta make sure you can take it, bug.” and “you can barely take my fingers, know you’re gonna strangle this fucking cock.” know your pussy just drools with a mixture of her spit and your own slick, to the point where her chin is painted in it, her throat, hell — the collar of her wife beater.

can’t stop thinking about when she finally puts it in. how you had to beg her, give her a flash of those big, wet doe eyes that make her crumble oh so fast, and just like that you’re both fumbling with the dildo. giggling. trying to figure out how the fuck it goes on the harness itself and “if it comes off in the middle of this i’m gonna kill myself .” and “you’re gonna make me finish myself?” but no sooner than you figuring it out does she line herself up. lays a tender kiss behind your knee as you swallow the tip and murmur a low “it’s so big, els. it’s too fucking big” and she nearly fucking stops. the furrow in your brows and the waver in your voice is enough to make her go into fight or flight, but you lock eyes with her and you’re anything but scared. hell, you’re somewhere else, hazy and sated with enough love and trust to let her keep going. so she keeps burrowing between those snug little walls, huffs a low “that’s it, that’s my girl.”

cleans the tears littering your cheeks with sweet kisses, and you take the opportunity to coax more out of her, whisper “i’m all yours, show me i’m all yours.” because you feel so fucking full, but you could feel fuller, and with every inch by suffocating inch that stretches you out, lights up every nerve it presses into by the minute, nothing compares to the jolt of lightning that shoots up your spine when her hips stutter. hard. bottoms out in a clean sweep and prompts strangled moans from the both of you.

can’t stop thinking about the slick sound that accompanies her thrusts, from tentative to greedy. how it gets louder when she hooks your knee just over her waist. this wet, sloppy puddle that spreads over your thighs, over her thighs each time she plunges into you, and pulls back with spindles of it tethered together. how it’s drowned out by the raspy little grunts she punches out of you. a part of you wonders what you were so scared about, panting underneath her, teeth bared each time she prods against that devastating spot that you can barely reach on your own because it’s just so fucking perfect

[starlightsearches]

Hi Star! Huge congratulations on your 2k milestone - it is so well deserved!!

Could I possibly get "Let's Hear it for the Boy" with our beloved ginger general?

Thank you so much and congrats again!!

Drunk / In Love

Track 3: Let's Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams - Give me a character and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons on how they would want you to show them that you love them. 

General Hux x F! Reader / 📼 ✨ mixtape milestone ✨ 📼

Thanks for the request, my love! Sorry it took me so long!

The idiots from these two stories are back again. Sorry I'm obsessed with them (I'm not sorry at all). Warnings for some minor sexual content and weird consent issues!

Phasma said you were drunk.

What she failed to mention was how—how drunk you were, or how you ended up that way. It was only supposed to be a friendly dinner when Hux first suggested it (and didn't stop suggesting it until Phasma finally gave in).

He thought if you made connections here—even just one—that it might make you more comfortable being with him on this ship, and so far from anything familiar.

Although this might be too familiar.

He reaches the door to Phasma's quarters and they glide open automatically, programmed to recognize his approach. He sees Phasma seated at the table, out of uniform, a smirk playing on her wine-stained mouth.

Armitage is not prepared for the dark flash in his peripherals, or the arms around his neck.

Your embrace frightens him, and that alone is enough to leave him feeling hot, stomach swimming, even when he recognizes your touch on instinct. It has him weak at the knees, just this, has his heart in his throat as all the alarm and panic well up inside him, threatening to spill out.

Then your lips meet his. 

There's been a handful of almost-affectionate moments shared between you. The brush of your hand as you wished him goodbye one morning. A kiss on the cheek that missed its target, landing at the edge of his lips.

But nothing like this.

Hux can feel your mouth shift against his, lips turning up at the corners, and the little laugh that passes through them—maybe at the way his hands hang limply at his sides, or the crop of perspiration blooming at his collar from the warmth of your skin, the smell of you. He can't make himself kiss you back, although he wants to.

He really, really wants to.

There's no malice in your eyes when you pull away—Armitage doesn't think you're capable of malice. You smile at him sweetly, taking his hands in both of yours.

"I missed you," you tell him, each word bleeding into the next, eyes half-lidded and hazy from whatever you'd been drinking, "did you miss me?"

"I- uh, yes," he answers—unavoidably honest—his eyes flitting towards Phasma, who's so pleased with herself it practically drips from her, hanging heavier on her shoulders than the armour she usually wears.

A hot anger floods through his stomach, spiked with acrid shame. He doesn’t need any witnesses to his inept attempts at marriage.

Your smile widens, every facet of you bursting with delight knowing that he’s missed you in the hours since you last spoke his name, and then he’s back in your embrace, the sound of sweet laughter in his ear. 

He reaches out for something to brace himself on, and finds nothing. It takes everything in him to keep standing. 

Armitage peels your arms from around his neck, putting a desperate inch of distance between himself and the press of your body. 

"Why don't we let the captain get some rest?" he asks.

Your enthusiasm at the suggestion turns his stomach into knots.

He's able to usher you through the empty halls at a speed just short of a jog, one hand at your waist to keep you from stumbling, and the other wrapped firmly around your wrist to stop any further attempts at touching him.

And, though he can’t puzzle it out just yet—with the warmth of you still against him—he knows something is wrong with you. Something that wine alone could not bring on.

Armitage knows you don’t want him. Not like this. 

Yet you practically drag him through the doors of your quarters, mouth planted against his before the mechanical lock whirs into place. 

All the desire in him makes him sick—feverish and weak. His body shudders against yours, nerves trying to break through skin at the gentleness of your touch.

“Armitage,” you whine, pouty in a way he’s never heard before—always so polite and obliging when you’re sober, “kiss me back.”

He couldn’t refuse you, even if he wanted to, even though he knows it would be better for both of you—knows the way this memory will torture him endlessly, until the moment he dies. Maybe long after that. 

But still, he cups your face in shaking hands, and presses his uncertain lips to yours.

And it’s nothing like all the times he’s thought about this—about taking you, feeling the warmth of your breath mingling with his own, pulling you tight against him with his arm at your waist and kissing, kissing, kissing you, until he tires of the feeling, until he rids himself of all his hideous need to be loved and to be wanted. 

It’s nothing like he imagined because he’s terrified. Because he can’t manage to move the ways he wants to, tripping over his feet when you stumble deeper into his chambers. Because his stomach roils at the feel of your tongue against his stubbornly closed mouth, and his arms shake with the need to move, but his hands stay where he placed them, holding hard enough to bruise, pulling you closer with enough force that part of him wonders if he’s hurting you. 

And still, your mouth on his, your wandering, eager hands. 

The room spins; Armitage’s reason leaves him when his feet lift from the floor, your body underneath him, and below that the cushion of his bed molding you together.

Still kissing. Still you. Your hand, guiding his down the thrumming pulse of your neck, lower. Lower.

Armitage is on the other side of the bed before the thought of how wrong what he has done truly registers, his feet planted and one hand pushing back the fallen strands of his hair.

 “Armitage?”

He curses the day you learned his name, curses the ill, vile part of him that wants to go back. 

He clears his throat and finds it doesn’t steady him at all. 

“You- you should get some rest, I think.”

Your movements are clumsy as you crawl to him on your knees, fighting against the thick bedspread and the fabric of your skirt. There’s a little huff on your lips when you reach him, eyes big and wide and brimming with glistening tears. 

“Why don’t you want me?” you whisper, and tears well up to their breaking point, slipping down your cheeks.

Fuck. He wants to touch you, and knows it’s a terrible idea, palms aching beneath the leather he wears and hates—now more than ever when it keeps him from you. His hand reaches out against his will, hovering just out of reach of your skin and the tears he can’t manage to wipe away because, once again, he is the cause of all your suffering. 

 “You’re- you’re drunk, darling. You’ll feel better if you just-”

“No,” you tell him, pushing his hand away with your own, “why don’t you want me ever?”

Oh, gods. Armitage recoils like you’ve slapped him, the sting of those words and what they mean destroying everything—every moment he’s agonized over since he first saw you and knew you had to be his. 

“You . . . you can’t possibly believe that.” 

You nod your head, fists curled at your sides petulantly, and your stubbornness would make him laugh, if it weren’t so sad.

“I do,” he whispers, then swallows, reaching for your hand. You let him take it. It gives him something to look at, watching your elegant fingers intertwine with his. “I do, but I—”

How much of this will you remember? Even now, the idea of revealing this soft, vulnerable part of him strikes fear into his very core, has him wishing he could run, wishing he could escape the way your eyes flay him wide open.

Your hand against his chest, he can feel his own heartbeat meet the shapes of your fingertips, molding to you. Armitage meets your gaze, and as frightening as it is, there’s no part of him that could deny how deeply he craves it.

“Please forgive me,” he stutters, and there aren't words for him to explain everything he needs to, just the truth. “I am—oh, gods—I am a ruinous man.” 

He watches you, the muscles working in your jaw, the way your brows pull together, examining him, weighing the assessment of himself that he’s offered to you. 

“No,” you tell him, “no you’re not.”

He thinks you might kiss him again, as close as you are. Close enough for him to count each of your lashes, map the constellations you’ve hidden in your eyes. 

You drop to the mattress instead, and the look you give him has him holding back a laugh, the mix of stubbornness and grudging deference that has Armitage wondering how hard it’s been for you to play at obedience in your union.

“You should change,” he tells you, just resting on the edge of the bed, “you’ll be more comfortable.”

It’s easier to talk to you when you’re like this. It has Armitage feeling like he’s the one intoxicated, and he is, in a way. Because what if this is your most honest self? 

He didn’t think you could make him love you any deeper, but you’ve managed. 

“Don’t care,” you mumble into the pillows, trying to brush him away with a waving hand. He takes it in his own.

“You’ll ruin your dress.” 

There’s a look of intense focus on your face, and he wonders if you’ll refuse again. Maybe you don’t care about the dress either, although Armitage would be disappointed. It’s one of his favorites from your incredibly extensive wardrobe—a beautiful black and cream confection that always catches his eye.

But you shift instead, turning to look up at him. “Kiss me.”

Stars, not again. Not now, when the weakest parts of him are so palpable. “I- I don’t-”

You flop into a sitting position, hold a single finger up between your faces.

“One kiss,” you concede, “okay?”

He nods, despite himself. You wait patiently for his approach, still and hardly breathing through your parted lips as he slides closer. Armitage keeps his eyes open, and so do you, heavy as they are, watching the distance between your faces fade into nothing.

It’s not like the other times he’s kissed you, although all but one had happened only a few moments ago. You let him set the pace, his lips just barely brushing your own, a sigh bubbling up from deep inside his lungs. He can only offer a little more pressure before he’s lightheaded again, little bursts of light dancing across his vision.

He pulls back from what could hardly be called a kiss, and waits for your disappointment, for your insistence that he try again, that there must be something more, or better, that he’s kept from you. 

Armitage doesn’t want you to know that there’s nothing else to hope for. 

You don’t say a word about it though. Just flop your arms out in front of you, waiting, satisfied in your demands.

“Help me.”

And it passes like that, with more bribes in the form of barely-there presses of his lips to yours—a kiss for you to raise your arms as he slips something soft and oversized over your head, a kiss for you to clumsily remove the dress from underneath. A kiss to get you to leave him for a moment while he changed into his own night clothes after you’d begged and begged for him to spend the night beside you, and a kiss upon his return.

It feels like a lifetime of kisses to Armitage. He doesn’t know what that number would be for anyone else, but you’ve certainly exceeded it for him. He could die in his sleep tonight and have more than he ever deserved. 

And now you’re curled up beside him a hand at his waist, your head on his chest. Armitage breathes, but only barely, hoping he won’t wake you. 

The tension drains from him, his body the closest it’s been to relaxed in ages. He wonders if he should ask Phasma to invite you to dinner again.

He hopes the next time he kisses you, you'll be sober enough to remember it.

[tteokdoroki]

sucking and marking kiri’s neck for your own pleasure not his and leaving purply marks all over him.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, established relationship, suggestive, dry humping, jealousy, possession, excessive marking, hickies, hair pulling, pro hero!kirishima, gn!reader - not beta read !

walk with me nonnie, can you imagine like marking the shit out of kiri’s chest and neck after watching one of his post-rescue interviews— the damsel in distress having thrown themselves all over him on national TV.

he’ll come home tired after his patrol and the agency work— flopping down on the couch to curl into you and while you flick through channels, giving eijirou the unknown silent treatment. the news will flash with the report of his brave work, the girl clinging to him for dear life and looking up at your boyfriend with bright, twinkling eyes as she purposefully drags her words so kiri will pay extra attention to her.

you thought that by the time eijirou came home you’d be completely calm, over it but then just the sight of him getting all flustered rewatching the clip — asking if his arms look to big or if he should have been a little more humble. you can’t even fault kirishima because he’s just too nice to realise when other people are crossing an invisible line. even sitting next to him, you feel like you can smell her all over him and see exactly where she put her hands on him.

so after a few more moments of ignoring the big guy, you haul yourself into his lap — not kissing the way surprise spreads over eijirou’s handsome features before his large hands settle on the dips in your waist. his red eyes darkening with amusement.

“well, hello there, gorgeous.”

“shut up.” the way you latch onto his thick neck could be compared to that of a vampire — sinking your teeth into the golden hue of his skin, nibbling on the flesh until a purple-like bruise rises to the surface. “‘m mad at you,” you whisper, voice basking in a huskiness that empties eijirou’s brain. he’s too slow, too sweet to catch onto what’s happening.

instead he twitches and rumbles and whines underneath you as you use his chest and neck like a canvas. you aggressively paint shades of blue, burgundy and purple across eijirou’s skin, slowly but surely turning him into a needy mess. he chases a friction that you don’t give to him even while perched pretty in his lap. he whines like an angel’s song as you tongue the marks you’ve given him, lapping at the sensitive areas on your boyfriend’s collar bones while you debate on covering them up with more.

having this amount of control and possession over such a big and strong pro hero sends loved up and hormones shooting across your brain and right around your body. it makes you feel good knowing that red riot lets you have him like this, let’s you do these things to him. even though you both know he could very well turn this situation around.

“please, honey. i just wanna…god let me feel you. please?” kirishima pleads and begs as you litter him with enough love bites to last a life time. you know it feels good for him, but for you it’s better. like taking a shot of whatever alcohol you desire — it gives you a buzz. makes you hyperaware that everyone will see your claim in eijirou peeking out of his hero costume.

“baby,” he tries again, breathless and bucking his hips up into yours, anything to soothe the aching, leaking hard-on he sports. “god, i know i’ve got some teeth on me…but you’re really tearin’ a guy up here. please give me more… s’frustrating.” kirishima mewls weakly but lets you grab the black roots of his hair, tugging his head back so you can expose more of his unmarred flesh to your ravenous mouth.

you have an appetite for ruining him, blessing every inch of his sensitive skin with your bite marks. “you know what’s really frustrating, eijirou?” you mumble after sucking on a spot just under his ear — one of those spots that makes his huge body convulse under a simple touch. “watching your boyfriend let some girl put her hands all over him. watching him do nothing about it too.” he groans low and sexy at what you say, hiccuping between the open mouthed kisses you trail down to his plush chest. “it’s like you wanted to make me mad on purpose, red.”

“maybe…fuck… maybe i did.” kirishima sighs, back arching from the couch when you wrap your wet mouth around his juicy peck — biting down on his pebbled nipples before you move to leave teeth marks all across them. “if it gets you like this.”

you lick, you suck, you bite and teeth and bring red riot crumbling down to the ground. by the time you’re done, his chest, neck and tits are sore with midnight purple marks you’ve left all over them and kirishima lets you kiss every single one to soothe him.

it’s safe to say that the headlines reporting in red riot change over the next few days — most of them highly focused on the aftermath of your jealousy he wears proudly on his exposed chest.

[interpolanticssuperfan]

nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 1 | 18+ only

warnings: this will eventually contain smut so please be mindful. part of my goal is to explore ken developing a relationship with a human who struggles with their own vices, and doesn't feel qualified to teach him how to be human. i'd consider this slow burn with obviously eventual relationship fluff and smut (this includes ken doing things like drinking alcohol for the first time, having sexual experiences for the first time, etc.) not sure how many parts this will be but i will keep everyone updated!

also - my main is @snuffbby i just didnt feel comfortable posting it there, but you can follow me there if you want to chat or ask questions about this ongoing work. thanks <3 <3

Meeting Ken was actually a complete and unforeseen fluke – not on your part, it’s not like you were looking for him. 

Frankly, you weren’t looking for anything at this point in your life. Burnt out, at the end of your rope with men and content to enjoy your own company in the comfort of your apartment, happy to work your menial clerical job for the rest of your life until a better paying career fell into your lap.

Or whatever.

You didn’t really care. As odd as it sounded, you were thankful right now for boring. For humdrum chores, for cleaning the kitchen and brainlessly answering emails for eight hours a day until your joints ached. 

Having been out of college for four years now, you’d put in a decent tenure at your current company doing data entry. It wasn’t challenging and afforded you plenty of freedom in your schedule. That being said, most days were seamless copies of one another – wake up, feed your guinea pig, stretch on the tiny sliver of patio out front, then head to the library down the road to work until your eyes crossed from screen fatigue. 

Nothing really ever changed. Yogurt for breakfast every morning. Repeated motions of the only three yoga poses you knew. Even your guinea pig seemed to look at you with confusion sometimes when you fed her, tiny eyes ogling up at you from her spacious enclosure.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you’d mutter, dropping in romaine lettuce and pellets for her. And after every complaint, she would twirl in a circle, waiting for her daily brushing.

The library was a godsend on these hot summer days, air conditioned and quiet. You didn’t even need headphones, but preferred them to focus. The secretary stopped asking if she could help you find anything when she realized you’d become a regular patron of the modern looking white table near the massive windows.

“Good morning, Pat,” you’d smile as you passed, and she’d give you a little wave, usually on the phone with someone or engrossed in a book of her own. 

Updating spreadsheets. Notifying supervisors of progress. Nearly nodding off at eleven thirty. It had been shaping up to be an entirely normal, predictable, cut and dry day. Until a silhouette by the front desk grew bigger, approaching your peripheral and then flat out startling you. Numbers and figures had started to blur together, so you blinked hard and shut your laptop – just to find an incredibly curious sight across from you.

Sat comfortable and cross-legged in the opposing chair was one of, if not the most objectively attractive men you’d ever seen in your entire life. Pretty in a way that bordered on unnatural, like a living sculpture. A long, denim-clad arm splayed out lazily along the back of the chair. 

This man gave you a calculated yet warm smirk that danced across his features. Bleached blonde like a model and face angled, glazed in sunlight that inched through the windows. He was something straight out of a fairytale – picturesque, almost glowing.

Where had he come from?

“Is this seat taken?” Inexplicably you felt the back of your neck heating up, a ring of sweat forming around your collar where your necklace was clasped. It seemed to sear into your skin as you fumbled over your words, deciding what to say to the stranger who’d placed himself in front of you like an apparition. 

“I… no, I’m here by myself. Working, I’m, uh. Just working.” Strangely, you noticed him make a fist to himself, concealed partly by the table, but his gesture of victory was obvious, as if he’d just won a bet or something. The blonde composed himself then with a twitch of his neck, nodding evenly, instantaneously cool as a cucumber again. His bright blue eyes studied you, your laptop and planner on the desk, your bag hanging across the arm of the chair. You’d never needed the air conditioning to be effective more so than this moment. Crank it way up – igloo this place all the way.

“Excellent. My name’s Ken.” Big blue eyes finally locking with yours, he puffed his chest out, like a purple and green speckled peacock trying to attract a mate with his confidence, his easy bravado. Though it was difficult to ignore the openness – the curiosity in his eyes as he took you in. 

Like it was his first time talking to a woman, or at least trying to do… whatever he was doing right now with you. 

You felt that your instincts would warn you if this neatly manicured man was making you uneasy or frightened, but you didn’t notice an inkling of displeasure. On the contrary, it was almost electrifying to be stared at like this. Flattering. 

Had been months, almost a year since anyone paid attention to you like this.

“Ken?” Unable to stop the laugh, you tilted your head sideways, scooting your chair back to get a better look at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Ken. Wait – I’m sorry, that’s not true. My dad’s boss was named Ken. But you wouldn’t, um. You wouldn’t know him. At least I don’t think so, I have no idea where you’re from. He was an engineer, this senior engineer for a huge company in New Jersey… we don’t keep in touch, he’s sort of an asshole.” You found yourself rambling on as you drank this surprising man in, freely sharing details about yourself without even telling him your name first. 

But what an interesting view he was. Painted still with this deeply intoxicating smile, pupils darting and eager like an energetic puppy. 

“I am not from New Jersey. But I’m sorry the other Ken was – what did you call him?”

“An... asshole?”

“Yes, I’m sorry he was that.” Your long winded introduction didn’t seem to bother him one bit. He kept his gaze unmoving right on your face, like he was terrified to break eye contact.

You eyed his white cowboy boots (did people still wear those?), black leather pants that hugged his legs like a gift from the heavens, and a long sleeved white denim jacket that appeared to be cropped, revealing just a hint of his lower stomach, and when you caught your eyes lingering for just too long on the tanned patch of skin peeking out, you sighed, shutting yourself up. 

You couldn’t shake one thing, though; leather and denim on a day like this? It was nearly ninety outside, you remembered, and cocked your head at him.

“Oh, I was talking about my dad, not his boss. And I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“A lovely name for a lovely lady,” Ken replied, studying you to gauge your reaction to his compliment. It was clear Ken was attempting to hit on you, and it was equal parts unfamiliar and gratifying. 

“Thank you. I’ve never had anyone say that about my name.” Ken winced as if shot through the heart, his flawless eyebrows flying up to his flawless hairline, and he clutched at the buttons on his jacket. This display would have probably seemed incredibly dramatic on any other man, but for some reason it read as… serious on Ken.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You shook your head. “I’m not.”

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“Well, I really appreciate your honesty, Ken.”

“It’s no problem at all. I would never lie to you. Not in a hundred million years.”

Very heartfelt words coming from someone you’ve known for all of… four minutes, generously. 

You quirked your head, caught off guard by his comment. “I… thank you. If you don’t mind me asking, what brought you over… here? To sit with me, I mean?”

This caused a beam to unfold across Ken’s face, and he leaned back in the chair, perching his chin up so as to look professional. “Can I tell you the truth?” 

“Well. Yes, I’d like that.”

“I saw you here last week. On – what’s the one that starts with an ‘F’?” Ken screwed his eyes shut, scanning his brain meticulously for a piece of very common, everyday information. 

This is a bizarre way to flirt with someone for the first time, you thought to yourself, bewilderment sinking into your gut as you helpfully offered, “Friday?”

“Yes! That’s it. Friday,” He uttered to himself and dropped his eyes, seemingly making a mental note. “So, I saw you here Friday. You were getting a book from right over there.” Ken pointed to the magazine rack nestled against the front desk that you once in awhile perused when the weekend approached, for lack of anything better to do at home.

You had checked out a magazine last Friday, in fact, after you clocked out for the day and packed up your things. It wasn’t anything special, just a stupid crossword puzzle collection with a recipe for a quiche you wanted to try making.

“You saw me on Friday and didn’t say anything?” 

“Exactly. You got the magazine, and then you walked home, and I didn’t know what to say because you were already inside. So then I walked back here – the library – and waited in case you came back. But that rude lady up there told me they were closing at nine, so I had to leave. Actually, she told me a little more than that. She said that I couldn’t loiter, whatever that is, but I was free to check out a book, so I asked her what book you had just gotten. But she didn’t want to tell me that for some reason.”

Ken recounted this like he was describing the weather with a colleague, just simple, redundant water cooler talk. Your jaw hung open in disbelief. Was he being serious? You’d finished work at four thirty. He sat here, allegedly for hours until it closed? 

He’d followed you home?

Before you could interject with a dozen questions flying through your mind, Ken continued. 

“Anyway, I thought about walking back to your house – and you have a big house, by the way! I had a feeling you would. You seem like a very successful lady. That’s why I had to meet you. Successful, captivating, beautiful, I couldn’t just go all the way back to Barbieland after I saw you!”

Had he mistook your apartment complex to be something you owned? And – what did he just say?

“Go back. To Barbieland.” You stated, smile faltering quicker than Ken managed to absolutely stun you with his fanatical tale.

“Right? I knew you would understand. I just knew you would, (Y/N)! Not to mention how long it took me to get here in the first place. So after security kicked me out –”

“Hold on, I’m sorry. I just… Ken?”

“Yes, my dove?” Ken’s taken to periodically toying with his jacket in positions that display his pronounced biceps. It’s endearing. It’s distracting. He’s stiflingly mesmerizing.

“Okay. Can we back up for a moment?”

Ken’s wide eyes regard you with infinite patience, wisps of his almost silver-like bangs falling against his brow bone. You remember that it’s only noon, and you’re still technically on the clock. In fact, your supervisor is almost certainly trying to get ahold of you for his midday rounds, checking on your team’s progress for the day. 

“Ask me anything you want. I am an open book. Especially for you.” He enunciates each syllable, adoring eyes raking over you again, and it’s beginning to feel a bit too much – and there’s a lot more information you need to derive from Ken before you can backpedal to… introductions and amicable conversation. (Not to mention the curling heat that’s pooling in your lower abdomen the more Ken devours you visually. He may have just dropped a bomb on you, yes, but he’s… well. He’s bewitching, alluring in a fashion that’s barely comprehensible.)

“Right. Here’s where I’m at. With all of this. I am very flattered by you, and your… dedication to finding me.” 

Ken’s grin overtakes his face, eye lines wrinkling with complete satisfaction. You almost forget your next words, forget to draw a line in the sand with this (gorgeous) stranger who’s just admitted to essentially stalking you.

But somehow, the pit in your stomach ceases its knotting when you meet his honest cobalt eyes. Not a hint of malice behind them, not a shred of ill intention. Not for the first time since you’d met Ken, you’re astounded that with any other man this behavior would scare you, probably compel you to call the police, even. Maybe you’d misjudged him.

He forgot the word for Friday, for Christ’s sake. 

But then there was this talk about traveling a long way to come here… about Barbie? This didn’t sit right with you, and the concept that Ken might be mentally unwell dawned on you, though he seemed coherent and relatively well spoken. Just a half hour ago you’d been toiling away with spreadsheets, and now you were silently cataloging all psychiatric facilities within a ten mile radius, wondering if a man of average height and average build could walk that far on a sweltering hot day. And still look, for lack of a better word, perfect. 

As you sat agonizing over the right words to say, Ken merely watched with his hands in his lap, boot tapping against his knee with no discernible rhythm. Patient with an emotion akin to devotion swimming through his watchful gaze.

“Ken… where are you staying?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Where have you been staying while you’ve been in town? Do you live around here?”

Ken smirked again, leaned in close to you, resting his elbows on your work laptop. “There’s that humor I like about you. Silly girl. I already told you, I live in Barbieland. It takes me seven hours to get here!”

“Okay. Right. So, let’s try this. Friday when I went home and you came back here. You remember that?”

“Uh huh,” Ken bobbed his head with sincerity, unfazed by this line of questioning, not picking up on how perturbed you’d grown.

“Where did you sleep that night? Do you know anyone here?”

Ken took his bottom lip in between his teeth, thoughtfully chewed on it. “Besides you, I don’t think so. The book lady who kicked me out doesn’t count as knowing someone. Right?”

“...Probably not. So where did you sleep?” You didn’t have the heart to tell Ken he didn’t really know you.

“I didn’t.”

“Sleep. You didn’t sleep?”

“No one’s asked me that before. I don’t really… get tired.” This confession strikes you as highly strange.

Your head began to feel fuzzy, and you guessed it wasn’t from skipping breakfast this morning. At least the sweat on your back had finally dried, and you inhaled deeply, trying not to startle Ken with your obvious worries.

“How about we do this. As you can see, I’m working right now,” you open your hand towards your long forgotten computer. “Well, I was working. And I’m not done for a few hours. But I think that we need to sit and talk about… everything. That you’ve told me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just wait here with you until you’re done! Look – I wanted to show you this. I even got a book before you got here.” Ken seems excited to share, so you purse your lips, watch him as he procures a book from underneath his chair. 

Ken holds out and frames a well worn paperback titled “Misty of Chincoteague”, frayed at the edges and featuring a wistful painting of a horse on the cover. For some reason, this childlike display of wonder touches you, and against all reason you’d ever acquired throughout your life, something nags at your conscience to trust this strange man – something tells you, like a mantra beating in time with your heart, that this man is not a threat to you, he is not going to hurt you.

“Are you a horse lover?”

“I’m more of a horse admirer… they intrigue me,” Ken quips, scanning your face again to see how you’re reacting to him. He seems to be at once keenly self aware and simultaneously oblivious to how he sounds – how he’s received by others. This man is a conundrum, made up of so many conflicting personality traits and mannerisms that don’t belong together but mesh nonetheless. 

And, you tell yourself, you’re still giving him your undivided attention.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that about you.”

“Really?” Ken’s act of unbothered macho-man seems to slip slightly as his eyes bulge, intently seeking for validation, wanting to hear you talk more about him, your impression of him so far. Maybe this is the way to get more information out of him, you realize, so you humor him.

“Not at all, Ken. Tell you what – why don’t you come back with me to my ap… my house, and you can tell me more about the things you like? Would you like that?”

In the minutes since you’d begun talking to him, Ken shone brighter than ever, practically buzzing with enthusiasm, gilded with a golden halo from the unrepentant sun as he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Perfect. You lead the way, I’m ready whenever you are!”

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Hi! I love your work!

I was wondering if I could request a Miguel O’Hara x chubby female reader. She’s not exactly shy or insecure about her body, and she wears glasses. She meets Miguel in a line for a cafe, she’s reading a classic book while waiting in line and is totally aware of her surroundings(and she’s not even a spider person)

The place is robbed and reader loses her glasses while being held at gunpoint. Spider-Man saves the day, and reader asks where Miguel went.

You don’t have to do this, but if you do and include smut stuff, the reader keep her glasses on please.

Waaait cause why is this so cute😭

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara × Chubby!Reader

Summary: you're standing in a long, slow moving line reading a book and a certain superhero can't keep his eyes off of you

A/N: I tried working on this while I was at work, but my phone is busted and tends to glitch, and it kept uploading while I was in the middle of writing and wouldn't let me put it in drafts. I was so mad LMAO anyways enjoy!

You're standing in line with your nose buried in a novel, finger tips pushing your glasses back up the bridge of your nose. Call you a cliché for reading in line, but come on, you're getting to the juicest part!

A soft hum push past your plump lips, tongue darting out to moisten the pad of your index finger to help flip to another page. Your eyes indulge the flow of the words, heart quickening as the scene grows mortifying and intense. Will the hero be able to save his lover? Or will he have to make the fatal decision of sacrificing her to save himself?

The line shifts and you take a step forward, peering up for a moment to glance at the menu before returning to your novel.

Yet a tremor racks through your body as you feel a pair of eyes on you. Begrudgingly, you remove your gaze from the pages, looking around to find the source.

And oh.

Standing off to the side is a tall man with dark skin, brown hair, shades adorning his handsome face staring at you. His cheeks darken at getting caught and he looks away, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

A blush rises along your cheeks and you make an attempt to go back to reading your book, moving along with the line, but your head turns slightly to get another peek of the handsome man, pushing your glasses back up.

The man is leaning against the wall, messing around with a gadget on his wrist, and this time, you're the one who gets caught for staring.

But you don't look away.

A small smile appears on your face and you give a little wave with your fingers. The man's eyes widen beneath his shades and he looks away with a small, shy pout, his arm rising a bit to give you a wave back.

You chuckle to yourself, coming up next in line and ordering yourself a iced matcha latte. You now stand off to the side with your book tucked under your arm, a few inches away from the handsome stranger.

"What are you reading?" he said after a long stretch of silence. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing down at you.

The size difference is mind boggling. He stands at 6'9 and you're below 5'5. And he finds it to be cute.

"Oh? This?" you hold the book up, staring at it. Your hand runs over the hard book, smiling. "It's the fourth installment of my favorite series. I'm at the part where the hero is faced with a difficult decision."

The man nods, almost in understanding. "That's a pretty thick book. How many pages is it?"

"Almost one thousand."

"Impressive," he said with a nod, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He's sweating.

"What's your name?" You say with the tilt of your head, finding his shyness to be adorable. You introduce yourself.

"I'm Miguel. Miguel O'Hara," he responds.

"Miguel," you say slowly, testing his name on your tongue. You smile brightly, craning your neck to beam up at him. You hold your hand out. "Nice to meet you, Miguel."

Miguel's large hand engulfs yours to shake, and his entire body heats up from how small and chubby your hand is in yours, and he's nearly reluctant to let go.

He swears he's never met someone so beautiful before. His hands itch to touch your soft, rounded body. His talons threaten to poke out so they can trace along your iridescent stretchmarks that's hidden beneath your clothes. Your kind, happy expression sends butterflies into his stomach and he looks away, taking his hand back and wiping his sweaty palms on his shirt.

"It's nice to meet you, too." It's an honor to have met you, but that would be a weird thing to say to someone he just met.

Miguel's order is placed on the counter and he grabs it, but doesn't leave. "So, um, what are you doing after this?" Please say nothing.

"Probably go back to my apartment and get comfortable in my bed. Got a novel to finish," you laugh, eyes lighting up in delight.

"Ah, I see," Miguel said. He rocks back and forth on his feet, pursing his lips. He doesn't want to intrude on your reading session, but, he wants to see you again. "Do you want to exchange numbers?"

"Huh?" you say, cheeks burning.

His heart jumps in his chest at the sight of your bashful expression. God, how can someone be so cute? He forces himself to ignore the altercation between the cashier and one of the patrons, who's demanding something for free.

"I would like to take you out sometime," he said with a smile, pushing his shades back up the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, I would lo-"

A gunshot rings throughout the coffee shop and everyone screams, ducking down instinctively. As you duck, your bottom accidentally bumps against the wall and you fall onto the ground, glasses and book sliding across the floor.

You try to scramble onto your hands and knees when an arm wraps around your neck and lifts you up onto your feet, and you feel the barrel of gun pressed into the side of your head.

"Dammit! I said give me my free coffee or this bitch gets it!" the man screamed, spit trickling onto your cheek. You groan in utter disgust.

The world is fuzzy and you squint, attempting to find Miguel - he's gone.

"Sir, please! Let her go and we'll make you the coffee!" the cashier said in panic.

"Make it! Make it now!" he screamed.

"All of this over a coffee?" a deep voice called out. Their tongue clicks in disappointment. "Man, you need to get a fucking life."

The man holding you hostage turns to the voice, dragging you along with, and he begins to tremble.

"S-Spiderman?"

In all of his glory, yet fuzzy, stands the protector of Nueva York - Spiderman. He narrows his eyes, cracking his knuckles.

"Let her go, now," he growled.

The man made the mistake of pointing the gun at him, his hand shaking. "G-Go away! I just want some coffee!"

Spiderman thwips a web to the barrel of the gun, clogging it, and takes it from his hand, breaking the gun in half and toss it aside. With the threat neutralized, he takes a step forward. The man eeps and tosses you to the ground, attempting to make a run for it.

As Spiderman deals with the perp, you're on your hands and knees searching around for your lost book and glasses. A whoosh flies over your body and you press yourself down, flinching as you hear the breaking of glass. You army crawl along the floor and eventually find your glasses. You sit back up and place your glasses back on your face, sitting up and blinking.

Spiderman, in your restored vision, is holding the knocked out perp in his arms, and his holding a hand out ot you.

"Are you okay, miss?" he whispers softly, helping you back onto your feet. You stumble a bit and he steadies you with a firm hand on your waist.

"I-I'm fine," you said. You then straighten yourself up, searching around the cafe. "Miguel! My friend, he's tall like you and he's wearing sun glasses. Did you see where he went?"

"I'm sure he's okay," Spiderman spoke with a gentle tone, hand itching to touch your face. He then reaches for a drink and hands it to you. "Don't worry about him. I'm sure a big man like him can take care of himself."

Spiderman walks out with the perp to turn into the police, and you're staring down at the drink in your hand, a number written on the side. Miguel's number. As your heart warms, a smile on your face, you come to a sudden realization.

How did Spiderman know you ordered the iced matcha?

[seungiepop]

𝑵𝒐 𝑵𝒖𝒕 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓

we all drinking? | pt.2

pairing: enha x best friend reader

characters: all enha members, Shin Yuna (itzy), Choi Beomgyu (TXT), and Mark lee (NCT)

caution: sexual context (only implied on the legal line), cursing, the reader is an 03’ line with sunoo and yuna

genre: social media au and one shots

wc: 0.8k Part 1

Masterlist | previous | next

ⓝⓝⓝ

Hearing the balcony door open she ignored the footsteps getting closer and continued to smoke out of her pen. “Thought you had lost it?”

“Found it in between all my makeup brushes while I was cleaning last week.”

Handing him the pen she leaned up against the railing and frowned, her mind wasn’t where it was supposed to be. She invited her friends over to take her mind off the recent interaction she had with her ex but nothing worked.

Watching Jungwon exhale the smoke out she smiles, it wasn’t her typical smile and he noticed that “you wanna talk about it?” he asked before coughing into his arm.

Knowing what he meant she shook her head “It’s best if I don’t.” her response was flat nothing but empty emotions behind it.

“We should head back”

She didn’t want to

Her mind was too preoccupied with many thoughts that going back there would set her off. “I can’t- won if I go back there I'll actually explode!”

“How can I help?”

Looking over at him he shrugged “There's gotta be something I can do…”

He stepped forward so he was standing behind her, arms caging her in between him and the balcony railing. Jungwon leaned his head down towards her neck, inhaling her sweet smell he’s been craving for a while now. “Fuc- please noona let me help!” She bit her lip trying to contain the noise that was trying to escape, feeling his lips kiss the sensitive skin of her neck.

One of the hands that were on the railing were now caressing the skin of her hip giving it a light pinch to get her attention. She turned her head to face him, eyes widened slightly at how close they were.

Damn why do all of my friends have to be hot?

Lips inches away from each yet not a move made “Wonie..” she breathed out as he connected their lips.

His lips were soft against her, much more softer than the other guys.

His tongue brushing against her ‘what the fuck is happening’.

Did she imagine herself getting into this position? No, did she mind? Not at all

It all went by too fast, one second she was pinned against the railing and the other she was face down ass up on her balcony couch. Jungwon hips slapping against her bare ass “Won- faster pleas-se!” she whined. His tip hit deep inside her walls causing her to clench around him.

Gasping as he pulled out and turned her so she was now facing him. His damp hair sticking against the side of his face, a few sweat tears falling against the side of his neck

Fuck he looks hot right now.

He spread her legs, eyeing the way their slick covered her cunt so deliciously. Grabbing her leg he wrapped them around his waist before placing a small kiss on her lips. He pumped his member a few times before angling into her aching hole.

Y/n tilt her head back with a whine at how sensitive she was. Jungwon groaned in her ear as he guided himself in, not wasting anymore time before thrusting his hips at a harsh pace. She wrapped her arms around his neck letting him bury his face into her neck, sighing at the feeling of his lips placing messy kisses on her collar bone and jawline.

His tip once again hitting the sensitive part of her walls making her cry out in pleasure “Fuck i’m gonna cum!” she gasped.

He put one hand on her neck while the other one stayed firmly on her waist making sure not to lose his rhythm. “Shit- cum for me noona!” he groaned, the feeling of her wet hot walls clenching around him so tight that he came without any warning.

“I’m cumming won-ah!”

Her body spasmed as she came around him, the feeling of his hot cum inside her sending shivers down her spine.

“I-uh..” she gulped

Jungwon gave her a smile as he pulled out, hissing as the cold air hit his softened member. “You okay?” he asked, wiping away the remaining cum from in between her legs with the towel that was hanging on the railing.

Y/n nodded her head, her throat too dry to even speak.

“I’m so fucked.”

Tilting her head in confusion she watched as Jungwon chuckled to himself while pulling up his joggers. “Why?” her question made him look down at her and bite his lip. She leaned up against her elbows starting at him with— hell he didn’t even know what to call it.

“This bet with the hyungs- oh you mean no nut november?” Now he was the confused one.

“I’m not that clueless, Jay has been so uptight, it’s obvious he hasn’t gotten laid in weeks. Besides, I've got a bet of my own going on!”

“What bet?”

∙ ₒ✰. ∙✧. ∘ ₒ® ✦. ✰∙ ★ ∘ₒ © ∙ ₒ ✰ ∙ ✧ ∘ₒ ® ✦ ✰

taglist- @ilovecheese09 @namdeyuoi @moonshoon @xrr-s4sha @yannew @cup1dton @eternallyreid @heewonenthusiast @rikisly @parkhonnie @wvnkoi @slugism @yizhoutv @jakewife @bahngchatsfx @kangseulgithegreat @jinnisbaby @heeseungshim @wonswondrland @underneaththestarlight @theskzvibe @enhaz1 @kkaelie @firstclassjaylee @wonniie3 @lol6sposts @deobitifull @nyfwyeonjun

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

daddy let me help part 2

pairing: soft dom/daddy hyunjin x f.reader

genre: smut— smut with feelings

word count: ~1.4k

warnings: pet names— oral (f.receiving)— fingering— unprotected sex— brief mention of marking

an: happy birthday hyunjin! 🎉 heres part 2 of this unhinged fanfic i wrote about you that i hope you never read. 🥰

this is a repost from my recently deceased blog hyunjins-orange-slice. may she rest in peace.

masterlist * part 1

“Now let me help you.” He said, gently laying you on the bed. “Such a perfect princess, taking care of daddy like that.” He kissed your lips. His kisses slowly traveled down your jaw to your neck until he met the collar of your shirt. He made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat. “This has to go.” He said. You sat up slightly to help him pull your shirt over your head. You weren’t wearing a bra, having not left the house yet that day. You reclined back on the bed as he admired your body. He continued his kisses from your neck to your collarbone. Sloppy, wet kisses as he approached your breast. His tongue found your left nipple, swirling around it until it peaked. He kneaded your right breast with his hand.

“You have such perfect tits baby.” He said, kissing across your chest until his tongue found your other nipple, giving it the same treatment. You whimpered. “I love your little noises.” He said, softly. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes, daddy.” You said a little breathless.

“That’s all daddy wants. To make his sweet girl feel good.” He kissed down your torso, across your stomach to below your belly button. He hooked his fingers in your panties and pulled them down and off your body, discarding them on the floor. He looked up at you from above your mound. The look on his face absolutely ravenous for you. You writhed beneath him, desperate for his touch. His big hands spread your legs, before rubbing your thighs up and down gently. His hands traveled up to your pussy. His fingertips grazed it, sending chills through your body. “Look how wet you are, princess. Is this all for daddy?”

You nodded, unable to form a coherent thought. All you could think was hyunjin.

He gently blew on your clit and your body clenched. Now he was the one teasing. But Daddy is allowed to tease. Daddy is in charge.

“My beautiful girl.” He said, bringing his index finger to rub slow circles where you needed it most. You gasped. Lifting your hips off the bed, bringing them closer to his mouth, a silent plea.

“Please daddy..” you whimpered.

He smacked your thigh, hard. “Don’t be greedy baby. Be patient. You will take what daddy gives you, when he gives it to you.”

“Sorry daddy.” You said. “Just need you so bad.”

“I know baby. I know.” He brought his finger to your entrance, gently prodding. “Such a needy baby. Needs her daddy’s fingers?” He asked.

“Yes.” You breathed. He pushed his finger inside you slowly.

“Mm, so tight.” He said. He pumped it in and out at a torturous pace. “Needs her daddy tongue?” He asked.

“Please. Yes.”

He flattened his tongue against your clit, your pussy clenching around his fingers. You moaned as he circled your clit with his tongue, flicking back and forth.

“Oh my god, Jinnie.” Your fingers found his freshly washed hair, tugging gently. “Feels so good.”

He pulled his fingers out, replacing them with his tongue. He pushed it in and out of you, wanting to taste every inch. Then he put his fingers back and returned his tongue to your clit. You could feel your orgasm building. “Daddy..” you whimpered.

“What is it baby?’ He asked in between licks.

“Wanna cum.” You told him.

“You can go ahead baby.” -lick- “such a good girl asking for permission.” -lick- “cum on daddy’s tongue.”

Your orgasm flooded through you, your legs shaking, eyes rolled back in your head. His fingers continued to pump, riding out your high with you. “So sexy, watching you cum angel.” He said, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them to your mouth. You sucked them in without a second thought, always such a good girl. After he felt his fingers were thoroughly clean, he leaned back on his heels. He was on his knees in between your legs. His dick was hard again, resting against his toned stomach. Your mouth watered at the view. You wanted to beg him to put it inside you, beg him to fuck you, but you didn’t want to be scolded for being greedy. You knew your daddy would take care of you. He knows what’s best, but god you wanted him so bad. It’s hard being patient.

“Daddy.” You said, quietly. He was looking down at you, lovingly, admiring the way you looked post orgasm. He was proud knowing that you were his baby and he was the one who gave you that look.

“Yes, princess?” He said, his hand traveling down to his cock, slowly pumping.

“It’s hard to be patient.” Your voice was so quiet and your tone was so sweet it made his heart ache.

“You can tell me what you want angel.”

Suddenly you were shy, your orgasm having passed, you knew what you wanted but didn’t think you could bring yourself to say it to him. He’s so handsome, so chiseled and godly, slowly fucking his fist, all words left your brain. You cheeks flushed, hyunjins favorite shade of pink.

“Are you shy little one?” He asked. You nodded, bringing your hands to cover your reddening face. “Don’t hide, you’re so beautiful, let me see.” He said, sweetly. But you couldn’t. His sweet words were only causing more blush to cover your face and ears.

He rubbed the head of his cock in between your folds, playing in your wetness. You gasped, dropping your hands from your face and gripping the sheets.

“There she is.” He smiled. “Is this what you want, sweetheart?” He asked, slowly pushing the head of his cock into you. You both moaned at the feeling of it. You nodded.

“Want daddy to fuck this pretty little pussy? Tell me, want me to fuck your perfect, tight little cunt?”

You couldn’t think of anything in the world that you would want more than that right now. You wanted it so bad. Needed it. Felt like you may die without it. “Please daddy, need you. Please.”

He slowly slid inside you another inch, taking his time, giving you time to adjust to him. His head fell back, his mouth open. “Fuuck I love you princess.” He breathed. “Made for me..”

You reached up to touch his stomach, your fingers playing in the valleys between his abs. He looked back down at you.

“Love you, daddy.” You told him. He came closer, resting on his forearms, inches from your face. He kissed you, so full of love you felt you might burst from it.

He slid the rest of the way in, his pelvis resting against yours. You moaned into his mouth.

“So good, feels so full.”

“Shit.” He said, starting to pump into you. He kissed your neck, biting occasionally. He liked to mark you, so everyone would know you were his. You were a moaning mess beneath him, and he couldn’t take it much longer. Your sweet moans and begs for more made it hard for him not to cum. He sat back up with a growl, grabbing your hips. You knew what that growl meant. The loving, sweet moment was gone for now.

He was going to use you.

He slammed into you, tip of his cock hitting that perfect spot. Your moans turned from sweet to something almost pornographic.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “That’s it baby, such a good girl letting daddy use you like this.”

You fluttered around him, your high getting closer and closer.

“So perfect, taking all of my cock. Feel good baby? Gonna cum? It’s okay, you have permission. Such a sweet girl.” His thumb found your clit and rubbed slow circles. You exploded around him. Tears spring to your eyes.

“Thank you, daddy!” You cry. “Thank you thank you thank you.”

He found his own release then, filling you up, his cum leaking out around his cock and dripping onto the sheets. He was a panting, sweaty mess above you.

He leaned down and touched his lips to yours. “Such a good girl." He said, his forehead against yours.

“Daddy, I think you need another shower..” you told him softly.

He laughed at that. He kissed you again quickly, before pulling out and standing up off the bed. You lay there, spent, cock drunk and so in love with him. He scoops you up.

“Let’s go get cleaned up.” He squeezes you and kisses the tip of your nose. You cuddle in against him as he carries you to the bathroom.

“Love you.” You mumble into his chest.

"Love you more, sweetheart.”

🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕

[docholligay]

Choose Your Own Adventure February 2024

Hello hello! Okay, so, at the end of this is the poll results, as I will reveal every time the answer is revealed in the text. It was pretty decisive on some points and less so on others! The write in I'll put a few of the options I considered, but when the one I went with came in, I chose it because it GAVE ME A ROUGH IDEA OF A CONFLICT AND AN ENDING, BLESS. Uhhh....thank you all so much for helping me out with this, I know it's not my greatest work but I am getting back to the groove of writing at all again, and for your patience in that, I thank you.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about a broken belt.” 

Haruka’s hair dripped thick drops of water onto the front of a black leather jacket that had not yet seen a scratch or wrinkle. She had admired the bright chrome of the zipper, the snaps of the lapel, and even with rapidly accumulating water damage, all of these things were still true. What was even truer, however, was that it was an ineffective rainjacket at best. 

“I want you to do nothing. I prefer you stop pretending there is any value is standing here, and admit you have no way of fixing it. Not to hem and haw over an opened hood, offering a new thought every five minutes.” 

The moon glinted off the carve of Fareeha’s features, the jet of her hair blending into the high collar of her lined field jacket, the rain rolling off it as if it were nothing. The glow illuminated her dark eyes just enough to give Haruka the full scope of her judgment. 

Haruka smacked the edge of the van, which Fareeha noted with only the twitch of her eyes, and rolled her shoulders back, standing inches from Fareeha, her hand raised in a point.  

“Listen, if you think you’re so smart, you fix it, okay? I’m a fucking mechanic--” 

“Who allowed her pride to have us sit for two hours in the dark. To kill the battery.” Fareeha’s hands remained firmly in her pockets. 

No matter how straight Haruka held herself, Fareeha looked right into her eyes. She never looked away, and the more she looked, the more Haruka was aware of her own weediness, the way Fareeha was solid as the brick wall Lena had jumped over half an hour ago, and Haruka was mostly filled out by her jacket. 

Worse, she was right. 

Haruka looked at Fareeha, jutting out her chin, daring her to throw a punch, realizing not only would she not, she was completely unconcerned about Haruka’s doing so. She was so sure she wouldn’t even need to be ready. Haruka’s face began to burn, even in the cold of the rain, and she felt her hand begin to close. 

“Hey! Ruka, this looks like a great party.” 

Haruka looked away first, and bit the inside of her cheek as Mina swanned up next to her, twirling a Dva brand hot pink umbrella over her shoulder. Haruka shrugged carelessly, dragging a pack of cigarettes outside the inside of her jacket, an easy snap of her lighter and a quick shelter from the rain revealing sweet relief. Pleased enough with breaking up the near international incident, Mina pulled out a flask, the hood thumping shut behind them as they took a few steps to the middle of the road. 

Cards shuffle, and are dealt, and hands are made of them. There was no difference in poker or in groups. A king is powerful, but only in the right situation. A two of spades may make a straight while a king does nothing but gum up the works. This was a bad hand full of good cards, and Mina had the feeling that the two of them were the royalty breaking up the straight. 

Haruka took a deep drag of her cigarette, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back, blowing the smoke up into the arch of the umbrella. Mina watched it circle and dissipate as the door to the van opened and shut, Fareeha’s voice low and cool inside.

“I knew it was the belt.” 

“I know.” Mina passed her the flask, and gave the umbrella a little twirl, sending the drops spraying into the night. 

Haruka took a drink, and swallowed without noticing what it was or whether it was any good. It was peach vodka, by way of Mina dissolving a bag of peach rings into a bottle of Nikolai. It was not good. 

“I was just trying to--” a puff of the cigarette, “--and she’s so--I mean, God. Why even try, you know, when she’s..” Haruka gestured with a wave of her hand into the darkness. 

“So intimidating?” Mina looked up. There were no stars tonight. Just the moon, and even she was coquettishly veiling and unveiling herself in the clouds. 

“I am NOT intimidated by her, Mina. Not at all. She’s just fuckin--” 

“Right, right.” She took back the flask, “She’s kinda hot though.” 

“I guess,” A frantic drag, a wave of the hand, “If you’re into that.” 

“Tall, dark, and muscular, yeah, who the hell wants that? Penetrating eyes, a chisled jaw, shoulders like fucking Atlas, I mean, what a niche marke--” 

“I get it! MInako!” Haruka threw down her cigarette and crushed it into the road. 

Mina, only pawing at Haruka the half-hearted way of cats with old toys, was looking across to the wall Lena had jumped in lieu of watching Haruka and Fareeha butt heads and bleat at each other. There was something about it she could not quite reach. It shouldn’t have been anything. It was a simple grey stone, the mortar between it old and crumpling in places, but the wall still seemed plenty stable, that old build of patience and labor holding steady even as the rain chipped at it. She could see the rise of the house’s roof over the top of it, the widow’s walk peeking out. There was nothing in the dark, just the dim outline of the balustrade against the sky. 

But she turned her back to it, anyway. So it couldn’t see her. 

“You’re right,” she cast a big smile at Haruka, “I do think Lena’s hotter, now that you mention it.” 

“I didn’t say that!” 

---

The knock tried to echo, but was put down by the rain, as Lena attempted to huddle under the eave. 

There was no answer, but she hardly expected there to be. It would be the rare sort of house, on a night like tonight, that didn’t have any kind of light at all, no smoke billowing out from the chimneys, not so much as a lightbulb above the door to let people know you were home. Because no one was home, and hadn’t been for a long time. She didn’t even remember seeing this place on the map, before their cell phones went dark. 

The storm has downed a tower, Fareeha had said without concern. She sounded convincing, and the whole of the van had nodded along, but Lena wasn’t sure cell phones worked that way. In fact, she was pretty sure they didn’t, but Fareeha had this snippy little way of asking her what she’d studied in university whenever she knew Lena was right. 

And at least one of them realized they had to provide a united front. 

Lena had known this grand tour was a bad idea from the time it was first suggested. There was something to be said for having to glad-hand with the rich and well-connected, and Lena was happy to do that at parties and benefits. There was nothing too terrible about telling a story that was amusing, or daring, or harrowing, while sitting in a nice suit and drinking champagne. She’d had worse assignments. 

Babysitting was another thing entirely. Fareeha had said allowing a ride along would show the efficiency, professionalism, and discipline of Overwatch. That it would convince the Kaiohs in a small way of the importance of their money, and in a much larger way, the importance of their backroom political power.

 Fareeha would never call herself an idealist, and would shake her head at the accusation, but only an idealist would think efficiency, professionalism, and discipline were things people like the Kaiohs cared about. What they wanted, Lena considered saying, was to have an elite fighting force in their sphere of influence. What they also wanted, Lena nearly added, was for the Talon problem to go away and for no one ever to mention their involvement in the early funding of a certain Dr. O’Deorain. What they wanted above all else, Lena would have finished with, was yet another little phone call to be easily made by their ‘people’. 

Lena was cheerful and brightsided, sure, but Fareeha was the idealist, and that was the truth whether she liked it or not. She wanted to say. 

But she hadn’t, what she had said was, ‘It would ‘elp if we were any of those things, wouldn’t it?’, flashed Fareeha a smile, and agreed to play tour guide. 

Now, here she was, sopping wet in front of a chipped and carved wooden door, steadily rapping even though she knew there was no one inside. There was no one inside, unless they were using a single dim candle like a quaking heiress in a romance novel, but there was something about the place that felt palpably alive to Lena, all the same. It was almost as if the greyish tan of the house was a skin, and she could see the heartbeat, slow but steady, just below the surface. Like someone sleeping.

She shook her head, looked down at the ground, and then popped up just as quickly, giving a quick shrug and a laugh. 

“Not that cracked, not yet.” 

But there was the sense that there was something there, and when you removed the spookiness of the house and rain and the moonlight, it was only that there must be someone around. She gave a quick jog to the side of the house. A colonnade graced the side of it, sticking out of the house like a broken bone, incongruous with the firm boxed edged of the place. Lena tucked herself under the shelter of it and peered in the window. The pale light revealed a few chairs, a table, halfheartedly covered by muslin. A chandelier dripped from the ceiling like a spiderweb festooned with evening dew. 

A woman in a gilt frame stared back into Lena’s eyes.

A blast of cold air slipped under her jacket, under her sweater, under her shirt, despite all the tightness and tucks, and Lena shuddered, her body snapping to full attention. She bit the inside of her mouth and counted the lilac bushes at the edge of the garden. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. She rubbed the back of her neck and pulled a cough drop out of her jacket pocket, the tart lemon and cool menthol coating her mouth. It was nothing. Just the wind. 

The rain was coming straight down, though, wasn’t it? She hadn’t noticed it being windy as she’d scampered across the green. And she was a pilot, she was always looking at the--it was nothing. She wasn’t a meterologist or anything, anyhow. It’s just a house, An empty house.

Well, just because there was no one inside didn’t mean she couldn’t get inside. 

Whatever Fareeha might say about it. 

___

“Correct. I should apologize. It was my error in allowing her to take the time, and to believe in her expertise.” 

Fareeha was folding clothes into a military duffel bag, choosing from a rumpled canvas affair with a peeling Harvard logo and a half-attached pocket. Each item she chose was examined, wrangled into a neat square, and shoved into a tightly assigned section with firm hands, punctuating her thoughts. 

“There could be other ways to be saying that.” Angela touched her on the shoulder. “She is young. She meant well, I think.” 

Angela took her long blonde hair down and looped it up again, clipping the hair claw over it securely. Her pink and grey sweater hung off the edge of her shoulder absentmindedly as she peered into the night. 

“Should Lena be taking so long?” 

Fareeha took a toothbrush out the canvas bag and placed it in a black zipper pouch. “Angela, If I had any fear about Tracer, it would be that she had abandoned us to drink in some,” She made a final assessment of the duffel bag and zipped it shut with authority, “pub miles from the house or road. I would not waste your time, or mine, worrying.” 

Angela nodded silently, and crossed her arms over her chest, her slate eyes a touch greyer for the exchange, listening to the rain. Fareeha sat for only a handful of seconds, staring at the duffel bag, and then turned her head to Angela. 

“That was not meant for you. You did not deserve it. I am wet, I am cold, I am annoyed with Tracer. I will snap at her, instead.” 

“No,” Angela shook her head and moved closer to Fareeha, “She was going for help. Be angry with the van,” she kissed her cheek, “Fareeli.” 

Fareeha looked to the corner of the van, as if daring the woman sitting there rto say anything about the nickname, kiss, argument, or indeed the van, house, or country they were sitting in. The corner offered nothing but a scribble on a piece of paper. Fareeha gave a short exhale of breath that was as much as she allowed a sigh, and looked out the window again at their two charges drinking out of a flask under one of Hana’s promotional umbrellas. 

“You are right, of course.” she pressed her lips together tightly. “I will apologize, because I have almost no choice. Never mind that even on the subject of my apology to her, there will be some sort of balking argument.” 

Angela was about to repeat her belief that Haruka was young, and Haruka meant well, and Overwatch cast such a long shadow, so maybe Haruka herself wasn’t even sure how she felt about it, and that was understandable, but if Fareeha could only be so very charming, as Angela knew she could be…but the corner beat her to it. 

“Let her help you with something.” 

Fareeha’s head snapped to the corner, her eyes focused with all the keenness of a bird of prey. 

The corner continued. 

“You make her feel undermined, because she’s constantly looking for reasons to feel undermined. Everything makes her feel slighted, like someone just isn't the next sentence, which is, ‘you're worthless.’ There’s a short list of things she thinks she’s good at, and this whole thing has taken away fixing cars and being tall. Let her think you need her help. It’ll smooth it. I think. I guess.” 

Fareeha glanced to Angela, who only shrugged. She 

“That is ridiculous. Barking at me like a dog will not improve her worth”

“See, you don't want to say--I didn’t say it wasn’t. Yes, it is. She’ll grow out of it eventually, promise. It’s a long trip there, and it’s not without it’s trials, but--I mean, actually. Well. I think. If I know Haruka like I think I do. But I haven’t been surprised by her so far, seeing her. Here. In person. Which is a thing that can happen. Like you, and Ang--Doctor Zeigler. I haven’t been surprised, I feel like I know the players on the chess board pretty fuckin well right now.” She laughed, but it was more of a braying, nervous pause as she scratched behind her ear. 

“Because of your research.” Angela added with a smile and a comforting nod. 

“Yeah, that.” 

Fareeha put her hand on the door handle, but turned to the woman before she exited. “What was your name, again?” 

“Doc.”

Where, praytell, are we? <--- This is a poll link!

POLL RESULTS

[specialinterestshows]

Your night of punishment continues in this section of my the Judgment Day x gn!sub!reader smut.

Warnings for this section: Kink (BDSM, collaring, kicking, slapping, face-slapping, toys, teasing/mocking, verbal degradation, humiliation/degradation in general, voyeurism, exhibitionism, begging, breath play/choking, crying, rough sex, hickies, body writing, blindfold/sensory deprivation, threats, spanking implied)

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There Will Be No Paradise (Part 2/?): Tag-Team

The walk to the car was a challenge - having to act casual around everyone you passed, the rest of the Judgment Day walking close behind you. What no one saw was the four of them taking turns groping you, slapping your ass, pulling your collar, and (Rhea’s personal favorite) giving you a swift kick to push the butt plug in further whenever they could get away with it.

Keeping quiet was the most difficult part. Lying was the easiest. Any time someone looked concerned, you reflexively smiled and said, “Rough match, but I’m okay.”

“You say that so well, you’re almost convincing me,” Rhea mocked after the last time you said it.

Once you were in the car, Damian and Finn sandwiched you between them in the back seat, both groping you at the same time. No longer having to keep quiet, you let out whines and whimpers as you squirmed, doing your best to keep your hands still and at your sides. Finn seemed to think you were doing a poor job of it and smacked your hands every time it looked like you were moving to touch yourself.

“Don’t worry, Mami, I’m recording so you can watch later,” Dominik said from the front, phone pointed in your direction.

“Perfect,” Rhea smirked at you in the rear view mirror, setting a course for the hotel.

The sound of a zipper made you look over at Damian, who was slowly sliding down his pants. The sight of him already hard made you moan involuntarily.

“Pórtate bien, entiendes?” he growls, grabbing you by the collar and slowly lowering your mouth down just an inch away from his tip. You felt yourself salivate, noticing your mouth was already instinctively open.

“Si, Señor,” you replied, knowing responding to a command in Spanish with English would only get you another punishment.

“Beg for it,” Damian demanded.

“Please, please, Señor-” you began, trying hard to speak without drooling.

“En Español,” he added, a dangerous tone in his voice.

“Por favor, Señor, quiero-” but you were interrupted again, this time by Damian pushing you all the way down onto his dick, making you gag.

“This isn’t about what you want,” Damian snarled, holding your head down as you tried to squirm away to get some air. Panicking, you tap the seat urgently until Damian finally pulls you all the way back up, letting you lock eyes with him before he slaps your face. Tears well up in your vision as Damian lets you go, shoving you into Finn.

The rest of the ride consisted of Finn covering you in hickies, occasionally muttering “shhhh” and putting his hand over your mouth for a moment when you would cry out or whimper loudly. Damian kept groping you and slapping your thighs when you moved too much, occasionally growling “quédate quieto.”

“Smile for the camera,” Dominik told you as Rhea parked the car. It wasn’t until you forced a grin in his direction that Dom lowered his phone, finishing the recording.

The walk to your shared hotel room was short and the group was shoving you down onto the bed before you knew it. The men stripped you down, Damian pulling you back up to a standing position by your collar once you were completely naked.

The group looked at you hungrily before Rhea handed each of then a marker.

“I bet you can’t wait to read what we write on you,” Rhea teased, smiling when you nodded, “Too bad you don’t get to until you’re covered in marks.”

Dominik handed her his purple bandana, which she folded carefully before using it to cover your eyes, tying the makeshift blindfold tightly before adjusting it to ensure you couldn’t see a thing.

With only sound and sensation to focus on, you listened to the shuffling of the bodies around you, flinching at a sudden sound of someone smacking a belt against their hand.

“Are you scared?” Finn breathed in your ear, giving you goosebumps.

“Yes, Sir,” you breathe, voice trembling.

“Good. You should be.”

[end part two of four]

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/732415758337966080/there-will-be-no-paradise-part-3-fatal

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Tag List (thank you!)

@domripley , @kagome2909 , @donttellnoliebabygirl

[filipfuckingtelford]

In Flames. The Forbidden Fruit Bonus.

Chibs x Reader fanfiction. Obliously

!!!SMUT! 18+ ONLY!!!

This is the smut bonus for my story. The Forbidden Fruit. Remastered Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The angst bonus will be posted soon as well.

Holding Y/N in his arms, kissing her, feeling her touch felt exactly how Chibs imagined. Even better. God how many times was he dreaming about it, imagined her loving him. He thought it could've never happened. And it was true now. All of a sudden he was the happiest man alive.

Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck while Chibs was holding her in his arms, her legs around his hips. Kisses so passionate and deep followed one another as they only pulled away to take a breath. He wanted her so bad but was determined to enjoy every moment, taking his time.

A soft moan escaped Y/N's lips when Chibs kissed her again, his tounge playing with hers. He felt her hips rubbing against his, causing him to groan with desire.

Filip smirked and laid her on his bed carefully. He moved away and took his shirt off, throwing it aside. Looking down at Y/N he couldn't stop admiring her. Her lips so bright after kisses, her eyes shining with the light of joy. Chibs leaned down towards her kissing his way down her neck as she tilted her head giving him more access with a quiet whimper.

"Filip" Y/N whispered, her fingers tracing his scars and tattoos, exploring his body.

"Christ, lass. I need ye" He groaned, palms under her t-shirt, pulling it up and off her body, revealing her to his sight.

Y/N was undoing his belt impatiently, her fingers shaking. She seemed nervous and Chibs tried to slow down and pulled away to look at her. But it only made the girl put her palm on the back of his neck and pull him closer again into another kiss.

They both needed it, craving for each other for so long, hiding their feelings. How much time did they lose. But now it all didn't matter. Now they were together.

Chibs was kissing every inch of her skin, moving down her neck to collar bones, down to her breasts and making her moan with pleasure when his tounge touched her hardened nipple. Every sound she made was sending electricity down his body making it almost impossible to wait, but he didn't want to hurry. Y/N was here with him and he could finally love her the way he wanted.

"Filip, please" Y/N arched her back slightly while he was playing with her nipples, his fingers undoing her jeans slowly. She begged "Please, I need to feel you"

"Not yet, lass" Chibs smirked and pulled her jeans down along with her panties getting rid of her clothes.

Y/N was now laying infront of him, naked and shamelessly begging him to take her. He gasped and kissed her lips again, rough and deep unable to control himself. But he needed to take care of her before he will get what he was waiting for. For so long.

Chibs laid down next to Y/N, one arm wrapped aroung her, pulling her closer, he needed to feel the warmth of her body. His other palm was sliding down her stomach, making her arch her back again seaching for his touch.

"Ye're perfect" Filip whispered to her ear, his lips touching her neck. And his fingers moving down her body untill he reached what he needed. He groaned as he felt how wet and hot she was for him. Touching her sensitive spot he kept kissing her neck, tracing it with his tongue.

Y/N let out another moan, louder this time and her hips moved towards his touch making Chibs smirk. She needed it as much as he did. But he wanted to enjoy it for longer. His fingers moving in circles around her clit made the girl whimper again squeezing bedsheets with her fingers. Her eyes closed, head tilted back, her hips squirming underneath his touch. It was all so hot.

"Filip, please" Y/N begged again, causing him to moan into her ear. But he continued.

Chibs was playing with her, teasing her, pleasuring her with his fingers only, making sure she will be ready for him. He was waiting for it for so long but kept himself away from her just yet.

"Show me, lass" Chibs whispered, biting her earlobe gently, his fingers moving faster, making her moan again.

Y/N raised her hips trying to get more of him, of his touch and he obeyed. His moves getting faster and harder, making her gasp with pleasure and let him hear another sweet moan.

"I'm so close" Y/N turned her head and whimpered into his lips before she kissed him with all the passion he made her feel "Please, Filip, I need you"

It was too much. Chibs felt that she was on the edge so he moved his palm away causing a groan of frustration from her. He grinned, getting rid of the rest of his clothers. He needed it, for way too long. And now he could finally feel Y/N the way he wanted.

Chibs moved, his palm now pressed against the bed next to her head, his hips now only inches away from hers. He looked into her eyes and saw a slight nod she gave him as she wrapped her legs aroung his hips. That was enough for him to push himself into her, slow and careful although it was hard to control himself.

A loud groan of pleasure escaped Filip's lips and he froze allowing Y/N to get adjusted to the feeling. Loud moan followed as she moved her hips towards him, trying to get more of him.

"Christ" Chibs let out a quiet laugh trying to regain control of his body before he started moving his hips in a slow pace. And Y/N moved as well synchronising with him. It felt so right as if they've been designed for each other.

The air was burning and boiling around them, Chibs leaned down to kiss her again, their moans now muffled with another passionate kiss. His palm still pressed against the bed while the other was resting on her hip, his fingers squeezing her porcelain skin, leaving marks on it.

Chibs was trying to be as carefull as he could but desire was taking control of him and it seemed that Y/N didn't mind it, allowing him to move faster, harder against her and following his lead.

They both needed to let it all out, hiding their feelings and needs for so long caused them to search for release so desperately right now, trying to get more and more of each other.

"Fuck" Chibs groaned as he felt he was way too close to the edge, way sooner than he wanted to "Lass... I..." He couldn't help it, he couldn't even speak now.

"Filip... Please" Y/N could only moan in reply, her legs wrapping tighter around his hips, forcing him to move even harder "I'm so close" She whimpered into his lips kissing him again.

Then he felt it. Another hard move and Chibs froze, deep in her warmness, wave of pleasure consuming him as he felt her body tense and shiver, her walls squeezing tighter aroung his trembling flesh. The world disappeared, only two of them trying to get as close to each other as it was even possible was the only thing that existed. Her moans, him groaning with pleasure, their scent in the burning air. It was a moment of pure perfection.

Soon after they were laying in bed, Y/N's head resting on his shoulder as they both were trying to catch their breath. Chibs closed his eyes, smiling, as he reached to his jeans laying on the floor next to the bed and pulled the pack of cigarettes from the pocket. He lit one and took a deep shaky drag on it, releasing the smoke to the air.

"I love ye, Y/N" He whispered, his fingers slowly tracing the tattoo on her shoulder. The chibs knife with two letters on the blade. F.T.

[contentloadingandstuff]

Hi, could you do an NSFW for a sub male reader with Ayaka and Kokomi? I’m curious to see how the situation would play out when the roles are reversed :P

Kokomi & Ayaka x Sub!Male!Reader headcanons

A/N: Hi Anon! I didn't know how to bite into this request at first, but I decided on making a headcanon-like format. Sorry if this is a little chaotic because of that. Anyway, enjoy!

CW: Bondage, Male!Reader.

NSFW under the cut.

Kamisato Ayaka

Ayaka is a very gentle dom, which comes from her naturally shy nature. 

Constantly asks you if what she's doing is okay with you until she learns your preferences.

She's not really into hard domination, like using honorifics. She feels like calling her anything other than her name (endearments aren't allowed for subs) puts uncomfortable distance between you. 

Ayaka isn't into real bondage. The most she's going to do is tie your hands behind your back with a hairband or some silk ropes. 

Because it's not seeing you tied and vulnerable that gets her going - it's the knowledge that you do it willingly. 

She knows that, at any point, you could break the bindings, lift her up and take revenge for all that pussy rubbing and teasing she does. Yet you don't. And that's what's hot in it for Ayaka. 

Despite being the sub, you'll be the top in bed most of the time, because Ayaka likes being the bottom. But still, you'll have a nice collar or some soft rope around your cock, or even better - lightly stretching your sack. Just so you don't forget who's really in charge. 

She'll mark you outside of bed as well. You'll get luxurious clothing and jewelry, all containing some rendition of the Kamisato crest so everyone can see who you belong to. 

After some decent time, you'll get to see Ayaka's '"evil'" side. All of her life she had been jealous of other couples, and now that she has you, she's going to give everyone a taste of their own medicine. The clothes you'll wear will be custom made. More often than not the garderobe she picks for you reveals even a small part of your chest. All of this to make other girls jealous of Ayaka's 'snack'. 

Expect any trousers she'll get you to be a little on the tighter side. Not too tight, but small enough to make your bulge more visible. 

Ayaka will also make sure to hold your hand, so others know you're already taken. 

She loves you, and would like to show it by appreciating your whole body. She can do that now, since you're unwilling unable to resist. 

Expect three-hour long baths with Ayaka constantly hovering over you. She is the dominant here, so it's her duty to keep her little pet nice and clean. Also, it's a great opportunity to touch every single inch of your skin. 

She'll gently wash your hair, clean you up and down with a sponge, clip your nails and shave both your face and your cock to her own liking. 

These procedures could be done by you or any of her servants, but nothing gives her more pleasure than getting to take care of you. 

This lasts so long because poor Ayaka gets distracted two or three times during it. You're just so irresistible…

Sangonomiya Kokomi

Kokomi is the leader of Watatsumi, and the commander of its army. She has a lot of men under her command, willing to give or do anything for her. But having one of them, especially someone as special as you, to do with as she pleases is entirely something else. 

She prefers to be the bottom, as she likes being the one to lie back as you think for her. But if you like being bottom, she'll oblige. 

Don't expect your relationship outside of sexy time to change. Kokomi puts quite a thick wall between the two. 

Since she has power over you, it’s obvious she’ll make a few rules. 

Expect to lose the right to wear a shirt when you’re at home. Your chest, stomach and back, be they muscular or not, are her favorite eye candies. And if you spend a day inside together, the privilege of having clothes will be completely revoked. 

Good luck trying to do anything requiring more than an hour in that predicament. Kokomi reserved herself the right to use you whenever she wants, and she is willing to act on that. 

You’ll be cooking something, and suddenly you’ll feel a pair of hands roaming around your stomach under the apron, and a soft pair of lips on your back. 

Most of the time, you’ll have vanilla sex with Kokomi on top, doing most of the work and setting the pace. 

There are, obviously, times when she’s feeling a little kinkier. 

Kokomi loves the noises you make. She doesn’t get a lot of them during standard sessions of bouncing up and down your cock, and the priestess feels it’s a real shame. Nobody makes cuter sounds than you.

You’ll be on a first name basis with handcuffs. As your hands will be tied behind your back, you’ll become Kokomi’s instrument. 

Her tools? A bullet vibe and some lube.

God she gets so wet at your whines and moans as the vibrator buzzes away at your cock head. She loves how you cry when she pulls it away, just in time to avoid a cum leakage. 

Until Kokomi’s ears are pleased, there’s no cumming for you. And that can be a very, very long time.

If she’s not in the mood, but still wants to enjoy your body, she’ll grab some rope and tie you up very nicely. Shibari is quite the kink for her.

If you see no problem with that, Kokomi will snap a few pictures of your bound and gagged form. Don’t worry - they’ll end up only in her personal little album, to go through when you’re away.

Thanks for reading!

[daaydreamy]

Give us a filthy like really dirty one shot how subrry sucks on y/n nipple

i love your boobs

summary: harry loves y/n’s boobs.

warnings: coarse language, smut

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

•••

Harry’s a boob kinda guy.

He especially liked Y/N’s boobs. They were perfect.

Like right now, they were perfect to lay his head on while he slept peacefully. His head was resting perfectly on her boobs while she scrolled on her phone quietly, mindlessly stroking his soft curls. His lips were parted to breathe, sleeping without a dream as he laid close to Y/N. This was Harry’s favorite way of falling asleep, lying close to her, relaxing from her hand running through his hair, and his head on her boobs.

Y/N didn’t mind all that much. In fact, she found it sort of endearing. Plus, she liked looking down ever so often to admire Harry as he slept, sometimes brushing the tips of her fingers along his delicate features. Most of the time, after coming home from a long day, he’d fall down onto the bed next to her, before scooting closer to lie on top of her.

“I can’t really breathe, you’re crushing me.”

“Oh, sorry,” He murmured before moving barely an inch off of her, “Is that better?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” He said softly, staying in that same position on top of her body, making her laugh.

Harry liked holding Y/N’s boobs as well.

During sex, he’d grope them with his hands greedily, squeezing softly and pinching her nipples. He liked having them in his hands, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. He guessed it was just the feeling of them in his hands which was why he liked it. He wouldn’t just hold them during sex either, he’d hold them whenever she was either washing the dishes, cooking, watching the TV, and when she was literally just standing somewhere near him (but of course not in public).

“Jesus Christ, you scared me.” Y/N laughed softly and put the glass that was half-filled with water down on the kitchen counter, looking over her shoulder to look at Harry who was standing behind her. He had suddenly come up to her without her hearing him and placed his hands on her sides, before they eventually traveled under her shirt and all the way up to her boobs.

“What are you doing?” Y/N furrowed her brows a bit as she looked down at her chest, bringing her own hands up to place them on Harry’s above her shirt.

“I missed them.”

“What? My boobs?”

“Mhm.” He hummed, nuzzling the side of her neck with his nose.

“We’ve been at home all day.”

“And I haven’t held them today yet, so…”

“Right, please get your hands out of my shirt, I’m not planning on standing here all day.”

Harry pouted softly, “Why not?”

He also really liked kissing her boobs too.

Also during sex, he loved to bring his head down to her chest to kiss at the soft flesh of her tits. He nibbled ever so often and would kiss over her nipples before taking one into his mouth, running his tongue over it. He’d smile a bit whenever she let out a soft whimper when he grazed his teeth against her nipple gently, amused from how her body reacted to the sensation.

Or sometimes whenever he was laying his head on her chest, he’d lean in to kiss the exposed flesh a bit. She would giggle from the feeling of his lips brushing against her skin, which made Harry smile.

Sometimes, he’d push his head up her shirt to kiss her tits. He would be holding her close, kissing the soft flesh and moaning softly against her.

“Ah! H, you could’ve at least warned me!” Y/N said in surprise when Harry suddenly went up her shirt, peeking through her collar, only to see Harry’s curls.

“‘M sorry.” Harry mumbled, focused on keeping his lips pressed up against her skin.

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

a/n: yes i know two boobie oneshots in a row but anyway sorry if it’s too short! i have another fic about harry being obsessed with y/n’s boobs right here so feel free to check that out! feedback is always appreciated :) bye love you kiss kiss

🏷: @them-fucking-crows, @pasoorigf, @planetflos, @harrycanyonmoonn, @bxtchboy69, @cece5 (couldn’t tag you!), @graciefostrr, @Intwithharry (couldn’t tag you!), @lyricalniall, @venusincleo (couldn’t tag you!), @bxbun11 (couldn’t tag you!), @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @ambrosia-bloom, @estrellarimar, @goldenhrry, @cinnamongirlrry, @manifestrry, @drewandanyasfirstborn (couldn’t tag you!), @sad1esgf

[starlitangels]

Two Years Ago…

—

I shoved the apartment door open and slammed it shut. Guy jumped where he’d been playing something on his Switch on the couch. “Welcome back!” He smiled.

“Kayla not here?” I asked. Guy rarely gamed on the couch. He had a smaller TV in his room that he usually used.

“Nope. Staying over at her boyfriend’s.”

“Oh good,” I muttered, popping out my earbud and threading its ear hook down my collar. “Pretty sure if she was home I would put her in the hospital if she looked at me funny after today.” I hadn’t meant for Guy to hear that, but clearly he did. His already-big eyes widened.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Just had a rough day of class. Everything’s fine—I’m just frustrated.”

I regretted answering the second he raised a blond brow suggestively. “I mean… if you’re looking to work off some of that, we got an empty dining table right now,” he joked.

I scoffed. “Guy…”

“What? I’m just sayin’ it’d be pretty hot if you threw me down on the dining table!”

Had he not said things like that all the time to me before, I’d probably be offended at the brazenly forward come-on, rather than mildly irritated. I dropped my heavy backpack on the armchair kiddie corner to where he was sitting on the couch and crossed my arms.

“Erikson, look at me,” I snapped. He made a dramatic show of sweeping his eyes up and down my entire body. “I’m six-foot-one—which is a few inches taller than you, by the way—and built like a damn brick house. And you are a skinny twig. If I threw you down on the dining table, you’d be the one ending up in the hospital.”

My idiot roommate had the audacity to lick his lips and bite his lower one with a flirtatious purr. “Mm. Still sounds hot,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh my God…” I groaned. I snatched my backpack off the chair. “See you tomorrow. I have homework to do. I’ll be in my room till it’s done.”

“What? What—no! Kayla’s not here! You don’t have to hide in your room! I cleared off the dining table so you could do your homework there!” Guy protested as I continued to leave the room.

“Yeah. But you’re being a menace and I have work to do.”

“If I promise to be good will you stay out here please? I miss you!”

I paused in the doorway of my bedroom and turned around. He was giving me puppy dog eyes. Again. And pouting his lips.

I sighed heavily. “Can you keep that promise?”

His expression dropped. “Oh. Uh… yes?”

“Not convincing enough.” I moved to go into my room.

“Nonononono! Come baaack!” Guy called.

I re-emerged. “Gonna be nice while I work on homework?”

“Yes! Promise! Scount’s honor!”

“You were never a scout. But fine. If it’ll get you to stop complaining.” I went back to the dining table and plopped down. After a moment, I cleared my throat. “… Thanks, by the way. For clearing it off for me.”

He beamed. “You’re welcome!”

[imagine-lcorp]

Safe Haven (One Shot)

Request

Can I make requests here? If so, can you do a request where R is Lena’s daughter. Lena walks into reader changing from her soft ball gear, sees bruises and scars over her body because she is being bullied by her teammates because she’s a Luthor. With Lena’s reaction to the scars and bullying, and when Lena surprises R at her next softball game with Superfriends

A/N: Hey guys, happy to be back. It took me a bit longer to write this one due to the topic, but i hope you can enjoy it and find some kind of solace in this particular fic. If you’re the victim of bullying of any kind, please try to reach for help. I love you guys, be safe

Lena Luthor x Daughter!R//Word Count: 3,538

Content Warning: Bullying, Intimidation, Verbal/Physical Abuse

-------------------------------------------------------

The game was over and you and your team rushed towards the locker room chanting and cheering. You had won and all the girls were happy. You tried to keep the pace with them as you followed them behind but, in truth, you felt like you were dragging yourself. The coach was right behind you, smiling as you looked back to make sure she was still following you. It was a relief when her eyes met yours, giving you a sense of confidence and security no matter how brief.

You sighed then when you entered the locker room. The rest of the team made their way towards the benches, gathering around as the coach went on about the difficult game you had played. A little pep talk to keep your spirits high and the team united. You remained to the side, not too close and not so far away that it was obvious you were trying to put distance between you and the team.

When the coach finished her speech, she left, allowing you all to change and make plans with your friends to celebrate the victory. However, you did not plan to overdo your stay in that wolf's cave.

You rushed towards your locker, tossing inside the equipment you didn't need, grabbing your bag with quick reflexes before closing the locker door. You hoped the rest of your team wouldn't notice you, but a hand on your shoulder, pulling you suddenly to the side, let you know your little plan had failed.

"You almost made us lose, loser!"

Your back hit the lockers with a loud metallic sound and you winced as your column crashed against the lockers.

"What did you think you were doing?" Your team captain all but yelled at your face. Her nose was an inch apart from yours, which at first made you try to shrink into yourself with no success.

You were trapped between her and your locker as the rest of your teammates turned their heads to observe. A couple of girls had gathered around you. Your captain's little entourage waiting at her sides. Some watched from afar with a frown and a clear distaste in their eyes. Others rolled their eyes, turning from you to give each other pats in the backs, trying to ignore the scene. A few dared to look between her and you. Pity and shame visible in their eyes but also expectantcy about what would happen with you this time. Whatever the case, one thing was clear. None of them were going to help you.

"Hello? I am talking to you." Each word was slow and pointed.

"We won. What else do you want?" You snapped back, knowing it wasn't going to end well for you. But when had been the last time it had gone well for you with her anyways?

And as you thought, your captain grabbed the collar of your jersey, pulling and pushing you with force against the lockers one more time. It made your bones rattle and you were sure it was going to leave an ugly bruise in your back.

"C'mon, leave her alone already." Your co-captain broke through the girls gathered around you and placed a hand on her captain's arm. "The coach is gonna come back soon."

"You're lucky your last name is Luthor." Your captain grunted, all bared teeth, like a wolf ready to reap your throat. "I swear, if it weren't for your mommy's sponsorship you wouldn't even be in my team or my school."

You looked at her straight in the eye, decided not to show any sign of fear or pain. If no one else was willing to stand up against her, you would do it for your own sake.

Your lack of reaction prompted your captain to finally let you go with a scoff, calling you names as she walked to her locker. Your co-captain stood by your side, an annoyed look in her face as the rest of the little group did the same, each one adding their own dull insults towards you.

"I'll send you the practice schedule." She said with an apologetic look. You took that as your farewell. You nodded at her and headed outside the field with your bag hanging from your shoulder.

You let out a sigh of relief once you were on your way, not caring to look back, walking with steady pace towards the school parking lot, where Ryan, the family driver, was waiting for you. He was leaning on one of the car's doors, checking his phone when he raised his eyes just in time to watch you walk towards him.

He smiled politely as you came near and he took a few steps towards you with a hand stretched, aiming for your bag. You gave it to him once you were in front of him and thanked him for her help.

"Amazing game, miss." He pulled the car keys from his pocket and opened the car doors.

"Thank you, Ryan." You rounded the car, as he placed your sports bag in the trunk, and opened the door to the passenger seat.

You didn't like traveling on the backseat. It felt too snobbish for your own liking, despite his various intents on making you take the backseat because he believed your mom wouldn't like it.

"Where to, miss?" He asked once he sat behind the wheel.

"Home." You said with a smile.

"Don't you have a pizza party or something somewhere? I thought teenagers liked to celebrate their team victories."

"Guess I'm not like other teenagers." You shrugged.

"Ah, a rebel, dissident heroine that despises society and their dull rules, making you despise her very own teammates." He recited as if you were a teen protagonist of your own dystopian novel, which made you scoff with a little smile.

"Is more that they don't like me."

"Still?" He raised a brow at you.

"Still." You rolled your eyes and turned to the window.

You saw parents and students, who had come to see the game, heading to their own cars or walking back to the school. Families moving like banks of fishes, talking about the game and trying to decide what to do next. It made you nostalgic for the days your mom didn't seem so busy all the time.

"Forgive me for intruding but, don't you think it is time you talk about this with someone? They could help, if you let them." Ryan said with all due respect towards you and the proper limits his job demanded.

Ryan was a good man. He had worked for your family for longer than many others. Enough years that he was used to the chaotic rhythm of the Luthor lifestyle and not enough yet to make him too tired of scared for his life. He was your driver, yes, but he was much more than that. He had seen you grow up and he cared about you. What you and your mom liked most about him was the fact that he tried to keep an eye on you. It didn't mean he was a snitch, as he knew you sometimes needed privacy and, like the rest of people your age, to keep your own secrets to yourself. He just made sure you were alright, that you arrived at home in once piece, and you were always thankful for that.

"I'm alright. Besides I don't think anyone at school can actually help. Teachers don't care and the school counselor is useless." You didn't turn your head, not wanting to see his inquisitive and worrisome eyes.

"I mean your mother, miss." He suggested and nothing about that thought was comforting.

Your mom was busy enough with more important stuff that you didn't want to bother her with your teenage troubles.

"No, I'll deal with it." You sighed heavily, discovering with irritation that your back was starting to hurt. "Let's go home for now, I'm tired and I need a bath."

"You sure do, miss." You turned in time to see him wrinkle his nose at you in a playful manner.

It made you laugh and, for a moment, all your problems seemed to be forgotten.

When you arrived home, you opened the big front door of the manor and called for your mom. The echo of your words resonating in the hall was the only response you received. It wasn't a surprise as you recalled your mom telling you that same morning she had to go to the company lab. It was probably going to take all day so you didn't worry too much about it.

Instead, you headed upstairs to your room. Your body was starting to feel sore from the game and you wanted nothing more but to take a bath, relax and take a nap. Your mom would arrive later during the evening and you could have dinner together.

You tossed your sports bag into the bed, taking your jersey and your long sleeve off, only leaving your sports bra on. You walked towards the large mirror in the corner of your room, wanting to take a look at the damage that hit on your back had caused.

In the reflection you could see bruises and scars. Some were already healing, with their fading yellowish color, some others were still fresh with their purple tones. Bruises that could easily be passed as occupational hazards. You couldn't count how many times you and your teammates got hit or injured during a regular game.

But as your turned, to take a look at your back, the most bruises and little scars you could find were not where anyone could see them easily. Those were not accidents from practice or any games. No. Those were what your encounters with your classmates, particularly your team, had left on you.

You thought about what Ryan had said.

You loved your mom and trusted her with all your heart. You were lucky to have that kind of relationship her but you just couldn't bring yourself to tell her what was happening at school. Why would Lena Luthor, savior of the Earth, billionaire entrepreneur, and genius philanthropist, care about teen problems? What were your mundane troubles compared to the world's tragedies?

Besides, what could she really do that didn't put you more into the spotlight?

The Luthor name had already given you a reputation at school, making you the target of the contempt and disdain of your classmates. It was a hereditary hatred, that much you understood. Even when your mom had done everything to put your name in the good graces of people, they still remembered the time when your uncle Lex was around.

You knew he had been terrible, but you sometimes wished you could be more like him in some ways. To not care about what others thought about you and to be able to inflict the same suffering towards those who did you wrong without an ounce of regret or shame. But that part of the Luthor gene hadn't stick into your DNA, and you were still deciding if it was a good or bad thing when you heard a loud gasp behind you. You turned your head at the speed of sound, your eyes locking immediately with your mom's.

"(Y/N), what...?" Standing at the open door of your room, your mom looked at you with a bewildered face.

"Hey, mom." You rushed back to your bed, grabbing your jersey. You tried not to wince as you raised your arms to put in on and pulled it down. "I thought you were going to be out all day."

Ignoring you comment, your mom entered your room, walking straight towards you. She took you by the hands, taking a look at the bruises that were still visible in your arms. It made you nervous.

"Sweetheart, what happened?"

"I-I had a game today." You slapped yourself mentally for letting yourself sound unsure. "We won."

"Were you playing against the adult league? How did you get all these bruises?"

You mom kept inspecting you, from your arms and up to your face. When her arm reached your shoulder, you winced a bit. The pain in your back was already reaching there.

"Mom, I'm okay." You took a step back.

"Did they check you in the infirmary?"

"It's just bruises, mom." Suddenly annoyed by her insistence, you turned back to pull your gear out of your bag.

"C'mon, sweetie, those bruises look pretty bad. We may need to see the doctor."

"I told you mom, I'm okay. I get these all the time." You said now exasperated.

"Goodness, I didn't know softball was such a rough sport."

"How could you know?" You tossed your clothes on the bed without turning to look at her. "You don't watch me practice or play at school. I'm always running around the field, falling to the ground, trying not to get hit when they toss the ball at me, or trying not to get punched by somebody else because they like to play dirty against me."

Memories of your seemingly endless fights with your teammates rushed to your mind, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and, as you finished talking, you realized with fear you hadn't been talking about softball. With your bag now empty, you finally turned to look at your mom. She was clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but behind her worried eyes you could see the gears in her mind turning.

"(Y/N)-"

"I'm going to take a shower." You cut her off, walking straight into the bathroom of your bedroom.

You closed the door and leaned with you back against the door, which made you wince again and you cursed under your breath. You closed your eyes tightly, breathing evenly to ease the pain and trying to keep it together. But a knock came a moment later and you could only hum in response.

"(Y/N), sweetheart." Your mom's voice was soothing, as it always was when she needed to talk with you. "I know I haven't been able to spend much time with you lately, but I want you to know I'm very proud of you, and that I'll always be here... Whenever you need me."

There was a lump in your throat you had to swallow before answering. "Thanks, mom."

"What do you say if we celebrate your victory with some take out? Would you like that?"

"Yeah." You took a deep breath. "Yeah, I would like that."

Almost as if nothing had happened, your evening with your mom passed without any other uncomfortable conversation. You were able to shake the day off, basking instead on the company of your mom and the delicious food, chatting about other matters and catching up with your day.

However, it did not go unnoticed to your mom the way you focused on other topics rather than your classes and the softball games. There were no mentions of teammates or friends. Which made Lena reach a  sad conclusion. You were being bullied, and if what she had saw when you were changing in your room was any indication, it was getting physical.

She didn't want to push the matter, at least for the rest of the day. It was clear you weren't going to talk about it and considering your previous reaction, Lena feared it would only make you retreat into yourself. But she was determined to get to the bottom of what had been happening with you at school and, she promised to herself, she was going to help you deal with it. After that, it was only a matter of days before you started to notice some changes around you.

The week before your next game, it seemed like your teammates didn't make their personal mission anymore to trash you. Your captain, who had been your hater number one since you had joined school, was the first one to stop her attacks on you. You knew she still talked behind you back and she kept lashing at you from time to time during practice when a play didn't go her way, but it wasn't as bad as before.

You wondered what had happened to make her back off from her constant bickering but it was nice to not have to watch your back every second. The rest of the girls did the same, they didn't bother you and thankfully didn't use that excuse to give you the silent treatment. Things seemed to be improving and you were, if not completely happy, contented about it.

"Don't screw this for us, Luthor." Your captain said as she walked past you. You guessed it was her way of wishing you good luck.

You were about to go out in the field for one of the last games before the official season started. If you kept your winning streak, you were sure you would win the championship this year.

"Careful with the other team, they like to tackle people when they get too close to the bases." Your co-captain approached you and nudged you with her elbow in an unprecedent act of camaraderie. The gesture almost made you wince.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. I'll keep it in mind." You said as you waited for your call out.

"You nervous, (Y/N)?" She asked, which was even more incredible. She had never tried to start a conversation before with you like this, and had never called you by your actual name.

"Maybe a little. If we lose, I'm sure our captain will show me just how upset she is." You admitted. "Don't tell her I said that."

"Don't worry, I won't." She seemed to think about something for a moment. "Also, I'm sorry."

You raised a brow at her, a bit confused. "About what?"

"About before?" She took a deep breath. "For the way we've been treating you."

"Ah, you mean the insults and punches?" You said with disappointment.

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "I'm not even gonna try to justify it, but I want you to know things are going to be changing around."

"How so?"

"Well, your complaints worked. Someone spoke to her parents about what she had been doing to you. She got an ultimatum, if she doesn't behave she won't play again." You realized she was talking about your captain.

"My complaints?" You kept looking at her with confusion and she looked at you in the same way.

"Didn't you talk with the student counselor? The director?"

"Not at all."

"Wait, so you were willing to keep up with whatever she did to you?" Your co-captain seemed at a loss of words after that, but she shook her head and sighed. "In any case, she won't bother you again, or at least not like before. And I hope it isn't too late for us, to make amends?"

"I hope so too." You nodded slowly in agreement.

"Okay. Cool." She smiled at you. "Now, let's go play."

When you were finally out in the field, you ran with a new sense of confidence. Although your mind kept wondering  what exactly had happened and when. But you got an idea of it when, as you looked at the field, you caught a glimpse of your mom, shouting from the stands along with her friends. It was a surprise to see them all there and you couldn't wait but smile widely at the sight of them, trying to come up with their own cheers for you. Kara, Alex and Kelly, even brought their own pom-poms, while Brainy, Nia, and J'onn kept shouting words of encouragement.

They didn't stop until the game was over. You had won and when you went to meet them you were received with nothing but praise and compliments. They promised to take you out for dinner if you didn't have any plans already to celebrate and you accepted their offer with a smile. As the group walked away, giving you time to gather your things, you called your mom.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Your mom said.

"Thanks for coming, mom."

"Well, I thought about what you said. I didn't want to lose any more of your games. I know this is important for you." She replied with a smile.

"And thank you...about the other thing." You said shyly, looking at the floor.

There was an unspoken conversation between you two. She knew what you were talking about and even when your mom would have wanted to have a long and serious conversation with you about it, she settled for this in the meantime.

"Hey, let me tell you something." She put a finger on your chin, lifting your head to look at you in the eye. "There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in this world more important to me than you. I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe. You understand?"

"Yeah." You nodded and you knew, with all certainty, that was true.

You would ask your mom later what she had done to help your situation. You imagined she had done her own research, asking around the people at school. Maybe Ryan had finally decided to tell her what was going on with you, or maybe it was the bad Luthor gene in action. Whatever the case, you knew you had your mom by your side and no one else was going to hurt you ever again.