#i can't fuckin stand em

[sammrz320]

Imma get serious heat for this, but at the same time, I'm about to make a point that'll make others even more heated.

Found families are a magnificent trope, when you gather a group of strangers together and live with one another as a family. But the problem with that is claims of absurd bs like incest.

If the papers haven't been made, let others ship characters of a reasonable age gap who are part of said family, but DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE GO OUT AND DECLARE IT INCEST!!

Me and my buddies are trying to have fun with the Ahsoka series cuz we're also massive Sabezra shippers, but if y'all are one of those people who wants to claim certain characters as incestuous, you've got a fucked up mindset and in desperate need of a reality check.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

summary: dbf!joel video calls you during a meal with your parents.

warnings: 18+ mdni. toxic dbf!joel miller x afab!reader. unspecified age gap. daddy kink. tit play. dirty talk. male masturbation. no beta. w.c: 641

author's note: spawned from the "who's your daddy?" clip and @mrsmando mentioning toxic dbf!joel. 😘

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

"Doin' the right thing pickin' up," Joel praises with a velvety tone as he moves his phone to rest in front of his chest.

The video screen displays his tan, aging face, slicked-back gray hair, and trimmed silver whiskers. He's reclined in a chair wearing a white t-shirt under a gray flannel button-up like he just got home from a job. "Be a good girl 'n show me those pretty tits."

Your eyes bug at his command. Thank god you stepped out onto the deck and shut the slider.

"Joel, not now. Please." You'd been eating dinner with your parents, and now you're on a video call with your dad's best friend, who's asking to see your tits.  

Not that he hasn't already seen them and every other inch of you.

"C'mon now, show me wha's mine," he pesters with a clipped, unwavering command.

You nervously peer through the glass slider and into the kitchen, praying your parents don't come outside before lifting your top and showing the older man your bare breasts.

"Thatta girl." A deep, tinny groan spills from the tiny speakers and nestles in your lower belly. Your cunt throbs at the sound. Sticky arousal leaks into the gusset of your panties as you squeeze your breasts together between your arms, propping them up for him.

"Jus' what I needed," he praises with ravenous eyes locked on the lower part of the screen, shamelessly drinking in the image of your naked chest. "Wanna get my hands on those fuckin' pretty tits. Suck 'n bite 'em until you're cryin'."

A chilly gust blows through the trees and races up your spine, making your skin prickle under Joel's heated stare. He darkly hums as your nips pucker and stands at attention for him. "Looks like someone likes bein' a slut."

Your chest heaves, breasts lightly bouncing as an intense wave of lust sends shocks rippling through your system. His body shifts, and you hear the click of his belt before his left, flannel-clad arm begins moving up and down out of frame. A gravelly moan pours from his pouty lips and drips through the speakers straight into your quivering cunt.

"Go on, give 'em a pinch."

You acquiesce, giving into his demand and your own greedy perversion, and palm one of your breasts. Your flesh prickles as you playfully circle a pert bud and lightly pinch it, letting a soft mewl tumble into the night.

"Who's your Daddy?" He asks with a throaty groan; the muscles in his neck pulse under his freckled, tan skin as he jerks his cock.

Your cheeks flame at his words, and you can't help but pathetically whimper.

"C'mon, say it, or else I'm comin' over," he states, cocking his head with a deadly smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips. "'N we both know it'd kill him to see what a lil' whore his daughter turned into."

A gasp tears from your parted lips. He wouldn't-

"Best do as you're told, pretty girl. Don' wanna disappoint me now, do ya?"

Your eyes flutter, and you nervously lick your bottom lip, making it shine under the deck light.

"Daddy."

Syrupy slick flows freely from your cunt, drenching your panties as you softly chant the word "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy" over and over to the older man. Your cunt pulses in time with his movements, wishing he was fucking his cock into you instead of his fist.

He jerks his length greedily, faster and faster, until his neck flushes like a golden sunset, his eyes pinch tight, and he comes with a hoarse growl between gritted teeth.

Ropes of white land on his heaving chest, staining his button-up. The sight makes you lightheaded, and you fall back against the side of the house, breathless.

"Next time, I'm leavin' my mark on 'em," he gruffly declares before abruptly ending the call, leaving you to stare at your pathetic, wanton reflection in the murky black screen.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[agirlcandream84]

Boyfriend!Frank Goes Feral at Your New Perfume

SMUT ALERT! SMUT ALERT! This is a spinoff of a Boyfriend!Frank headcanon and I'm not sorry about it!!! Thank you @melonpire for the request!

Boyfriend!Frank x Reader

Word Count: 1,554 (8 min read)

"Fuuuuck sweetheart," Frank groans, his eyes rolling back in his head as his hands grasp for your hips and he tugs you flush against him.

Frank's broad nose lands instantly in the crook of your neck, a deep inhale tickling your bare skin. You feel his strong hands squeeze the fleshy curve of your hips before wrapping around to cup your ass. The action pulls you closer to him, feeling his semi-hard cock pushed against your front.

"Frank!" you laugh while swatting at him playfully. He only leans in deeper, his form hunching over yours and you're forced to arch your back, tits pushed up into Frank's chest, to accommodate. Your hands cling to his flexed biceps as you're tilted off balance and you let your head loll back, exposing more of your neck to him.

"Fuckin' killin' me sweetheart. You smell good enough to lick," he murmurs into your exposed neck, another deep inhale filling his lungs.

Escapade Gourmande. You had bought it last week but only took it for an inaugural spritz this morning. He wasn't wrong -- you did smell good enough to lick. Like creamy vanilla and sweet caramel, a bona fide walking creme brulee.

He slips his hand under your dress and finds your ass again, kneading it like it's a ball of dough before slipping his hands into your panties to feel the fleshy warmth of your skin. He peppers your neck with kisses, lingering on each one with a gentle suck before traveling up the column of your neck.

"Frankie what in the world has gotten into you? I have to leave for work," you admonish him while your body responds to his touch. With each knead of your ass your cheeks splay further and you feel the wetness pool at your core. The hardness pushing into your front only grows, now steely and taut.

"Tell 'em the trains were backed up," he grunts, his hands traveling behind your thighs to hitch you around his waist and lifting you effortlessly.

"Frank I can't" you mumble without conviction, your arms gripping around his neck and weaving through his messy locks.

"Tell me to stop then doll," he taunts you, placing you seated atop the kitchen counter with your legs spread wide, thighs splayed on the cool marble. You whine for a moment, unwilling to protest, before he mumbles " didn't think so honey," before grabbing your face on both sides to kiss you deeply. While his tongue explores your mouth, his hands make quick work of untying the belt of your wrap dress, the material instantly falling open to expose your body to him, white lace bra and white cotton panties with a small wet patch forming in the center.

You attempt to close your legs instinctively, shame burning in your cheeks at the wet patch on display. But Frank tuts with an "open 'em f'me" before he weaves one hand around your back to tug your body even closer to his standing form. With your tits pressed to his chest again he takes the opportunity to nestle his face into the plump pillows, nipping with his teeth at the tender skin.

You gasp at the sensation, suddenly desperate for him, the aching like a throb at your core. "Frank, need y--" you start but he replies before you finish "I know honey, fuck, you must be hurtin' yeah?" he asks with some pity in his voice, his eyes finding yours. You nod, your eyes pleading and your chest heaving.

"Open wide f'me honey," he asks, his hands landing behind your knees to lift and guide your feet atop the counter, your legs open in a deep V now, bent at the knees. He places his hand on your clothed core, rubbing it tenderly through the fabric before pushing your panties aside and doing the same motion again through your soaked folds.

You squeak, thighs threatening to close but Frank only shushes in your ear, "Ssssh, relax honey, I got you." You melt a bit, letting Frank make the ache feel better, his thick fingers massaging your folds and his thumb rubbing small circles on your swollen clit. He slips one finger into your weeping pussy and he huffs out a "breathe, brreaathhee" into the shell of your ear when you gasp at his entrance. When he feels your walls relax and make room for his finger, he pumps slowly, taking effort to make room for him.

"Attagirl," he encourages you, "let me in."

You blush again, burying your head into his shoulder as his hand works your core. You hear him grunt, his hunger growing as he works to stretch you with his hand.

"fuck me Frankie" you whimper, "please."

"Fuck," you hear him huff before making quick work of freeing his cock from his pants and pumping to coat himself in your wetness on his hand.

"Gonna go slow sweetheart, just breathe f'me," he instructs you as the tip of his cock nudges your slit. You look down to watch it enter, the thick head popping past your entrance and instantly stretching your walls. You whimper, eyes squeezing shut and your head falling back.

"Fuck honey I know. I know," he says, guiding his cock in slowly, returning his thumb to your clit to make slow, gentle circles. Finally his cock is buried deeply in your walls and he starts making slow small thrusts, keeping most of him buried and your bodies close.

"Gonna tell me if it's hurtin"?" he asks, his finger guiding your chin up to look you in the eye. You nod but he wants more, prompting you, "Use your words doll. Gonna tell me if it's hurtin' you?"

"Y-yes Frankie," you respond, "promise," before squeezing your eyes shut again.

"Good girl," he replies before letting his hips drag back a little further and snap back against you a little faster. The force bounces you on the counter and you ring your arms around Frank's thick neck, the hot air from his nose tickling your back as he ruts into you faster.

"Feel so goddamn good sweetheart," he grunts as you hold on for dear life, the force of him bruising and intense now. Frank's restraint wavers as he feels the lush grip of your walls, driving into you with a feral ferocity that he'll apologize for later.

The length and angle of him is punishing, a constant stimulation of your swollen bud. You needed faster and more -- just enough to tumble you over the precipice within your reach. You hug yourself closer to his chest so that you're flush against him and start to roll your hips into his thrusts, a whine escaping you as you feel the instant friction.

Your desperation make him animalistic and he again loops his hands under your thighs to lift you from the counter, cock buried deep, as he uses his strength to bounce you on his length. You lock your feet together behind his back as he spins to pin you to the closest wall, suspending you in mid air as he fucks you against it.

He changes pace now, slowing to drive his cock so deeply that you gasp, your grip on him loosening as your body nearly goes slack against the wall. Each thrust drives you further up the wall, his hands wrapped around your rib cage to keep you pinned in place.

"fuck, fuck, fuck" you whimper in time with his thrusts, your eyes clamped shut, your pleasure imminent.

"Cum f'm pretty girl. Come on honey, I got you," he grunts and you do. Your orgasm tears through you, hunching you forward and off the wall once again to grip Frank's broad shoulders. Your legs quake around his waist and the only thing keeping you in place are the hands on your sides and his cock in your core.

Feeling the flutter of your walls grip his cock like a vice, he fucks into you with abandon now. His pace is relentless as he barely manages to coo at you for being such a good girl for him. He grunts into the crook of your neck as you feel his hips stutter and his cock release ribbons of ecstasy in you.

He slows now, savoring the mess while he starts sucking gently on the sensitive skin of your neck. "So fuckin' gorgeous," he murmurs between kisses, "took me so well sweetheart."

After a moment he lifts you away from the wall and turns to place you again on the counter, gingerly pulling out of you once you're seated. You gently runs his fingers through your folds, gathering any cum that threatened to spill and carefully pushes it back inside you before pulling the fabric of your panties back in place. Between kisses on your lips, cheeks, eyes, neck, he tugs your wrap dress back in place, the fabric settling again on your shoulders.

"Frankie I can do it my-" you start but he stops you.

"Yeah I know you can sweetheart but least I can do is get you cleaned up," he says, winking at you while his hands tie the belt of your dress and he carefully lifts you down to the floor.

"Love you honey," he says after a final kiss, handing you your phone to text your boss about the trains.

[covetyou]

egg hunt

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: oral sex (m! receiving), balls, questionable use of sex toys, semi-public blowjobs, eggs, Joel is a giant bunny, feelings, misunderstandings leading to angst. word count: 5.9k summary: Catching Joel dressed as a giant rabbit in your backyard wasn't on your bingo card for things to happen to you this year. But, what waits for you beneath the bunny suit, and in his basket, aren't the only surprises you'll have tonight.

A/N: truth be told I find eggs genuinely, criminally funny in every possible way, as well as disgusting, so happy Easter!

These egg things are hilarious, but also not nearly as fun as they seem, though if I'd had the genius idea to stick 'em on some balls I imagine I would've had a much better time tbh.

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You almost don't notice, too busy shoving your cup harshly against the ice dispenser before taking a long, deep, gulp of the cold liquid. But then you see it, and it's not the shock of cold to your esophagus that makes your eyes widen, spluttering icy water before sucking in a desperate breath.

No. It's the ghostly white figure rummaging around in your backyard on all fours.

You duck down just as it stands, holding on tightly to the counter edge with both hands, before crawling to the backdoor to check it's locked, keeping you safely inside away from whatever this thing was. But, just as you reach for the latch, the creature stands on two legs, stretching back with two thick arms on its waist.

The figure is broad, and tall, and... dressed in what appears to be a giant bunny onesie. Even with it's head covered in a white hood, bunny ears flapping as the creature bends and moves, you know what it is. Who it is. You'd recognize those shoulders just about anywhere, and no one else would pull something like this at 9pm on a Sunday.

It had been weeks since you last saw him, but you can't say that was a surprise - what you had wasn't exactly a regular thing, if it could be called a thing at all. That doesn't mean you hadn't been hoping for it, counting down the days to the next holiday in hopes you'd see him again - There was no denying your disappointment St. Patrick's day came and went with no sign of a leprechaun and a pot of gold. Now, he was finally here, dressed head to toe in a bunny suit, doing fuck knows what to your lawn.

"The fucker..."

Unlocking the door, you slink out into the night, sliding it closed behind you before creeping across the yard. This was new, getting to be the one to surprise him. He may have been in your yard, but with each soft step of your foot on the grass it looked like you were finally going to one up him.

But then he turns around, looking toward the house and seemingly straight through you for a moment...

Before his eyes focus on you in the dark, and everything in his hands goes tumbling to the ground as he practically leaps out of his bunny suit.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ."

"We've got to stop meeting like this," you say watching Joel's giant bunny ears flap in the air with his movement as he bends, reaching down to the grass to pick up the basket he dropped.

"You half scared the shit outta me, what're you doin' out here?" he grumbles as he rights himself.

"What are you doing out here? It's my yard. You Bunny Joel this time?" you joke, crossing your arms over your chest in a not-so-smooth attempt to cover yourself. Getting properly dressed had been the last thing on your mind when you stumbled down the stairs, legs still jelly and head still fuzzy from post-orgasm bliss. The only thought that registered was how damn thirsty you were as you tugged a worn, old shirt over your head and made your way to the kitchen. It wasn't cool enough to blame the temperature shift on your quickly puckering nipples, and you didn't feel like explaining where your panties were or why your thighs were simultaneously sticky and slippery. You're just grateful you put on anything at all, and at the very least it was long enough to cover your ass.

Joel smirks, your fruitless attempt at modesty not going unnoticed. "Ain't no regular bunny, darlin'. I'm the Easter Bunny."

"And the difference is...?"

"Eggs."

You laugh, folding yourself over a little as you giggle into the night. The whole get up really is ridiculous enough on its own, yet here you are discussing the nuances of being a giant bunny with a man more fond of playing dress up than anyone else you'd ever met.

"Eggs?"

You spot them as soon as the word leaves your mouth - four colorful eggs sat neatly in his basket, and another nestled into your flowerbed. Only, they don't look like normal eggs at all. Squinting in the dark, the yard lit only by shitty solar lights you'd bought online last summer, you can make out the neat patterns swirled all over them. This was not the handiwork of some enthusiastic child dying eggs for Easter - they looked professionally painted. Joel shakes the basket at you as you continue to squint at it, and you realise not a single one has cracked or broken, even after being dropped on the floor.

"What are they? Egg shaped bouncy balls?"

"Got some balls right here if you're really that interested," he jokes, looking obscene as he waggles his eyebrows at you beneath the hood of the bunny onesie. "Here, they're just these... things. My brother got 'em for me as a joke, it's a long story."

He passes you one of the eggs, the surface smooth and cool in your hand. There's writing on it that you can just about make out, but you still have no clue what you're holding as you turn it around in your palm.

Sensing your confusion, Joel offers a choice gesture, as he explains that they're for "Y'know."

It clicks. Well, sort of. You know for sure then that they're not something you could sneak away for some solo playtime, like with the plug he dutifully left on by your bedside so many weeks ago but maybe, like the contraptions Joel had strapped over his balls your last two encounters, you could enjoy them together.

"Wait, so... you're giving me a thing for anatomy I don't even have?"

"No it's not like that, I just thought - I, well, shit."

"I'm just fuckin' with you, Bunny Joel. Though giving me a gift that's really a gift for yourself is a bit of a dick move."

"Ain't a dick move if you like 'em, sweetheart. And it's Easter Bunny Joel," he corrects with a wink, smiling at you as he drops the basket on the ground to pull at his neck tie. The man looks good in pink, you think, as he fiddles with the floppy satin.

"Y'know, Easter Bunny Joel doesn't quite roll off the tongue."

"Don't it?"

"Nope," you say with a pop, pinching the material of Joel's Bunny onesie to feel the fabric between your finger tips as your roll the egg across the palm of your other hand. "Think you need a better name than that."

"Okay, I'll bite. What you got in mind?"

You're walking your fingers down his chest now, dancing them in a criss-cross pattern across the fastenings at the front of the suit until you reach his hip and slowly you drag the tips of your fingers closer to his crotch until you're cupping his bulge. You wouldn't say he's entirely flaccid, there's certainly something there, but the length of him still feels pliable beneath your hand as you stroke over the front of his costume.

"I was thinking... Flopsy," you say with a squeeze of your palm against his cock, biting back a laugh when you hear him hiss a breath of night air through his teeth.

"Real funny."

"What? If you're committed to the bit, I can be too," and before he can protest you slip the fingers of your free hand between the fastenings on the front of his suit. You can feel his skin underneath, hot and sticky, trapped beneath the synthetic fabric of the bunny costume. At the very least, he's topless under there, and eager to find out more, you quickly yank at the front, grinning devilishly at Joel as the fabric pops open slightly.

"You really wanna be gettin' into this out here?"

"You scared, Flopsy?" you say, with another squeeze to his now much harder cock. "That side is up for sale, and Janet is out of town until Tuesday. No one's seeing anything. Unless you're scared someone might hear something... but I guess you'll just have to keep quiet."

"F- you're gonna be the death of me, darlin'," he mutters, pulling at his pink tie so it hangs loosely around his neck, giving him better movement to look down at your hand where it strokes his cock over the soft plush of the rabbit costume.

You tug again at the suit and with a rapid pop pop pop, the remaining fastenings hiding his chest from you pull open, revealing him to you and... he's a mess. From the neck down he's covered in streaks of paint, multicolored blooms splattered across him, dusting his ribs like a rainbow of bruises.

"Kid had some powder paint stuff - y'know that festival of color thing? Well, kid had some left after a party with a friend from school... had a little fight in the yard earlier before I dropped her back with her mom for the week," he explains quickly, rubbing a hand nervously against his chest and smearing the splattered rainbow there. You make a mental note, adding has a kid to the very short list of confirmed facts you know about Joel. It's not exactly a surprise revelation, all things considered - the costumes had to come from somewhere, and most grown men don't just have fairy wings and toy bows and arrows lying around.

"Well, Flopsy, you make a mighty fine canvas, but I think I might need a hand with this."

The egg you'd been turning in your hand is deposited back into his grasp just as you tug him forward giving him a peck on the chin and you look expectantly up at him. Joel knows he shouldn't pull you toward him and kiss you out here, he thinks he knows that the expectant look is nothing to do with kissing him and everything to do with the egg in his hand, but he does anyway. Slotting his mouth against yours, he pulls you into his chest, the sweat of his skin transfering blotches of paint from his chest to your old shirt. But you don't care, holding yourself tighter to him, pushing your fingers underneath his hood to card them through his hair. Joel groans into your mouth when your fingertips rub at his scalp. You're in half a mind to call him such a good bunny but the air, and the thought, is knocked out of you the next second when he presses a hand against your ass, pulling you further into him so he can grind his hardened length against your lower belly.

It's been far too long since someone held you against them like this, and far too long since Joel had had someone like you in his arms. As he kisses and kisses you, you're starting to feel more and more insane, and maybe you are - maybe accepting this man into your home with such regularity is the mark of insanity, some kind of as-of-yet undiscovered syndrome that's going to be named after you.

Eventually, you muster the strength to pull away, slapping a hand gently to his chest and nodding down to the egg gripped in his fist. You're eager to see it in action, even if you still can't quite picture what it is.

"C'mon, open it for me. Gotta properly thank the Easter Bunny for bringing me Easter eggs."

Joel slips the wrapper of the egg, something you never could've figured out on your own without decent lighting to guide your way, and presses a thumb into the side of it, popping the top off the egg in one smooth movement.

Before he can hand it to you, you slip down to your knees, bare shins resting against the cool, damp grass. It's a beautiful clear night, no trace of the moon in sight just yet, but the glimmer of stars sparkling relentlessly overhead regardless. You hadn't noticed how hot you'd gotten, but being around Joel always seemed to do this to you. Your cheeks felt hot, your heart beat faster, and your head felt slightly dizzy - the result of it emptying itself of all thoughts except the ones that made you make questionable decisions it seemed. Of course, this time the heat wasn't just from proximity, but from that damned fabric of his costume, the synthetic fibers making you feel sweaty as you held onto him. The grass beneath you is a welcome relief against your warm skin, sending the fine hairs on your body prickling at the sensation.

"This how you say thank you to everyone? On your knees?"

"It's how I say thank you to giant bunnies, Joel," you quip back, pressing a kiss to the softness of his belly. You litter a string of kisses down the trail of hair until you reach the boundary of the bunny suit. Whether he's commando or you have another layer to get through, you don't yet know, but you waste no time finding out. With the hook of your finger and a final swift pull, the last fastenings burst open, revealing Joel's heavy length straining against the front of his boxers. Where his tip tents the fabric, a darker patch blooms, turning the gray practically black with precum.

In your dreams, and there had been many of them, it didn't go like this. Dream you rarely went three rounds with themselves before Joel popped up to come fuck her brains out. Dream you was clever. And, as good as your solo session this evening was, you can't help but have a little regret for ruining yourself before the surprise main event. It was like eating a big meal right before someone suggested getting pizza. You could (and damn well would) eat pizza, but you couldn't enjoy it the same way. Pizza or Joel, you were going to savor it as best you could.

"Such a tease, Flopsy," you murmur as you kiss across his covered cock, nuzzling your face into it and watching in glee as his hand grips the opened egg that little bit tighter. Your fingers are pulling again, this time tugging down at his waistband. Joel is in half a mind to rid the egg of its shell and use the damn thing as a stress ball. It had been too long since last time, and since he last came two fucking days ago, to be seeing you on your knees for him in that flimsy t-shirt. It felt like a gift from the heavens and divine retribution wrapped up in one you shaped package.

As you pull his cock from the confines of his boxers, feeling the deep pulse of the blood in his veins as you wrap your fingers around him, you can't believe your luck at getting to see it in the flesh again. As brilliantly as your mind can concoct the image of it, the reality of it is so much better than any fantasy. Before you let yourself get lost in it, you reach for Joel's hand, grabbing the egg back from him and watching the top fall to the ground and roll across your lawn.

"It stretches. Goes over and you just - uh - stroke with it I guess."

The inside is far from what you expected. You almost find it gross, the translucent white interior far squishier than you expected that it'd be bordering on slimey if it was wet too. Joel laughs down at you, seeing your face as you try to work out what the fuck you're holding, pulling it free from the rest of the shell and seeing a hole stuffed with a plastic tube. You can see what he means now, and you let a soft oh fall from your lips as you tug the tube filled with a sachet of lube from the middle of the toy. You feel inside, running your fingers over soft ridges, and you can only imagine how nice it must feel sliding wetly up and down a cock and, not for the first time in your life, you wish you could experience it yourself. But, the next best thing is right in front of you, and that'll have to do.

"These feel good?" you ask, his eyes turning glassy as you examine the inside of the stroker while your hand still tugs slowly up and down his cock.

Joel sighs deeply, nodding down at you, the obscene bunny ears still flopping on his head with each movement. "S'good. Nothin' like the real deal but, yeah. Feel nice."

Gripping Joel's cock in your fist, you begin to stroke gently up and down, sliding his foreskin back and forth until he's steely hard beneath your palm. The solar lights are starting to dim, their charge from the day already running out, but you can still see the dusky red tip, and the blue of the vein that runs down his shaft. You squish the toy in your other hand, the temptation to taste too strong to just leave all the fun to the squishy silicone. So, you press a delicate kiss right to the tip.

"Oh fuck," Joel hisses.

"Missed it," you confess on your knees with another kiss.

"Yeah? Well, s'all yours." Mine.

"Really? Your bunny wife not going to chase me out of my own yard?"

"Know damn well I ain't got a wife, I ain't the cheatin' kind, darlin', don't you worry."

And that admission alone sends your aching cunt throbbing between your legs, wishing even more desperately now that you weren't completely wrecked and oversensitive from your ill-timed playtime upstairs.

"Good," is all you say before taking his head in your mouth with a swirl of your tongue, a satisfied moan vibrating against his tip as you taste him properly for the first time in 4 months. "I've been thinking about doing this."

"Yeah? Been thinking about sucking my cock?"

"Mhm."

"Shit."

A simple continuous swirl of your tongue and small bob of your head was apparently enough to have him gripping his hands into tight fists, clearly fighting some internal demons to keep himself from coming so soon. Your mind absolutely fizzes with it, that this man wants you, likes what you do to him so much that you can have such an affect on him. And when you suck lightly, his head tips back so far the hood slides back off his head. All you can see is the underside of his jaw from where you look up from your knees, and when looks back down at you with heavy eyes, he looks the most normal you've ever seen him. He's not Santa, nor Cupid, and the costume that had rendered him Bunny Joel just a second ago instead drapes around him like nothing more than a soft, white coat.

"Thought about you tasting you," you mutter between mouthing at his cock, slicking his entire length with your saliva. "Having you come in my mouth. On my face."

Joel groans again, much louder this time and you can't help but laugh, mouth pressed to his balls, at his feeble attempt at silence. You press the tip of your finger, egg still clutched in your fist, to his dribbling slit, and drag a tooth grazing kiss across his sensitive ball skin as you silence him with a whisper.

"Shh, Flopsy. You don't want us to get caught."

"Fuckin' Flopsy, I should -"

But you don't hear what he should do, because you engulf his tip with your mouth once again and Joel finds himself speechless as you immediately slide your lips further down his slicked length with ease. You work him in your mouth, sucking him as you move up and down. He can't stop moaning, he doesn't even try. He should, he thinks. You deserve better than getting caught in your backyard doing something like this, but all he can think about each time you move your tongue just like that is how fucking good your mouth feels.

He feels like he's going to come. Your hand is massaging gently over his balls, your mouth working his cock to a near frenzy, and he is absolutely, one hundred percent sure he's going to come. You know he's almost there. If the groaning wasn't enough, the tightening in his balls and the twitching of his cock were a clear sign he was about to blow.

Then you stop.

Just like that, your mouth is gone. Your hands too. And he's having to force himself to look down at you where you stare in awe at the stroker in your hands, glistening with lube you'd poured into it as he bit his lip and fought off coming, untouched, into the breeze.

You want to use it on him, to listen to him groan as you stroke him with the soft silicone, and watch his every move as you work him over the edge. And his cock, as if calling to you like some kind of siren of the sea, beckons you in, accepting an offering of one last kiss before you raise the stroker.

"It's so stretchy," you gasp, as you slide the toy over the tip of Joel's cock. You can pull it almost all the way down the length of him. You make a few experimental twists and jerks, before settling into a slow rhythm, teasing him just as you'd teased yourself and dragged out your own orgasm upstairs.

It's interesting. Slipperier than your own hand, easier than your own mouth, but not quite the same as either. You can't feel him like this, and you certainly can't taste him.

"Do you like it?" you ask, and Joel doesn't quite know what to answer. He does like it - he likes having your hands on him any way he can get it, but he can't feel you in the same way like this. And it's definitely not as good as your mouth, or any other hole of yours he's fucked.

There's just enough light to see his face give a noncommittal twitch and you're peeling the toy off of him, sucking his tip back into your mouth quickly, moaning as the taste of him hits your tongue.

"Good, because I prefer it like this too."

"Fuck, yeah."

Now though, you have a lubed up, saggy egg in your hand and nowhere to put it. Until an absolutely inspired idea hits you square in the face and you're grinning with Joel's cock in your mouth.

He barely sees the fiendish look in your eye, just notices as you pull off him again, and he could scream. Then, something smooth and cold coats his balls. Your fingers are cradling him delicately, thumb and forefinger stretching open the toy until with a gentle wiggle, his balls are encased in the squishy silicone. And holy fuck, is it like nothing he's ever felt.

"Don't think that's how you use it, darlin'. But, shit, it's good," he gasps as you gently massage his balls through the toy. It's like having a soft cool mouth encasing his entire ballsack, while your actual mouth kisses delicately all over his cock. "C'mon now, stop your teasin', gotta come in the pretty fuckin' mouth."

He's back in your mouth before he even finishes his sentence, your mouth sounding wet an obscene as you work him up and up and up all over again. You draw him in deeper, his cock meeting the back of your throat, over and over, his hand coming to cup your face and delicately wipe away a tear from your watering eyes. Fuck, you're wishing more than ever that you could just jump on him, that your cunt wasn't wrecked, or that it didn't matter, that you could go infinite rounds and still want to be touched again and again. But that wasn't you. You had a limit and, even though you'd reached it, the want in you didn't go away and neither did the slick feeling between your legs or the deep throb of your pulse beating away in your clit.

Joel's fingers grip tighter on the side of your face, a soft thrust of his hips meeting every movement of your head. Catching his eye almost kills you then and there with his cock wedged at the back of your throat. He looks as wrecked as you feel, dark eyes shining down like black holes from space now that the light from your solar lamps has all but fucked off. The paint and rabbit ears almost fade away into the background as you hold yourself down on his cock, making yourself whine around him. You're starting to think if you sucked his cock for long enough you could make yourself come totally untouched, but you don't want to think about it. You can't.

He takes over then. Each slip of your lips down his cock met with a gentle hold, until you both do it all over again. It's easier to hold for longer each time, almost feeling deeper with each slide of his cock across your tongue, the taste of his precum making you salivate as much as having your mouth filled and occupied is.

Then, he presses you down, holding your head as you moan and whine and try desperately to swallow around him, to take more of him as he only seems to get harder.

"Not so Flopsy now, huh?" he asks, releasing you and pushing your head down on his cock once more.

He's fucking into your mouth now, small shallow thrusts hitting the back of your throat, your hand working the toy slickly across his balls as he moans more desperately than you've ever heard him moan before. Despite your teasing and edging, he's the one holding back now, the feel of your mouth on his cock, your nails scratching at his belly, and that damned toy sliding across his balls far too much for him to want to let go of any time soon.

But fuck is he close, and if he's not careful he's going to ruin it for himself by holding back and exploding without warning. He's waited too long for that to happen.

"I'm gonna -"

"Mhm!" you groan around his dick, nodding as much as you can with it in your mouth. You steady your hand against his waist, taking over all movement as he stills the slow gyration of his hips, bobbing your head faster as you suck him down. The swirl and flick of your tongue is positively relentless, and everything feels so wet and warm and fucking perfect that he knows he's a goner.

"Hn-uhhhhh, fuck. Ah, fuck, don't stop, don't stop, fuck, ugh!"

He bursts, salty in your mouth, filling your throat as you swallow around him, massaging and gripping his heavy balls as they twitch in your palm through the thick silicone.

You're only a bit of a mess when you pull off of him. Your lips are swollen and tingly, your hand slippery with lube, but you are totally, utterly content. The slick feeling between your legs is still there, so is the throb, but you're as satisfied as you could possibly be.

Pulling yourself to your feet is another story. Your legs have gone a bit numb from sitting on your knees for so long, and you stumble as you fight to right yourself, Joel catching you just before you tumble into the flowerbed. You laugh in his arms, his mouth pressed to yours as he swallows the sound, consumes it, wills it to make home in his body so he never forgets it.

Joel's fingers work their way under your thin shirt. He'd been looking between your face and your nipples the entire time you were on your knees for him, and he suspects you're entirely naked under there. When his fingers meet your sticky thighs, he thinks he's hit the jackpot, and is ready to return the favor through the haze of his own orgasm, when you stop him.

"I, uh... sorted myself out not too long ago. A few times."

"Damn, if I'd known I woulda come right up and helped you out myself. Thought you were sleepin', house was dark. Jus' playing with this sweet thing all along, huh?"

If he had known, he would have known how much you thought about him as you fucked yourself on your fingers. He would have known how you used the plug he left on your bedside table more than any of the others, crying his name out into the lonely expanse of your bedroom as you came quicker, and harder, than you had any right to. If he had known, he'd know how well and truly fucked you were over a man you still knew practically nothing about.

Of course, you knew some physical things. You knew what he looked like naked, how broad he was, and how sweaty he got when he fucked you. You knew what he sounded like groaning into your mouth or laughing at a silly quip you'd thrown at him. You knew what he tasted like, and what you tasted like off of his tongue. But that was where your knowledge of him ended. You didn't know what he did for work, or if he even liked his job. You didn't know his favorite food or color. You didn't know what he sang in the car. You didn't know where he lived or what he drove - you didn't even know his full name, and you knew exactly why.

You were scared. Terrified, actually. Terrified to really get to know him, to break that blissful illusion of the tall, dark stranger who rocked your world on a seasonal basis, only to find you didn't like him at all. Or worse - that he didn't like you.

So, when you walk him through your house, egg disposed of and hands washed, listening to the soft snap of his suit being closed up around his bare body, you desperately try to ignore the longing ache in your chest, stopping any request for him to stay, to take you out for coffee in the morning before it stupidly tumbles out of your mouth. That's not what this is.

Instead, you wordlessly reach for your keys, smiling sweetly to him as if you hadn't just been waging war against yourself inside your head.

"What're you doing," he says, pointing to the keys held in your hand. "Goin' somewhere, or comin' home with me?"

"No, smart ass, this is a key, it locks doors. Just gonna lock up after you leave."

Joel's smile drops from his face. And you don't know why, but it has alarm bells immediately blaring in your head.

"What?" you ask nervously, eyes darting around his face as if you're trying to read his mind as he takes a slow step toward you, a frown slowly pulling his brow down as he pieces some mystery together.

"The door locks when it closes, then you the take the key and lock it again after?"

"... Maybe? Yes?"

"Wait. And you're tellin' me you do that every night."

"Yes, I lock my door every night Joel, what's wrong with that." Obviously your lock was no match for his lock picking skills, but you didn't consider that Joel perhaps didn't know how locks worked at all.

"What's wrong with that is you're unlocking your door every night and leaving it unlocked all night."

Your blood turns cold. You don't know why. You could just not believe him, or test for yourself, but something about his reaction, and his seemingly easy ability to get into your house, tells you that what he says is exactly right. It's your turn for your smile to drop, and you can feel it slip off your face just as your heart starts rapidly hopping in your chest.

"Oh. I - I thought..."

"It ain't that kind of lock, sweetheart. You never checked it after lockin' it?"

"No. No I - My last place, the lock, I had to - oh my god." There's dread now. A sickening cocktail of feelings swirling through your body, turning you red hot and cold over and over as you think of all the things that could've happened, how lucky you were they didn't, after all this time. Damn near a year, and you hadn't figured out how to properly work your own fucking door.

"How d'you think I been gettin' in? Didn't exactly climb down the chimney or fly in through the window the last two times. Maybe shouldn'ta done it that first time, but your tree was driving me mad, seein' it bare like that every time I drove past. You weren't in and the door was open, was only gonna be quick and then..."

You're not listening. Your heart has just stopped like it's been hurtled into a brick wall at 100mph. "Wait, you drive past my house?"

"Where else am I gonna fuckin' drive?!"

A thousand million volts straight to your chest, and your heart is beating again, racing, your voice raising with it, brandishing the pointy end of your key at him like it could save you now. "Have you been stalking me?"

"What? No! I live down the fuckin' street, I drive by to get to my house, I thought you knew that."

"Down the street?"

"Yes. I'm hardly gonna come from outta town just to fix your lights and your sink and fuck off again. I was just... bein' neighborly, I guess."

"You've been in my house fixing my shit without me here?"

It's just revelation after revelation. You can't believe it. You can't believe yourself for one, but you can't believe him either. Only you can. You very much believe him, and you hate that you do and you hate that, deep down, you know he's right and you're exactly the kind of idiot he's undoubtedly thinking you are.

"You ain't fuckin' noticed?! You had a light out in here, your kitchen faucet was drippin', your railin' in your hall closet was bust... you didn't notice anythin'? Are you even fuckin' in that pretty head o' yours?"

Suddenly you're feeling very stupid. The door is one thing, the minor home repairs another, but you'd been under the impression you were both on the same page this entire time. That it was some silly game you played, two strangers who had next to no clue about each other. All this time he knew who you were, but you were too fucking preoccupied and distracted and stupid to see that he was right there.

The heat in your checks crackles in your ears, misting over your eyes and making your entire body feel fuzzy. That fight or flight you'd been wondering about for the last few months has suddenly decided to make an appearance, settling on both as you fight back tears with a quivering lip.

"Get out." It's silent fury, building white hot as the seconds tick by with him standing, staring at you like you're the one dressed as a giant rabbit and not him.

"What? Darlin', c'mon, it's okay -"

"Get. Out." You wrench the door open, pushing him and his stupid fucking bunny costume out, shoving the basket of eggs into his arms once he crosses the doorway.

"Bye." You slam the door, the stupid fucking self locking door, and slide down it, head in your hands. You have never felt so fucking stupid.

next part

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[yeyinde]

past and pending | John Price x f!Reader

"Fuck, love," his voice carries the taste of cigars and scotch when it rumbles in your ear. You smell the heady Maduro on his skin when you sink your teeth into the freckles on his shoulder. He tips his head forward; his rasping groan is heavy with smoke. "The things you do to me."

(you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue.)

warnings: smut; literal filth; kiiiiiinda an illicit relationship(?) but ya'll are consenting adults; power imbalance by proxy; breeding kink (slight); gendered reader; female anatomy; little substance just pure filth

notes: alt title was: when ur boss has baby fever and ur like, well damn, i guess i'm taking one for the team; this man is sooo damn fine, and Barry Sloane is a 1.88m snack (and tbh, scousers always make me a little weak in the knees)

Price looks like he smells of cigars whiskey cheap leather and hickory and i am feral. 

It starts in Madrid. 

(Though, if you're being honest with yourself, it really starts on a motorway outside of Dorset.)

Scotch in one hand, cigar in the other, he stands on the balcony, and gazes out at the water in the distance. Eyes fixed, crystalline, on the families below playing in the sand. A gaggle of children. Their mothers lean over the railing of the tapas below, shooing them off to find their fathers. 

The sounds carry through the streets, bouncing off of the stucco. High-pitched giggles from the kids playing in the cobblestone roads. The admonishing calls of their parents. Laughter from passersby.

You watch him from the doorway. Catch the longing in his eyes; wistful and melancholic. 

A family. Children. 

It's not your mission—this isn't what you're here for—but there is an ache in his gaze that makes you bite your tongue, words stifled in your throat. 

You've never seen your Captain look like this. 

He notices you—has probably known, you don't doubt, that you were there from the start—but there is something almost painful about the way he gives himself one more moment of this, one more fleeting glance, before he has to take up the mantle of a commander, of a leader. 

When he turns to you, it lingers in his eyes. A shade of mourning you can't quite understand. Can't quite reconcile about the man who, hours earlier, was barking out well done! and nice shot! when you took down an enemy operative. A bullet an inch below the eye. He clasped you on your back, grinned wide under the moustache, and it tasted of gunfire when he leaned in close. 

("Mm, got 'em right in the fuckin' head!")

John Price is a man you'd never thought could feel anything except the high of the challenge, the chase. He smelled of scotch, Maduro, and gasoline. His voice was always ragged, and hoarse, from how loudly he bellowed on the battlefield, a roar that echoed in the distance. 

This—

This is new. Different. It's both softer and sadder than you'd ever imagined him, and how it fits inside the man you'd known as one of the only people you could genuinely trust, is jarring. And simply put: it doesn't. 

The idea of his longing fills you with a visceral ache. 

(You're a good soldier. You wonder if you could—)

"Ready, then?" He asks, and digs his teeth into the cigar until it dents. The glass is placed on the dresser, empty. His lips stain the rim, and you think about bottle caps and Iceland.

You can't stop staring at him, now. Like an idiot. Like a—

Silly little girl with a crush. 

You fluster. Force a nod when his brows buoy, bunching in concern. Bewilderment. You're not acting like yourself. 

(You really haven't been since Reykjavik when he turned to you, and said—)

It's pushed aside when he takes one last drag, chest swelling with the inhale, and breathes out, words a plume of smoke. 

"Let's get these steamin' bastards."

If Madrid started it all, then his hand on your thigh is certainly the cataclysmic finale, the end. 

Well, that isn't entirely true. 

It's the offer of a cigar. A little scotch. 

(Maybe more than a little, really.)

Alone in a tapas in Madrid, he orders too much food for two people, and a bottle of their best scotch. 

Asks, gruffly in aborted Spanish, if he can have a smoke, too. 

(You end up having to translate both his Spanish and English to the befuddled waiter; the heavy accent renders his words to nothing but growled smoke.)

The mission was a success. Gaz perched on the loft across the street, the man cornered by Price, his only exit cut off by you—it was as smooth as one could go. Easy, almost. Effortless. 

It should have been the first sign that things were going to unravel, quite quickly, from that point on. 

Gaz declines the invitation. Laswell in your ear, well, you've earned it. You should have said no, too. Stayed in your room, ordered out, and poured over the piles of documents that will be waiting for you sooner or later. Red-tape means every moment must be noted down, each breath counted. Each step. Each choice. It's a mountain. 

But Price had his face turned toward the streets when he asked. The breadcrumbs of his gaze led you to a woman holding a blue swaddle in her arms, cooing down at the lump hidden under soft cashmere. Old ladies congregated around her, faces lit up with joy. 

He watched for a moment, and you saw that aching thing in his eyes when the woman peeled back the layers, showing off a ruddy-cheeked baby with a smattering of curly brown hair on his tiny head. 

A catch, then, in your throat, when the words were out before you could stop them: I want to.  

"...to go," you added hastily, flushing brilliantly under the lights in the hotel room. His hotel room. The one used to reconvene, to plot, to plan. The one that reeks of him—

The man you captured is held in a prison by the authorities, departing tonight under the cover of darkness. His weapons sit in the corner. Focus. You stare at them to ground yourself. "With you, that is."

Price turns, eyes finding yours when you lift your chin—automatic, magnetic: your Captain looks at you, and you offer a nod in response. 

The longing is thick, palpable. It burns, and it aches, because it isn't for you. It's for some unattainable thing he's decided not to pursue. 

You taste the flavour of it when he speaks, when he clears his throat, and gives a gruff good in response. 

It, of course, is not good.

It's very bad. 

Dangerous, even. 

The attraction you feel toward Price—Captain, boss; off-limits —isn't anything new. It's not incipient, but it hasn't had a chance to take root, to hold firm. You haven't let it.

You'd felt the same swell of intrigue before; a fledgling thing that always dissipates before trouble starts. This should have been no different. 

(But trouble comes quicker than you'd expect.

And you've always been rather good at lying to yourself.)

The look in his eyes. The tightness in your chest. Scotch on your tongue. 

It festers when he leans over, eyes pools of cerulean, and says, want a cigar?

And now—

Now: 

Your lungs are heavy with smoke that, apparently, isn't supposed to be there. 

Not supposed to inhale, dove, he tells you, words rough from his own puff, and drenched in humour. 

You sputter, knuckles pressed to your mouth to stop yourself from looking foolish in front of your Captain. Too late, of course. His eyes dance with mirth, lips crooked with the tang of it. 

You duck your head. "Fuck, that's disgusting." 

"Don't blame the cigar." He grins, easy, relaxed. The bucket hat on his head looks out of place in a tapas in Centro, but he's never felt more touchable to you when he's bathed in the mundane. 

(At least it isn't the leather jacket, the beanie—)

You swallow down the acrid taste of tobacco on your tongue, sending him a sharp glance from the corner of your eye. "Who do I blame, then? The teacher?" 

Price lets out a soft huff, a little chuckle under his breath, and tips his head in concession. "Yeah, alright. My fault, love." 

Love. It makes your chest feel tight. Head dizzy. You can blame it on the pungent concoction of cigars and scotch, but it sits too heavy in your chest for you to pretend. 

You drop your gaze to the table, to the half-eaten plate of setas al ajillo that sits in front of you as if it will somehow have an answer in the oil. That you might find god amongst the sauteed mushrooms, and he'll smack sense into your head. Don't be stupid. Don't be—

"Another?" He rasps, the word sticks to his throat. 

The smoke from the cigar makes your head feel gummy. It's a balm that soothes over all the little voices in the back of your head that scream at you to stop. This is a bad idea, they say. You'll regret it in the morning. 

But—

You want to impress him. Stupid. Price meets your stare when you lift your head. A smile. A nod. 

He doesn't mention the way your hand trembles when you take the cigar proffered to you between a thick thumb and forefinger. He has a burn scar on his first knuckle. A round circle. 

It's not the way you'd hold a cigar. 

Your eyes linger for a moment on the burn, mind startlingly empty, as if refusing to partake in piecing together whatever it means, if only for his privacy. His own sense of untouchability. 

Price is the core of the group. The man who everyone—even Ghost, to some extent—relies on, and absolutely respects. It's ironclad. Unshakeable. 

He's the man who is always looking at you, at others, first. When something happens, his eyes are drawn to everyone else, making sure they are stable on their feet as the world around them crashes, and burns. 

You know because, now, you're always watching him. 

A silly little girl with a crush. 

It began in Reykjavik.

A slurry of imported chemicals drafted by a man with an abhorrent agenda led you, Price, and Laswell on a chase through the city. It was close, down to the last nanoseconds. And then—

"You alright?" 

Shaken. Terrified. You turn to him, and he's there, watching you. Eyes drawn tight. Taut, humourless smile pulling on the corners of his—for once—clean-shaven face. 

It's hard to begin to grasp the words necessary to properly convey what you felt at that moment. Panic. Horror. Dread. Fear. They come close, but they miss that unnameable feeling of your heart leaping into your throat when the seconds ticked down to five, four, three…

Too late. Too—

And then a gunshot. A bullet in the man's head. Success. It felt too close to be considered a win. Like grasping at victory with the tips of your fingers as it fumbles from hand to hand. Narrowly snatching the win from the jowls of defeat that nipped at you. 

"S-sir—"

He's there. Hand on your shoulder, firm and steady: it's the only thing that keeps you from toppling over. 

"Mm, stay alert," he mumbles, eyes cutting back to the throng of agents—on loan from Norway as Iceland hadn't the means to take care of it on their own, the very same people whose pride refused to allow you any intel, almost leading to—

"Eyes, ears are everywhere."

It's the solid weight of his presence, his unmovable utilitarianism, that reinforces the liquid relief in your knees, giving it the stability needed to congeal, to harden.

Iceland was the first taste of reality. The first mission where you realised every single second mattered. 

"Did good," he says under his breath, and nods at you when you turn, bewildered, to him. "Might not seem like it, but you held yourself up. Did what needed to be done. Good job."

There is a softness in his eyes, one that you can't place, but it makes your pulse race. 

And now, that same something swims in his cerulean gaze, slightly misted from the scotch, but remarkably the same. 

You drop your gaze again. His stare is heavy—its not oppressive, or intense, but its—

A lot. Weighed down by something that has been steadily building since you bunkered down in a frozen bivouac on the fringes of the Arctic. Each breath of plume of pure white. Nestled tight together under a single insulated blanket, sharing heat. Keeping each other from the white death looming at the edge of the door. 

It sits there, now. The tendrils of frostbite in his eyes: memories of when the snow piled so high outside your door, you'd begun to fear that this little shack was going to be your icy prison. 

His chest under your chin. Heat bleeding into you. 

("Gotta stay warm," he'd rasped, gaze flickering to you in steady intervals. "Can't turn the heat on. They'll see us.")

In the morning after everything, he found you on the terrace overlooking the landscape, the rolling hills of white in the distance. Back in the sanctum of your hotel. The one free from tundra and sleet. From the howling winds that slammed against the shack you both holed up in for the night. Surveillance. Your first taste of it. 

"You good?" He murmurs. It's a loaded question, and feels more like a test. 

Still—

"I will be." A lie.

"Go on." He calls it. 

You turn to him. "We—;" the words are heavy on your tongue. Blame, and anger, and— "if they shared information with us, we would have gotten to them sooner."

And then you bite your tongue, eyes darting across the barren balconies. Eyes and ears are everywhere, he'd said. Test: failed. 

"Mm, yeah," he mumbles. His presence is comforting. A kinship born from ice and darkness. He leans against the railing beside you, fingers looped into the straps on his tactical vest. "Could have done a lot of things quicker."

"Why did we need to wait?"

His laugh is caustic. "Bureaucracy." 

"Sounds pointless when people are waging chemical warfare on the innocent." 

"Mm, you're not wrong." He adds, his breath a plume of white when he huffs. "But red tape is the line that keeps us in check. Can't go around shooting whoever looks at us funny."

"But—"

"I agree, though." His words are low, and doused in the residuum of anger from missions you've yet to experience. A chasm is carved between you. An uncrossable moor. "Fuckin' politics."

His hand is almost as heavy as the steel in his eyes when he pulls it free from the strap on his chest, and lays it on your shoulder. "Get some rest. Maybe a bloody drink if you can. They only got vodka," he spits the word out like it's blasphemous, and considering he's never too far away from a cigar in one hand, and a scotch in the other, you think, to him, it might be. 

It's a dismissal. A nice chat, have a lovely day, ta. He's your Captain, a man who shares each success with everyone, but bears the weight of each failure on his own. This debacle only reinforced the notion that you can't keep operating in the strict lines given to you, but there is very little you can do to stop it.

Fuckin' politics, you think. And then—

Cacoethes. 

"I mix a mean vodka cranberry," the offer is out before you can swallow it down. "I mean—it isn't scotch, but—"

He pauses by the door, hand in stasis over the handle. The silence is stifling. 

"Sorry," you murmur, chastised. Embarrassed. "I didn't—I hope I didn't cross a line."

He turns his head, brows drawn together. 

(You wonder if he, too, thinks of the cabin. Of the bottled water shared between you, the heavy breath that settled in the middle of the negligible space that separated you, turned toward each other to protect your vulnerable pieces from the frigid cold.)

Then, a flash of teeth. His moustache wobbles. "Sure," he murmurs. "If you can make it taste like it isn't vodka, I'll go for one. Not much of a pint, but…"

"Should have taught me how to smoke in Iceland," you say, reaching for the proffered cigar in his hands. Your eyes slide over the burns, the pock marks in his flesh that could not be self-inflicted, but you turn from them; your gaze, instead, fixed on him. "Might have kept us warm."

A rasping chuckle falls from his lips. He has a smear of ash in the corner. A dollop of oil on his beard by the seam of his mouth. "Iceland," he repeats the word, and it sounds like an old friend, filled with a touch of fondness you can't quite capture when you think back on the time spent there. 

(A panic attack in the shower stall, head full of vodka and cranberries— definitely not a pint, he rasped, but still took another swallow; your eyes were fixed on the bob of his Adam's apple—and him. Run. Run. Don't look back—

Alright? His eyes are on you. On Gaz. Laswell. He makes his rounds between everyone, silently checking in. It warms you, and makes you think of the taste you caught on the rim of the water bottle. Hickory. Smoked sandalwood. Scotch. Your nose pressed tight to his chest. The heavy weight of his arm around you. Gotta get up, lo— 

Love. You wonder if that's what he was going to say before he cleared his throat, and looked away from you.

A lie. Yes. 

He calls it. Yeah? 

No. Never. The way the amber light from the early morning sun caught the lazuli in his eyes made your heart shatter, and ever since he pulled you from the wreck years ago, you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue. 

A tight smile. Distant. Hidden. Always, Cap.

He relents.

You wished he pushed. Gave you a reason to spill your vodka-filled guts on the tarmac to rid yourself of this rut you'd fallen into. An endless stasis of does he, he can't, could he, he might, don't get your hopes up—

His hand is between your shoulder blades. A soft smile in your direction.

—too late.)

"Ah, Reykjavik," it's a slow burn when he speaks, heavy with smoke. Voice thick, full of static. His eyes catch yours. Price leans in close, as if he's sharing a secret; something confidential and meant only for you. The heady scent of hickory fills your nose. You roll the scotch in your glass, but taste vodka on your tongue. "Might have, but then we would've had to keep it lit while running away from the terrorists in the snow." 

"I've seen you keep one lit in a hurricane, sir." 

There is something coarse in the way he huffs; a gravel-filled husk of droll mirth that rumbles from his chest. His knuckles brush yours when he passes the cigar over. "Only time I ever lost one was when our heli went down in Mexico. Simon got an earful that day."

"Amazing." 

The cigar is less intense when you let it fill just your mouth until the smoke is stagnant between your teeth. It's—sweet. Robust. 

"You sound very impressed," he husks again, words pitched low. "But I'll have you know it was my last good one. Quite a shame."

Fingers touch again. You wonder if it's on purpose. If he, like you, can't get enough of the warmth on your skin. If it makes him think of the chill—

"It sounds like one. I don't know how you finished the mission at all, sir." 

"I had a spare." He smiles, but it's taut around the edges. Then: "none of that—," he stops, clears his throat again. Lower, barely a whisper, he adds: "none of that sir stuff here. Just call me—"

"Cap?" You breathe, heart thudding in your chest. The scotch. The cigar. Maybe, it was packed with weed. A little nicotine. Something that might make your heart race, your palms sweat. Your stomach burn. 

"John." 

Your heart pounds, but it's off-rhythm. An irregular beat. The pattern is wrong, the crescendo stutters. It's not—

"John," his name is caught in your throat; a corrugated wobble of a breath barely recognisable as a word, but he finds it, anyway. His eyes lift, catching yours. It's heavy. Oppressive. You think of his arm on your waist, his breath in your ear—

Another tight smile. His eyes are liquid sapphires. "Yeah, love."

Love. Love. Twice, now, he slipped and uttered it.

(Lo—

Thrice, then, if you count Iceland.)

"John—," you need to stop. To put distance between yourself and this man who is wholly off-limits before the wet tip of the cigar, once clipped between those full lips, will become a crutch. Addicting. 

You don't know where it starts. 

The cigar in your mouth makes him groan low in his throat. Your eyes drop when he shudders. His hand on your thigh. Voice in your ear. 

"Gotta stop this, love." 

The first thought: he knows. 

The second: he knows. 

There is a chasm between them. In that paradoxical degree of separation lingers a firm, judicious no. It is resolute. Ironclad. 

But the sheath is made of latex. Your hands feel the sting of the rubber bands when your fingers pluck at the bonds holding it all back. 

"And if I don't want to?" Your lashes fan your cheeks, eyes peering up at him through the wisps cresting over your pupils. Tongue peaks out. A tease. "John? "

His pupils dilate in response, blown wide until pits of coal eclipse the sapphire; a black hole lined with a thin halo of blue. The hairs on his upper lip flutter when he heaves out a breath through his nose. 

John's smile is tight. A fleeting thing that flickers across his face before disappearing into a hard frown. "You don't know what you're getting into, love—;" he stops himself, clears his throat. Your name falls from his lips, saturated in smoke. 

You meet him. One step back, one step forward. A dance until those blues fix themselves solely on you. 

Maybe, it's the scotch. You've always been more brazen with amber than clear. 

His Adam's apple bounces when your hand drops, covering his. Your fingers stroke the powerful hands that hold your flesh firm between scarred fingers; nimble and dexterous despite the thickness of them. 

"Then show me."

His groan tastes of tobacco and ash. 

It should be awkward, and uncomfortable, but it isn't. 

Price's hand curls over your waist, tucking you to his side as you lean against him, hip bumping into his thigh, hand settled on the warmth of his back. 

You wonder if everyone around you can tell that you're going home with this man, your boss, and he's going to fuck you when you get there. It feels sacrilegious. Wrong. 

But not even the spume of trepidation that wells inside of your gut is enough to stop you from getting this. Him.

You want it. Need it. 

Your hand slips over his chest on the corner of the street. His eyes flash, caught in the light from the veranda. 

Does he feel it, too, you wonder? All those moments that lead up to this? Soft words over the comm. Late nights spent pouring over coordinates and maps, reaching for something at the same time. Hands brushing. Eyes meeting over the median. Smiles shared. A world in the dead of night when everyone else had long gone to bed. You should have, too. You didn't. You stayed up as long as you could, soaking up his company. 

Mornings met by the coffee maker. 

No tea, it seems. 

They have tea, sir. 

Not the good kind. 

You're just picky.

Look at this—it almost makes you ashamed to be British. 

Only that? 

He's untouchable—well: should be, rather; but Price is anything but. He's a constant amid many raging storms, a rock in times when the world feels like it's spiralling down toward some cataclysmic abyss and your fingers aren't quick enough to reach out and catch it. 

But he is. 

Always. 

Your failsafe. Your security net. The only man on the planet who will rage against insurgents and terrorists, and politicians and red tape in equal measure for his team. He'll risk his neck, offer his jugular, if it means you can finish the mission. 

Gaz in your head. He said something to me once… stuck to me, y'know? We get dirty, and the world stays clean. 

It bludgeoned into you then just like it does now. It's the perfect iteration of exactly who Price is. He's not a hero. He doesn't pretend to be one. But if him gunning down a man on the fringes of society means that innocent people in the cities get to sleep at night without even knowing what he, and his men, sacrificed, he's content. He never asks for anything except the freedom to keep peace—however it comes about: in a hail of bullets, a fist against a man's jaw until he spits out blood and teeth and the truth, or in cuddling together on the verge of hypothermia so people in a country he has no connection to can continue to live without fear. 

John is—

Well. It was inevitable, wasn't it? 

They can't forge a man like him into existence, and expect you not to feel overwhelmed in his presence. 

This feels inevitable. 

And sure—human resources and internal affairs might have opinions about that, but it's been brewing since he pulled you from a burning wreck on the motorway (a small travesty in what could have been calamitous had you not decided to trust the SAS with an impeccable moustache, and your gut, and broke every rule in the book), and then looked you in your soot-covered face, and asked: have you considered a transfer? 

Your drug enforcement days slipped into the past when he offered you a spot on his team.

And now—

Your lip is raw from the cigar burn, but the taste of scotch on your tongue soothes the ache. His hand is heavy on your waist, flesh hot to the touch like he is burning up in a fever. 

A woman wanders past, the same one you saw earlier with a baby swaddled in blue, but—

Price only has eyes for you. 

"C'mon, love," he husks in your ear, his breath heavy with smoke and scotch, and sending shivers racing down your spine. "Wanna come back with me?"

And you—

("I'll follow you—")

"Anywhere, John."

His hands are reverent when they brush across your skin. The heavy weight of his palms pressing against the back of your thighs makes you tremble. His rough skin feels good as it grazes yours, touch softer, more gentle than you thought he'd be. 

It's a strange contrast—you'd come to expect gruffness with your Captain. His voice, his words, his practices all carry the same abrasive lilt to you, and you assumed that he'd fuck you the same way. Rough hands, brutal commands barked out. 

It's none of that. It's—

His eyes peer down at you, spread out below him, and he carries the same tenderness in his eyes as when he stared at the women from before. Families. It settles inside of you. This unexpected way he handles you so gingerly makes your heart pound, and makes your core knot. 

He looks at you as if you're the best thing that has ever happened to him. 

And you can't be. It's impossible, isn't it? This man who'd lived many lives before you even knew how to shoot a gun, or tie your shoelaces, should not be looking at you as if you'd offered him salvation. 

But he is. 

You press the back of your forearm to your crown, arching your back for him. His eyes are drawn to your body, to the way you open up for him, and the darkening of his eyes makes you pant. 

Your hand reaches up to his chest, palm pressed against the thick bed of unruly auburn hair that covers his pulse, and the feel of his thick body over you makes your cunt throb with need. You want him. You want him so badly that it hurts. 

"This what you want, love?" He husks in your ear, beard tickling your skin. "Want me to fuck you, yeah?"

It had sprung up when you first tumbled into the room. The dance is familiar—the steps ingrained in your head, now muscle memory—but he isn't just any partner. You stood before him, unsure for the first time since you caught that aching sense of wishfulness in his eyes and knew that you wanted whatever permeated in those cerulean depths to look at you, and hold you in the same regard. 

Now—

Your body is fever-hot, and he stands by the minibar, offering you scotch. 

"I want you—," the words tumble out, a breathless lull in the otherwise silent room, broken only by the glass nozzle clanking against the side of the cup he set out. You've shocked him. You swallow thickly when he turns, brows lifting. 

"I want you." You repeat, firmer this time. 

"Are you—"

You skip the introductory waltz and immediately jump into a tango when you breathe: I want you inside me, John. 

You know he aches for it. You can feel him twitching inside of you; deep and full. The head of his cock nudges against something soft in your cunt that makes you spasm around him, whimpering. 

"Yes, sir…" you pant, heavy and breathless. The way you address him makes him grunt, makes his hips cant into you, the movement tinged in desperation. "Fill me up."

Price groans, rolling his hips into you. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs until only the cloying smoke from his cigar resides inside. You're dizzy, dazed. He fucks you like he's worshipping you—each time he moves inside of you, he aims for that gummy place that has your nails digging into his sides, legs locking around his waist, caught on the bend of his thighs, as he rides you through it. 

"Fuck, love," his voice carries the taste of cigars and scotch when it rumbles in your ear. You smell the heady Maduro on his skin when you sink your teeth into the freckles on his shoulder. He tips his head forward; his rasping groan is heavy with smoke. "The things you do to me…."

He tastes of smoke. Loam. Sandalwood. Butterscotch. "Please," you murmur, tongue laving over the indents of your teeth in his skin. You wish it was permanent. "It's your own fault, Captain."

"Yeah?" He grinds his cock inside of you until your eyes roll back, mouth dropping open as white-hot pleasure spools in your core. "Sounds like you need some discipline then, soldier." 

Fuck —

He does it again, thrusting into you this time until he's seated in deep. You whine at the bliss flooding your core. 

His hand lifts from your thigh, and you blink your eyes open, watching as his tongue sweeps across the pad. His eyes are wicked in the soft light spilling from street lights outside; bluer than the wide, open ocean. 

You shiver when they drop to your cunt, spread out for him and stretched taut over his twitching cock. A frisson passes; waves crashing against the shores, frothing white. 

His hand drops, thumb pressing against your clit. "Gonna cum for me?" He murmurs, a sonorous knot in the quiet room. You hear the roar of the ocean in the distance. Humid breeze flutters through the open balcony. 

Anyone can hear you. Can hear how badly you want your Captain to fill your cunt, to make you see stars, and swaddles of blue—

You keen low in your throat when his thumb rubs tight circles over your throbbing clit, cock knocking against the gummy walls of your cunt. His head brushes your womb, presses there tight for a moment until your back arches in that deep-seated ache, that quiver of pleasure-pain that lacerates through your core. 

"Fuck, fuck—," you whimper, needy and breathless, hips working in time with the insistent press of his thumb, working you in small, shallow circles. "Cap— Captain, please—"

"Fuck, love—," he throaty words a bitten, jagged plea that sticks, thick and molten, between his molars. You can feel him twitch within you. Feel the way he batters into that spongey nook inside of you that has the Aurora Borealis flashing behind your lids. "You're a cheeky little thing, aren't you?" He pants, bending down to press his teeth over your raw neck, already bitten and bruised, chafed by the coarse hair of his beard. 

His groan rolls out of him; dredged up from deep within his chest. The rumble of pleasure, the sloppy way his hips snap into you, now, all practise and control dissociating with his desperation to get you to cum on his cock so he can fill your pussy up with cum, deep enough that it floods your womb—

"Cum for me—!" He snaps, the words chewed out and broken, punctuated by a deep grind of his cock. "Need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock, love; you want it, don't you? If you be a good girl and cum for me, I'll fill your pussy up—"

Your toes curl at the wrecked, raw tone of his voice, breaking over the end. He wants it. You feel him throb within you at just the thought. 

"Yeah," you whine, that spooling coil in your belly pulling tighter and tighter with each brutal thrust, each nudge of his cock as it bludgeons inside of you. "Want you cum inside my pussy, John—"

His head tips, forehead dropping to rest on yours as his eyes roll back, fluttering with the sultry plea that drips from your cigar-singed lips. 

You taste smoke when his thumb presses against you, the other sliding over your body until he has a palmful of your breast in his grasp. Each roll of his hips makes you see white; tendrils and wisps of smog fill your eyes until all you can see is a hazy blue through the curtain of snow. Fog on your breath. His words in your ear. 

It pinches taut when he turns his head, beard scraping your skin, and presses his lips to your temple. Slurred words that taste of tobacco. "Need to feel you cum on my cock, love —"

Liquid bliss spumes deep when you cum—a deluge of euphoria richer than scotch, and more addictive than nicotine. 

His name is a choked sob into the thick blanket of desire that weighs down on you. 

He drops, his torso flat against your chest as he slots his mouth over you, tongue delving deep as he ruts into your pulsing cunt, fluttering like a heartbeat as you cum around his cock. He groans into the messy kiss—hickory and smoke and the bitter tang of scotch—and you feel him jerk within you before he pushes in as far as he can. He doesn't stop until your cunt swallows him to the base, where he sits taut against the seal of your cervix. And then you feel it. You feel him throb deep inside of you, stuffed full of his cock, and a molten spume spills out when he cums. 

He's cumming inside of you, filling your pussy up—

Your cunt clenches, a soft flutter against him at the thought of it, the feeling. 

His head lifts, then, and you can see the draw of his brows, the clench of his jaw, the grunts that slip out, deep and punctured, from between the grit of his teeth, and you think you could get addicted to the sight of him in bliss. 

Your hands slide over the slick bulk of his back, nails raking softly over the skin as he shudders against you, heaving from exertion. 

"Christ," he rasps in your ear, whiskey-timbered and heady with malt. "You're gonna make me lose my goddamn mind, love."

You tip your head back, grinning. "What is it you like to say, Cap?" You purr, fingers dancing over the indent of your teeth. "We're all a bit crazy."

You lay with your head tucked on his shoulder. His arm is bent at the elbow with his palm under his head; your hand rests on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart under your skin. 

It's—

Cosy. A little moment where you feel liquid and blissful, eyes lidding as you peer at his naked chest—flushed roseate, peppered with auburn that that runs all the way down to the indent of his groin—and map the dusting of rust-coloured freckles that peak through the wisps of coarse hair. It's domestic. Basking in the acrid afterglow of your illicit coupling. 

Your index presses into a thick patch of hair just below his pectoral, catching the curls on the tip until they wrap around your finger. He rumbles deep in his chest, and pulls the lit cigar up to his mouth, biting it between his teeth, before dropping his hand down on yours. 

Cerulean peaks through a thick breath of ashen smoke. You feel shy, suddenly. Demure. Maybe, it's the scent of sex and tobacco thick in the air, the taste of spice and scotch on your tongue, or the way his cum stains your inner thighs, leaking out of you, and drenching the sheets below. Proof, then, that you fucked your Captain. 

Most people start at the bottom of the totem and work up. It was a running joke amongst your class when the physical demands of the role became too much, and the drills got harder, and harder the more you sloughed through the ropes. 

All the way to the top. The easy way. On your knees, soldier, you'd pass between each other in covert secrecy, eyes fatigued but grinning wide. How easy it would be, comparatively, to just lay back and let your drill sergeant have his fill. It was all chatter. Jokes. None of it was real, and if anyone of you ever had the notion to act on it—

That has never been your goal. Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain—none of it meant anything to you until a hand appeared out of dense, black smoke, a gruff: c'mon, now, I got you following. It still doesn't. Not really. Does he know that, though? That you'd followed along dutifully behind him, not over some sense of grandeur or hero-complex, but because you admired the shape of him, the grit. 

John's hand slides over yours, fingers tangling between the brackets of your own until you're locked together, palm pressed against palm. 

There are years worth of things you want to say, but they dissolve in the malt still saturating your tongue. 

Price's hand is rough. Scarred and weathered; aged and worn. 

Your hands don't quite fit together. His brackets are too wide for your slender digits to rest without being swallowed whole by him. His fingers are the exact opposite: too wide, too thick. The seam between your knuckles aches when he slides his into the gaps. Like everything about him, this, too, is stretched taut. 

Still. Still—

His hand folds over yours, devouring your palm, and suddenly all your listing axes are righted, centred. The ground you walk on is firm, solid. 

It's always like that with him, you find. 

His warmth bleeds into your palm. 

Price shifts. His hand slips from behind his head to take hold of the cigar in his mouth. The knob of his wrist rests on your shoulder, cigar dangling between his fingers. 

You wonder if this is the moment when we shouldn't have, we can't come in. 

He clears his throat, always a low rasp as if he'd just gotten done screaming. Hoarse and rough. You don't think you can go back to before when you didn't know what your name sounded like falling from his lips when he cums—

"You don't know what you do to me, love."

Don't hope—

"And what is that?" You peer up at him through the wisps of auburn. 

His eyes make your pulse race. A lagoon in the middle of the Arctic. A deep, endless pool of blue. 

Price offers you the cigar, and bends down to press his sweaty forehead against your temple when you lean up and take it. 

Scotch. Hickory. Smoke. 

A motorway in Dorset. Your superiors snapping at you to leave it alone. You followed him then, and when he mumbles in your ear, words drenched in malt and petrol, you know you'll follow him even now. 

"You make me want things, love. Things I shouldn't."

You catch his clear blues in yours. The cigar burns when you press it to your bottom lip, catching the taste of him on the end. 

"You have no one to blame but yourself," you whisper, squeezing his too-big hand in yours. "I learned from the best, you know." 

"Cheeky—"

—he takes you back to Iceland when your allotted off-time mysteriously syncs together: a fumbling romantic at heart. he has no idea what he's doing. wooing, courtship, and long-lasting were never words in his vocabulary, but he tries.

—on his phone, you catch a glimpse of what he was looking at so intently on the plane: romantic places in Iceland: romance for idiots

—it doesn't surprise you, then, when you find the article yourself that he sticks to each individual one like it's a personal mission. flowers. chocolates. "don't know what's so special about these bloody things. do you really like them?"

—it surprises you, even more, when you press your lips to cheek, murmuring, "i like you more," and see the flash of roseate flooding his cheeks.

—Gaz is firmly on team "i don't want to know" but too bad for him, he's the only one you can really tell.

"please tell me he doesn't wear The Hat... y'know...," his face looks a little ashen when he says it. You smile. "...Please. No, you can't—hey! You can't just walk away—!"

[arminsumi]

yey! requests are back!!!

gojo x reader doing it inside the dressing room while reader is shopping for her Halloween costume 🥴

TIGHT ANGEL

Note : ooo yum 😋💗 that's such a thing he would do. hope u enjoy!

Warnings : 🔞 minors do not read/interact : contains explicit 18+ content : public sex, creampie/unprotected sex, mirror sex, namecalling (sl*t/sl*tty), +++

Watching you squeeze your body into that tight, slutty angel costume felt as unbelievable to Satoru as watching his cock squeeze into your tight, slutty pussy. "God you're so fuckin' tight... dunno how you always take me so well, angel." he rasps while pounding that fat cock up into your guts; you're on your tippy toes for Satoru, but soon he lifts you and squishes your body against the dressing room mirror.

You're too full of cock to think, he fills you up so deliciously that you just become speechless. The mirror shudders with the force of his thrusts, you're pressing your palms flat against it but they're too sweaty to keep a grip.

"Eyes on the mirror, watch me fuck you." Satoru feathers, a string of obscene sounds filling the tiny room.

He appreciates that the lighting is so good in here; he can admire every inch of your body in this erotic position; his eyes eat you up, intently watching the way your ass and thighs and tits jiggle with each stroke.

"Fuck... can't wait to show you off at the party dressed like this... y'think Suguru and Nanami are gonna be jealous? Mhm... they're gonna be so jealous when I bring my slutty little angel to the party..." he pulls tenderly on your hair, watching your expressions just get sluttier and sluttier as he ruins your sloppy cunt with his cock and dirty talk. He pushes it in as far as you can take it, murmuring praise against your neck. The risk of getting caught fucking his angel's brains out in the dressing room makes his cock pulse.

"S—atoru! Fuck!" you're about to scream as his fat cockhead beats against your gummy sweet spot, but he claps his big hand over your mouth. "Quiet, angel. You don't wanna get caught again, do you? Wasn't it embarrassing enough getting caught suckin' my cock in the car this morning?" you shudder and feel your pussy orgasm and pulse around his girth.

Aw... fuckin' slut is cummin' all over my cock... he thinks to himself. His arms are tightly wrapped around your body. You always look so angelic when you cum... and even more so when you cum while dressed in a slutty angel costume.

Satoru's in bliss at the sensation of your cunt making those milking contractions on his dick. He can't hold in his cum much longer, and bites down on your shoulder to stifle his groan while shooting his load inside. Something about creaming inside you in a risky public space like this makes it feel so much better.

White gooey seed shoots deep inside your cunt and overfills your hole, spilling out a little and running down his cock. Satoru's panting open-mouthed against your neck and pressing his weight against you, squishing you right up against the mirror. After he comes down from his high and slides your panties up your legs, he's giggling; "I think I like this costume, baby... a tight slut should wear a tight costume, don't you think? 'm gonna buy it for you." he looks so devilishly pretty in the reflection of the mirror, caressing your body as he stands behind you.

"You gonna wear it to the party f'me? Pleaaase... I wanna make 'em jealous over my tight-dressed angel."

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[ghostaholics]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 '𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓' 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

➸ PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!Reader; 18+ only ➸ BANNER CREDIT: cafekitsune ➸ OTHER GHOST NSFW HEADCANONS: here & here

➸ BLINDFOLDING: obligatory, a deal-breaker especially early on in the relationship; lots of things he has planned for you that involves his mouth, and while he could pull up his mask as far as he needs to, just have the hem of it resting on the bridge of his nose, sometimes he prefers to do away with it all so as not to become an obstacle that's impeding on his fun – hence, a blindfold (maybe a spare military scarf that he's got lying around or any other scrap of fabric that'll suffice) to block out the visual of his face – the temporary deprivation of sight has your other senses heightened, with tactile being the most obvious as you become extremely responsive to his touch when you’re not sure what to anticipate next (❝ Should tie you up too, tease you 'til you can’t stand it anymore. How’s that sound, sweetheart? ❞)

➸ RECEIVING HEAD: likes it almost as much as giving; will never turn it down when the opportunity presents itself

(1) deepthroating - you need the practice since you couldn't get it all the first time he fed you his cock, couldn't quite accommodate the girth of him no matter how hard you tried that night; so, you've been working up to it, finally able to get your mouth full, throat fucked, just your wet heat encasing him and he can't help but apply light pressure, palming the back of your head to push you down on his dick and letting out a guttural groan whenever you occasionally gag while taking him down to the base (❝ Breathe through your nose, love. Choking on my cock like this... fuckin' hell. Don't go hurtin' yourself now.❞)

(2) when he's sitting with his legs spread wide, you kneeling in between them and looking up at him through your lashes - doesn't rush you, tells you to slow down in fact, so he can enjoy the sight of your lips wrapped around his dick for longer, how you're so enthusiastic about making him feel good - about cock-worshipping - practically drunk alone on the pleasure of sucking him off as if this might be more for your benefit than it is for his; you start working him with your mouth - gently licking at the seam of the sensitive head and lapping up the prespend there because you're a good girl for cleaning up the clear and sticky mess gathering around his slit before pressing a kiss to the blunt tip, or when your tongue runs wet along the length of him before trying to swallow him down your throat (❝ So good to me... love this almost more than that pretty pussy of yours. C'mere, sweetheart. Gonna return the favor and spoil that li’l cunt with my mouth. ❞)

➸ PARTIALLY-CLOTHED SEX: can be impatient when he’s in a rush, certainly has little to no tolerance for undressing you or himself for a shag somewhere inconvenient (it’s called a quickie for a reason but he’s only interested when there’s a high probability that you’re already wet before he’s even laid a finger on you, e.g. eye-fucking him across the room for the last hour while lightly chewing on the tip of your pen and dragging it across your bottom lip before pausing at the corner of your mouth, or verbal foreplay throughout the day where you’ve been dropping dirty comments about how you much you’ve been thinking about him just slowly rubbing at the entrance of your cunt, having him fill you up with his fingers or his cock); honestly doesn’t want to waste time sliding into you after all of that – the most he’ll otherwise do is ruck your shirt over your chest to paw at your tits, knead at the flesh and pinch/roll your nipples between his fingers while pounding into you from behind (❝ Move these panties to the side before I rip ‘em off you. Really don’t think you should’ve been bloody wearin’ any in the first place. ❞)

➸ SQUIRTING: riding him, leaning back slightly with one of your hands grasping at his muscular thigh to stay upright – and the view drives him crazy, how you’re bouncing, fucking yourself down on him over and over, along with these desperate little rolls of your hips; you’re doing so good for him that he makes the executive decision to assume control now, thrusts up into your aching hole, bruising – almost punishing, but he can’t stop when he’s got you moaning even louder now and gasps spill from your mouth when you take him to the root – cockhead brushing against the front of your cunt at this angle every time he drives inside you (❝ Right there, huh? That the spot? Fuckin' know from how goddamn wet you're gettin' me— ❞) and he keeps going until you start coming hard then, soaking his cock so bad that the fresh rush of slick pools across his thighs, leaks down his balls (❝ Christ, got you gushin’ all over me. Let's see it again, c’mon. ❞)

➸ DEGRADATION KINK: light on the insults, doesn’t necessarily mean it in a literal sense but knows that they have their time and place during sex; he equates them to something affectionate – prefers to use the ones that possess a more positive connotation in lieu of/alongside praise based on the situation and really enjoys how your cunt involuntarily clenches upon hearing that sort of stuff

❝ Yeah, can feel this cunt pulsin’ around my cock. Such a cute li’l fucktoy – jus’ can’t help it, can you? Need you to stay still for me, though. ❞ (e.g. cock warming)

❝ Taking me so well… being so good, aren't you? Careful love, don’t want ‘em hearing how loud you are; they might get the wrong idea about you, moanin’ like a whore and all that. ❞

❝ Where’s my dirty girl want me to finish? Inside, is that it? Fuckin’ Christ you’re a naughty one, sweetheart, lettin’ me fill up this cunt. Greedy for it, like a bitch in heat— ❞

❝ I know you’re more than a cumslut, love. But you beg me to fuck you stupid, damn near let me abuse every single one of these holes of yours, and—c'mon, you see why I might have a hard time believin’ myself, right?”

➸ HAIR-PULLING: if he finds out you're into it, then he’s very much in favor of grabbing a handful of your hair, fingers spanning over your scalp and slightly tugging so that he tips your chin up – not enough to hurt; usually only does it when he’s trying to get you to look at something (bent over the sink, and you need to look at your reflection, don’t want to miss that, of course) or he just wants something to grab onto (when you’re on your knees while he’s face-fucking you, gotta make sure you maintain eye contact); accidentally discovers you share this kink when his intention is to give you a low warning for teasing him, bringing your ear close so you can hear him properly without him having to raise his voice but you just end up letting out a soft moan in response

(1) if your hair's long enough - he likes wrapping a ponytail around his hand, and will appreciate a nice plait, but he's not choosy

[cannebady]

The worst thing by far about all the fuckin' fur was how hot it was when he'd get properly nervous. It was mostly annoying, Husk thought, because he never used to get this fuckin' nervous, but these days he feels like he sweats through his fur at least every other day.

It's a byproduct of exposure to Angel Dust, he thinks (and fuck is the spider aptly named). Initially, it was anger that got him heated, being subjected to the spider trampling on his painstakingly constructed boundaries, then it was the realization that under the performance, Anthony was a spitfire with a vulnerable streak a mile wide and legs even longer. In other words, Husk's fuckin type, both topside and in Hell.

Which brings him to now; sweating through his fuckin bowtie as he paces outside Angel's room, hands so damp that the fuckin' paper wrapped around the stupid bouquet that he couldn't not buy for a certain leggy demon was getting damp and who the fuck wanted to open their door to see a sweaty, anxious, drunk failure of an overlord handing them damp shitty flowers?

Probably not the prettiest guy Husk has ever laid eyes on. His best guy, even if only in his own head.

But he'd heard Angel and Vaggie talking about her plans for her anniversary with Charlie and how much Charlie loves getting flowers. Angel's eyes had sparked up a bit, mentioning that he used to bring those home for his mother and sister, back when he'd been alive, but hadn't ever received any.

Husk knew how to spot a weak spot, and Angel was projecting to anyone paying attention, "I'm a hopeless romantic that would burst into heart shaped confetti if someone gave me flowers" and the thought hadn't left Husk's mind since.

So on his way back to the hotel, when he'd spotted a white and blush bouquet that reminded him of fur he wanted to dig his claws into and-

Well.

So he bought the stupid fuckin' flowers and now he's being a big fuckin' coward again as he's still pacing and sweating and definitely not knocking on the door and saying, "You deserve only the best, baby", and handing the (sweaty, damp, probably embarrassing) bouquet to the guy he spends every waking moment thinking about.

It's not that he even expects anything to come of it. He has nothing to offer besides a well mixed drink and an ear to bend, so he hasn't got any expectations, he just thinks that maybe someone should make Angel feel a bit less like he exists only in service to others. And sure, maybe in his drunkest flights of fancy lately he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be the kind of guy to get a gift like Angel and care for it. Care for him.

Stupid.

He should just leave the flowers against the door.

Yeah.

But as he drops them against the door, cringing at the sweaty paw stain against the soft pink paper, the door moves inward and there he is.

Nine feet of the most gorgeous man Husk's ever been so close to, ever been lucky enough to be close to, staring at him with wide eyes and fuck, he's gotta get out of here.

"I-" he starts, but his coward voices fucks off to parts unknown, leaving only his rapid breathing and the distant sounds of the Pride ring to fill the space.

"Heya Husky," Angel says, sounded a little breathless himself.

Don't think about that.

"What's all this?" he finishes and is staring right at Husk as he tries to figure out an explanation that doesn't turn him into a pathetic creep with a hopeless crush. Fuck he's too old for this.

"Saw 'em, thought you might like' em," he settles on. True, but vague.

Coward.

"Ya got me flowers, Whiskers?" Angel says, voice a bit high, tight. His eyes are blown wide, and his mouth is open a little, like he can't get enough air in and Husk understands because he stopped breathing himself the moment the door opened.

He doesn't respond right away. Husk's been a gambling man since before Hell. Maybe this is worth gambling in, because Angel looks about a second from collapsing in his own doorway and there are only so many things that could mean.

He stands, pressing the bouquet into Angel's second set of hands, damn the fuckin' sweat and anxiety. The only way forward is though and it's the only honest way to go.

"You deserve beautiful things, sweetheart." he says, channeling a man he once was, that had the right words and tone to make someone look his way, to make them feel seen.

Those mismatched eyes go huge and glassy, and Husk is about a quarter of the way to a panic attack before he's pulled into the tightest hug he's ever experienced.

"Ya can't say things like that and expect me not ta squeeze ya, Husky," Angel murmurs into his neck, sets of arms wrapping Husk up entirely, fingers dug into his fur (he hopes he isn't too sweaty, hopes he's nice to touch).

"You deserve to hear nice things too," he whispers, and his voice is low and strained, fuckin' obviously besotted.

He feels all those lanky limbs tremble a bit (oh fuckin', Christ his knees are weak, I did that, fuck), before he decides to give into his impulse to drag his claws through that fluffy hair that's always falling into Angel's (gorgeous, incomparable, hypnotizing) eyes.

"Husk," Angel nearly whines, breathing going a bit funny at that and Husk decides to roll the dice one last time.

"Fuck it. Can I kiss you, Legs?" he says, aiming for sexy and ending up closer to desperate.

There's a shit starting grin creeping across that beautiful face when he pulls back to wait for Angel's response.

"I dunno Husky, can you?" Angel snarks and oh fuck him (literally, figuratively, any fuckin' way).

"Brat," he breathes before he pulls down to align their mouths and oh fuckin' fuck that's good.

Angel's lips are syrupy soft and sweet, tasting of vanilla and peaches and all of the good things pieces of shit like Husk shouldn't get to taste. He makes a perfect huffing whine right into Husk's mouth and he has to pull back before he loses his composure entirely.

He wants Angel, wants to show him what it's like to have someone only aim to please him, and he will, he thinks. Just not yet.

He cups the side of Angel's face, giving him one last kiss before pulling back.

Angel's eyes are half lidded and he looks like every wet dream Husk's ever had. This isn't Angel Dust, the porn star. This is Anthony, and he's fuckin' perfect.

He reaches down and tangles his claws with one of Angel's hands, rubbing a thumb along a soft cheek bone.

"Have dinner with me," he says.

"Ya wanna have dinner," Angel says, "after a kiss like that?"

"I want to do a whole lot more," he replies because he knows Angel wants to hear it and, fuck it, he wants Angel to know it. "But I want to do this right. So, dinner tomorrow?"

Angel is looking at him like he's trying to solve a very difficult riddle. It goes on long enough that he wonders if he should apologize for overstepping. Fuck knows he's not in his right mind (how could he be, standing so close to Angel like this).

But then it's like the sun breaks through and he gets one of those rare, fuckin' stunning, smiles.

"Yeah, I'll have dinner with ya, kitten," he says, breathless and playful.

"Alright then, it's a date," he says, just so that Angel knows what he's offering (so he knows it's being accepted), "Wear something nice. I ain't takin' you to any kinda dive." Because he wants that to be clear too.

He can be a gentleman, when he's fucked to be.

"Oh," Angel says and he's blushing high up on his cheeks and Husk can fucking feel the heat of it.

He raises up onto his toes to kiss one of those honeyed blushes, before bestowing another kiss to the back of the hand he's still holding.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he says before forcing himself to walk away (lest he never leave at all).

He only looks back once he's ready to turn the corner down the hallway, and sees Angel brushing his cheek where Husk's lips had been and cradling the flowers to his chest as gently as he does with Fat Nuggets.

Maybe Husk's onto something here. Maybe caring for (loving, because that's what it is whether he's ready to name it or not) Angel is something he'll be good at. Fuck knows the spider makes it easy.

If he weren't a very jaded, former overlord he'd be skipping back to his room on a fuckin' cloud.

As it is, there's just a little pep in his step, like some of the weight of the world's been lifted from his shoulders.

[lovelyiida]

making mha guys jealous~

INLCUDES: BAKUGO KATSUKI, TENYA IIDA, SHOTO TODOROKI

WARNINGS: implied gender neutral reader, sexual themes, vulgar language, sexual language

MASTERLIST

WORDS: 2.9K

BAKUGO KATSUKI

just for one single day he’d let it slide, he thought.

One fucking day.

It was currently a calm Sunday afternoon at the UA dorms, everyone at peace as they settled themselves for another long week of rigorous training and classes.

and here you fucking are, sitting next to Midoriya on the couch laughing at whatever he was showing you on his phone.

Bakugo knows that you know he despises the fucker, so why are you basically insulting him to his face at the moment?

Bakugo grumbles as he stares down at the text you sent to him nearly 30 minutes ago, "on my way up babe” he reads.

a damn liar you were

you and him were supposed to watch a move earlier before curfew hit, checking the clock he grows hotter by the second.

almost 3 hours before the 8PM curfew, that may be a lot of time to some. but on this glorious sunday, the day was gone before it even started.

your boyfriend watched as you giggled with your friend, knees huddled into your chest as your face shined bright with a smile.

why were you smiling so hard?

only he gets to see you smile that way.

and here goes this fuckwad.

round, sprinkle faced, curly-topped bastard.

Bakugo couldn't stand the looks of Midoriya sometimes, he just looked so punchable. he can't believe that he has the audacity to take you from him, knowing that the both of you were gong to be doing something at this exact time.

he may seem like this ball of sunshine to you, but he sees his true intentions.

watching the both of you even harder, he noticed how he was showing you pictures of something, eye lids pulling close together as he tries to make out the images on the phone and the words you were saying at the same time.

As midoriya scoots closer towards you. Bakugo feels a pang in his chest, it almost felt as if everything was moving in slow motion. bodies bumping into each other as his head accidentally bumps yours.

Today he thought he was gonna let it slide, he really did think that.

pulling away from each other, the both of you laugh, and thats when he saw it…

Midoriya was blushing.

"oh, piss off!" Bakugo darkly grumbled, hastily marching over to the both of you. he got madder with each step, fists growing hot and smoke fuming out.

as the both of you continued to laugh, you feel a heavy dip in the couch. you also see your friends expression, a laid back happy smile to quiver-lipped state of fear.

before you could ask whats wrong, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist and pull you in tight.

"so this is what you've been doing, conspiring with the enemy?" Bakugos deep voice mumbled into your ear, making you jump. "w-what?" you stuttered.

"you texted me almost—40 minutes ago, that you're on your way, what the fuck?" Bakugo whined. you rolled your eyes, "bakugo, I was coming until I saw Midoriya! I haven't spoken to him in a while and decided to catch up."

looking over to the man of the hour himself, he lets out a shaky nod. "yeah! w-we were talking I was just showing them some pictures and–"

"what pictures?" Bakugo looks at you for an answer.

"nothing really!" Midoriya barks, earning a scowl from Bakugo.

"I wasn't fuckin' talkin' to you dumbass!" he yelled.

"now like I asked you, what pictures?" he says, his voice scarily calm.

"they were...pictures of you and Midoriya when you were kids," you admitted, Bakugos eyes widen as his face becomes warm.

"dude, what the fuck!" his free hand fling towards his face, poorly hiding his embarrassment. "I know, I'm sorry Kachaan! but your mom found them, and then she sent them to my mom…and she sent them to me!" he explained to the blonde.

"I don't give a fuck how you got them! just delete 'em!" He rubs his brows with his free hand to try and cope with the embarrassment. Finally having enough of this torment, he pulls you off the couch with ease and hurried to to the elevator.

stepping in, he lets out a breath.

"and stop fucking calling me that!" Bakugo yells, the vision of the green haired boy nodding in fear was the last thing you saw as the doors slide shut.

You sit in the elevator awkwardly as the sounds of the the elevator moving from floor to floor fill the void.

after a long moment of awkward silence in the elevator, you both finally make it to his dorm. Shutting the door, you plop on the bed, a smug smile not fading for a second.

You watch the blonde roam around his room, cutting on the tv and picking some random action movie he wanted the both of you to watch that you’ll most likely fall asleep to. Hearing him curse to himself as he trips on his shoes on his way to turn off the lights.

Crawling into the bed, you make room for Bakugo to lay in. Bakugo crawls in and throws the blankets over you and pulls you in tight.

As the movie begins to play, you couldn’t help but you let out a chuckle, “what now?” He groans. Smiling you look at him with hooded eyes, "you're so cute when you're jealous,~" you purr.

"i wasn't jealous!" he protested, making you luagh.

Bakugo pulls you in closer into his chest, which you kindly melt into. Burring your face into his chest, you let out a sigh.

"Midoriya misses you, y'know that?", you mumbled into his broad chest. The faint smell of sweet smoke fills your nostrils.

"I don't care" he spits.

You scoff at his reply, lightly hitting him on the chest. "oh come on! just for one day, hang out with the poor guy. you're always hanging out with me!" you complained, pushing his shoulder with your fist. Bakugo lets out a light chuckle, a smile barely present shown on his lips, nuzzling into your neck, he sighs.

"you're different."

TENYA IIDA

“Hey honey, are you ready for our study session?” Iida smiles brightly towards you, chest broad and stature straight.

You're currently outside the UA dorms, sitting out on the bench enjoying the sunlight after a week of rain with your favorite book.

“Oh baby, I promised I would study with you didn’t I?” You frowned at him. Interested to hear your response, Iida tilts his head. “I don’t understand,” he says.

Closing the book you were holding, you straightened your back. “Well…I forgot to let you know that I’ll be studying with someone else this weekend, please don’t be upset!” You pleaded.

Iida softly smiled at you, “I could never be upset at you, as long as you’re still learning I don’t care who it’s with.” His strong hand reached for your face, causing you to melt into iida as he caresses your face.

And it was true, as long as you stayed successful in classes. Studying with someone else is the least of his problems.

He looked into your eyes, your deep loving eyes. The both of you chuckle at the display of affection.

That was until he heard the door open. Sharply pulling away from your face he automatically shot his hand straight into the air.

Even though the both of you are in a relationship, the both of you tried to make it seem you weren’t together. In other words, intimate moments like these are only shown in private.

“Are you ready to leave?" a calm voice asks.

“Todoroki!” You jump up with a smile. Grabbing your book bag, you throw it over your shoulder and walk towards him.

Iida didn’t care who you were studying with…

Until he found out it was Todoroki.

Recently, Iida has been seeing him eye you more than the rest. It didn’t bother him until this moment. He also overheard a particular conversation the other day as well.

“Dude, if you had to pick one girl from 1-A to marry, who would you choose?” Kirishima asked.

Currently in the locker room, changing out of their hero suits. Iida was tying his shoe laces, not really interested in the conversation.

“I’m not sure,” Todoroki said.

“Okay, who was the first person that came to mind?” Kirishima says, his sharp toothy grin beaming bright from ear to ear.

“Um…y/n”

Iida perks up at this, not turning towards them. He simply stands straight up and walks out.

Today, Iida stares at Todoroki, his lips slightly twitch as he sees him chivalrously grab your book bag. Watching the both of you leave he cursed under his breath.

“Shit.”

There’s no way Todoroki has a thing for you right?

It’s simply not possible, even though no one really knows that the both of you are together, it should be a given.

He hoped today would be the only time it would happen. However, later in the weekend, he realized that both of you got to know each other way more intensely than he thought.

When he’d wake up and go to the kitchen, he'd see both of you sitting down next to each other, eating breakfast, talking about whatever happened the day before. talking about likes and dislikes, the two of you even had secret inside jokes that no one else knew of.

It irritated him, knowing that the special bond that he had with you was slowly deteriorating over the span of the weekend.

It hurts Iida that you spent almost your whole weekend with Todoroki.

Holding on tight to the short moments that the both of you would have, whether it be sitting down on the couch talking, or in his room cuddling.

Either you'd see Todoroki or he'd send you a text (he didn’t even know that he had your number). If it was true that you were going out with him, you would quickly apologize by kissing him on the cheek and saying your goodbyes.

and that’s what happened over and over and over again.

It was safe to say that he missed you dearly, even though you don’t really take you out on dates too often. he considers the study time the both of you have as a date. Even though there are no roses or chocolates or fancy dinners, he loves the time he spends with you.

He doesn’t want it to be taken by someone else.

That following Monday, the two of you were currently in the lunchroom. Iida didn’t sit next to you, but he was close enough to where he was able to see you within eyesight. Everything was fine until he saw Todoroki with lunch tray in hand, sitting next to you and began to converse with you.

He watched how you giggled at his words, whatever the both you were talking about. It must have been very funny. He's never even seen you laugh that hard at his jokes. Swallowing his food, he let out a deep sigh.

Staring the both of you down, he noticed that Todoroki had a light pink blush on his cheeks in a soft, faint smile that only his eyes caught.

You were so busy laughing you didn’t even notice that your knees were pressed up against each other. Throwing your head back in laughter, a thick strand of hair cascades over your face.

Don’t do it he thought don’t even try it

Todoroki reached out towards your face and softly tucked your hair back behind your ear. Eyes widening, you shyly thank him with a bow.

Iida didn’t even realize that his feet were moving by the time he got close to you. Grabbing your arm with such force it shocked you, as you were dragged out of the lunch room. It even shocked him that he was doing this.

Taking you to a classroom that is empty, he shuts the door.

"Honey, what's wrong?" you asked, slightly shaken up by Iida’s performance. “I don’t want you to hang around him anymore. He obviously has feelings for you.” he spit, his tone was sharp as you could tell that he was angry.

Your eyes widen for a moment until you frown, “is that what this is about? I assure you, Todoroki has no feelings for me.”

Your arms crossed against your chest as you huff out of breath. Iida scoffs at your words. "You may not see it, but I do! I know for a fact that he has feelings for you. He even said it in the locker room the other day!” he exclaims.

You let out a light gasp at his words. After a brief moment of silence, you giggle.

this makes him frown even deeper. “I don’t understand what you’re laughing about," he says.

You laugh, "I can't believe you're jealous right now," you say. Iida gross hot at your words.

“I mean, I have every right to be, don’t I? Todoroki has taken you away from me and it seems like you don’t even notice!” he exclaims.

Playfully poking your lip out, you walk towards Iida, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you pull him into your embrace.

“y'know all of this could’ve been avoided if you just let everyone know that we’re in a relationship.”

He blushed as you spoke softly to him.

“And what happens if I do? What if you get made fun of because of me? Because they find out you’re dating such a loser…” His words trail off as you can tell that he’s visibly upset.

Your brows furrowed after hearing his words.

“you? A loser? Iida, you are the president of class 1-A at UA high school. I’m basically dating the top student in the entire school! You are definitely no loser in my book” you reassured him.

A soft smile appears on his lips as his hands slide around your waist. “you mean that?” he says.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it” you mumbled.

Pulling in close to you, your lips press against each other softly. You breathe into the kiss, your hand racing from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you push him in for a deeper kiss.

Before this steamy make-out session could go further, you hear the door slam open. Gasping, you pull yourself away from your boyfriend.

“Todoroki!”

SHOTO TODOROKI

Todoroki doesn't see himself as a jealous type. He has no reason to be jealous not to make him sound cocky, but he has a good personality. He knows he has good looks and he's just a good person. What more could a person want?

You always thought the opposite about yourself, you never really understood why Todoroki chose you out of all the other people that desperately wanted him, but you never saw how Todoroki saw you.

You are a kind, caring, witty, and so funny a lot of people would die for a person like you, but you never saw that.

Or at least you never noticed, until today.

Today in class one a you were all sparring and training your quirks to the maximum ability. Todoroki stares at you from across the classroom. She noticed you were talking to someone in particular Denki Kaminari.

And bright yellow hair, a lean muscular build, a pretty face with a golden eyes, he's known to meet people on the school as a very attractive guy, and also a known heartbreaker.

He's no good, Todoroki thought.

He stares at the both of you, he noticed the way dinky I do his bright eyes gliding over, figure ever so carefully so that he wouldn't catch you because it be caught.

Denki knew you were already in a relationship with him with Todoroki, of course. But he could really care less. He still wanted to shoot his shot and maybe give you a little test of loyalty.

"Hey, is that skirt new? It looks Hella good on you." Denki says, sly smirk plastered on his lips as he spoke to you with ease. He noticed the way you blushed his comment you awkwardly laugh it off.

"no, this is the same skirt I've been wearing since the beginning of the school year. Thanks for the compliment, though." you give him a slight bow, somewhat thankful for his compliment.

"y'know, somehow I think it would look better if it was a tad bit, shorter...or maybe even off, your legs are so pretty! I wonder how they look thrown over my shoulders" Denki purrs, letting out a dark chuckles at his own words. he fawns over the way you tightly grip your skirt with your balled fists.

"you can't talk to me that way Denki! you know that Todoroki is my boyfriend. What if he hears you?" you whispered. Denki rolls his eyes at your words. leaning into your ear, he whispers.

"and if he did? what would you do princess?" Denki whispers, earning a shiver down your spine. pulling away, he notices Todoroki's sharp colorful eyes looking straight towards him.

Denki smiles brightly and even waves at him, he watched Todoroki smack his lips at his fake act. He chuckles at this, watching Todoroki stomp his way sighs.

reaching for a strand of you hair, he sighs as it slips from his fingers. "playtimes' over, gotta go beautiful!" Denki chuckles. Walking away before Todoroki could get to him.

Soon you felt a tight embrace on your back, "Todoroki!" turning towards him, you hug him tightly.

"what did he say to you?" his voice deep and filled with anger.

"nothing different, casual Denki being a pervert" you laugh, Todoroki only holds you tighter.

Todoroki isn't a jealous person.

But this time, he was.

hey guys!! almost at 200 followers, thanks sm guys!

— lovelyiida ❤︎︎

[kitixie]

Little Girl Gone (pt 3)

Synopsis: After Tommy fixes you up, you can't help but let old feelings get in the way. Then, the unexpected happens.

word count 2.8k

information/warnings: cursing, talk of death, not too much, the LIGHTEST hint of smut activity. this chapter is very strange to me, i wrote 3 different versions of it, and this is the one that i felt would carry the story further. not proofread!!

taglist: @budugu, @ajmiila02, @filmtv2022, @cyphah, @ce1iat, @thenattitude

thank you all so so much for reading, i hope you enjoy this chapter!! please leave a comment if you had questions, critiques, anything!

As you sat in the back office of the Garrison, waiting for Thomas, you heard the wails of a man coming from the bar. You could hear every single time a punch connected here, a kick landed there, and the screams that punctuated each. If you strained your ears hard enough, you could hear small grunts and pants of air coming from another man, who you assumed to be Tommy. The beating continued for another few moments, and all you could do was listen. The cries and moans of pain eventually stopped, followed by a distinct voice. 

“Get ‘em out of my fuckin’ pub. I’ve got to go see about my girl.” 

It was Tommy, and he called you ‘his girl’ in front of everyone. 

Tommy entered the office, wiping his hands with a bar rag. You noticed the slight red tinge on the cloth, but decided to let him handle it, he was Tommy Shelby after all, surely he’d had worse than a couple of bruised knuckles. You watched him, as he cleaned his hands and then looked at you. Without speaking, he moved to his desk and opened one of the lower drawers. He pulled out a small white box, marked on the top by a small red cross. 

“C’mere, Love. Let me see that cut.” He said, motioning for you to sit on his desk while he sat in his chair. 

You walked towards him, wringing your hands together out of nervousness. Not only were you nervous because you were about to have his undivided attention, but him calling you ‘his girl’ still rang loud in your mind. You approached his desk, standing in front of where he was seated in his chair. He stood, hooking his hands under your arms, and lifted you so that your ass was directly on top of his desk; you were fairly certain you were sitting on some important legal documents. He softly grabbed your chin, and tilted your head to the side, allowing for him to get a clear view of your face. He gave a little ‘hmph’ and opened the first aid box. He pulled out a spray, an ointment, and a bandage. You realized how lucky you were to not need stitches when you saw the plain needle and thread also in the box. 

“This is going to sting Love, so just sit still for me, okay?” He spoke, turning your head so that you had to look him in the eye. 

“Okay, Tommy.” You nodded. 

He began with the spray, which stung like hell, but you were tough and you wanted to be good for him so you sat still as frozen concrete. The small smile that appeared on his face at your little grimace didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Good girl. The next thing shouldn’t sting, but still, don’t move.” He said, the deep baritone of his voice making your ears heat up. 

While Tommy was applying the ointment and bandage to your forehead, the two of you began talking. He told you a little bit about the war, as you were young and left almost as soon as he got back. He still felt guilty speaking about it to you now, in his mind you were innocent, despite how you just beat a grown man's ass into the dirt a few moments prior. He thought that you should never have to know about war, about mass casualty. He told you about the tunnels he helped dig and operate, and every once in a while when he would get choked up, you would rub your hand along his arm that was still doctoring your face. One particular moment made you realize just what he had been through. 

“We were down there, it was dark and it stunk. My God, Y/N, it stunk. People died down there and we had no way to get them out, no way to even try and get them help. Towards the end, one of my comrades, one of the few I was actually friendly with, he got hit. We never even saw it coming. He got left down there, and sometimes, I still see him…” Tommy trailed off. 

You watched him with sympathy as a single tear rolled out of his eye. Tommy had seen you cry plenty, but this was the first time you had ever even seen his eyes water. 

“Shh, it’s okay, Tom. Why don’t I tell you more about my time up North? Did you know thats where I went? Up North?” You said softly, trying to get him to come out of his head and back into the present with you. 

“I knew you went North, Y/N. I called around about you until I found someone who knew where you were. I just wanted to know you were safe.” He said. 

Tommy had looked for you? Not only looked, but he knew where you were this entire time? So much for ever truly getting away from the Shelby’s, you laughed at yourself. 

“Well then how come I never heard from you? If you knew where I was, why didn’t you ever stop in? Or were you watching me so that you’d be able to stop me from ever coming back?” You scoffed, now leaning back on your hands since he was done with your cut. 

“Of course I wanted you to come home, Y/N. I didn’t reach out because I thought you ran away from me. I didn’t want to scare you off the continent, so I settled for just knowing you were safe.” He replied, packing up his first aid box. 

You studied his expression, and savored his words in your mind. You had been holding feelings for Tommy since you were 16. You were both grown now, and although you couldn’t be certain, the things he was saying sounded an awful lot like something you’d say to someone you cared for. You decided to bite the bullet, and expose your younger self. 

“Look Thomas, we’re both grown, professional, adults right?” You said, cocking your head to the side. 

“...Right?” He answered, giving you a puzzled look. 

“Well then, I’m just going to out myself, and if you don’t like what I have to say then we’ll pretend I didn’t say it,” you paused, just trying to see if he would interrupt, he didn’t. “I have looked at you in so many ways Tommy. I’ve seen you be a brother, a friend, an enemy, but all you ever were to me, since I was sixteen years old, was Tommy. My Tommy. I have pined after you and wanted you since I was sixteen, and you never gave me the time of day. I don’t know what you mean by all of what you’ve said, especially earlier when you were poking fun at me over dinner, but I can see that you care for me Tommy. I’m not sure how thick you think these walls are, but I heard you call me ‘your girl’ earlier. You have opened up to me without reserve like I have never seen you do before Thomas. Never. I’m saying all this to say a few things. One, I didn’t say goodbye to you because I couldn’t face you. I knew that if I had to look at you, and have one last conversation, that I would hold onto that for the rest of my life, and those words would be the only ones of yours that I could ever hear in my head. Two, I want you to understand, and make no mistake, that I like you Thomas. Not just in a ‘well he’s fine, I like him way’, but in a way that makes my ears hot, that makes me want to giggle like a child and swing my arms around. I like you in a way that is bordering on love, Tommy. And three, I need to know if you feel the same way. I need to know. Even if you don’t, even if you have never looked at me like that and you never will, and all I will ever be to you is an annoying family friend, I need to know.”

You took a deep breath, unsure of what was going to come next. You felt a single tear roll down your cheek, but not from sadness, from relief. You had been holding onto these feelings for years, you never shared them with anyone, their weight was your own. You watched his face as he processed all of this. Practically watched the wheels turn in his brain. You had watched him so much, that you had his beautiful face committed to memory, forevermore trapped in your brain. This version of Tommy, the version where he hadn’t yet opened his mouth to tell you that he doesn’t like you, that he doesn’t see you like that, was perfect. He was beautiful, all soft pink lips and tortured blue eyes. You even thought the dark colors under his eyes from being sleep deprived were pretty. You took one last photo of him in your mind, before he opened his mouth. He stood from his chair, putting him above your eye level. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it shut again. He did this a few times, each time the look in his eye changing with the opening and closing of his mouth. Finally, he spoke. 

“Y/N, I am rarely left speechless, but I think you’ve caught me here, Love.” He said softly, bringing his hand up to cradle your jaw. 

He leaned his head in towards you, slower than you ever thought it possible for a human to move. Once you realized what was happening, a million thoughts ran through your head. Were you really about to kiss Thomas Shelby? Was he really about to kiss you? Here? In his office? You never imagined this would be his response to your love-fueled ramblings, but this was the best outcome you ever could’ve hoped for. You had fallen for this man many years ago, but those feelings weren’t like regular school-yard crushes. They never went away, never dwindled, never stopped or changed in any negative value. You had filled your own head with imagined words he’d said to you, convincing yourself that if he ever noticed you, just once if he could see you for the woman you truly are, that he would love you, or like you at least. But now, after you had confessed and outed and embarrassed yourself in his office, now is when he chooses to notice you? Here? While your face is bandaged up from a bar brawl that you got into? You weren’t the typical woman that Tommy Shelby went for, not now. He would go for women who were outwardly dainty, yet fierce inside. Women who carried small pocket knives in their dress pockets, and would brandish them as a ‘party trick’. Tommy Shelby did not go for women who held their own, physically. He did not go for women who stole knives off of fighting opponents, who held their composure getting fixed up in a dark back office, women who went away for five years and turned up without so much as a ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’. 

Your inner monologue quickly settled, as you realized that you had created all of those thoughts within a few milliseconds, as here stood Thomas before you, still leaning in to press his lips to yours. You waited, breath hitched, eyes slowly closing, lips slowly parting, your hand coming to rest on his waist, just waiting for the fiery moment when his lips touched yours. 

“Aye!” A crash came through the doorway. 

Tommy jerked back, taking his hand and all your thoughts with him. You stared at him with an open mouth, chest moving wildly up and down, and then turned to the man who ruined your fucking moment. Arthur Shelby. 

“What in the hell do ya’ two think your doin’? ‘Specially you, Y/N. Why the fuck are ya startin’ fights in my pub?” Arthur asked, his hands resting on his hips. 

“I didn’t start shit, Arthur. Maybe make sure you don’t let fuckin’ creeps in the door and I wouldn’t have to teach these men a thing or two!” You shouted, mad at Arthur for many reasons. 

One, how dare he come in here and start talking at you, not even asking if you’re okay? Two, He just ruined the best fucking moment you’d had in five long, miserable, dry years. 

“Oi, Arthur, you could at least ask her if she's okay,” Tommy remarked, turning his attention towards you again. 

You stared at the two brothers, feeling the slightest bit unhinged. You had yelled at Arthur when he was acting like a reasonable buisness man, of course he’d want to know why there had been a knife fight in his pub. However, would it have fuckin’ killed him to wait five more seconds before he came barging in? 

“Arthur, I’ll go over all the details tomorrow,” Tommy spoke again, “For now, lets get Y/N back to Watery Lane. I’m sure news has spread and Ada and Pol will skin me if I don’t let them see her in one piece before I take her home.” 

The three of you headed outside, loading up into the Shelby car. You sat in the back, with Tommy driving and Arthur in the passenger seat. There was no conversation made on the way back to the Shelby home, only silence. You watched as buildings passed out of the window, wondering what was going to come of you and Tommy now? There had been such a buildup, and obviously he felt some kind of way about you, right? 

Once the three of you made it to Watery Lane, it was absolutely pouring outside. A thunderstorm had come from seemingly nowhere, lighting the sky up in streaks of white-purple light every few seconds. The rain fell heavily against the roof and windows of the car, and Tommy offered you his jacket as a cover for your head. You accepted his offering, and the lot of you scurried as fast as you could into the foyer of the home. 

“Y/N, I don’t think I’ll be able to take you home tonight, Love. Are you comfortable staying here?” Tommy asked, now that Arthur had wandered off deeper into the house. 

“Of course, Tommy. It won’t be the first time I’ve slept here. But is there room for me?” You questioned, realizing that either everyone was home (for once), meaning all rooms were occupied. 

“Don’t worry about that, we’ll find you a good place to sleep.” He said, a sly smile coming across his face. 

After explaining the whole situation to Polly and Ada, you were beyond tired. It was well past midnight at this point, and you could barely hold your eyes open. Tommy seemed to take notice, and bid the two other women goodnight for the both of you. He took your hand and lead you up the stairs to his room. 

“You can borrow some of my clothes to sleep in, okay, Love? I’m going to go to the bathroom to change, just open the door when it’s safe for me to come back in.” He said, handing you a folded up shirt and pair of boxers. 

You quickly stripped off the wet clothes, hanging them to dry in his closet. You ran your fingers through your damp hair, trying your best to smooth it out from the rough night you’d had. You cracked open the door of Tommy’s room, and saw him standing in the hallway, gazing at the door. Once he snapped out of his trance, he came into his room and shut his door behind him. 

“You look good in my clothes, Y/N.” He whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. 

You felt your cheeks blush at his comment. You saw him walk behind you, and then heard the creaking of bed springs. 

“Where am I going to sleep, Thomas?” You asked, not understanding why he was getting into bed when the situation hadn’t been resolved. 

“Right ‘ere, Love,” he patted the other side of his bed, “I don’t bite, I promise.” He smiled. 

You gave him a hesitant look before climbing into his bed, suddenly feeling relaxed by his smell. His presence was all around you. You could smell him on the sheets, you could hear his breathing behind you as you lay on your side, and then, you could feel his arm around your waist as he pulled your back flush to his warm, bare chest. 

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sleep well, Love.” Tommy whispered, still holding his grip on you. 

“Goodnight, Tommy.” 

[tranquilsonata]

~On Billiards~ II aventurine x fem reader II NSFW II 18+ II modern AU II

The sounds of vehicles of penacony isn't reaching to the top of the extremely high apartment, of Aventurine's.

The city light dimmed beneath the night covering black skies- as the stars laid in the dark, abyssal, haunting surface of an endless surpassed void, up ahead the atmosphere of penacony.

The illuminating soft light, showers underneath the tempting, faint smile, of Aventurine, as his eyes are focusing on you, and only you; whom is trying to target the ball.

"Quit glarin', before i poke your eyes out of its supposed place," Your words are harsh; but he knows himself, and you too. You don't mind his affection for you; and you even perhaps liked it a bit.

"I'd love to see you try, Princess." His words came out, as a light laugh, as you finished your turns, now it's his. "Not bad, for your first time," He commented, as he, himself positioned himself.

"But, next turn; i'd love to teach you somethin'," He poked the ball with the end of his cue; knocking, and rolling three balls in, Damn, he's good, Your thoughts wander off, as you saw his shirt raised to his waist, while he's leaning to the billiard table.

"I Don't need teaching." Cold response came flying from your lips, as his eyes, now looked into yours, as he leaned back; standing up properly, towering over you.

"Oh yea,?" You could feel his hot breath, blowing against the cold air. The drinks you both had finished earlier, before the game, started to kick in, leading his close-up, caused quite a soft stir, in your tummy. Butterflies from your stomach- felt like it's crawling out from your mouth.

"Is that so? The bratty princess, needs no more teaching, eh?" His soft chuckles sends shivers crawling on the back of your spine. Fuck- why's he so fine, in this kind of situations,?

"C'mon,... it won't take much, would it?" He slowly looked at you fully; bottom to the top. Admiring your body curve, in the dress, you are wearing right now.

You can't help, but felt a slight tingle brushing against your over-sensitive skin, as you felt his thumb rubbing against your porcelain skin. Aeons, you looked so delicious tonight, he wanted to eat you now and then.

Letting yourselves get carried away, now you are leaning against the billiard table, as his body pressed on top of yours, body grinding as he positioned you both; and the cue, facing towards the target.

"I Would rather suffer hell, than this," You let out a soft gasp, under him, as he poked the cue, making other two balls falls right into. You can't help, but notice his sweet reply.

"Don't worry; if you suffered hell, i'll bring you up to heaven myself. Even, better," He purposely teases you, by whispering thy words onto your ears, while being in such close state. What a b!tch, ain't he? but what can you say? He's like a drug. Addictive, dreamy, but unhealthy. Some says he's a creep, but for you, you've been trapped under his very own fingers. You know yourselves; he's ever going to let you go out of his grasp, and you don't plan either.

"Fuck," You cursed, as he muttered under his hitching breath; "Say it louder," you hear his voice, as he doesn't let you stood back up. Instead, he whispered in a tone that makes your stomach turned upside-down,

"Please,..,?" He sounded so cute- begging for you. No, not because he wanted you. It's because he needed you. Under him, or on top of him. Aeons, he don't mind.

"Stop acting all whiny- we both knows you'll get whatcha wants all the time," The man grinned, as he grabs your slick waist, as he gently turned you, facing him. His strong arms grabbed your thigh, carrying 'em, to the surface of the billiard table.

"Aeons, you smelled so fuckin' good," He let your hands wrapped around his neck, as he let himself arouse your neck, biting it, marking it. Hurting you, but at the same time, pleasuring you, amusing you, turnin' you up.

Red bite marks, hickeys, are all over, spreaded every inch of your delicate necks, as you could feel his sly tongue; licking every spot on the sensitive areas of your neck, making soft moans escaped your plump lips, making your teeth grits each other in rhyme; each seconds, while you gasped.

"You're all soaked," He stopped, as he pushed you roughly, making you lay on the billiard table, as he grabbed your ankle with his arms, spreading them gently. Ignoring your panties, his ring finger dipped into your red, cavern, as a very tensed gasp escaped your lips.

A lingering sense of hunger is washing over your private parts, making you want more.You could feel his finger, after adjusting itself, started to plunge in- and out, slow, and steady. The pace quickens by time, making haunting, moanings ride out of you holded mouth.

"W-Wait,.. Fuck- Slow down!," You impatiently yelled, as your body trembles at his touch; you know he's just playin' and not even getting serious.

"Aventurine- Please,..!" You moaned his name, as a sticky, white, fluid, dripped from your feminity place, making his hand, all wet, while he gulped his throat, trying to contain his excitement.

"Call my name like that again, Please," He stopped, as he quickly picks you up, while then, dropping you to the couch, making your aching anal, felt so,..., painful.

"Just,.. please me right, Ave-...Ventu..-Rine,..!" Your words are stuttering, from the lack of breathe he gives you- his fingers enjoying 'emself a bit too much, overplayed.

"I love seeing you like this," He finally let go of his fingers whom was laying inside your clutching thighs, as he lowers his bottom- showing an awakened one below, as he laid you facing the ceiling.

The enormous size of him, makes you wonder- will it fits? it started to creep you out, and by reflex, you hands, started to reach for his hands.

"Shh- Do not worry, Princess; i'll do you right tonight,." He grab you reaching hands, as he gently, but steadily wrap it around his now shirtless back. You could feel his muscles, against your hands. Aeons, you looked so fragile beneath him, making him felt so, ... Protective, over you. Making him felt like he won't be able sharing you with anyone else.

Forcing him into you, you could feel the colliding against each skin, whom below is intertwining, as you could feel slowly, your eyes rolling to the back of your very-skull, atleast, You thought so.

Atfirst, the tempo he chosen is very slow, and gentle, as he wanted her to not felt it very hurtful, and to let her adjust to his size. But as times gone by, he started to neglect his self controls- as he let the young woman enjoys the delighting pleasured between the intense spasms as tranquil essences started to flow down her thigh- steamy, and translucent.

She could feel his rough thing, bulging inside of her, as he lowered his own head, giving her kisses, by the cheeks, forehead, and of course- lips. Calming her down slightly, as she almost reaches her climax,.

"I'm almost.,," You barely managed to groan those words out of your throat, as you tears up, while he suddenly stopped, before the moments.

"Be a good girl, and use your words," He still have times, to mock her. He knows, this is far way beyond her ego, especially pleading with someone. But everybody knows, he always bet what he wants. And especially, what else could you do, in situations like this, then begging him to finish yourself? Devouring you?

Words merely made it out your mouth- as gasps and spasms kept on interrupting your talkings- "Please, A- aven..tu- Rine,! d-do.. me- nggh-! right,..!" It came out worse than stutterings, as you could feel his breaths intensifies either way.

At final, he smiled, before his warm liquid filled the insides of you. You know this is very wrong- for him to came inside of you- but in situations like this.. you can't even manage to let out any vocal- non consonant alphabet, as your legs are also numb. The only thing you do, is let his muscular arms hug you, as his warm figure covers you on the couch.

"Nighty-night, Princess."

== My first languange is not english, so no comments ==

[peachsukii]

𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱

( chapter 4 - the grey )

『 ♡ pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo; pro-heroes au | friends to lovers 』

status: on-going rating: mature (16+) #✩.hollowheart

꒰ summary ꒱ A glimpse of hope appears out of nowhere, giving Bakugo and Midoriya the lead they needed to pursue your location. It proves to be much more difficult than they imagine, so they call upon some friends for a search party.

꒰ tags & warnings ꒱ mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance

꒰ Ao3 version | word count; ~20.6k as of ch.4 ꒱ Master List Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5,092k] Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4,799k] Chapter 3| Choke [3,995k] Chapter 4 | The Grey [6,756k] Chapter 5 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 6 | Tourniquet Chapter 7 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

"So...let me get this straight," Uraraka ponders, finger on her chin while staring up into her metaphorical thinking space. "She's underground?"

"Yeah, I know, it sounds fuckin' insane." Bakugo shakes his head as he crosses his arms defensively. "But we gotta try. She needs m- our help."

Midoriya nods in agreement and turns to the group. "Sorry to ask on such short notice, but thank you all for -"

"Like you have to ask!" Jiro interrupts, hands on her hips. "She's important to us, too ya know." 

Bakugo and Midoriya had called all of their friends the following morning of your text, gathering an emergency rescue group. Uraraka, Kirishima, Jiro, Mina and Todoroki dropped everything they were doing and met up at Bakugo's apartment the following night. They needed a plan, one that the agency won't catch wind of before they can execute it. It wasn't going to be easy, that much the boys knew, but the consequences did not outweigh the reward - getting you home, safe and sound, was their number one priority. 

"The agency doesn't give two shits about this, so we're takin' it into our own hands. I'm done sittin' around waitin' for a miracle." Bakugo's words are flat as he motions for the group to follow him over to the kitchen table to analyze the diagram that him and Midoriya drafted. He points to the left side to start explaining their plan.

"Ears, we'll need ya to figure out where the compound is located, see if you can hear vibrations or some shit. It's gotta be somewhere in this field. Pinky'll burn a hole to make an entry point for us. They'll keep guard while the rest of us go inside. I'm guessin' it'll have multiple floors, so we'll split into teams to cover it all. I'll take the first floor, Deku and Icyhot take the second while Cheeks and Red take the third. Get in, search for her and other hostages, get 'em out and fuck up anyone in our way." He stands back, shifting his gaze to everyone's faces. "Got it?"

"You sure you wanna go alone, Kat?" Kirishima asks, quirking his head to the side. "Not sayin' you can't handle it, but I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

Bakugo grunts, casting his eyes to the floor. "It'll be fine. We'll have our comms and stay in contact."

Midoriya knew the reason why he wanted to go alone and didn't dare vocalize it to the group. He trusted Bakugo knew what he was doing, even if it meant going head first into danger by himself. They're top heroes - intuition is one of their strongest feats and he trusts his childhood friend with his life.

"Do we know anything about the drug they're making?" Todoroki asks, directing his question at Midoriya. 

He frowns in response. "Not much, unfortunately. I tried to analyze it in the agency lab and couldn't crack anything about it, didn't have enough of a sample to properly break it down. The only thing we know is that one dosage lasts about an hour."

"Deku, come with me for a sec," Bakugo demands, stomping past Midoriya and into his bedroom away from the rest of the group. Midoriya obeys and follows him down the hall, stopping in the doorframe.

"What is it, Kacchan?" he asks, unsure of what he needed him for. Bakugo droops his shoulders in defeat, palming his face in embarrassment. 

"Izuku, I need a favor." His voice is hushed.

Midoriya walks up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder to gather his attention. 

"Anything, what is it?"

"Don't make me say it," Bakugo grumbles, shaking his head in disbelief that he was asking him for support a second time.

Midoriya knew exactly what that meant. He silently wraps his arms around Bakugo, enclosing him in a soft hug.

"We'll find her, Kacchan, I promise."

Bakugo loosely returns the embrace with one arm. 

"What if I'm not strong enough to save her again?"

Midoriya pulls back to look him in the eyes. "That's not going to happen, we have your back - all of us."

Bakugo knows his friends would support him through thick and thin, but that's not what he's questioning. The possibility of letting you slip away a second time is slowly eating away at him, afraid he'll have to experience you disappearing all over again. A quiet 'yeah' is all he can muster before composing himself.

Bakugo pats Midoriya on the head as he leaves the room.

"Let's get goin'." 

~ TIME: 8:39PM

An hour goes by as the group makes their way to Sector 42, enough time for the sunset to fade into a starry sky and help hide their presence in the night. The seven of them re-group in the same area that you'd previously disappeared in - the barren field. 

"Where did you say the portal opened?" Jiro questions.

Bakugo walks over to a set of rocks, pointing at the area. "Right there. Deku marked it a few days after it happened."

Jiro nods and kneels to the ground. She plants both her headphone jacks to the dirt and focuses for a few moments, listening for any frequencies below them. She hears it straight away, the sounds of metal clanging faintly in her ears. 

"Found it!" she exclaims, unplugging herself from the soil. "About 20 feet deep, and it's a huge facility. I can't quite tell how many floors, but it's big." 

"Knew I could count on ya. Pinky, you're up. Make a big enough hole for us to fit through," Bakugo orders, standing back with the others. 

"Roger that!" Mina gathers a coating of acid around her hands, forming makeshift armored gloves. She began to dig while oozing acid into the ground, carving out a tunnel for the group. The others stood nearby, keeping lookout for any potential sneak attacks. Bakugo can’t help but repeatedly thump his foot like an angry rabbit, his patience wearing thin as he’s forced to wait, not able to direct his anger at anything in the moment. He wanted nothing more than to blow the whole place to smithereens, scoop you up, and take you home. Uraraka notices his fidgeting and pulls him to the side.

"You wanna talk?"

"About what?" Bakugo grumbles, scrunching his brows at her in annoyance. Obviously, he didn't wanna talk about anything at all, let alone his feelings.

"Fair enough. How about I make you a promise?" she says, extending her pinky to him. "When we find her in there, you'll be the first one we call."

Bakugo stares at her, blinking a few times before sighing contently. He wraps his pinky around hers. 

"Thanks, Cheeks. I...really miss her." He lets his hand fall away from hers as she gives his shoulder a light squeeze. 

"Me too. You better make a move once she's back!" Uraraka bats at his arm playfully before skipping back to the others. Bakugo's got his arms crossed and nose to the sky, failing awfully at hiding his flustered expression. Meanwhile, Mina crawls out of the hole she's dug, covered head to toe in dirt. 

"Hah...okay," she pants, out of breath and wiping the sweat off her brows with the back of her hand. "It's wide enough for two people. It takes you to a hallway...that's all I could see. Bit of a drop, so just be careful."And with that, the plan was in motion. The five infiltrators shimmy down the hole one at a time, dropping into the hallway as quietly as possible. Bakugo and Midoriya exchange quiet glances, noting how off-putting the silence is to their entrance. 

"Eyes up, keep a low profile, and call immediately if something happens," Bakugo whispers. "And try not 'ta get hurt."

The four of them nod in agreement at him, partnering up according to plan and going their separate ways.

~ TIME: 9:18PM

Things are quiet in the compound tonight - eerily quiet. It's been days since your distress text was sent to Bakugo, leaving you yearning for escape to the outside world. Did he have a plan? Are him and Midoriya on their way? The lady who helped you steal your phone hasn't returned since that night, not since she took your phone back to the contamination room. Something felt wrong about this setup, that same gut feeling invading your body like the night of your abduction. You can't help but feel guilty about pulling the boys into potential danger, but what choice did you have? There was no possibility of you being able to escape yourself, much to your dismay. It was physically impossible without your quirk. Being helpless has been humbling, but a fucking aggravating experience.

You roll over on the cot, tracing imaginary drawings on the metallic wall as a distraction. The annoying 'beep!' of a keycard sounds from the cell door, but no footsteps follow. You're expecting a barrage of harsh commands, but they never come. Even though that's peculiar, you don't turn over to investigate - you couldn't give two shits about anything in the place any longer.

~ TIME: 9:43PM

Once they've successfully navigated their way through the compound, Uraraka rounds the corner of the steel corridor on the third floor with Kirishima at her side. She stalks slowly down the hall, taking time to examine all their surroundings. 

“Hey, up there! Looks like another cell,” Kirishima mutters, pointing over her shoulder. She silently nods in response.

The two of them approach the glass wall of the cell and carefully peer inside. Uraraka audibly gasps and she scrambles to the door, anxiously fidgeting with the electronic lock. She kicks the door as a last resort and is shocked when the cell door pops open, loosely swinging inward on its hinges. She pushes her way inside, a soft smile crosses her lips when she spots your form on the small cot. You don’t move out of habit, assuming it’s a pissed off guard coming to grab you for another round of testing.

“Found ya,” Uraraka sighs, desperately trying to hide the tears pooling in her doe eyes.

Is that…?

You flip over at the sound of her voice, bewildered at her physically standing before you. 

She’s not an illusion...right?

“Ochaco?” You compose yourself as you sit upright. “Is that…really you?”

Uraraka doesn’t hesitate any longer as she’s rushing toward you, wrapping herself around your frail form. One of her hands makes its way to hold the back of your head, trembling fingers clutching a handful of your messy locks. Her warmth engulfs you and coaxes the emotions to the surface that you previously submerged, soft hiccups bubbling in your throat. You return the hug, squeezing her tightly and shrinking in her arms. 

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m really here,” she assures, quietly stroking your hair. Kirishima comes into focus over Uraraka's shoulder.

"Hope we didn't scare ya!" he says while wiping a tear from his cheek. He strolls over to the cot and takes a seat next to you, gently patting your back. "Good to see ya!"

Uraraka pulls back and moves her hands to your shoulders. Her eyes are glassy as her lips curl into another smile, her signature dimples adorning her cheeks. You haven’t seen the sun in a months time, but seeing her euphoric gleam more than made up for it in the moment. 

“Before we talk about anything, I promised someone a small favor,” she says, nodding her head. She clicks the earpiece that adorned her helmet with one hand while thumbing away a stray tear off your chin with the other.

Promise?

“Hey, Dynamight,” she says over the intercom. The mere mention of his hero name from Uraraka is enough to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter ferociously. You can barely make out his voice through the device, but hear Bakugo’s signature twang when he replies. It makes your cheeks flush strawberry. 

She grins at you as she replies to Bakugo, "I've got a message for ya."

Your heart stops as Uraraka releases her hold on you and reaches for her helmet. Her hair ruffles from underneath when she tugs it away and shifts to place it over your head. She runs her fingers over your hand delicately, urging you to talk to him. 

She mouths ‘go ahead’ while holding the intercom button for you. Kirishima pats you twice on the shoulder for encouragement. 

How does she know?

You swallow, hard. Every nerve in your body is firing on all cylinders. There’s an endless amount of things you want to say to him, but that moment isn’t here yet. You choose to settle on a greeting, praying you don’t start bawling your eyes out. 

“Hey Katsuki,” your voice quivers as his name leaves your lips. 

You hear Bakugo suck air through his teeth over the radio communication, knowing he’s probably cycling through a million emotions over the sound of your voice, too. 

He clears his throat briefly before responding. “Hey…y’doin’ okay, Lite-Brite?” 

You can tell by the way his voice trembles that he’s doing his damndest to keep his shit together. Uraraka continues to hold the button on the helmet, motioning for you to continue talking. 

“Never better,” you joke, huffing out a laugh. “Food sucks here, though. I had to trick myself into thinking it was your cooking to even stomach it.” 

He exhales a quiet laugh. “I’ll make ya whatever you want when we get home. Now get your ass movin’ so we can get the hell outta here.” 

The signal turns off with a click. Uraraka takes the helmet from your head carefully and places it back on her own. 

“You’re gonna have to tell me everything about you two when we get home!” she exclaims, pinching your pink cheeks lovingly. “I’ve missed you - we all have.”

“It’ll be a relief to have you home,” Kirishima chimes in. “C’mon, lets get a move on.” 

He stands from the cot and extends his hand for you to take. Him and Uraraka help you to your feet as you brush yourself off and fluff your hair over your shoulders.

“Are you hurt at all?” Kirishima asks, removing his arm from your back. He takes a look at your arms - they're covered in bruises of varying sizes and colors.

“Not on the surface, no. It’s a long story,” you explain. “The condensed version is they’re formulating a quirk suppressing drug. The experiments they’re running down here are fucking horrific.”

His face morphs into shock and slowly fades into sympathy. Flashbacks of the Overhaul situation from high school come flooding back to him, wincing at the thought of another anti-quirk uprising.

“But you’re okay?” Uraraka asks a second time as she takes your hand in hers, one pinky lifted to prevent her quirk from activating.

You decide to spare her the mental agony you've been through, saving it for later. “...yeah, I think so. Just exhausted. My quirk isn't fully restored, either.”

Kirishima’s earpiece beeps twice when a muffled voice comes through. He turns his head while clicking the button to respond.

“Yeah, we’ve got her. How’s it goin’ up there?” he asks. The voice that responds faintly resembles Midoriya's. He responds once more before clicking off the communicator. "Alright, we'll head up now. Hang tight!"

“There’s one stop I’d like to make before heading upstairs,” you say, knowing you do not want to leave the prison in your current hand-me-down clothes. “It’s around the corner.”

~ TIME: 9:54PM

Once you've successfully retrieved and changed into your hero suit, along with collecting your cellphone, the three of you proceeded to the second floor to meet up with Midoriya and Todoroki. You can't help but notice how the material hangs from your frame and no longer hugs you comfortably. It's to be expected, all things considered. Even though they fed you, the stress was more than enough to cause you to lose weight and muscle strength over the course of the month. If anything, it pissed you off to know you'd have to work hard to build back your prior stamina. 

They didn't bother to wash the damn suit, either. It thankfully didn't smell, per se, but was covered in aged splatters of dirt and grime. Your phone screen was also cracked, hinting that the lady who helped you dropped it "for effect," or some other stupid excuse to inconvenience you.

Your ears perk up at the sound of voices around the corner as Uraraka, Kirishima and yourself are approaching the second floor corridor. 

"There's only 10 hostages here, that's strange," Midoriya explains aloud, presumably to Todoroki. "I thought the reports noted more than 10. Maybe I'm misremembering..." his voice tapers off as he begins mumbling to himself. Oh how you've missed the sound of his rambling, something so minuscule but endearing about him. 

The three of you come into view, catching both of the boys' attention. Midoriya's eyes whip up toward you, emeralds glistening when they widen under the pale hallway lights. He’s charges down the hall to you, tripping over his own steps from the pure adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

"Izuku!" you cry out when his body engulfs yours, gripping onto the back of his costume and squeezing the material as you buried your face into his shoulder. You can't help the tears reforming in your eyes as he spins you around, overwhelmed with joy to see you safe and sound. Before you can stop the tears, you're sobbing into the crook of his neck - a combination of relief and dread. 

"Hey...it's alright, Y/N. You're safe," he soothes. "It's okay."

Midoriya places your feet back on the floor, pulling back and cradling your face tenderly. Not surprising, he's got tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, too. He wipes some of the tears from your eyes with his gloved hand.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?" he asks, dropping your face from his hands while assessing your body for any visible harm. 

"N-no. Couple bruises, but that's about it," you stutter, a sudden tremble taking over your body. "Quirk's not..." you trail off while your vision dilates out of focus for a second. Midoriya doesn't skip a beat and catches you by the shoulders.

"Save your energy, Y/N. I'll carry you upstairs, okay?" his smile is genuine, but you can tell it's laced with anxiety. "We'll get you back to the entrance with Ashido and Jiro, they're keeping watch outside. We'll get the hostages out of here, too."

You nod, the vitality within you draining at a brutal pace. Could it be withdraw symptoms of the quirk suppressant? Is it possible to get addicted to such a drug? You're not sure what in the hell they mixed with the drug itself, it seemed to be different concoctions with each test. You're praying to any deity that would listen to be free of this hell.

Midoriya gives you a quick peck to your forehead before turning around, arms out and ready to lift you onto his back. Uraraka places a hand on your back to help you into his hold, securing your arms around his neck and legs tucked at his sides. 

"Uraraka, Kirishima, come help me gather the hostages," Todoroki notions, waving a hand to the cells at the end of the corridor. 

"Go ahead, I'll regroup with Kacchan upstairs and get her to safety," Midoriya vows with determination. The others hum in acknowledgement as the party separates.

~ TIME: 10:02PM Bakugo's stalking the area of the first floor, seeing a bunch of empty laboratories and rooms with no one in them. No one has reported any sightings of scientists, workers, or anything since they broke into the compound.

What the hell? Ears said this place was rattling with vibrations. Somethin's not right.

He's habitually calm during patrol missions, but now? His nerves are on fire, shoulders tensed from the stress in his heart. Bakugo couldn't shake his intuition, guts churning with unease at the silence of the facility. A faint scraping sound catches his attention, spinning on his heel with an arm raised. Taking careful steps, he makes his way back toward the entrance and into, what he presumed, the large concourse.

"It's about time one of you shows up," a woman's voice calls out, reverberating off the walls. Bakugo jumps back a few feet, gauntlets raised and hands prepared to fire explosions at any second.

"Who the fuck are you?" he seethes, biting the inside of his cheek to prevent his anger from overflowing. 

He hates that his gut feeling was right. ~ TIME: 10:12PM Midoriya is taking his time with you on his back, vigilantly navigating the two of you to the first floor. He's attempting to keep you as steady as possible, even though you've told him multiple times you're unharmed. Your head is tucked against the back of his shoulder.

"You holding up okay?" he asks, tilting his head back toward you.

"Yeah, thank you. I feel like if I let you go, I'll float away," you mutter, bitting your lip to prevent more tears from spilling out of your eyes. You're so fed up with crying, not wanting to be perceived as weak - a damsel in distress. Midoriya would never think you're anything less than strong, and you knew that in your heart, but still can't help feeling powerless in the moment.

He gives a reassuring squeeze to the back of your thighs. "Don't worry, no one will take you away from us ever again."

BOOM!

Midoriya halts in surprise, looking upward as the floor shook. The sound shakes you out of your self-deprecating chain of thought.

"Kacchan?! What's going on?" he asks frantically into his earpiece. There's static on the other line - no response. A few more explosions ring out above you two, increasing in succession.

"Dammit! Hang on tight," Midoriya warns, rocketing down the hallway while green energy begins crackling around his legs.  ~ TIME: 10:14PM "Talk about jumping the gun," the woman taunts Bakugo, sneering in his direction from across the lobby. "Afraid of the presence of a strong woman?"

Bakugo stood his ground, eyes fixated on the woman in the lab coat before him. Was he scared of her? Fuck no, not in the slightest. The thing that frightened him was she was alone - no one else showing their face in the facility thus far. Where was the man that took you away into the portal? Or any of the "henchmen" from that night?

"What an honor to have a top ten hero visit our lovely establishment, especially number four himself."

"Don't flatter yourself, especially 'cause you're alone," Bakugo yells back at her. He's trying to weed out the possibility of a sneak attack and rile up the woman to reveal her hidden defense. He knows she's got backup here, but where the fuck are they be hiding?

"Am I, though? I thought heroes were trained to have keener senses." 

Shadows appear on each side of her as her words hang in the room, revealing two more white cloaked men armed with dart guns. They simultaneously aim at Bakugo, the canisters reflecting the dark liquid in the chambers under the dim lighting.

Shit...! ~ TIME: 10:15PM Midoriya is approaching the open lobby with Bakugo in his sights in the main concourse. You can see over his shoulder that he's standing defensively, presuming that the enemy finally played their ace. 

"Izuku, I need you to launch me in front of Katsuki," you instruct, pointing a finger to his location.

"What?! No! I need to get you out of here," he retorts, shaking his head.

"Izuku. Please." 

Midoriya huffs, knowing you will not take no for an answer. Your heart is in the right place - he's right. You're in a weakened state, you should be rushing to the exit.

But that's not what heroes do. ~ TIME: 10:16PM "It was nice of that naïve little bitch to drag more heroes into our testing ring! Want a sample, darling?" She boasts, one hand on her hip as she points toward Bakugo with the other. "I think he'd benefit from it."

Bakugo hears a dart gun fire, but is distracted by a burst of energy shot out of a nearby corridor, blinding him momentarily with its radiance. He covers his eyes with his gauntlets, bracing himself for a surprise attack from the front as he takes a knee to the ground. He could hear the sounds of feet scuffing in front of him, along with glass hitting the ground, as if someone slid in from the sidelines. 

It wasn't an attack - no, it was a defensive shot. He squinted to sharpen the image of the shadow of whoever rushed to his defense, assuming it was Midoriya.

Time ceases its natural flow as Bakugo realizes who’s standing in front of him. He was speechless, mouth agape as he couldn't help the few stray tears fall from his awestricken eyes and roll over the leather of his mask. 

A glimmering energy shield danced in front of the two of you as you peer over your shoulder, shooting him wink and a smile.

"It's fine now, Dynamight. Why? Because I am here!"

Bakugo snorts, laughing hysterically at the absurd comment. His laugh is contagious and gets you giggling - your heart soars into the heavens hearing his laughter again, his joy curing the darkness swirling in your head temporarily. You never thought a moment like this would return to you anytime soon, and yet here you are, cackling at a dumb joke with your best friend on the damn battlefield. 

"Get up already, idiot," you chuckle, turning toward and extending a hand for him to take. His signature shit-eating grin spreads over his lips as he takes your hand with no hesitation.

"You came," you whisper, his hand lingering in your grasp.

Bakugo smiles, his eyes the gentlest you've ever seen them. "You called."

He tugs you into a hug, careful not to crush you too much with his gauntlets. He wants to melt into a puddle with the way you're clutching onto him like you can't get close enough, burrowing your face into his chest. You breathe him in, the faint scent of burnt sugar filling your senses while clawing at the back of his hero suit, not able to contain the heartache of being apart for so long - how it could have been your final days in this wretched hell.

Finally - you're reunited. You've found him, and he's found you. 

Everything's going to be...okay.

"Y/N, Kacchan - watch out!" Midoriya calls from hall, black whip vines reaching for the two of you. 

But it's too late. 

Again.

The energy barrier crackles behind you as it evaporates into the air. Everything begins to fade into a haze, that all too familiar filtered vision returning to you. Soon enough, you're slumping into Bakugo, your feet failing to keep you upright. 

"H-hey! What's wrong?!" he panics, clutching you tighter as your arms go limp, letting go of his back. "Talk to me, Y/N! What's happening?!"

That's when Bakugo peers over your shoulder and sees one of the dart capsules stuck in the back of your thigh, the injection mechanism switched on with an empty vial. There's a set of broken glass nearby, but that was only one of the darts. The second broke through the forcefield, your quirk not strong enough to parry both shots.

You can take it - you've endured it for a month. 

What's one more dose?

"Fuck! Lite-brite, hang on, I got ya," he reassures while taking a knee, lying you down as daintily as he can before ripping the dart from your thigh. You don't react - shit, you can't even feel the needle being pulled from your skin. He watches your eyes glaze over, their usual shine lightless under whatever chemicals are working their way through your system. 

"K-Ka-Kat-suki...," you whimper through broken syllables, unable to form a coherent sentence. 

Bakugo strokes your shoulders. “I’m here, I’m not leavin' ya.”

"Aww, what a lovely reunion!" the woman chimes in mockingly, regaining Bakugo's attention. The guards next to her have sheathed their guns and stand with their arms crossed.

"Color me surprised that she not only has connections to top ranked heroes, but close relationships with them? Talk about luck."

"What did you do to her?!" Bakugo's chest tightens, fury brewing hotter within himself. Midoriya makes his way over and slides to the ground beside Bakugo in a defensive stance.

"Little miss hero has been such an obedient subject, our best results thus far. Her quirk factors are strong - exactly what we were looking for."

"What did you give her?!" Midoriya repeats, eyes narrowing in her direction. 

The lady cackles to herself, proud of her accomplishments in breaking you from the inside out for her own benefit. 

"She was gullible enough to believe I was an undercover hero! I let her reach out so it would be easier to round up more test subjects - especially heroes. These civilian quirks were getting tiresome and boring to study." 

You were so fucking stupid for believing her. How could you be so naïve? The torture of this place was getting to be too much...you needed a miracle, no matter how narrow the possibility of escape looked. The desperation to be free was stronger than the ability to see through her lies. 

"She fell into our laps at the perfect time. Her psionic energy quirk has been groundbreaking for our serums, especially the hallucination and forced quirk exertion compounds. Speaking of, that one should be kicking in any minute now."

On queue, your body begins to twitch on its own, a surge of energy zapping you back to life. It's as if you're being puppeteered by an invisible handler, rising from the ground and to your feet. 

Both boys rocket to their feet, taking a guarded step back from you. Your head hangs low while your fingers flex, a glow emanating from your palms. Before they can ask any questions, your head snaps up at them, a spellbound look in your now flickering irises. 

"-the fuck?" Bakugo mutters, a horrified expression on his face. The pain is excruciating as the pressure of the energy is begging to be released in any way possible. You can't vocalize the pain through your quivering lips, the only hint at the anguish being the lone tear streaming down your face. 

"Now, subject 57 - begin sequence 23," the lady dictates, clapping her hands.

The instinct to fight becomes impossible to ignore, drowning out all of your attempts to regain control of your body. Instead, you're on auto-pilot, launching an attack toward Bakugo and Midoriya. They dodge out of your range, but you pivot lightning quick toward Midoriya, gunning to attack him.

"Hey, it's me! Izuku!" he yells as he weaves through your strikes, thinking it could wake you up from the mind control of the drug. "You know me!"

You successfully land an energetically charged punch to the right side of Midoriya's jaw, knocking him backward before kicking him in the chest and sending him skidding across the concrete. 

Bakugo approaches you from behind while you're distracted, gripping your shoulders firmly. 

"Calm down! We can work-"

You silence him by placing a hand on both his gauntlets, not bothering to turn and face him. Shockwaves of energy come bursting from your hands - his gauntlets shatter into pieces instantly, leaving his arms and face cut open from the shards. Next thing he knows, your fist is connecting to the underside of his jaw.

Bakugo grunts from the impact, gritting his teeth as he's trying to hold onto you a second time. 

"Hey! I know you're in there!"

Should we answer the door, or slam it in his face? 

…who the fuck is in my head?!

The devilish grin settling on your lips is enough to send shivers down his spine - that's not you. Something’s gotta be fucking with you in your head from the drugs. He swallows nervously, not knowing what to do to help you. You shove him away from you with an energy blast to the chest, sending him careening to the concrete like Midoriya. 

Your chest is heaving, huffing and puffing as the drug surges through every avenue of your body. You can barely form a cohesive thought, let alone understand what's happening around you. It's as if you are seeing yourself through a kaleidoscope lens - this unknown version of you  in the drivers seat. 

“What a marvelous display of success!” The woman cheers, hands clasped in front of her happily. “The ‘Overdrive’ serum is exceptional in true combat.”

Something whips at you from behind and wraps around your arms and torso. 

“Stay…still!” Midoriya shouts, pulling the black whip vines taut to keep you in place. You wiggle in its grasp, grunting and thrashing around like a caged animal. 

“Ah, fuck that hurt…Deku! Let her go,” Bakugo calls out as he’s picking himself up off the ground, wincing at the pain in his jaw. “I got her. Take care of that bitch in the coat!”

“But Kacchan, the drug-”

“Trust me, dammit! Let her go before I make you!”

Midoriya retracts black whip as it releases its hold on you. He’s about to leap toward the group of scientists when the rest of the rescue team appears with the hostages in tow, scurrying down the far hallway. He motions for them to keep going to their exit as planned. Uraraka shoots him a nod and thumbs up. 

“Huh? Who opened the cell locks?!” The lady yells, pointing to the rescue team as they disappear down the corridor to freedom. She’s about to charge after them when Midoriya stomps in her path, fists raised in preparation to fight. 

“Your fight’s with me, lady. No matter what, you’re under arrest according to the laws of hero society. You can surrender, or I can make you surrender.”

“It’s gonna take a lot more than a threat to bring us in, hero. We’re making world changing progress that's far beyond your jurisdiction.”

Midoriya winds back and jumps into action against the scientists. Meanwhile, Bakugo’s got his eyes locked on you on the far side of the room, gesturing for you to come over to him. 

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, I don’t wanna fight,” he starts, taking cautious steps in your direction to close the gap between you two. “I wanna help, Lite-brite. I know you're in there.” 

You can't trust him, he's a monster and you're his prey. He's only here to hurt you, to keep you down. Don't let him near us...don't let him near us!

He stops in his tracks when you visibly recoil, clutching your head in your hands with a blood curdling scream. Midoriya whips his head around to the sound, catching him off guard and causing him to take a hit from one of the men. He shakes it off, trusting Bakugo with your well being instead of rushing to your side. 

Bakugo sprints to you, wrapping his blood stained arms around you with no hesitation. You flail, smacking at his arms with open palms, weakened energy pouring out of you with each hit.

Hurt...kill him. Take the monster down.

"Let go of me, Katsuki!" you shriek out of nowhere, hopelessly trying to shove him away from you. 

"No! I'm never letting you go again!" he shouts back, squeezing you tighter. The bursts of energy from your palms are kicking up in strength again as you continue to swat at his body, red marks forming on his exposed skin. 

"I'm not fuckin' losing you a second goddamn time!" 

He can tell that you're spiraling, that this serum is driving you mad inside your head. If only he could go into your mind and pluck out those vicious thoughts, free you of the agony and take some of that weight onto his shoulders.

If you don't take care of him, I'll make you.

"I don't want to hurt you, I can't control this!" You're sobbing, the looming thoughts forcing you to wallow in the pain. "Please...!"

Bakugo grapples the back of your suit, the neoprene material bunched in his shaky hands, locking in his decision to stay put. "I can take it...don't you dare let me go!"

Something in his declaration to stay by your side snaps you back to reality, enough to control the output of your quirk for a split second, stopping the outbursts of energy. The clouds in your eyes start to disperse, clearing the fog from your sight.

You can fight me all you want. I'll always be part of you, waiting in the shadows for you to break again. 

No words leave you as tears gush from your swollen eyes, bawling against Bakugo's chest in defeat. He loosens his grip to pull you away from him, forcibly making eye contact with you. His heart sinks at the sight of your bloodshot stare, but he can see that you're eyes are not as nebulous as before, energy no longer dancing around your pupils. Maybe the drug is wearing off? It's hasn't been an hour, but it's possible this version has a shorter fuse than the normal quirk suppressant.

"No need to cry," he comforts, thumbing away the tears dribbling off your chin. "Everythin's fine. See? Just a few scratches." He points to his biceps and cheek, tiny cuts from the shards of his gauntlets explosively bursting apart. 

That well-known lightheadedness from past experiments returns tenfold, your body's energy depleted to nothing. Bakugo must see the exhaustion in your body language as he helps you settle onto the ground. He takes the mask off his face, untying the back of it. 

"Sit back for a sec."

Bakugo pushes the hair out of your face and runs his hand into your hairline, brushing it back as he stretches the leather of the mask over your forehead. He ties a small knot at the back and tucks it under the remainder of your hair, creating a makeshift headband. Once he's satisfied with it, he taps the earpiece to call into the rescue team.

"Need someone to call the agency, get the cops here an' round up these assholes."

Kirishima responds instantly. "You wanna call the agency? I thought-"

Bakugo cuts him off. "Change'a plans. Get on it, Red! And have Cheeks come back down, need her to lift Lite-brite outta here." He huffs before tapping the earpiece a second time to disconnect the line and casts his eyes toward Midoriya. Two of the scientists are knocked unconscious, the only person left being the witch that started it all.

Bakugo's attention is drawn back to you at the sound of your sniffling. Your tears have dried on your cheeks, faint stains reflecting in the light. He knows you're safe now, no longer lashing out uncontrollably from the fucked up substance in your system. You look like you could collapse and pass out at any moment, but are fighting the urge to let yourself rest.

"Hey," he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear. You turn, head tilted to the side like it's too heavy for your neck to hold, blinking lazily at him.

Even in this disheveled state, Bakugo is aching to kiss you. He knows it's not the right time, not even close to the perfect moment, but the desire burning a hole in his chest is difficult to ignore. Fuck - he didn't even know if he was ever going to see you again outside of his dreams, and here you are.  ~ TIME: 10:38PM "You think you have me cornered, don't you?" the lady jeers at Midoriya. "A revolution is upon us - my revolution. My masterpiece is ready."

Without warning, she pulls a dart gun out of her lab coat, positioning it against her jugular vein. The sounds of her wicked snickering fill the concourse as the dart gun fires, injecting an unknown toxic into her bloodstream.

"Kacchan!" Midoriya cries out, catching Bakugo's attention. "We've got a problem!"

The dart gun clatters to the ground as the scientist convulses, her limbs spasming unnaturally as she wails in pain. She composes herself after a moment, raising her gaze from the floor to Midoriya, her eyes aflame with energy pulsing out of them.

Holy shit. 

She's got your quirk.

"Not so tough now, boys! Now come on, let's dance!"

⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i'm so, sooooo sorry for the delay on this chapter! hopefully it being the longest in the series makes up for it! i honestly just kept writing, deleting, writing, deleting for over a month. but i'm content with this. enjoy the ride! ⇢  tag list! @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr @musicbecky @bakubae-by @slayfics @maddietries

[txjisbabydoll]

first post! woo! requests are open 🫵 (if this is bad no it isn't, I haven't written in a year)

MINORS DNI. thanks!

Toji Fushiguro x GN!reader

warnings: petnames (baby, pretty, tiny, dolly), smut (duh), hair pulling, breeding kink(!!), no aftercare cause I didn't write that far LMAO. I think that's it!

"Dolly... c'mere. Lemme see you." Toji's voice cuts through the quiet of your apartment. You look up from your phone, eyebrows raised slightly, but you stand anyway.

He wastes no time pulling you into his lap, hands finding their home on your hips, fingertips ghosting under your shirt. "Been thinkin' about you all day, y'know. Just knew I'd have a pretty little thing sittin' at home, waitin' for me to split 'em open."

The words send heat straight down your spine, pleasantly clouding your head with fog. Fog that Toji's hands add to as they slide under your shorts. He grabs at your ass while the other hand teases at your hole, eyes searching your face when you part your lips to whine.

You draw his name out when he bullies two fingers into you at once, drooping your head to the crook of his neck. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his T-shirt, and it makes him coo.

"Poor baby... I got ya, pretty. I gotcha." He's easing you onto his cock before you know it, effectively taking your orgasm away from you. He swallows your whines in a kiss, twisting his hand into your hair. "Stay fuckin' still, dolly, shit."

He's very aware of your nails dragging down his arms, and you're very aware of just how fucking big he is.

"Tooooji, oh my god! Fuck." You think he tells you that he knows, and to just take it, but you can't hear past the white noise he's filled your brain with.

He bares his teeth and throws his head back when he cums, holding you all the way down on his cock, murmuring that you have to take this, it has to take, and all you can do is nod.

[pfhwrittes]

prompt: gaz and ghost on overwatch, watching soap talk to their contact on the ground, and roasting him alive on comms. just stepping on his neck nonstop. soap can hear them but can't react because the contact spooks easy -391780

@391780 i LOVED this prompt. nothing makes me happier than Ghost and Gaz banter (there's so much of it in the drafts for misery and festivals). hopefully this little blurb satisfies the prompt!

-- “Permission to speak freely, sir?” 

Soap’s earpiece crackles as Gaz opens the comms, distracting him for a second from the twitchy man in front of him. 

“Go ahead, sergeant.” Ghost rumbles.

“You ever realise that Soap stands with his hip cocked?” Soap can hear the shit eating grin in Gaz’s voice. The sleekit wee bastard. 

“Hm. Looks like a teapot.”

“A teapot, sir?”

“Like the nursery rhyme.” 

The comm crackles again as it cuts off Garrick’s stifled chuckle. 

Soap shifts his stance, subtly redistributing his weight to rest evenly and bringing his hands up to loop his thumbs into the shoulder straps of his vest. There, now he can’t be called a fuckin’ teapot. The informant flicks his eyes over Soap warily. 

The comm clicks on again.

“Think he heard us, sergeant?” Ghost asks, amusement lacing his tone.

“Can’t be sure sir, it appears Cap has taken Soap’s place temporarily.” Gaz’s voice wobbles with repressed laughter. 

“Can’t see it myself, Garrick.”

“Why’s that, sir?” 

“Doubt Price would dare show ‘is face if he had a mop like that on his head.” Ghost deadpans. Soap feels his eye twitch as Gaz chokes back another burst of laughter. Cheeky fuckin’ cunts. 

“Looks -” Gaz cuts off the comm before flicking it back on, “looks like he lost a fight with a pair of clippers -” the comm cuts off again and Soap swears he can hear Gaz wheezing somewhere above him. 

Soap moves one of his hands to scratch at the back of his helmet with his middle finger, aware of the way the informant tracks his movements. If those pair of wallopers blow this op, Soap swears to himself that he’ll dye every single one of Ghost’s balaclavas pink and sew a Saltire on the front of Gaz’s cap in place of the Union Jack. 

Abruptly the tone on the comms change. 

“Garrick.” Ghost snaps, the teasing lilt to the banter is gone and in its place is the hard tone Soap’s heard before when things are about to get dicey. 

“I see ‘em.” 

“Keep them in your sights, I don’t like the look of -” whatever Ghost doesn’t like the look of gets cut off as an explosion sends a shockwave of sound and dust over Soap, forcing him to cover his head from flying debris. 

- 

Much later when the three of them are getting chewed out by Price for “missing a whole fucking truckload of insurgents because you three were too busy dicking around on the bloody comms” Soap decides that his little sewing project isn’t nearly enough in the way of payback.

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

corrupt!Toji

A/N: this is obviously a bit dark seeing as that's who Toji is. Can only imagine what corrupt!Toji would get into..

corrupt!Toji is whole different species. Not really a vessel per se.. The curse wasn't strong enough to posses him; Toji completely consumed the entity. But clearly it didn't agree with him. Fuckin guy was more abrasive and aggressive than ever. "Toji, stop! Let em go. He didn't mean it that way and you know it!" You yank at Toji, who's currently got his son pinned to a wall outside the school. He looks at you, large hand locked round Megumi's throat squeezin as he dangles him a few feet from the ground. "Yeah? Is that what I know? Think I only know what I can see.. And what I saw was this lil spit fucks hands wrap round your waist. My waist." Toji turns back to Megumi, who's gasping for air and clawing at his hold. "Now in my opinon, sounds like someone has a fuckin death wish, but.. I dont think y/n would ever forgive me if I killed my own spawn." The way he sneers the last word sends shivers up your spine. Toji slams his fist into Megumi's gut before tossin him to the ground like a rag. "So a warning will have ta suffice: hands off on what belongs to me or.. Die." Poor boy's left gasping in the dirt, clutching his stomache as Toji drags you away by your arm. "And you.. I think you love pissin me off. Gonna teach you some fuckin manners, y/n."

corrupt!Toji only loves one thing as much as he loves you: money. He'll do anything for it but ofcourse usually just sticks to assassination. And Toji doesn't care what you think about his line of work. "How long will you be gone this time?" In nothing but a silk robe, hands on your hips, watchin him pack to leave on yet another murderous voyage. "Don't fuckin start, woman." Doesn't even bother lookin up from his duffel as he growls at you. "I'm not startin anything. Just wanna know when you'll be done slicing up innocent civilians." That makes your deranged ass man toss his head back, laughing way too fuckin hard. "I don't kill civilians, y/n. Where's the fuckin fun in that?" Your eyes narrow at his back. "You're a fuckin monster." He stands before he's nose to nose with you in half a second. "And yet.. You don't leave." He makes you so nervous yet arousal starts to creep through, pussy clenchin once at the way his eyes trail from yours down your body slowly. "Can't leave is more like it. Think we both know you'd never let that happen." Toji kneels, lifting your leg to his shoulder. You fist at his hair, robe falling open as he grips your waist to hold you steady and hums in agreement at your words. "Tomato, tomato." He says before suckin your clit between his lips.

corrupt!Toji is a master manipulator that takes pride in your submission. Loves to trick you into thinkin you've wronged him so he can put you in your place: Waking up from your nap startled from a pressure over mouth; a muscled arm scoops you up and turns you on your belly, unyielding pecs plastered against your back and holding you to the bed. He's naked and hard against you, precum formin a wet spot on the back of your skimpy satin black nightgown. "You think I forgot what you did? What you let him do to you?" Toji"s snarl at your ear is just as disorienting as his misdirected anger. He's been gone on his trip for almost two weeks and you had no idea he'd be back today. Definitely didn't know Toji would come home upset. It's you who should be angry at how he's behaving but apologies bubble from your lips instead, even before you know what's going on. "Shut the fuck up. Not gonna let you play that innocent shit with me this time." Toji's hand leaves your mouth to reach around and squeeze your throat. Cock twitchin against your ass listening to you pant and whine. "Fuckin let him hug you y/n. What's next? Gonna let my son fuck you? Hm?" You shake your head no, scratching at his grip and gasping for air. "Lying fuckin slut. Know you want him. And there's no way he or any of those weaklings could ever resist you. So how bout this?" Toji's free hand slides over your ass, slapping each cheek before dipping lower to play in your slit. Your moist, and more importantly.. Hating yourself for starting to get wet. "I'm gonna fuck you in front of my son. Show him that he'll never get a taste of the best pussy that's ever gifted this wretched world. Then maybe I'll think about forgiving you." He leans back, using his grip on your throat to toss you on your back. It's then your able look upside down at see Megumi, bruised and gagged, tied to a chair. He stares at you, completely incapacitated. You know instantly he won't be able to esape himself. "Toji! Y-you can't! He's your-" Smack! Your head snaps to the side from the impact of his slap, tears welling up in your y/e/c eyes. Toji grabs your jaw and forces you to look back at him. "I can do whatever I fuckin want. You really got some nerve." He stands up and walks to the foot of the bed, snatching you up by your hair. Points his dick at your red cheek as he strokes nice and slow. Megumi weakly struggles to break free, wants to save you but feels so helpless. "Tell me your sorry- mmmfuck.. And I might not kill your little friend." "I'm sorry Toji! So sorry. Shouldn't have l-let anyone touch me.. Know better.." Toji speeds up his short firm strokes, moaning and pullin you closer to his cock. "And why is that?" "Cause I'm yours. Tojis p-property." "Good giiiirl!" Toji groans, slipping the head of his dick between your lips and cumming with a grunt of your name. Thinks he might've cum more than usual when he notices how hard Megumi is. Wonders if you notice. Then again, how could you? You're too busy pressin your thighs together, clit throbbing as he spurts across your tongue twice. Then Toji"s pullin out, huffin as he finishes nuttin on your face. Three strong blasts that shower you in thick white drops. Both men groan at the sight, the latter leaning to kiss and lick at your lips. Megumi is so torn: wants to save you from your vile boyfriend but so entranced with your absolute submission. You on the other hand are burning with shame, cum dripping from your face to the sheets. Not at all surprised when Toji's nasty ass sucks some up and spits into your mouth. "Hold it. Lemme see.. Good girl. Now, before I fuck you.. Go give your BFF a nice sweet kiss." He's pure evil, smiling sinisterly when you get up without a word and make your way to Megumi. He's lookin up at you with wide eyes, swallowing hard as his gaze drops to you cum slicked mouth. "Sorry, Gumi." You whisper, holding at his shoulders as you bend to press your lips to his gagged mouth.

[hunterbunter3000]

I know damn well gaz is a bottom you can't change my mind 😤

Like dis man makes the beautiful noises when sweetheart fucks him stupid with her fingers or a strap (I know sweetheart got a strap somewhere in her damn room) and he's a babbling mess like crying and moaning loud so sometimes sweetheart gotta use a gag or her fingers so no one hears (but the boys do hear em and they are really jealous and horny) *BANGS TABLE* AND WHEN he rides sweethearts strap this man HHHNNGGG this man will ride sweethearts strap until he collapses.

But sweetheart being sweetheart she does aftercare like running a hot bubble bath for gaz and picks him up and puts his body in and while gaz is in the bath sweetheart is cleaning the sheets and adding fluffly blanket for gaz and when gaz is done sweetheart picks him up and wraps him up in a fluffy towel and dries him up (because I know damn well gaz ain't gonna be walking for a bit)

And let's him wear her clothes that are pretty big on him like AHHHHH cuddles man this man will cling on to sweetheart while she's combing his wet hair HNNGGG and has falls asleep basking in sweethearts warmth.

(Why did I write this much?)

Soap definitely gonna be jelly 🤭

I'm going fuckin insane.

DO YOU WANT ME TO PASS OUT? IS THAT IT??

Good Boy.°

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick × 141!Sweetheart

[Gaz × black!ofc!reader]

Cw.: soft!femdom, overstimulation, dumbification, pegging, cock ring vibrator, handjobs, mommy kink, begging kink (is that a thing? Probably is idk 💀) mentions of scars, horrible attempt at smut, sub!Gaz, Lil bit of edging, praise + degradation, aftercare, cutie cutesy fluff, there's a surprise in here for Sweetheart 🤭 it'll be in pink, jealous ass brats teammates, listening to people getting it on (idk what that's called)

Reader accessories.: Black!fem!reader, she/her pronouns, detailed reader, reader is 6'5, reader is fully clothed fucking Gaz, reader has tattoos and battle scars, reader has long nails, reader has some big ass hands

Word count.: Long. AGAIN. (IDK HOW TO DO A WORD COUNT DAMMIT HELP)

This ain't the best thing 💀💀 but I had to GET THIS OUT IT WAS SITTING TOO LONG IN MY DRAFTS AND THIS ASK IS TOO GOOD AND W O W I RAMBLED ON FOR SO LONG BECAUSE IM NOT GOOD AT WRITING SMUT YET GIMME A BREAK OKAY IM TRYING MY BEST 😭 and i made this LATE like 5 am so i was shit tired and just rambled lol also tried out a new layout on how to do headcanons and drabbles... may like it may not idk ANYWAY ENJOY

18+ MDNI

Minors do not interact with this. Thank you BYE.

This man-- HEHEUAHE YOU'RE SO RIGHT ABOUT GAZ

He's such a bottom for Sweetheart. Like in general

He would always be so shy around her; his chin close to his chest, looking up at her with big eyes and hot ears

And Sweetheart would always eat that SHIT UP

She always has a burning, feral feeling inside her when he acts shy around her. Like she either needs to take care of him or fuck him senseless

And when he just gives into her, gulping before whimpering out a quiet "Yes ma'am." When she gives out an aggressive order.

SHUT THE FUCK UPPPPPP

Sweetheart wants to take him where he stands EVERY 👏TIME 👏

Just jerking him off and seeing him whine and cry- AAAAAAAAA

Sweetheart should NOT think of him that way. That's her teammate. Her friend.

...which she wouldn't mind fucking and breaking his back. And she had enough of this overwhelming feeling everytime she talks to him. She thought he was shy because he was intimidated by her, or maybe because of the height difference (She's five and a half inches taller than him) or that he has a burning feeling inside of him too. Hell maybe it was all three, so she asks him.

It was all three 💀

But his feeling was to be fucked by Sweetheart. Not the other way around.

Sweetheart was in HEAVEEENNNNN

So we're back to the now, and it's been two hours, they're in her room; Gaz naked, bouncing on Sweetheart's pink thick strap, while she's controlling his cute cock ring vibrator. His legs wrapped around her hips, ass slapping against her thighs.

They're both sweaty, sticky, covered in cum and tired. But neither of them can stop. Gaz feels another orgasm building up, and he picks up his speed, wanting to reach it so badly that he cries. His moans get louder, more desperate.

"Fuck! Yes yes yes!" He screamed out, tears flowing out just like the cum spurting on Sweetheart's tummy. She breathes out, hands smoothing his hips. "There we go, Gaz. Good boy. Such a good cock slut for mommy." His thighs and hands shake, mouth spewing broken moans and whines. "More..." He starts to grind on the strap, as deep as it can go inside him. "M-more... please.. I wanna cum again-- wan' cum.. Mommy please!"

His babbles make Sweetheart laugh. "Your legs are probably so tired, baby. You want me to take over now?" He shivers when her pointed nails circle over his sensitive nipples. He leans down to her chest, hips still grinding on the toy and prodding at his prostate. “Yes… yes, please. Wanna be fucked by you. Ruin me, mommy…”

GOD FUCKING DAMMIT

Sweetheart feels her heartbeat quicken. The fire in her belly was getting hotter, too hot to control. She growls, manhandling Gaz off the toy to turn him around. She sits up, hands cupping his thighs as she raises her hips to slide back in. Gaz let’s out a long whine as he’s finally full again. Sweetheart doesn’t speak. Carnal desire took over her, her hips ramming into his ass as he screams out. Sweetheart rubs his bottom lip with her thumb before she inserts it in his drooling mouth. “You’re being too loud, hun. Don’t want the others to hear how much of a slut you are on my cock. Now suck on it.”

He sucks hard on her thumb, tongue swirling the pad. Her teeth grazing his neck, lips sucking on his sweaty skin. He’s trying to be quiet, but her thrusts are making him forget any sense he had left. Fuck and he’s almost about to cum, whines getting higher and eyes rolling back. Gaz gasps when Sweets slows down. “Nah-uh, not yet.” She coos. “I need you to beg for it, baby. Beg mommy to cum.” AAAAAAAAAAAA

She starts to grind in his g-spot and her other thumb rubbed his urethra. Babes he was seeing stars.

He can’t really speak as her thumb is still in his mouth, but he rambles on anyway, whimpering please over and over with his hoarse voice. (I have a feeling that Garrick’s voice goes up when he’s overstimulated) “Fuck, you’re so cute. Go ahead and cum for me, Gaz.” Once she picked up her pace and jerked him off, OH he saw the gate to heaven, had tea with an angel and got sent back to earth💀

They breathe heavily. He can't feel his legs at all, and he can't form an actual thought. Sweetheart puts her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "Breathe deep, Gaz. Breathe... There you go, that's my baby boy." They both sigh and she kisses his temple. "You did such a good job, Gaz. Such a good boy for me."

AND THE AFTER CARE OMFGGG (YK THATS ON POINT)

She would hold him close to her chest, their breathing finally in sync as Gaz calms down from his orgasm. He's still moaning and mewling, feeling the pleasure in his veins. Sweetheart looks down at him and sighs with a smile. "You okay baby?" She asks him.

He's still kinda out of it, but her voice brings him back to reality. "Mhgm... M'good. M'so good, mommy..." She giggles at his drunken words and kisses his neck. "That's good to hear. I'm gonna pull it out, okay?" He nods his head. She grips under his knees and slowly pulls him up, Gaz whimpering at the emptiness of his puckering hole. She pecks his cheek and lays him down. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

He breathes out, feeling sticky and hot. He groans out and puts his hands over his eyes. He can NOT believe that just happened. HE JUST FUCKED HIMSELF NUMB?? AND SWEETHEART FUCKED HIM DUMB?? AND SHE'S GOOD AT IT??? How in the hell can he do this but not TELL HER HOW HE FEELS OMFG

She comes back from the bathroom in a white towel. Gaz chokes, seeing the black intricate designs on her arms, connecting to the ones on her collarbone and traveling to her back. He can see black ink on her ankles and some poking out on her hips. She chuckles, "You've never seen my other tattoos, have you?" He shakes his head slowly, like he's in a trance. "I've only... Seen your womb one..." Sweetheart snorts, walking towards him. "Well, you're about to see a bit more."

She scoops him up in her arms, bridal style. Gaz gasps and instinctively wraps his arms around Sweetheart's neck, now secure and being delivered to the bathroom.

Gaz sees that there's a bubble bath ready for the both of them. She sets him down inside, the warm water helping his aching limbs. He sees her towel fly off, looks up, but her fingers snap, and his head immediately whips to the bubbles. "Good boy." She says. (Gaz's mind:FFFUUUUU--)

She slips in behind him and sighs of relief. Gaz clears his throat. "This is uh... it's a pretty tight fit." His shoulder up and caved with his legs half way bent. "Do you want me to get out?" Sweetheart asks. "No!" She chuckles at his quick answer. She leans in, making him gasp as he can feel her hard nipples on his back. And... something else. Metal? Her arms wrap around him while her head rests on his shoulder. "Good. Don't wanna get out yet." She mumbles.

God-- Gaz feels so small with her. Like a shy little man and a giant Amazonian goddess. He can feel his cheeks get hot. Taking one of her hands in his, he lifts it up, eyeing her sleeve tattoo like a kid in an aquarium. He studies it while she watches him. "Y'like it?" She mumbles in his ear that sends shivers down his spine. He nods, his other hand tracing the patterns. "Where did you get it done?" He asks in a low tone, like they're both in a secret place that they're not supposed to be in.

"Back at home. For my 20th birthday. I got this whole piece done for my 20th, actually." She raises her other arm up to show him, his hands going over the different textured skin. "Did you... get tattoos to cover these scars?" When he asked that question, it's like all the sound in the world stopped. He felt like coal dropped in his stomach when she was silent. He was going to speak, to apologize, but she interlocked her hands with his. "I did. There are many tattoos on my body because I didn't want to see my mistakes anymore. So I covered them up."

He breathes out. Thank God she's not mad. But just to be sure-- "And don't you dare apologize." She smiles on his skin, nibbling his neck. He snickers, feeling her kisses all over.

"Wow." She chortles, "Never noticed how small your hands are to mine." He hums, seeing the difference too. (It shouldn't turn him on but wow there he is turned on)

She opens her hands and so does he. The size difference goes crazy 💀 Sweetheart's hand is an inch bigger than his. She laughs, now leaning back on the tub. "You're so small."

Gaz scoffs, turning to her with a frown. "I am not small! You're just really--"

His eyes fall to her chest. He didn't mean to, it just happened. But he looks at her left breast.

And he sees it.

And he sees it.

"You... you have a nipple piercing."

"Huh?" Sweetheart looks down. "Oh shit, I forgot I had that on. But yeah, I do. Just the one, though. Hurt like a bitch, so I just stopped at this." She explains. Gaz can feel him getting hard again. The sparkly, rose gold heart ring shield around her dark nipple was fucking calling out to him.

He frowns. "But I never... see it." Sweetheart's eyes widen a bit but turns to amusement. "You lookin' at my tits often, Gaz?" She says. Gaz snaps his head up, like he's seen a ghost. She leans in, their lips almost touching. She coos, eyes dangerously low and lips grinning. "Didn't know you were the perverted type."

Someone kill him now. He shakes his head violently. "Oh god no! No no no no I was just--" Now he was stammering, trying to find the right words to say to not sound like a creep. But Sweetheart bellows.

"Chill, baby! I was just messin' with ya." She winks at him, and Gaz just wants to curl up in a ball. "But I remove it when I go out so I can wear a bra. Sometimes, I honestly forget about it. 'Specially when we're on a mission or I'm training. And I don't think piercings are allowed on base... so I dont really wear it alot." Gaz nods. That makes alot of sense. She covers her mouth and looks away, mumbling something under her breath.

"And I also don't want Krueger startin' nothin'..." He frowns. "Huh?" Sweetheart looks at him and waves him off. "Nothin' , nothin'."

She huffs, staring at Gaz for what felt like hours. But he didn't move, as he stared right back. Heart beating quick for her next move.

Her hand moves under her left breast and lifts it with a smug grin. "Wanna take a closer look?"

That triggered another three rounds of milking and nipple sucking 💀 (which Sweetheart is now HEAVILY into)

After all that, they both cleaned themselves, and Sweetheart dried him off (because he couldn't feel his legs AGAIN) she carried him and plopped him on her desk chair. He huffs out a laugh. "I feel like a princess, being carried and pampered like this." BECAUSE YOU ARE BABY

She snorts and rolls her eyes, putting on some clothes and gathering the bed sheets. "Wear whatever I have. There's some men's underwear in the bottom drawer." She explains. Gaz quirks an eyebrow. "Why do you have men's underwear?" She shrugs, hands full with bed sheets and a comforter. "For emergencies." And then walks out to the washing machine.

Gaz chuckles, shaking his head as he opens her drawers. Some with bras, some with her underwear (it's in the second drawer, he remembers) and he found one with shirts. He grabs a cream colored sweater and unfolds it, seeing how big it actually is. "Jesus... I'll surely act like a 'girl after doing the deed' with this on." He contemplates if he wants to wear it. (He does)

He puts on some black men's underwear, which surprisingly fits him (bit tight around his thighs) he throws the sweater on and looks in her floor mirror. The sweater covers his underwear completely, and the sleeves are big and long, covering most of his fingers. The collar is wide, showing off his branded neck with many hickies. Sweetheart's hickies. He purses his lips.

"Yeah, I definitely looked like I've been fucked."

"Because you have been, silly."

He turns to the door and sees Sweetheart with new sheets and comforters. Gaz blinks. "That was fast." Sweetheart hums, closing the door with her hip. "I found new sheets in the storage. I'll clean the other ones tomorrow. Right now, I'm tired as shit." She makes the bed with ease as Gaz stands there, trying not to fall with his shaky legs. (Yall he was WORKED in that bath tub)

She dusts off her hands as her head turns to Gaz. She freezes, eyeing him up and down. Gaz feels like a piece of meat under her hungry eyes. He doesn't mind being eaten by her 🤭🤭

She smirks, plopping down on the bed. "I like my clothes on ya."

He grins, arms wide out to show how big the sweater is on him. "I'm like a smurf compared to you." He jokes. Sweetheart laughs, collecting him with her arms circling his waist and his hands rest on her broad shoulders. "But it makes ya look real cute, Gaz." She says with another smirk. (Jeez, she's on one today-- freaking teasing and bold as shit)

He could feel his cheeks getting hot. "Kyle." He murmurs, sitting on her thigh. He has a tingly feeling when he bends his legs, but nothing he can't handle. She looks at him with confused eyes.

"You took my ability to walk, so I think you could also call me by my actual name." He explains. She smiles at him, making his heart speed up. That smile could stop wars.

"Alright then, Kyle." Once she said that, her eyes sparkled. "Kyle." She hums, kissing his neck. "Kyle... Mister Kyle Garrick!" She covers him in quick kisses, making him giggle and filled with warmth. She laughs and holds him tight when she flops on the clean bed. "Kyle. I love saying your name." She whispers, fingers tracing his face. God DAMN she has his heart. His everything. Just- take him. Take all of him. So he can end this longing.

"And I--" Gaz reaches up to her face, thumb tracing her bottom lip.

Say it.

"I love..." His eyes flicker to hers, dark irises studying each other.

Say it. Fucking say it.

I love you. I love you and I want to be yours.

Say. It.

"Love... what you did... for me today. Thank you." ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW

She giggles, pulling him into her more, his head against her chest. "Of course, baby. It was an absolute pleasure... pleasuring you." They both quietly laugh, the warm relaxation molding them together. Her nails rake the nape of his neck, sending shivers down Kyle's spine. He sighs, wrapping his arms around her chest and leg around her waist. "Goodnight, mommy."

Sweetheart croons, hand rubbing his back. "Goodnight, Kyle." She mumbles into his hair as she kisses it.

"My good boy."

Lil Bonus.!

When I tell you... that EVERYONE. WAS P I S S E D. Except for Price, because his room is pretty far, so he can't hear all the way to Sweetheart's room. BUT THE REST OF THEM??? WTF they wanted to strangle Gaz istg

Hearing the bed creak and Gaz's loud, whiny moans thru the walls was PAIN. And hearing Sweetheart's low grunts and praises to him? Torture. Bitch it was torture. And you know DAMN WELL that Soap, Roach, and Horangi jerked off from hearing them. Ghost, König, and Alex were too fucking pissed to do anything, even sleeping wasn't an option. (They still had raging hard ons tho) Roach hearing Gaz call her mommy-- AND SHE LIKED IT-- he came so hard he had to muffle his cry with a pillow. Soap now knowing that Gaz is the one getting fucked?? And is enjoying it??? Nosebleed. He got a nosebleed and had to stop masturbating to clean it up💀 Horangi overstimulated himself. Ear up on the wall so he could hear everything that was going on, and his overworked cock spurting out more cum on the wall. There's a thick puddle of cum on the floor as well because he's not stopping. Alex is just pissed that he's not watching them (he likes to watch fucking cuck) and Ghost is just so damn salty and judging everything that's going on in that room ("his moans are so bitchy. Bitch boy. Fucking bottom ass fucker. Taking it up the ass. I could do way better than him taking it up the ass..... wait--")

König was just... listening. Just laying in his bed, looking up at the ceiling with a throbbing, dribbling cock, and just listening to them. (WEIRDO)

Next morning, Soap and Ghost were such BITCHES OMFG Soap was so pouty and had such attitude, and Ghost was so DRAMATIC (THEY'RE BOTH BRATS YOUR HONOR)

Okay that's it, bye LOL

THANKS FOR READING HAVE A GOOD DAY 🙏 LIKE COMMENT SHARE AND SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE (I just youtube'd yo ass 🤭)