#the instructions were not at all specific enough

[anotherpapercut]

had this assignment due last week that I ended up turning in 3 days late and it was like 6 pages long and very detailed and I'm now doing a peer review and this person has 1 page comprised primarily of single sentence descriptions of historical events

[luckyladylily]

So a few months ago there was the discourse about would you rather meet a man or a bear in the woods. I didn't want to touch it while the discourse was hot and everyone dug in hard because those are not good conditions for nuance, but I waited until today, June 1st, for a specific reason.

I'm not going to take a position in the bear vs man debate because I don't think it matters. What is really being asked here is how afraid are you of men? Specifically, unexpected men who are, perhaps, strange.

People have a lot of very real fear of men that comes from a lot of very real places. Back when I was first transitioning in 2015 and 2016, I decided to start presenting as a woman in public even though I did not pass in the slightest.

I live in a red state. I knew other trans women who had been attacked by men, raped by men. I knew I was taking a risk by putting myself out there. I was the only visibly trans person in the area of campus I frequented, and people made sure I never forgot that. Most were harmless enough and the worst I got from them was curious stares. Others were more aggressive, even the occasional threat. I had to avoid public bathrooms, of course, and always be aware of my surroundings.

I know how frightening it is to be alone at night while a pair of men are following behind you and not knowing if they are just going in the same direction or if they want to start something - made all the worse for the constant low level threat I had been living under for over a year by just being visibly trans in a place where many are openly hostile to queer people. You have to remember, this was at the height of the first wave of bathroom law discussions, a lot of people were very angry about trans women in particular. My daily life was terrifying at times. I was never the subject of direct violence, but I knew trans women who had been.

I want you to keep all that in mind.

So man or bear is really the question "how afraid of men are you?", and the question that logically follows is "What if there was a strange man at night in a deserted parking lot?" or "What if you were alone in an elevator with a man?" or "What if you met a strange man in the woman's bathroom?"

My state recently passed an anti trans bathroom bill. The rhetoric they used was about protecting women and children from "strange men", aka trans women.

Conservatives hijack fear for their bigoted agenda.

When I first started presenting as a woman the campus apartment complex was designed for young families. The buildings were in a large square with playgrounds in the center, and there were often children playing. I quickly noticed that when I took my daughter out to play, often several children would immediately stop what they were doing and run back inside. It didn't take me long to confirm that the parents were so afraid of "the strange man who wears skirts" that their children were under strict instructions to literally run away as soon as they saw me.

"How afraid are you of a strange man being near your children?"

I mentioned above that I had to avoid public bathrooms. This was not because of men. It was because of women who were so afraid of random men that they might get violent or call someone like the police to be violent for them if I ever accidentally presented myself in a way that could be interpreted as threatening, when my mere presence could be seen as a threat. If I was in the library studying and I realized that it was just me and one other woman I would get up and leave because she might decide that stranger danger was happening.

Your fear is real. Your fear might even come from lived experiences. None of that prevents the fact that your fear can be violent. Women's fear of men is one of the driving forces of transmisogyny because it is so easy to hijack. And it isn't just trans women. Other trans people experience this, and other queer people too. Racial minorities, homeless people, neurodivergent people, disabled people.

When you uncritically engage with questions like man or bear, when you uncritically validate a culture of reactive fear, you are paving the way for conservatives and bigots to push their agenda. And that is why I waited until pride month. You cannot engage and contribute to the culture of reactive fear without contributing to queerphobia of all varieties. The sensationalist culture of reactive fear is a serious queer issue, and everyone just forgot that for a week as they argued over man or bear. I'm not saying that "man" is the right answer. I am saying that uncritically engaging with such obvious click bait trading on reactive fear is a problem. Everyone fucked up.

It is not a moral failing to experience fear, but it is a moral responsibility to keep a handle on that fear and know how it might harm others.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Simon desperately eating you out after a rough day.

***

The door slammed shut, making you jump and bump against the edge of the counter that you stood at before the sink, finishing up a few stray dishes that had been left from the night before. You turned to see Simon standing there in the doorway, stiff as a goddamn board with only his eyes clocking the room to find you and locking on to your form like a beast ready to pounce.

"Pants off...now," he demanded, his voice metered and firm as he removed the mask covering his features.

"Well, hello to you too," you chuckled as you crossed your arms over your chest, but he was not in a picking mood. "What's up?"

He took a calming breath; it wasn't your fault his mood had been soured today and he didn't need to upset the only person that could turn this all around. "It's been a fuckin' day, luv. Need something to take the edge off before I send someone to the goddamn morgue. So, again, pants off…please."

This wasn't the first time you'd encountered this specific Simon before; his short, gruff sentences were an obvious indication that he has had an absolutely rotten fucking day and was completely over it already. And because this wasn't your first time you knew what he wanted…

…what he needed to let all that stress go.

Slowly you undid the button of your pants, pulling down the zipper before slipping your hands inside the waistband and sliding your jeans down off your legs. Once you removed them from around your ankles you tossed them to the side and stood there in your panties and tank top, waiting for him to give you your next instruction. Like a flash he moved in and was now on top of you, enveloping you entirely with his hulking form as it fit against your curves until your backside was being indented by the edge of the countertop.

Hot, hungry lips scrambled to aggressively connect with your own, fighting for dominance as the back and forth of the dance continued with each passing second. He let himself go to become consumed by you, unable to find a pause to take a breath as he all but devoured you whole until there was nothing left in his mind but you.

Those large hands with their thick, rough digits pawed desperately at the warm, soft skin of your bare hips, grasping as much meat between them that they could hold. All those curves, all the smooth, voluptuous flesh ready to be caressed, it was enough to drive him insane; how fucking lucky he was to have it all at his disposal now to help cure his bad day?

God you were a fucking feast and he was starving.

The connection between your lips was broken sloppily and with haste, a sting of spittle connecting your lips sparkling in the light as he pulled away. Simon hurriedly grabbed the hem of your tank top and ripped it up and over your head, letting your breasts drop and jiggle with the reverb as they were set from their cage.

"Fuck," he groaned under his breath with a sharp inhale through his teeth as he latched those lips back on to your own. "That's a sight that could do me in."

On the move he leaned his tall head lower as those raw lips began to explore further down along the curve of your neck, the line of your shoulder, and finally coming to those beautiful breasts which he immediately sucked into his mouth. The suction was intense as he used the very tip of his tongue to circle those perky rosebuds until he felt them stiffen against the roof of his mouth and your body twitch from the tingly feeling it gave off that shot up your spine.

Whatever you were doing before this felt like a distant memory as his attention grew your arousal so that your body responded in kind to him just the way he wanted. He switched sides on your chest, not wanting the first breasts twin on the other side to get left out. Simon only moved on after your hips began to grind against the bulge growing at the front of his pants.

His lips continued down the line of your body as he knelt to the ground before you, ready to put everything into worshiping that sweet pussy he loved so goddamn much. Over your sternum and stomach all the way down to your pelvis his lips caressed until they reached a roadblock covering those last few inches to his destination. That was quickly dealt with as his fingers wrapped around the waistband of your panties to slide them down your thighs, letting his lips keep going all the way to the mound of your sex; only then did he pause.

"Spread," he demanded again as his hands tapped at your inner thighs, his message being short and sweet and to the point. "I'm fuckin' endin' this day on a high note. I'm not stopping' till I'm on the goddamn verge of death by suffocation, so don't ya even try to move, luv."

You widened your stance with the guidance of his hands until there was enough space to allow his face to fit between them. Hands back on your hips, holding them as handlebars so that he could incline his face against your cunt he dove in.

Your petals were so warm, so silky, and it felt good on his mouth as he kissed that other lovely set of lips a few times, sighing as he was finally able to relax in his favorite place.

"Here we go, baby," Simon breathed into you as he extended his tongue and drug it over the slit between your legs until he had split you open, rubbing the muscle through the small accumulation of your juices to coat his tongue.

Goddamn were you sweet tonight. "Mmmm mmmm," his deep, garbled hum vibrated deliciously on your clit as the taste of you filled Simon's mouth and tingled on his taste buds.

…And then he began to move the pad of his tongue…

Over and over his tongue engaged your core. "Fuck, Simon," his name fell from your lips as his tongue began to make you writhe against his face.

"Again," he said in that gruff growl as he pulled from your for only a second.

You knew exactly what he meant for you to do. "Simon," his name was beautifully moaned from you once more as he focused all his efforts on that small bead of nerve endings at the top innermost part of your cunt.

The sound of your soft, breathy voice calling out to him made the previously enraged Lieutenant fucking crack at the seams and any trace of that rage-inducing day was suddenly completely gone; replaced by a fire to make good on his promise to desperately lap at you for as long as it took until his skin was infused with your scent and he was fully satisfied.

He moved up even tighter against your core, locking on so that even as you bucked there was no chance he would fall off until he was good and fucking ready to let you go. Shit he was pushing you to the limit of what you could take, your body aching wildly as his strike hit precise and deliberate every time until you were right at the cusp of your pleasure. God, his pace was relentless.

Overwhelmed with the intense gathering of warmth in your belly, your toes began to curl together over top of the floor as you scrambled to keep your breathing steady through the growing euphoria. How were you supposed to force yourself to intake air when all your functioning had been redirected straight to that pleasure sensor in your brain?

That thought had little time to gain traction as that feeling of impending pleasure had reached its peak.

Suddenly you were spilling violently, crying out as you tried to move him from you, but Simon was in this till the end. He kept at it until you had ridden it out to completion and finally settled, your heavy panting becoming softer and more drawn out.

You thought that that was it; the finale had been reached and all was good right? You could not have been more wrong. A wet flash of a smirk crossed his lips as he stood back up before you.

Without even a verbal warning his hands were suddenly digging into your sides as he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you out of the kitchen and into the bedroom where he sat you on the surface of the bed. Reaching with one of his hands over his shoulders he gripped the fabric of his shirt in his grasp and pulled until it came off over the top of his head, throwing the useless article to the floor before stalking towards the bed.

"On ya knees baby," he grunted as he hurriedly laid down on his back beside you further up towards the head of the bed. "Over my face. Now."

Simon pulled at your arm until you moved, his need to be smothered between your thighs causing him to rush. Grabbing on to the headboard for leverage you knelt over his head.

Your petals glistened with the sticky cum and saliva mixture he had just created as he ate his first course, but there was still plenty to get lost in and he was more than ready to dive back into it.

Greedy hands rubbed up and down the smooth skin of your thighs. "Sit," he commanded and you bent your legs until you were just above his nose, but that wasn't good enough; he didn't need you being gentle, he needed you to give him what he wanted - to let him drown in you.

"No hoverin', I said sit," he hissed as he quickly moved his hands to your hips and wrenched them down so that you had no choice but to lower yourself until your pussy was completely flush against his face like a chair.

His breath hitched not just from the instant lack of available oxygen, but because the feeling of being completely enveloped by your pussy was akin to being high; he was on cloud fucking nine just suffocating against you.

The headboard thumped against the wall from your arms shaking as full contact was made again along your core after just having come. The tears stung your eyes, your over-stimulated clit so sensitive it almost hurt. His grip on your hips didn't let up, keeping the pressure tight so that there was no chance of escape, even though you wriggled in search to ease up a little.

There was still some fight left in you; that simply wouldn't fucking do as it meant he hadn't finished the job and he was anything but thorough. Simon needed you completely spent and too exhausted to even move a goddamn inch.

"I-I can't…I can't," you pleaded with him as you squirmed over top of his stark features like anything you said would persuade him to give up.

You could hear his voice in your head, you knew what he'd say if he could talk at that moment. "Oh yes you can sweetheart. You're gonna fuckin' take it all for me."

I mean look at that big boy, he could eat and that meant all types of meals, you included most of all.

As if a nonverbal response to your mewling, his tongue picked up in speed, stroking wildly against your clit with reckless abandonment. Your fingernails were digging into the wood of the headboard, thighs vibrating against Simon's ears as each movement of that deadly appendage brought you closer and closer to your second harsh release.

"Bastard," you whined.

He gave your hips a hard squeeze. Call me what you like baby, he thought, you're still gonna fuckin' come as many times as I want.

So warm, so wet, so soft, gasping for air... He was in heaven.

Unconsciously your hips began rocking along with the thrusts of his tongue, riding him just as he worked and that familiar feeling in your stomach returned. Seconds passed…or was it minutes? Hours? Time seemed to pass differently when he was eating you out.

All of a sudden you stopped rocking, pressing your pussy as hard as you could against his face, and with a few more hard strokes you cried out as you came violently, slamming into the headboard as your thighs clamped down around Simon's ears.

"S-s-shit…" you whimpered as you ground out the last drop of your ecstasy until Simon tapped your thigh to be set free.

Legs shaking, chest heaving, eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed bright red, you fell down on the bed beside him, unable to move a muscle save for your head. Turning your face towards him you were met with a very happy and content man gazing back at you with those fiery auburn eyes, face absolutely drenched from eyebrows to chin in a thin layer of your cum.

He reached out to you, his palm cupping over the entirety of your cheek. "You did so fuckin' good for me sweetheart," he praised, thumb rubbing over the supple skin there. "So fuckin' good that I think ya deserve a break…but I don't think I'm finished quite yet."

"Oh?" you questioned back through heavy breaths, eyes wide. More?

He chuckled in that deep vibrato as he rolled over to kiss your forehead. "Well… ya see… it was a really fuckin' bad day."

You hadn't planned on dying today, but if Simon got his way he would be setting up your funeral later tonight, but there were worse ways to go…right?

[clockwayswrites]

Birb in the hand Part 8

Birdritch Masterpost

For several reasons, Bruce hadn’t expected to wake up cuddling a stranger. One, there were enough family in the makeshift nest. Two, there had been no stranger, just a strange bird. Three, cuddle pollen or no, Bruce should have been alert as soon as the stranger became a factor.

Instead, Bruce woke slowly, sleep muddle brain confused about why he was awake until he clocked the uneven breathing of the person in his arms. Bruce’s brain went from asleep to alert in an instant as he ordered ‘breath’.

And in that instant Bruce knew that the person in his arms wasn't one of his.

There was a stranger in the Batcave.

A stranger who wasn’t breathing right.

Bruce walked them through answering questions as he took in everything else. Other than Alfred, his family was close. The furthest away was Jason who was asleep on the meeting table rather than in the next with the rest of them. They were starting to wake up, aware something was wrong.

Noticeably missing was the bird entity.

Instead they had a stranger— a stranger who whimpered in pain as Bruce got them upright.

A shapeshifter? An unwilling shapeshifter, possibly. An unwanted transformation could certainly explain the pain.

Dick offered to get a towel and Bruce mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ at his oldest. Bruce was worried by the fact that the breathing hadn’t regulated yet. At least the cold was enough to shock the stranger into a forced breath and Bruce tried to guide them through it.

“There, keep that up,” Bruce instructed.

The stranger pinched Bruce for that. He hardly jolted, but apparently he had moved enough to make Cass giggle at him. A soft huff of a laugh escaped, mostly at Cass’ amusement, but partially at the sass of the stranger.

“I know you know,” Bruce said in response to the pinch. “Now your body just needs to know.”

Bruce didn’t let the second pinch deter him anymore than the first. Gently, he ran a pattern with his thumb up and down the other’s hand, a silent beat to count to. Their hand was calloused. They were someone used to holding tools and using them, but of a precise sort as the rest of the skin was soft. There were a few bandages on the fingers and palms of the hand. Precise tools they were bad with? No, precise tools but either an absent mind or someone who moved too quickly. The wells of their fingernails were stained with bluing and solder and graphite. A specialty machinist of some sort perhaps, watch maker?

“Well, at least it wasn’t an orgy,” the stranger said, suddenly, voice raspy from the panic attack.

Bruce could see Jason trip out of the corner of his eyes from where he was finally getting up off the table.

“Ew,” Tim whined after a beat of stunned silence. “Oh, ew, no, nope, not thinking of that. Where’s the brain bleach? B, tell me the JL has invented brain bleach.”

“Or that thing from Men in Black,” Jason groused.

“No, Reds, the JL does not have brain bleach or ‘that thing from Men in Black’,” Bruce said dryly.

“Wiping a specific memory is actually incredibly hard,” the stranger said. “We’re still learning how all of those pathways connect and that’s even without considering instinct and muscle memory. Now preventing memories for forming, that’s easy. Take me and why I’m even here, no clue, but much harder to erase something that’s already known and perhaps something that could cause a cascade failure… and shutting up now.”

“Are you always like this in the morning?” Jason asked.

“Believe it or not,” the stranger drawled, “waking up in a cave asleep with a bunch of vigilante and no memory of how I got here is not my usually morning.”

Bruce found himself giving a soft chuckle. Normally he would never, but now that the emergency was over apparently his brain was happy to slip back into the morning fog. He did his best to put some Batman gravel into his voice as he spoke. “Once you’ve rinsed off, we will explain. There was cuddle pollen involved, you need to make sure it’s gone so that you are not exposed again.”

“Okay, well, at least cuddle pollen explains some of this,” they grumbled softly. They made a move to lean away from Bruce but stopped short with a hiss of pain.

Bruce moved forward to keep supporting them. “What’s wrong?”

“Just my body being my body. Where’s my bag?”

Cass appeared holding a messenger bag a moment later with a smile.

“Oh, thank you.” Carefully and with Bruce’s support, they leaned forward to take the bag and start searching around in it. “I’m sorry, I don’t know which one you are without the whole getup.”

“B.B.,” Cass chirped. She sat down crosslegged and helped hold the things that the stranger set aside from their bag.

“B.B? Oh, Black Bat,” they said with a little nod and a soft ah-ha as they found what they were looking for. “Thank you B.B.”

Cass gave an acknowledging little noise as the stranger shook a pill out of a small container and knocked it back with a swig from their water bottle.

“Sorry, alright, willing to offer a hand up, B.B?” They asked.

Cass set the items back in the bag, hoped up, and offered her hand. Bruce made sure to support the stranger as they stood, which let Bruce feel the fine tremors that ran through their body and hear the bitten back sounds of pain. Bruce trusted Cass and Dick to help them to the showers and bring a set of clothing to change into. When he turned around, Tim was already poking at the messenger bag.

“Red,” Bruce sighed.

“B,” Tim interrupted and twisted an ID tag clipped on the bag for Bruce to see.

It was a Wayne Enterprises ID badge the color combination of R&D. Danny Fenton, it read, he/him, R&D.

---

AN: take care darlings, take care and be delightful.

[luminiamore]

STRETCH.

yoga instructer choso x black man-eater reader

a/n: this is heavily inspired by jennifer’s body (・_・ヾ

also 1000 followers WHATT? (つ✧ω✧)つ

no branding included in this fic actually, so yk what that means. part two in the future asf (ﾉ´ з `)ノ

warnings: murder, reader is a succubus who eats boys & the girls she sleeps with (not choso), reader has fangs, big dick choso, he’s shy, he do be eating ass though, sloppy eater, whiny choso, pussydrunk cho, breeding asf, soft dom choso but like (￣ω￣;) subby, he makes reader submit, just nasty, also frens with satosugu

masterlist

man-eater

Noun

man-eater (plural man-eaters)

An animal that attacks and kills humans for food, such as certain tigers or sharks; any animal that consumes human flesh. quotations 

A cannibal; a human that eats other humans. quotations 

(by extension, slang) A seductive dangerous woman, often readily taking and discarding male romantic partners. 

One thing you loved about the 21st century is that there was never a shortage of people. They were everywhere. Crawling around like little ants and fucking rapidly like rabbits. You never ran out of your source of food, your source of life. 

Your species have been around for a long time. You don’t remember how you came to be, but when you first opened your eyes, you were in the center of hot molten rock from the middle of the northwest Pacific Ocean. Tamu Massif, the world’s massive underwater volcano, just 1,600 km east of Japan, was your home. 

Your first feeding, your first kill, happened off the coast on the Seychelles beaches about two days after you were awakened. Your brown body was paling by then, but you didn’t know why. At first, you didn’t know what you were, but you knew you were weak and physically unable to move at some point. While still beautiful, your eyes lacked any life in them. You needed energy.

In your defense, they came to you. The wife did, more specifically. You were under the sun a lot; it was the only thing that could at least give you some life. You suspected she and the buff man with her were here as tourists, a honeymoon vacation spot perhaps. But, even after just being introduced to this world, you knew what you preferred. You were selective.

Her husband wasn’t all that interesting to break, but her... 

She was gorgeous, downright angelic. And you had such a strong desire to fuck her. And weirdly enough, your mouth started savoring at the thought of eating her. 

It seems you hadn’t known just how insatiable you can be, just how powerful you really are. It wasn’t on purpose; you swear it wasn’t. But you know what they say about firsts. She was addicting. How soft she was, how perfect her body fit with yours. She taught you how to feel, how to let go. You were so high on pleasure.

So, you can imagine your distress when you wake up to her unmoving body on top of your naked one. When you shift your eyes to the left, you notice her neck, specifically the missing chunk of it. You lick your lips and immediately grimace at the saltiness. You pushed her body towards your side with a huff. 

At first, you felt quite hysterical. You ran toward the mirror and saw something that caused you to gasp.  

Was that blood?

Red spots were all over your face, and your mouth area was even more adorned. Your locs are messy, cascading down past your hips. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what occurred while you were intoxicated with pleasure. 

Your face is grim as you grasp onto the skin of your forehead, groaning. Flashes start to appear in your mind. A glimpse of her face, body, her pussy. Flashes of you leaning into her neck, flashes of her neck being torn apart, and flashes of her body shaky under your firm hold. 

Oh.

After about ten seconds had passed of your staring in the mirror, you accepted that this woman was now dead. You had killed her. 

But.. you weren’t overwhelmed by dread. Not upset or guilty that you completely depleted this woman’s life force. A strong feeling coursed through every nook and cranny in your veins, and you felt rejuvenated. The eye bags that had formed beneath your wispy eyelashes were absent, you could tell that much despite the amount of blood splattered on your face.

You had a liking for this feeling. Your strength was apparent, and your skin was brighter and clearer. You experienced such a state of euphoria. And well, you would die if you didn’t get more. Literally and figuratively.

You didn’t make an effort to conceal the body; you felt no need to. You felt compelled to go somewhere, but when you looked in that direction, all you could see was the moving water. You escaped into the ocean at the exact moment, moving as fast as you could away from the small island and following the intense pressure calling out to you.

Since that incident, you’ve stayed in Japan. A black woman with unnatural beauty stalked through the night, undeniably being the center of attention. You were the talk of everywhere you went; people often compared you to a witch, a vampire was the funniest one you’ve heard. You were unusual and feared a little by the public. Although you were beautiful, every step you took was infused with a sense of danger and mystery. Death, even. 

It’s common for people who left with you to never be seen again. In the event that they were, they weren’t the same. People had this inexhaustible attraction towards you. They wanted to know more, they tried to discover the secrets you held. But unless you choose them, all people could potentially get out of you was a meaningless glance.

The more you kill, the stronger you become. You became aware of this shortly after your second kill, and you could soon hold off on feeding for weeks if you needed to. Though you’ve grown to realize that you’re superior to a particular breed, you were never the type to go crazy with power. Many of your species, you could tell, were famous and had the most influence on the public. 

Take the city’s most well-known billionaires, such as Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo. Their ownership of many corporations and businesses allowed them to have multiple connections with dangerous parts of Japan, such as the Yakuza. However, they also contribute significant amounts of income to the city annually. Their support of the most popular things in the population was indisputable, making it impossible not to like them. It wasn’t because they wanted to; they weren’t that generous, but because they loved power. 

Passing them on your stroll, you could tell they were similar to you. Their scent was unlike that of humans, and their energy and absolute pheromones were ridiculous. They were looking for prey that night, you could tell by how potent it was. And perhaps if you were human, you would have fallen for their charm when they called out for you. 

They had plans to make you their meal for the night, but unfortunately, their hypnotic effect on humans didn’t work on you. That’s when they realized that you were like them, and well, they were both amused. 

“Aw, how cute,”

“Bet you would’ve tasted real good too.”

To this day, you don’t know if Suguru was talking about eating you or your pussy. Even so, you became a close friend of the pair from that moment forward. There were days when they would pop up to your apartment unannounced and grace you with their antics. It was more of a domestic setting, not sexual, but they enjoyed being around someone who deeply understood them. 

Today was one of those days. Your peaceful nap ended when they entered your bedroom and plopped down on your bed, discussing the last feeding they had. Satoru’s voice reaches an enthusiastic pitch,

“She was so bendy, Suguru! She bent over backwards, and she was still taking my dick,” 

The long-haired man shifts his eyes carelessly towards his best friend, who is resting on your thighs and intensely focused on something on his phone. You were oblivious to the words spewed out by Satoru, fighting against the sleep you had gotten before they arrived. The latter raises a brow,

“Hmm,”

“She told me she takes something called yoga classes? It’s a shame she’s dead now, she was fu- Wait! Hey, Y/n?”

Your response is a hum as he shifts his head to your face and speaks with a sly smile on his lips,

“Do you take yoga classes?” 

You were not very fond of modern activities, so you rarely indulged in them. You rarely attempt to learn about human life and what they do for fun or work due to that knowledge. Their values never weighed down on you, and as a result, you lived a peaceful life. When you glanced down at piercing ice eyes, the confusion was evident on your face, 

“What’s..yoga?”

Suguru gave a response instead, knowing that Satoru would give you a misleading description of the exercise, 

“It’s just an activity humans do to calm the mind and stretch the body.”

“I see. Does it bring pleasure?”

“Maybe, they seem to be very satisfied afterwards.”

You twist your head in thought, interesting. Satoru pokes at your shoulder, and when you glance down, he shows you his phone screen. Plentiful pictures of women in various positions, very flexible..positions. Was she holding herself up on her forearms?

“Where can I find this? I’d like to.. learn.” Your own words caused you to startle yourself, and now you’re completely awake. 

Since when? 

You hear a breathy laugh coming from beneath you. “Oh yeah? Didn’t peg you as the type to like playing with your food.” His fingers move to find the nearest yoga studio by your building, despite his taunting, and he feels internally happy when he discovers it’s one he knows. 

You flick his head, giggling while he grunts a bit. “It’s interesting. I didn’t know the body could shape itself like that.” In all honesty, he presented you with some pictures that made you grimace a little. 

“There’s a place called Kamo’s Zen Sanctuary a few blocks from here. Of course, Suguru and I are friends with the owner.”

The mentioned man hums in assurance, 

“We can send a car to take you tomorrow afternoon if you’re up for it.” He wiggles his brows as he waits for your response.

As always, they kept their word without fail. Before the car arrived the next day, a large package was delivered to your door with a flimsy note that said, ‘You’re welcome.’ 

It’s probable that you only needed one yoga set, but your friends wanted to give you a wide array of choices to pick from. Ultimately, you opted for a lightweight black set. When you looked in the mirror, you really saw how the clothing accentuated your body, especially your ass. Oh, you liked this.

Stopping outside the studio, your mind suddenly became well aware that you didn’t know how human establishments operated. You took pleasure in the decorative pieces that this place had. Cold air, a Buddha statue spilling water steadily in a bowl, and soothing violin music immediately welcomed you upon arrival. 

Despite not being familiar with the environment, you still entered it with grace. You would have left if it weren’t for the tall, handsome gentleman who sneaked up on you from behind. His silent demeanor made it impossible to hear him, and when you saw his face, you indeed weren’t disappointed.

“Do you need help, miss?”

Smooth was how his words came across. When you faced him, his face was smooth, too. Your body vibrated, your fingertips were slightly twitching, and your mind was reeling in the fact that you were suddenly very, very hungry. Although it’s been a week since you last had anything to eat, you’ve already found your next prey. 

Him. The quite pale man with a pair of beautiful, solemn eyes. The dark line across his face is a perfect fit for him, and it’s hard not to notice. His plum lips are almost puckered, but they look so soft you want to sink your teeth into them. You want him.

You eye his exposed biceps in the black shirt clinging onto his pale skin, “Yes, I want to learn yoga. How can I?”   

Even as his ears flush, he maintains a steady tone and unbothered expression when addressing you, barely making eye contact, “I can get you started with that. My name is Choso. I’m an instructor here. Come with me, miss.”

You nodded without reason because the man had already turned and started walking to a different room. You’re staring at him, more so the way his muscles ripple with every step he takes. There’s an intangible desire on your part to fuck this man, bite every inch of his body until he was withering in pleasure. 

Choso seemed shy, but you liked that he was nervous and fidgety around you as you faced him in a larger room with a mirror covering both ends. There were no lights on, only candles surrounding the black walls. The echo from the fish swimming in the small pond could be heard throughout the space. 

His back could be seen through the clear glass. As you looked around, you also noticed red mats and..blocks? This place was strange. You lick your lips when he speaks again, 

“This is where we do the practice. I sense that you’re new to this. Do you want to start with a small stretch first?” His hand reaches behind him to pick up a thin mat, his low purple eyes flickering between the object and you. 

“Of course, Choso.”

Choso has a sweet scent, almost like a bakery. The moment you walked inside, his scent infiltrated your nostrils. The sheer proximity of his body when he guided you into what he said was the downward dog position made you feel like you were floating. You felt hot, even on fire, when he touched you. The fabric you wore was so tightly held onto your body that it felt like he was touching your bare skin.

He was exerting pressure on your lower thighs, making them conform to the position. When you glanced in the mirror, he seemed so focused on what he was doing. You swear your pussy had a heartbeat. His gaze catches yours,

“Head down, miss.”

You listen wordlessly, your locs making small thumping sounds when they hit the red surface. Maybe Choso could feel the heat and craving radiating off of your body. Maybe he couldn’t. It’s impossible to read his thoughts, no matter which way you look at it. His face remains blank after he says ‘good job’ for maintaining the position after a minute. If he can feel your body heating up like you can, his expression doesn’t make it known. 

His body, however, does. More so, how red he gets, as if he’s heating up too as if he’s experiencing the same shit you are. Could he be?

Choso tells you about the next position he’s going to put you in,

“You’re a little tense on your outer hips, so we’re gonna do something called the Pigeon pose.”

You’re almost about to ask, ‘What’s that?’ but he shows you before you can even part your lips. Your right leg is flat against the floor, twisted in front of you almost perfectly, while your left leg elongates towards the back. Choso observes the difficulty of your arms in holding you up, so he goes in front of you to help. The firmness of his hands on your hips reflects his strength, especially when he presses down slightly to stretch the area. 

“It’s okay. Your legs are supporting you. You can relax a bit.” Can you, though? With the way, he’s pressing on an area that’s suddenly very sore to you. His voice is scratching some primal part of your brain. You think it’s impossible.

“Am I supposed to be doing something while in this position?” You intentionally lower your voice to make him look at you. He does, just not in the way you want. That stupid, blank expression is still on his face. You rub your lower body on the mat, shivering a little as it barely touches your clit through the fabric.

“You’re supposed to breathe. Just be.” He speaks softly against your face. You were fond of his closeness, the sensation of his breath being directly on your skin. 

“When will this feel pleasurable?” You exhale. You honestly weren’t seeing any interest in human activities again. You were only getting a slight burn on your legs, and that was due to the grip Choso still had on you.

You don’t know what it is you said, but you watch Choso intensely. You can see his eyes widen for a split second before returning to their original state.

“Pleasurable? You came here.. for pleasure?” 

There was a slight hiccup in his voice at the end of his question. You got him, you think. It shouldn’t be much to get him under you now. He taps his long fingers on your hip twice twice in an attempt to make you shift to the other leg, causing you to jump. 

A wince escapes your lips as he releases his grip on you, “I hear that this practice can give that. Is it true?”

You finally caught Choso’s eye on you. In fact, his gaze remains on you even after he observes your body shift its position. You believe that you like his eyes on you. He lowers himself to your level to help you still your body.

“I suppose it depends on what kind of pleasure you’re looking for, miss.”

You hum softly as you breathe him in once more today when his palms rest against you once again. What did he mean by that?

You reply, but your gaze never leaves his, “What kind of pleasure can you give me, Choso?” 

Choso was quiet, reserved from the public, and honestly tried his best to avoid any eye contact with you during your entire time in his studio. But he only has so much self-control, as did you. The only conversation was a series of intense squelching sounds as Choso sucked on your pink bud obscenely. 

“Oh fuck- Just like that, Cho!”

He moaned fervently against your brown lips, pulling your hips against his face and keeping your cheeks apart with his large grip. You were on your knees, back shaped into a perfect arch. He was not letting go, squeezing his tongue down your wet pussy lips. Your body shakes as his tongue licks a stripe through your folds, circles all over your puckered hole, and drool slips onto the thin mat.

“Ah-!”

Your cries made Choso even more red in the ears. He thought he was pretty dull, not exciting or engaging to talk to. He didn’t pay much attention to his looks, girls always found him too.. weird. It wasn’t something he expected to happen on his day. He knew who you were before you came in, Satoru had the pleasure of letting him know you were on your way. But the minute you came into his place of work, he found it very hard to resist you. That’s why he didn’t make any eye contact. 

The truth is, Choso was deeply attracted to you and found it terrifying. 

Choso’s pretty head was puzzled by the fact that he was responsible for the angelic sounds that emerged from your plump lips. He couldn’t fathom that he was on his knees licking the most sensitive parts of your body. But, he welcomed it, letting himself sink into the essence of you with a feeling of overwhelming desperation. 

“Want more. Come on, miss. Give m-me more, please.”

How much more can you give him? He already has his face deep inside of you. You understand what he is trying to say when he inserts two fingers into your wet mound, dragging them in and out and carefully grazing the spongy spot that makes you thrash around. You immediately clench at the intrusion, feeling the overwhelming pleasure burn in the pit of your stomach. 

Choso is eager to pay attention to all parts of you but doesn’t know where to focus. Every part of you tastes so celestial, he wanted you to give him everything at the same time. His finger-fucking is swift, and your mind is entirely absent when the man pushes his tongue into and out of your ass simultaneously. Choso was so turned on that his precum was making a stain on his shorts from how much he was leaking.

His moans vibrated against your lower lips, and you swore in all your existence that you had never been eaten so nasty like this. He was going to make you cum so fast that you couldn’t even be mad about it.

He can feel it. The fatness of your pussy is pressing against Choso’s two big fingers, forcing him to use more strength to maintain his rapid pace. Your wetness creates a beautiful clear puddle under his attack, and he can feel it. Could you also do that on his dick? Milk his cock over and over and over again until he couldn’t cum anymore? Choso has been an atheist his entire life, but he almost prayed for this one favor.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Ouuu fuck! I’m g-gonna-”

The man doesn’t respond at first, only presses into your G-spot harder and more forcefully, as if he has a point to prove. He circles at your clit, wrapping the twitching bud around his lips, and sucks hard. What does it for you is the drunk whispers vibrating against your core of ‘Please, give it to me. Just cum. Fuck, it’s so wet.’

Your stomach tightens, your hands grip the carpeted floor in front of you, and your mouth releases pornographic moaning as cream pours out of you and onto his waiting tongue. Choso is clamoring for your taste, and as a result, he moans out with you. You have a strong desire for him, but for some inexplicable reason, your body is unwilling to eat him. Instead, you never wanted to fuck a person so badly in your life. 

Choso’s close proximity makes him ignore your little whimpers while rubbing his blushing, leaking tip up and down your sloppy cunt. When did he even pull his dick out? 

“Bet it’s so w-warm inside. Ah-” When his flushed tip accidentally slips in, and he gets a taste of the warmth you bring, his breathy voice cracks. You’re whining now. Pushing back on Choso, sucking his wide cock in your greedy hole, feeling impatient to force him down far enough to rip your pussy. 

Choso has the most beautiful moans you’ve ever heard. His voice is deep, but his tone gets so high in pitch when he’s like this. It’s so whiny it makes you cream. Literally. His voice cracks, just like his resolve does when you slide all 7.8 inches of him in so that your hips are flush against his pelvis. The feeling of his dick inside of you is so good that you’re so close to begging.

He thought he could have some self-control, but he barely kept it together when he was just eating you out. Your drooling pussy convulsing and contracting against Choso, against his cock, is a sign that his soul has reached a part of heaven. He couldn’t stop himself, really. He couldn’t do anything but relentlessly fuck you at an inhuman pace. 

“So good. So good. Pussy’s so fucking-” He cuts himself off with a loud groan when he witnesses your soft brown cheeks being spread apart for him, revealing a magnificent view of your pussy being stretched beyond their limits. Giving him a beautiful view of your messy pussy creaming the more his dick repeatedly punches your g-spot again and again and again.

You’re wailing. You’re trying to find something to hold onto that can bring your mind back to reality. Choso makes it so hard. He is becoming more and more clingy to your liquids, and his hips are vibrating violently against yours, making you believe he might be bruising your cervix. You love it. You love every speck of pleasure flowing and rippling through your body. You love everything he’s giving your body at this moment.

“I-I know what you- Oh fuck. W-what you are,”

Huh?

The thought is almost pushed out of your head when he angles his hips to get deeper inside of you. Wet and dirty sounds of his balls hitting your clit are filling the air of the stretch room. Choso is rambling now. Your pretty pussy’s attempt to milk his cock until there was nothing is making him feel delirious. It just feels so good, so safe, so wet. God, you were so fucking wet for him. He continues his fucked out declaration,

“A-And I can tell y-you don’t like c-commitment, but please. Please let me k-keep you satisfied for all e-eternity.” His rough and insatiable pounding sends your mind to distant places while he pleads. 

With whatever coherent part of your brain is still there, you cower away at the proposition. Shaking your head rapidly in a ���no’ motion. His harsh thrusts are practically felt in your womb, pushing your hips away when you scramble to grab something stable to hold you on the floor.

Of course, Choso doesn’t let you run away like that. He quickly brings your waist back against him, making sure that his cock is nestled in the deepest parts of your warmth for a moment before starting to thrust again. You’re forced to take it all, and he doesn’t even need to say a word to prevent you from trying that shit again.

Still, you whimper out,

“Chooo baby, I can’t- Ahhh! Can’t l-let you do that.”

Choso only frowns at the evident lie on your lips and pushes your entire body harder onto the mat. A loud gasp escapes your lips when you unexpectedly squirt all over the thin object due to the sudden pressure you feel on your cervix. He was so deep.

Choso doesn’t slow down; he only moans with staggering moans when your pussy sprays its juices on him. In fact, he goes faster. 

“P-Please, miss. I can make you feel this g-good whenever you want. I can- Fuckk. I promise I c-can always fuck you deep like t-this. I’ll worship you. I’d do anything you- anything you ask, just please. L-Let me.” 

It seems that Choso understood precisely what you needed, a bit of prodding and persuading. He’s sure that if someone happens to walk into the lobby, they’ll hear exactly what’s going on due to the loud squelching you both are making. But why does he want that? Why does he want everyone to know that he is the one making you cry out so pretty as if he were your god? Despite your brief resolve, you give the handsome man exactly what he asks. You.

“Yes! Oh fuck yes! M’all yours, Cho! M’cumming- Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m-”

The sounds you both made at the same time were too much for your lovemaking to drown out. With your dam breaking, your pussy twitching open and closed, and your tight pussy covering his heavy cock with splashes of clear liquid and your sweet, sweet cream, Choso gets a taste of heaven. He cums with you. His hand grips the sides of your hips so hard, even through your dark skin, that it might leave bruises. Your perfect pussy squeezing a heavy load out of the man so much that he was shaking when he felt it overfill your cunt. Fuck, you’re too much. 

Heavy breathing and a light pap sound coming from his cum dripping out of your poor pussy could barely be heard by both of you. Choso was in such a headspace that his mind needed to take a breather to gather what the fuck he was going to say to you in a few minutes, his dick softening inside you. You were feeling the after-effects of being fucked so good, buzzing in your right ear, spasming on a cock that’s still buried deep inside of you, and aches on your lower body.

You start to pull off of him, thinking that’s what he wants, but he immediately grabs your hips and keeps you still, still not getting over the euphoric feeling of your pussy on him. Choso realizes something, and at this moment, he feels the most embarrassed he has ever felt. He managed to get a girl's commitment without even knowing her name. 

“Um.. miss?”

You barely let out a whisper, “Yes, Cho?”

“… What’s your name?”

There’s a beat of silence. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. Choso is pleading that you won’t hate him.

His thoughts were disrupted by a melodic laugh and a honey voice, “It’s Y/n, cutie.” 

Y/n? He finds that name so.. pretty. Almost as pretty as your body. Almost as pretty as the sight of your tight pussy creaming up and- 

Well, now he’s hard again. You won’t mind if he pleases you a little more, right? After all, he made a promise, and Choso is never known for breaking his promises.

tags🏷️:: @hatake05

tags🏷️:: @thickbihhwitdagapp

check out my store :D

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

What the MHA boys might do for your birthday. This one was extra special and took some time so I hope yall liked it <3

Bakugo Katsuki

I think he'd be the type of guy to give you hot kisses at random times of the day. You could be doing anything, talking to anybody and this explosive hot-head would march right up to you and tug on your hand like a child. "C'mon, let's go."

"Suki, wait-!"

He wants the whole world to know that yall are together. I take him as the needy type, the type who'd place butterfly kisses on your neck and shoulders when he pulls you into a random classroom or storage room or behind one of the bleachers.

Huge bouquet of roses with tiny little gifts tucked in between along with a box of your favourite treat and a special little note he wrote himself. You're interrupted in the middle of class by a delivery man who mumbles something about the instructions being ridiculously specific.

In the afternoon, he'll take you to the park and pull out an intricate pair of silver promise rings. "G'nna be a great hero, dollface. 'Cause I can feel it."

Midoriya Izuku

I imagine Izuku as the most giving person so him giving you something like an exclusive All Might plushie that he spent months saving for would be an understatement. He just loves you too much.

He caught you ogling a cute pair of leg warmers the other day when you guys were walking home so of course he got a pair for you.

Lots of handholding that he actually initiates. Whispers of sweet praises in your ears that just corrupt your thoughts. Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"You're so cute, y'know that?" And there you are blushin' so hard, Mina thinks he said something dirty.

Him walking you home and giving you a long hug in front of your door just so he can have a whiff of that shampoo you use. He made a mental note to drop by with a new one and some more shower things you like before the night was out.

Kirishima Eijiro

He stays up until 12 just so that he can photo-dump you across all of his social media platforms. He'll send you a long text paragraph (that took him days to type) with all of the things he loves about you.

Gives you roses and a huge gift bag filled with all of your favourite skin care products and lipglosses. His wallet is crying but nothing compares to the smile you have on your face. You'll make sure to thank him properly afterwards anyways.

Offers to walk you home that afternoon. He's helping you carry all of the gifts you got and you're telling him all about your day, and he doesn't miss the way your eyes light up when you reach a specific topic. You're just the sweetest thing.

Todoroki Shoto

Shows up at your house in the morning with a limo all fancy in your favourite colour and he's like, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Now you feel bad. He wasted money on a limo just to take you to school.

You just know Enji's credit card is paying for all of this and Shoto seems unbothered by spending his father's money.

"Red bottoms?!" you screech, looking at the pair of heels in the box. "Do you not like it? If it's not enough, I could always-" he began, coming up behind you and wrapping a hand around your stomach to pull you closer to him.

"No. I love it but Sho, this is too much." you turn to look at him.

Heterochromatic eyes look into yours affectionately, "For you, I'd say this is a small gift."

You blush, still worried. "What will your father say?"

Shoto scoffs. "He doesn't need to know."

Sorry for any errors lovies but I hoped yall liked this one.

[anisespice]

“ block boy ” || tokyo rev.

parings: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, kaku, sanzu, rin, ran ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. cursing, mentions of violence, blood, pregnancy mentioned in ran’s, a lot of down bad behavior on both ends lol and i think that’s it.

notes: i pledge allegiance to doechii, and the absolute banger of a song that is “what it is”. literally the first thing i thought of was bonten and couldn’t get ‘em out of my head unless i wrote something down sooo here ya go lol 

notes ii: basically times where you pulled their weight when they least expected you to/when they’re not around. called the shots, took some shots, beat someone up, defended them, loving on them, stuff like this (•3•>)

tagged: @fantasycantasy, @illegalspacecow, @captaincyberqueen

“Did the severity of the situation finally click in your thick skulls, or do I have to waste more of my breath spelling it out for you?”

When MIKEY returned from his much needed evening snooze in the break room you threatened sweetly advised him to take after working for 17 hours straight, he was expecting to return to the shitstorm he left behind. However, when he entered his office, to his muted surprise there you were, in the middle of berating a handful of subordinates nearly twice your size, all shrunk within themselves as your sharp tone pierced through them all. He stood in the doorway with a curious gaze, head tilted ever so slightly as he made sure to keep quiet so not to notify you of his presence.

Mikey took note of your hip popped outward, balled fist rested upon it in the stance he knew all too well whenever you were on your last nerve. Knowing what those idiots did, someone was bound to stumble outta there in tears; your fury wasn’t for the weak.

You eyed the group with raised brows, expectant. “Well?”

One member was brave, or stupid enough to actually answer. He hesitated, but cleared his throat and replied, “I-It was an honest mistake…we thought the product was secured in the truck already when we made the exchange, b-but-”

“B-B—Bullshit. You were given specific instructions to check the inventory to make sure those smarmy assholes weren’t trying pull a fast one, and you were too careless to do a full sweep. You failed abortions not only made Bonten look like complete amateurs, but you added more nonsense for my man to deal with all because you didn’t check the back of the goddamn trucks!”

You flung the clipboard you were holding at the guy’s head, making them all duck around to avoid getting hit, only one unlucky sucker wasn’t as quick as the wooden projectile got him right in the nose. He yelped, no doubt it was broken with the sheer amount of force you put in the throw. Mikey barely flinched, but he did blink a few times in astonishment.

“You’re gonna hunt those fuckers down like dogs and make right of your ‘mistake’ by the end of today, or I’m gonna have Sanzu chop you into pieces and throw you in the Shinano River-!” Mikey cleared his throat.

You swiftly looked over your shoulder at the noise, mood doing a complete 180 when you locked eyes with the object of your affection, skittering over to wrap him in your arms. “Oh! Jiro, baby, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“‘s okay..” he leaned into your warmth, eyes hooded as he graced you with a faint, sleepy grin. “Didn’t want to interrupt your.. meeting. Seemed serious.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Just doing a little ‘housekeeping’ until you got enough rest, that’s all.”

He slowly nodded, lips pursed. “Could’ve sworn I pay good money for people to do that for me.”

“You do, but I was already here. Figured it was more productive to handle it myself rather than waste time looking for someone available. Besides, had to make sure you didn’t try to sneak your narrow butt back in here to continue working—We both know I’m the only one around here who can keep you in check.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“Mm.. can’t say you don’t fill the role of boss rather nicely. It suits you. Should have you do it more often.”

Though you were sure he was teasing you, you couldn’t help but feel yourself grow warm at his praise. You lightly hit his arm, bashful. How this was the same woman who struck fear in a room full of criminals was beyond comprehension, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Speaking of which.. Mikey couldn’t help but notice the said group of subordinates silently begging for him to reconsider in his peripheral, hands clasped in prayer while the one with the busted nose bowed deeply to the floor, forehead to hardwood. It was as if the idea of you being in charge any longer brought them great despair. How interesting.

Huffing through his nose, Mikey placed a loving kiss on your forehead whilst eyeing the group behind majority of his stress for the day, void of any remorse as he coldly spoke.

“Matter of fact.. think ‘m still feeling a little tired, angel. How about you handle another hour f’me? Or two?”

The silence was deafening as the dual-color eyed man avoided looking at you while you stitched him up without a word. When you were greeted by a bleeding KAKUCHO at your doorstep a little past midnight, pale in the face and could barely stand, there were no questions asked as you quickly escorted him into your home, setting him gently on the couch before you sprung for your first aid in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he could say in that moment, feeling like a complete moron for even showing up looking like he fled a crime scene which he kinda did but that’s besides the point. Your relationship was still in the budding phase, just starting to get a feel of one another as you tested the waters.

Well, consider the waters tested.

“You’re not really an undercover cop, are you?”

Kakucho gulped. He slowly shook his head, eyes trained on his lap while yours felt like they were burning holes right through him. You nodded as you continued carefully stitching him up. It wasn’t the best, but it would hold him over until he got proper medical attention. At first, he figured that would be all you said to him. But, when you completed dressing the wound, you asked a follow up question. “It’s something illegal, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer, his strained grip on his pant leg enough response. Kakucho half expected you to berate him, curse him for potentially endangering your life, for lying.

“.. forgive me..” he croaked, bowing his head.

He felt sick to his stomach, he couldn’t bear the thought of you despising him, but he’d honor your wishes without protest if you never wanted to see him again…

However, what he didn’t expect was for you cup the sides of his face and bring his wavering gaze to your soft one. You smiled endearingly at the bewilderment that overcame his ashamed expression, him blinking at you widely with tears hanging onto his lashes like a wounded puppy. Your thumb ghosted over the tiny droplets, careful not to aggravate the bruise forming around the socket.

Leaning forward to shower him with tender kisses, Kakucho was at a crossroad—One side wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle of goo, but the other refused to believe that he wasn’t hallucinating, waiting for the sick twisted punchline of this dream come true. Feeling him still so tense in your hold, you leaned back with your smile still present.

“This doesn’t change how I feel about you, Hitto.”

Kakucho blinked. Then, he meekly replied. “W-what?”

You coyly tilted your head, “To be honest, I always figured there was something…off about you. Like, you were holding something back. My first guess was that you were seeing other women-”

“Never.” His eyes switched from uncertain to stern in a matter of seconds, as if the implication alone repulsed him. He softened once you giggled at his declaration, patting his leg in reassurance.

“I know. You’re much too sweet to be a player. I pondered over it for a while, thought back to how we usually met up late at night, or you would have to leave at odd times. My second guess was your work just kept you really busy.. and after tonight.. after all of this,” you gestured at the blood stains everywhere, “safe to say I was on the right track.”

Kakucho hesitated. “And that doesn’t…put you off?”

“That you’re a thug?” He winced, but nodded. The silence that followed behind was borderline suffocating, leaving his hands sweaty and nerves shot as he anticipated your response with baited breath. But, he didn’t need to worry.

With a loving coo, you placed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, right over the split in his lip causing him to flinch slightly at the sting, but he welcomed the affection all the same. However, when your warm tongue peeked out to soothe the cut in slow, teasing swipes, homie nearly choked.

Kaku’s jaw fluttered open as a soft gasp escaped him next, the sensation foreign but not unpleasant as he felt his entire face heat up like a furnace. Your sudden proximity forced him back on the couch while you slid down to the floor betwixt his spread legs, making his head spin; this wasn’t going like how he thought it would at all. Being careful of his stitches, your arms rested on either side of him as your tongue explored his mouth, making him groan softly at the feeling of the wet muscle tangling around his so earnestly, hand reaching up instinctively to caress the side of your face as he deepened the kiss. His other hand held your waist, gripping your shirt as if he couldn’t believe you were there—That you wanted to stay.

The ravenette’s breath hitched when he felt one of your hands trailing up his thigh, slowly but surely making your way to his stiffening cock confined in his pants. Slightly startled, Kakucho pulled back from the heated kiss, a string of saliva still keeping you connected as you panted in each other’s mouths. Before he could question what you were up to, he cuts himself off with a whimper when you palmed his thick shaft while maintaining intense eye contact, a smile on your face as you sent the gangster into paradise when you sweetly whispered:

“Always wanted to be a ride or die.”

It was as if someone pushed him into an alternate dimension.

Not even moments ago, you were showing SANZU a cute tiktok of a kitten wrapped up like a burrito and mewing dramatically, nearly tearing up at the sight as you tugged on his arm and pleaded for him to buy you one just like it. Having bought out the entire evening in one of Tokyo’s most exclusive five star restaurants for your anniversary, Sanzu figured it’d be nothing more than a simple night with his lovely wife. Man’s must’ve forgot who he was.

When those fools tried an ambush on him, Sanzu was more than happy dealing with them quickly by just airing them out until his gun was empty. Although, as he went reaching for it, imagine his shock when you held his wrist to stop him. You had a different sentiment.

It was like a scene out of one of his most crazed fantasies. His lovely wife, holding his beloved katana to an enemy’s throat, covered in the blood of his comrades as he sobbed pathetically for you to spare him. As if Beatrix Kiddo entered the chat, you sliced into them with a swiftness, shredding through them all like paper; a dinner and a show. He wasn’t sure when you learned how to wield the weapon with such grace and precision, but he couldn’t care less when his pants were this fucking tight. But he couldn’t let you have all the fun, watching your six any time a goon tried to get the jump on you while your back was turned, Sanzu was quick to bust a cap right between their eyes. After spilling gallons of blood from the opposition, leaving one still standing, you decided to play with him a little bit.

“P-Please! I-if you let me go, you’ll never see my face again, I-I swear! I was just..just following orders, I-”

“Oh, c’mon, where’s your conviction from earlier, huh? You were so confident before I minced all your friends. What was it you said you’d do to me once you killed my husband? Can’t seem to put my finger on it…Haru, darling, do you recall?”

Sanzu, with his chin placed atop his interlocked fingers like a smitten fool, smoothly answered, “Said he’d ‘Fuck you raw on top of my corpse’.”

You winked. “Bingo. Thank you, handsome.”

“Welcome, gorgeous.”

The sniveling man yipped when the blade nicked his skin, a thin stream of blood flowing in its wake as you pressed it closer to his throat. His heart rate paced like a rabbit caught in a trap, nostrils flaring as he breathed sporadically while his life laid in the palm of your hand.

“Guess that didn’t go according to plan, aw.” You sardonically cooed, spurring on a bit of rage as he gritted out a dry ‘Fuck you’ in his final efforts of showing dominance. “Oo, there’s that passion we were missing!~ Let’s see how much more I can carve outta yo-”

Hearing the sound of faint sirens in the distance, Sanzu clicked his tongue in annoyance. With a grumble the pinkette popped a piece of his steak in his mouth and spoke between chews as he cocked his gun, “Alright, [_____], playtime’s over. We gotta haul ass.”

You pouted. “But, we didn’t get to fuck on top of his corpse...”

Sanzu swallowed, hard. He couldn’t help but internally groan with desire at your innocent display of vulgarity, tempted to take you up on that offer, but the last thing he wanted was for you to be involved in a standoff with the cops. You’ve proven you can handle yourself very well, a lot more than he realized that’s for sure, but you were still his precious baby at the end of the day.

Better to keep you out of danger than thrust you in more of it, no matter how much the thought excited him.

“Next time, pretty baby.”

You huffed. “Fine.”

Without hesitation, you strummed the man’s throat like a cello, the katana tearing through the skin with ease. The symphony of gurgles that escaped him sent shivers down Sanzu’s spine as he watched in manic glee as the man choked on his own blood. You never looked more stunning covered in red and holding his blade like it belonged in your hand, he wanted nothing more than to ravish you on the spot, but as the sirens drew near he tamed his urges just this once. You took his extended hand gratefully, swaying them as you both rushed for the restaurant’s back exit.

Once outside, while he scoped out the area for any cops patrolling, you nudged him. When he turned to see you beaming at him whilst blood stained your face, he swore his heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“You’re getting me a kitten to make up for this, right, Haru?”

He raised a brow, but exhaled a chuckle. “Sweetheart. Show off that violent side of yours more often, and you can have as many as you want.”

“You good, ma?” A delightful shiver ran down your spine and straight to your pussy.

That was always the visceral response your body had whenever RINDOU spoke, especially low and intimately in your ear. From either gently waking you first thing in the morning, or to secretly shit-talk in crowed areas, it was his go-to method to getting your attention effortlessly. A dangerous method, one that was about to make you act up in front of all these important clients, decorum be damned.

“I am now,” you purred, falling back into his embrace as strong arms came vining around your waist. He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple as he gently swayed you both to the rhythm of the soft jazz playing over the speakers of the ballroom.

“Missed me that bad, huh.” You nodded with a slight pout, turning in his hold to stare up longingly into his eyes. They were lidded, heady. Another dangerous method of your husband’s that made you weak in the knees—his undivided attention. “Bored?”

“So fucking bored,” you whined, tugging on his lapels. “These things are always such a drab..”

Rindou hummed, hands slowly slipping down from your waist to hold your hips. You tensed slightly, not even bothering to mask the second shiver it caused. His grin turned sharp in response, head tilting. “Ya sure that’s what has you so out of it?”

You tilted yours, confused. He continued, “You’re not as subtle as you think you are. You’ve been eye-fucking me for the past ten minutes. Came over to make sure you weren’t dripping all over the damn floor—”

“Shut up,” you jabbed him in the side, face boiling. Rindou barely flinched, squeezing your hips as he snickered cheekily at your embarrassment. “You’re so irking...”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. If you knew I was horny, I could’ve been folded on my back ten minutes ago.”

“Hm, almost as if I was doing something important, like…” he trailed off, making you squint and almost jab him again until he grabbed your hand in the last second, bringing it to his chest with a smug grin, “working.”

You huffed, “I’m important too…do me.”

Rindou snorted, but brought your hand up to gently kiss the inside of your wrist with a tender look in his eyes. “‘course you are, baby. Didn’t know it would go for this long, ‘m sorry.”

“Then, how ‘bout you and I take a little…smoke break,” you suggested, hopeful; desperate. However, it’s futile when your husband clicks his tongue.

“No can do. Kakucho’s still not over the last time we took a ‘smoke break’ together.”

“He’s not? Seriously? We weren’t even gone for that long!”

He raised a brow. “[______]. The check made it back to the table before we did.”

You groaned, exasperated as you wiggled around in his hold. Rindou merely watched in mirth, not even phased as he let you finish your tiny tantrum. He teasingly cooed, “I know, I know. Poor thing can’t go a day without something plugging up her slutty little hole.”

“Shut up..!” You shrunk into his chest to hide away from the sultry words spoken directly in your ear, thighs clenching together as his deep chuckle came soon after.

Rindou was very much aware of your voice kink. It filled his ego to the brim with how needy you were, crumbling anytime he so much as spoke to you in a certain way. There’s nothing he wanted more than to ditch and bury himself in your thighs, giving it to you however you wished, for as long as you wished, whispering praises to you with a sprinkle of degradation in there to keep you craving for more of his soothing voice. But, unless he wanted his nuts handed to him on a silver platter by his stickler of a superior, you were just gonna have to wait.

And he knew how much you hated doing that.

“Ten minutes.”

He sighed. “[_____]…”

“Five minutes?”

“We can’t-“

“A minute, god, I don’t even have to finish, Rin, please.” You whined in his ear, forcing him to close his eyes as a means to strengthen his resolve. It didn’t do much help when your arms wrapped around his neck to gently rake your manicured nails against the nape, your thigh deliberately rubbing up against the growing erection confined in his dress pants. The tables had turned with a shiver now running down his spine, mind turning to mush as common sense slowly sunk into his dick. Maybe…sparing just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Even though the lavender-haired gangster couldn’t see your face, he was certain you were grinning victoriously at the sound of his resolve breaking instantly, the slow exhale through his nose being all the confirmation necessary. Clearly, you weren’t the only one who was needy.

Swallowing down a groan, he hissed through clenched teeth, “You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?”

Giggling, you were already leading him toward the nearest exit, swiftly evading the eyes of his coworkers, satisfied that you were getting exactly what you wanted in the end.

“Better me than Kaku.”

“Like I’ve already explained to you, Officer. My husband’s been here all day. Dunno if you’ve noticed, but he can’t exactly afford to leave my side for more than ten minuets let alone an entire evening.”

Despite gesturing to your swollen stomach and the small child shyly peering from behind your leg, the cop still fixed you with a skeptical look. You did your best to remain unnerved, providing comfort for not only your son but yourself as you ran your fingers through his hair. Apparently, there had been a shootout that happened in the streets of Tokyo, and apparently a witness was able to describe one of the shooters…

Henceforth, the unexpected visit from law enforcement. Again.

“Mhm. And, may I ask, where exactly your husband is now? Surely if he’s been tending to his pregnant wife, he wouldn’t have her answering the front door.” He raised an eyebrow, wry grin stretched across his face.

You worked your jaw, annoyed. “In the shower.”

“How convenient. Washing off the blood, I assume?”

“You can assume whatever you want, it doesn’t change my answer. He’s been here, with us. Whoever said they saw him was mistaken. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got mouths to feed. Have an evening, Officer.”

“Now, hold on—”

Without an ounce of hesitation, or care, you slammed the door in his smug little face. And just like that…blissful silence. A grand weight lifted off your shoulders at the disgruntled sound of the pig’s flat-footed steps exiting out of your day. Releasing a slow exhale, your son took it upon himself to blow a raspberry at the closed door, having worked up the courage to mock the officer now that he was out of sight.

You grinned as you ruffled his hair, endearingly. “You tell ‘em, baby.”

However, that silence didn’t last long as RAN made himself known now that the coast was clear. Having hid around the corner in case things escalated, he too released an exhale, easy grin spreading across his face. Though your child was happy to see him, racing to cling onto his long legs, you merely glared in disapproval. Based off his appearance alone, disheveled and glistening with sweat, you wished your fib from earlier was true; he needed a shower.

“[S/n], don’t touch daddy right now…he stinks.”

Though a bit childish in your phrasing, Ran was well aware it held an underlying meaning, a chill running down his spine under your harsh scrutiny. He cleared his throat, somewhat nervous, as he searched his brain for honeyed words that would soothe your soreness toward him. And he laid it on thick.

“That’s ‘cause Daddy had to run the rest of the way home to make sure his babies were safe,” he leaned down to scoop up the clinging child, lightly tickling at his stomach poking out from under his pajama shirt to receive more joyous squeals. “But, Mommy scared away the big, mean police man all on her own, didn’t she?”

“Yea!” [S/n] squeaked, bright laugh bouncing off the walls as he wiggled around eagerly. You felt the corner of your lip twitch upward at the sight, but you pursed your lips to hide the impending smile—Ran noticed. He always did.

“Yeah.. we’re real lucky to have someone as wonderful as her to watch our backs whenever we’re in trouble.. right, mama?”

Your glare still remained, though not as harsh compared to moments ago. Despite the mirth swirling in his lavender gaze, you took note of something else hiding within. Something more raw, more vulnerable.

Remorse.

Ran didn’t like getting you caught up in his business. He did everything he could to ensure that none of you were ever exposed to the ugly parts of his life. Tonight, he was sloppy. He fucked up, and he knew that. The second shit hit the fan, his only priority was his family… You had every right to be livid with him, having both your son and a pregnancy to deal with virtually on your own, while also covering his ass from prying cops itching to nail him to the wall…It’s a miracle how you haven’t packed up and left him yet…

And he thanks his lucky stars that you haven’t.

With another deep exhale, you rubbed your temple. “I don’t know what it is that you do in those streets to cause such an upset, Ran-”

“For the record, tonight wasn’t exactly my fault-”

“-and I don’t care. I just…”

Your exhausted tone was more than enough to shut him up. He felt his throat tighten as he gently bounced your son on his hip to distract his increasing anxiety. The lavender-haired man mentally prepared for your scolding, already set on sleeping in the dog house if that’s what got him in your good graces again…but it doesn’t come. Eyes that were hyper focused on [S/n] fiddling with his loosened tie slowly trailed up at the sound of you huffing in, what he assumed to be, relief.

Waddling over to your boys, you reached up to caress their faces. Instinctively, they nuzzled into your palms, Ran a little more hesitant than your beaming son before reaching out with his free hand to touch your stomach. When your unborn child kicked against it in response, you noticed his shoulders visibly relax. Your thumb gently rubbed under his eye, frowning at the dark circles that formed on the pale skin. He looked solemnly into your eyes, turning his head slightly to kiss the inside of your palm. You sighed once more, eventually granting him a smile in reassurance.

Despite his abnormal lifestyle, and how hectic it could get, “I’m just glad you’re home.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[seresinhangmanjake]

Becoming His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x concubine!reader

Summary: Feyd chooses you as his concubine

Notes/Warnings: Smut (but not an overwhelming amount), so 18+. Possessiveness (ownership of other human beings and whatnot). It changes from third person perspective to second person, so i’m sorry if that irritates some people, but I just thought that it expressed the feelings of the story better, considering the tonal switch. This is based on a request. Sorry if there are typos.

It can be read as stand-alone, but it goes along with the following fics: His, Don't Touch What's His, and Only His. This fic takes place before any of those.

Words: 2400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Feyd was sent for peace. The Baron sees use in House Wallach and very specifically instructed his favorite nephew to arrange a deal. With House Wallach’s planet producing items of value, the Baron would not attempt domination over their world in exchange for those items. That seemed fair—as fair as the Harkonnens get—but if one party fails to deliver, consequences follow. Sometimes, that means the taking of other items of value.

They aren’t prisoners of war—they can’t be considered such when war did not actually occur—but they’re close enough: women taken from their home planet after their leaders failed to protect them, leaving them weak and vulnerable and unprepared for what their new lives will thrust upon them. For the first time in their blip of existence, they are a foreigner's property; the most humiliating of circumstances for women of their status: three high-ranking handmaids, the live-in bene gesserit, and the daughter of their Lord and Lady. And Feyd has to choose one. 

“It’s within your right,” the Baron tells him. “And expected. To turn them away without taking one for yourself would be a showing of weakness.”

Feyd scans each one. He supposes they’re all appealing in their own ways. The handmaids were raised to obey, an ability Feyd would have them exercise often. The bene gesserit has knowledge beyond her years. And the benefits of owning an heir of a Great House can be summed up by title alone. 

However, they have their faults as well. The handmaids aren’t particularly beautiful, and as they stand there, shaking, huddled together, with their eyes down and chins tucked into their chests, Feyd finds them grossly undesirable. If he wanted a mouse, he would take one of his own servants. 

The bene gesserit, regardless of appearance, is a witch whose most vital loyalty will belong to the Reverend Mother and her followers before House Harkonnen—a traitorous snake in the making. He cannot have a woman in his bed that he will be unable to trust.  

The one remaining, the Lady, she’s fearless. He can see it already in the set pout of her pretty lips. He doesn’t like fearlessness; it’s disrespectful, potentially disobedient, but at the same time, she encapsulates everything else he could want: a face he doesn’t hate to look upon, to say the very least; nobility, a reminder that he claimed something invaluable to an entire planet; and perhaps most intriguing: she’ll be a challenge—not easily torn down—and the more he looks at her, the more the others fade into nonexistence. 

Feyd steps closer to her, drawn in by delicate features, and waves of hair, and luscious curves. 

“This one,” he says. 

With those two words, a spark shoots across her irises. Her knitted brow soothes. Her mouth, now unburdened by the weight of the pout, twitches up in the corners. There’s a hint of a dimple in her right cheek that is there and then gone, taken from him before he can fully understand why his heart thumped at the sight of it. 

“Fine,” the Baron replies. 

Commanding his guards, he says, “Rid of the others,” prompting gasps and tears of fear, and even Feyd is unsure what will become of them. Slaves? Entertainment in the arena? Perhaps his uncle will let him feed them to his pets.

To his servants, the Baron says, “Clean her up.”

And to his nephew, he says, “She’ll be brought to you later,” just before two small Harkonnen women take her by the arms and lead her away.

—

He thought all afternoon of the noises he would soon be forcing from you. The yelps, the squeals, the cracking from your grinding teeth. Everyone’s flesh makes a unique sound when sliced open, and he imagined what sound your flesh would make. The masterpiece your face would be after your tears melt your makeup he’d be proud to claim as his work. 

But then his servants bring you to him. They push you through the door and position you in front of him before skittering away, and in the silence they leave behind, Feyd can only detect his own heartbeat. 

He liked you in the pinkish-toned clothing traditional of your house—it made you stick out amongst the darkness surrounding you, like uncorrupted sweetness in its last moments—but in Harkonnen black, you’re something else entirely. 

He’s read of goddesses and angels, deities and divine spirits lost with those who once worshipped them, and he always wondered how such beings cultivated mass devotion without the consistent doling out of immense pain. But he gets it now. He understands the draw of the ethereal. 

After minutes of staring, his eyes feel dry, scratchy; he needs to blink, he needs to close his parted mouth, but he can’t, nor can he form a coherent thought separated from the way your hair frames your face and how the silk cascading down your body doesn’t do a perfect job of hiding everything underneath. Touch. He wants to touch. Run hands over soft skin. Press his lips to–

He stops himself. That’s wrong. He is meant to sink his teeth into you. He should be digging his nails into flesh, draining blood, staining sheets, licking tears from cheeks like the men before him have done to their concubines. 

She’s yours, so train her well—that’s what his uncle said, and Feyd knows for a fact that the Harkonnen method of training a woman is devoid of anything but pure torture. Harkonnen training is rough, crude, brutal on the body and mind to break someone down. Only the strong build themselves back up into warriors—like he did—and concubines are not meant to attempt that feat.

“Am I going to stand here all night?”

Your voice sends a chill down his spine, yanking him out of his head. He finally blinks. As his eyes meet yours, he swallows and says, “Do you want to stand there all night?”

“Not particularly,” you tell him. “And I don’t think your servants spent hours fixing me up just so I can take post like a statue at the foot of your bed.”

He wouldn’t mind a statue in your likeness, actually. He’d feel a lot less conflicted if he had two of you at his disposal; one for what a concubine is meant for, and one unaltered from the way you are right now—no pain in your eyes, no quiver to your lip, no marks marring your skin. 

“They did not,” he confirms. 

He pushes off the desk he had been leaning against and uncrosses his arms as he steps toward you, stopping just before colliding with your body. Your head tilts back, and he knows he is supposed to smirk at your powerlessness; his eyes should be pouring with the promises of a painful future, but he can’t access that otherwise always-accessible emotion. The hatred is not quite there. The vile pool of black sludge that has resided within him from the moment he pierced his mother’s throat with a blade has started to drain because of the doe eyes that stare up at him. 

“I’m not scared of you,” he hears, and for a second, he cannot tell if the words came from your mouth or from his. But you don’t reply, so that must be his role.

“It's stupid not to be scared of me.”

“Maybe,” you say, your head cocking, “but you don't look at me like you want me to be scared of you.”

That right there—he should kill you for that. You see too much. He wonders if you see his thoughts as well. He doesn’t need a woman with eyes that see more than what is tangibly in front of her. 

Instead of his body operating on its own, he has to force his hand to wrap around the neck of the threat before him. But five seconds of the delicate column in his grasp goes by, and then ten, and then fifteen, and his fingers have yet to squeeze any tighter. Surprise is etched onto your face, but it’s different. It’s not the look of a woman suddenly in a vulnerable position. By the way your eyes trail from his face to bicep to forearm, it’s more like you’re shocked that his touch is as warm as it is, as if you expected the paleness of his skin to mean hot blood does not course through his veins. 

Tentatively, your hands reach up until your palms are cupping his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to jerk away as your tongue slides out to wet your lips and you rise on your toes. You gently tilt his head down to yours, and then you brush your mouth over his. 

Feyd’s lungs tighten in his chest as you do it again. The hand around your neck slides into your hair, holding your head in place so he can take more, kiss harder. But it’s not long that he’s devouring your taste before he comes to his senses and shoves you away. 

“Stop that,” he spits, his brow drawn. “I did not tell you to do that.” 

Your teeth trap your bottom lip. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“Lay on the bed,” he says, then quickly adds, “On your stomach.” It’s better that way. If he isn’t focusing on you, your eyes, your lips, then he won’t be distracted from his own pleasure.

You don’t hesitate to do as he says, and you walk past him to the mattress. He doesn’t turn to watch you shed your thin gown, fearing what the combined vision of face and bare body will do to him, so he works on removing his own clothes, facing you only once he hears the shifting of the coverings on his bed. 

Your arms are bent, hands overlapped under your head as you wait for him to join, and after taking in the curvature of spine and the dip in lower back before the swell of bottom, he does, settling behind you. 

He doesn’t know where to start. There’s so much to take in and he does his best to memorize it all until, eventually, he lets his palm slide up the center of your back. When it causes you to shiver, he rips his hand away.

“It wasn’t bad,” you tell him. “I’m fine.”

Feyd hums in a manner intended to come off much more displeased than it does. He didn’t ask if you were fine, and a scolding is on the tip of his tongue for even suggesting the idea, but the piece of him that knows he would’ve stopped if you had said the opposite keeps the words from reaching past his throat.

Feyd tries once more, this time placing his hand at your hip for purchase as he guides himself inside of you with the other. With great effort, he swallows his gasp before he falls forward on clenched fists that press into the mattress on either side of your breasts. 

You’re warmer than he expected. Tight and slick and warm, and amidst the sensations that take over his entire being, he somehow manages to find enough clarity to question the normalcy of your body. 

Harkonnen women aren’t warm like this. Warm, yes, but your warmth is more comforting, more engulfing. He’ll feel an unpleasant chill when he removes himself from you and so decides it might be best to stay right there inside of you for as long as he can. But after he hears the little sound you make through the ringing in his ears, he doesn’t know how much longer that will be.

He pulls out slightly and then pushes in, and he receives another of your sounds, louder this time. Your hips lift an inch off the mattress, pushing back into his. He thrusts again and his brain fuzzes. When he shoves in deeper, you yelp at the spot he hits and he loses his mind entirely, left with the sole desire to see how many notes he can get you to sing for him. He finds there are many more, and as you continue to belt out a chorus along with each of his movements, he suddenly thinks: fuck everything else. Fuck the things he is supposed to be doing to you. Fuck the lessons he is supposed to be teaching you. Fuck the training that is supposed to be putting you in your place. He needs to see you. 

Your head lifts and you look back at him as best you can when he leaves your body. “Why did you st–”

“Turn over,” he demands with heavy breaths.

“What?”

You’re not fast enough. His hands firmly grip your hips and he flips you onto your back, spreading your legs and stuffing himself back inside of you. You moan. Your eyelashes flutter. Your mouth stays perfectly parted as you reach over your head to tighten your fingers into the pillow. 

That’s exactly what he wanted, and that’s all it takes to shun his cares for anything other than the way you look beneath him. His chest meets yours and he darts his tongue out to lick the bottom of your upper lip before capturing your mouth with his. You kiss him just as much as he is kissing you. You touch him as much as he is touching you. Your legs wrap around him, taking everything he has until his hips stutter and he’s coating the walls that are milking him with each pulsating squeeze. 

He pulls out with ragged breaths, body falling beside yours, and as you both stare at the ceiling, his mind finally clears with the sudden realization that what he just did might’ve stolen some of his power and handed it to you. You know of the Harkonnens’ cruelty—everyone does—but what he gave you was not that, and he cannot allow you to get the wrong impression.

“You're mine,” he reminds you. “I own you. You follow my orders. Don’t irritate me. Don’t speak unless I am the one speaking to you. You go where I tell you to go. You do what I want you to do. And don’t get any ideas that you’re not disposable to me.”

Minutes pass in silence, but then you say, “What happens if you end up liking me?”

That question hits him right in the gut. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what the fuck happens if he likes you more than he already does. It won’t do him any good; he knows that. 

His back teeth clench. “I won't,” he says. “So don’t ever ask me that again.”

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Handle It

summary: Harry tests your endurance with a new toy.

word count: 1.9k

read time: 8 min

content warning ⚠️: nonfamous!harry x f!reader, pwp, kissing, sex toys, cunnilingus, pet names (babe, baby)

a/n: i had a dream....and now we're here lol. enjoy!

What started as an innocent cuddle during movie night has turned into moans and slow dry humping as you straddle Harry’s hips. And as much fun as you were having, as much as you love the feeling of his lips on yours, and his tongue in your mouth, he could tell that you needed something more. And he knew just the thing that could scratch that itch. 

He pulls away just enough to look at your kiss swollen pout, cradling your face. He smirks at you, stroking your cheek and pecking your pout away. 

“Want to take this to the bedroom?” You nod, biting your lip. “Okay, up.” he says playfully tapping your ass. You’re quick to get off of his lap and he’s quicker to lead you to your shared bedroom. As soon as the door closes behind him, you're wrapped around him again, arms around his neck, fingers tangled in his curls, as you pull him in for a kiss. He pulls away, too quickly for your liking, and rests his hands on your hips.  

“Get up on the bed for me.” Harry demands softly, “I need to grab something.” you tilt your head, eyes narrowed making him chuckle. “You’ll like it, I promise.” He smiles, kissing your forehead,  fingers playing with the elastic of your panties at your hip. “Get on the bed,  bottoms off . But keep your panties on, okay?”

Still unsure you take a step away from him, doing as you were told, stripping yourself of your lounge shorts and getting comfortable amongst the pillows. You watch as Harry disappears into your walk-in closet, for a little too long. 

“Harry,” you whine.  

“Aww. Needy baby. I’m coming,” Harry chuckles from inside the closet, before finally emerging with his hands behind his back. He smiles at the sight of you laid up in your bed, knees bent and feet planted, in nothing but your panties and his old band-tee just like he’d requested.  “You follow instructions so well, babe.” He smiles at you as he slowly approaches your side of the bed. “I’ve got something for you.” 

You lift up on your elbows trying to get a peak behind his back at what he was hiding, but he turns too quickly for you to see. 

“What is it?”  

Harry chuckles at how eager you are, and pulls a large box from behind his back. It’s a toy. Specifically your dream toy, a vibrator that you’d been eyeing for months. You’d showed him the toy one night curled up in bed, after  he’d introduced the idea of the two of you throwing toys into the mix of your typical bedroom play. It was way out of your budget, but it had rave reviews and a few friends had sung its praises. You never thought you’d be able to have one of your own, and knowing how much you hated spending money on yourself, Harry went ahead and decided to surprise you with it.

“You got it.” Your eyes widen and you let out a little gasp. Before looking up at him with the sweetest most innocent eyes. 

“I did.” He smiles proudly. “Thought we could try." What do you think?” He asks, eyes filled with lust. You nod, biting your lip. 

“Y- yeah. Let’s try it.” 

“Alright. But I have a little challenge for you.” 

“Okay.” You say swallowing thickly. 

“Wanna see how many settings you can get through without coming.” 

You let out a little whimper, but nod accepting the challenge anyway, “Okay.”  

 “Think you can get through all of them?” He smirks 

“Maybe.” you lie, biting your lip. You’re rarely able to beat Harry’s little ‘challenges’. They were always for fun, and never came with any real punishment, but still you always tried your best anyway, for the fun of it. And for the look of pride on Harry's face for the rare occasions you're able to beat his challenge. 

“Alright,” Harry smiles, situating himself between your legs. “Now, lay back.”

You do as you're told as Harry opens the box, taking the toy out of its packaging, laying on his stomach between your legs, face inches away from your pussy. He places a peck on either of your thighs before pressing a few buttons on the toy. It purrs to life, and your skin warms, heat pooling between your legs at the sound. Harry teases the toy up and down your inner thighs, and you jolt at the contact. 

“That’s the lowest?” you moan. 

“Yep.” Harry smirks, “You’ll be alright.” he encourages with a kiss to your inner thigh, “If at any point it gets too much just tell me okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He teases the toy some more, placing it above your mound up your stomach before finally landing right over your clothed clit. The sensation causes you to jolt slightly, but Harry soothes you, kissing at your hip. 

“Oh,” you moan. 

“Yeah?” he asks, kissing along your panty line, pressing the toy further into you. “‘S it nice?” 

“‘S really nice.”  

“Good.” 

He lets you enjoy the first setting for a few moments, and once he feels like you're tolerating it okay he looks up at you, “I’m gonna turn it up one more okay?” 

“Okay.” you whine before you hear and feel the vibrator increase in speed, and it’s a jump from the last setting to say the lease.

“Shit.” you moan, throwing your head back against the pillows. 

“Good?” 

“Yeah.” you paint, writhing your hips up into the toy, “But -”  

“What do you need?” 

“Off. I need these off.” you say tugging at the elastic of your panties. Harry kisses your hand removing them from the elastic. 

“No, not yet.” he coos, “Just a little longer, okay?”

“Okay.” you pout. Harry kisses at your inner thighs and hips, wetly and the sensation adds something that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know it’s becoming harder to think straight. 

“Good girl, baby. You’re doing so well.” He praises. 

Just as you get comfortable with the medium buzz between your legs it comes to a sudden stop. Your eyes snap open, as you look down at Harry from between your legs, but his eyes are locked on your pussy. He sets the toy down, beside you, before running a finger up and down the front of your panties, drawing out a whine. 

“Look at that.” He coos, “You’ve soaked through your panties, baby.” He hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, “Think it’s time we take these off, hm?”  You nod feverishly, with a whine. You lift your hips up, helping him shimmy you out of the thin material. As they shimmy down your legs you shiver at the cool air of the room finally hitting your pussy. 

“Can I have a taste, baby?” he asks, eyes locked on your pussy. 

He had plans on getting you off with just the toy. But when it comes to you, and your pleasure, Harry was selfish. He’ll gladly admit it. 

“Mhmm, please.” 

Harry smiles, leaning forward slowly, landing a soft peck to your clit before licking one broad stripe up your pussy with a flat tongue. You moan out, rolling your hips into his face, begging for more and he gives it to you. He cups his lips around your clit sucking it into his mouth working his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves, moaning into your folds. 

“Mmm. So sweet baby.” He purred, against you as your hand flew to his hair, tangling into the curls. “And so fucking wet.” He laps at your pussy messily, saliva running down his chin as he works up a pace. 

“Harry.” you whimpered, pushing his face further into you, “Oh my god.” You could feel your skin heat up, the coil in your lower belly tightening, you were so close. 

“No,” Harry taunts, pulling away. “No coming yet.” before he pulls away with a smirk, and your juices all over his face. He wipes his chin, with the back of his hand, looking up at you. “We still have a few settings left. Let's see if you can handle it.” He smirks, reaching  over and grabs the toy again, placing it on the setting he had before, “Ready?” 

You nod fervently,  biting your lip. He obliges, placing the buzzing wand back where you needed it most. The medium speed had you jolt again but you quickly became accustomed to the vibrations again, whimpering and writhing about on the sheets. 

“You're doing so good, baby.” Harry smiles up at you, “Going to turn it up some more okay?” 

“Okay.” you pant, hands gripping at your chest. Harry sees the desperation on your face, can hear it in your voice. You needed him close. So without moving the toy too much, he moves from between your legs, leaning on his side, nestled next to you, one arm above your head, cradling you close to him. 

Once he's settled next to you, you hear two clicks and the toy nearly triples in speed. 

“Oh fuck.” you huff,  as Harry's hand comes down to cradle the side of your face, nuzzling into your neck placing a few sloppy kisses there. 

“You can take it baby, I know you can.” he praises, sucking your earlobe into his mouth. 

You're a moaning mess now, whimpering and moving your hips against the toy, trying to stay grounded , but with Harry kissing at your neck, it's becoming harder and harder to think straight. And it is getting harder and harder to keep yourself from falling over the edge. 

“Breathe baby.” Harry smirks into your cheek with a kiss. “Come on.” He says demonstrating a deep breath for you to copy. You do, trying your best to stave off your orgasm. 

“Oh god - Harry. I’m so -”  and just like that another click and an even faster buzz starts between your legs. 

“I know. But, you can handle it. Can’t you baby?” Harry asks into your temple, nosing at your hair. 

“Yeah. I - I can handle it.” you say breath hitching. 

“Good girl.” Harry growls, “You're almost there. One more, okay? You're doing so good, holding it for me.” 

He lets you get settled with the current setting for a few more minutes, rubbing the toy in tight circles on your clit as you focus on your breathing.  When you hear the final click it takes everything in you to withhold from coming in a second. 

“Harry - I’m going to -.” 

“You can come baby, I want you to.” He leans close to your ear, sucking your earlobe into his mouth. He presses the toy harder into your clit. “Come for me baby.” 

You roll your hips up into the toy, and just like that, your body tightens as you come in a white hot flash, gripping onto his forearm, and turning your face into his for a searing kiss. 

“Oh fuck.” You huff out into his mouth. 

“There you go!” Harry praises,  “Good girl, just like that.” He keeps pushing the vibrator against you, moving it from side to side. “Keep coming, baby. Give me one more.” He urges, and your body responds on its own, coming once more against the toy.  

“Okay okay okay.” you pant, “I’m done.” 

He takes the vibe away kissing you anywhere he can reach. “Alright, okay. You're okay. I got you.” He cradles your face in his, bringing your lips to his, “You did so good, baby. I’m so proud of you.” 

Harry pulls you into his chest, a hand stroking up and down your back as you catch your breath, “That was…wow.” you giggle looking up at him. 

“Yeah? Good investment?” He chuckles

“Amazing investment.” You smile, eyes heavy, “Might put me to sleep.” you joke, through a yawn. 

“Oh that was just a warm up baby.” Harry smirks, “I’m not finished with you yet.” 

✨masterlist✨ ∣ ✨yap & request box✨

[nsharks]

can we see more of dad ghost ♥︎ im obsessedLMAO

“soft around the edges”

aka when ghost’s son runs up to him in front of the team (a little part 2 to this fic. part 3 here.)

Soap doesn't share the Lieutenant's secret with the rest of the force.

Things go back to normal after that brief, bizarre encounter with you. When their break is over, Ghost carries on the typical dry humor and sharp orders, pretending that Soap never had dinner at his cozy home and met his pregnant wife.

Though, MacTavish does notice little differences in his stoic superior turned new dad. Ghost is shockingly, and ever-so-slightly, nicer. His language is still foul. But he's a little less rough around the edges: compliments Soap a bit more, tells him to shut the fuck up a little bit less.

It's not something that any of the others notice, of course, which is why they are all so baffled when they finally do figure out about Ghost's secret family.

It's two years later when they are disbanding at a base in the UK that you accidentally reveal yourself.

It's truly an accident.

Whenever you pick him up from the military base, Simon instructs you to wait outside. Says he doesn't want to put you at any risk. But you have a knack for not listening to him. You missed him so much during the past four months, and the two-year-old in your arms was old enough to start asking where his dad was, so you figured you could wait for him inside this time, hidden away in a corner.

Your plan might have worked if it weren't for the swell of your belly making it difficult for you to hold the squirming toddler.

He recognizes his dad even with the skull mask on.

Immediately starts to yelp for him, kicking his little feet around, and giving you no choice but to set the toddler down for a second. But your son is growing so much, and he's got his father's determination.

It's definitely riveting for Soap and the team to witness the whole thing unfold.

At first sight, the waddling two-year-old boy doesn't faze them. There were usually family members and little ones waiting at the gate. Gaz and Price are saying their goodbyes when they both notice that the toddler running around is coming in their direction. Or more specifically, in Ghost's direction.

Soap knows right away what's happening.

Watches with raised brows.

For the rest of the team, this is the first time they witness Ghost's demeanor shift to something so soft and peculiar. His mannerisms give everything away before the kid even reaches him: a typically-unfazed Ghost looks around frantically, probably wondering how the hell his son even got here, until he spots you waddling sheepishly after him.

Oh, fuckin' hell.

You give your husband an apologetic look that says I'm sorry and help me at the same time.

“Can’t believe what I’m seeing," Gaz mutters, watching as Ghost bends down to pick up the small child.

Tell me 'bout it, Soap wants to say. But he's already gone through the initial disbelief two years ago, so now, he simply watches with knowing eyes.

He can't say he didn't spend some time the past two years wondering what kind of parents you and Ghost had become. He knew bits and pieces of his past and hesitantly wondered if Ghost had carried on that behavior.

But now he witnesses the Lieutenant scoop the toddler in his arms, making him look so small against his broad chest. “I’ve got ya, kid.” And he is tucking the boy's head underneath his chin and pressing his masked nose to the top of his hair.

Then, the toddler reaches a small hand to his mask and pats it, perhaps harder than he realizes, but Ghost simply shakes his head and patiently wraps his much larger hand around the curious little one’s.

Ghost is soft and gentle and anything but angry, even though you worried that he might have been.

Everything seems to sink in for the team when they see you finally reach your husband. Your mouth moving to rush out apologies:

"I'm sorry, Simon, I know you said to wait outside. We just really wanted to see you and I tried to hold him and-"

And Ghost might have been frustrated on another day. But on this day, he’s just relieved to see you again. It's apparent to all of the eyes watching that this brooding man, with his deadpan eyes and a trademark mask, is utterly and unabashedly in love with you and the little family you have gifted him. Finally able to fully relax as he wraps an arm around your waist and nuzzles your neck, something you could never imagine him doing in public like this a few years ago.

“S’okay, love,” he tells you. “Can’t be mad, can I? Not when I get to see you two.”

You’re carrying his second child and he hasn't seen you in months and he simply doesn't give a fuck at the moment.

To his team watching, the Lieutenant seems like another person.

They're watching Simon, not Ghost.

"That's his girl, then?" Alejandro finally asks, as they have been frozen in place. Watching in curiosity and bewilderment.

“Wife seems like,” Gaz says. Shooting Soap a curious look, he adds, “Did you know anything about this?”

“Hell,” Soap shrugs to feign innocence. “Didn’t know a thing-“

But, of course, you’re soon waving over at him and smiling before your husband can stop you. “Hi, Johnny!”

Guilty and caught, Soap offers a small wave in return before shaking his head. “Christ, alright. May have ran into them awhile back.”

“And you didn’t tell us, MacTavish?” Gaz scoffs.

“Not my secret to tell,” Soap shrugs again and watches as Ghost caresses your pregnant stomach. He leans down to whisper something in your ear and you smile coyly at him, planting a little kiss to the cheek of his hard mask. Ghost is somehow able to hold you and your son firmly against his chest and still have more room. Must be what had the two of you realizing that a fourth family member was needed.

Soap hears the snide remarks as your family leaves and is out of earshot.

Looks like Ghost keeps himself busy on leave.

You think he helps with the diapers?

The kid’s even got his eyes.

Reckon he takes the mask off during sex?

Finally, Soap groans out, “Haud yer wheesht. That’s enough.”

“Sergeant’s right,” Price, whose own surprise has faded into something more stern, quiets the members of the team who are still lingering. “That’s your superior you’re gosspin’ about. Show some respect and bugger off.”

But once the Captain is gone, Soap allows himself this one quip (because, he’d been so good at not sharing what he’d seen for two years).

It’s a quiet one that he mentions only to Kyle.

“He takes her shopping an’ carries all the bags. Saw it myself.”

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

A Glimpse of Eternity ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

A Glimpse of Eternity | main masterlist | PAIRING(s): General Marcus Acacius x fem!palace sex worker

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT:  2.5k | CONTENT: legitimately saw the new Gladiator pics and immediately thought about being fisted by General Marcus idk what else to tell you lmao, some breeding kink ig?, slight subspace moments?, dirty talk but with that Ancient Roman flair, this is prob not very historically accurate but idgaf

| SYNOPSIS: You are one of Emperor Geta's comfort women, tasked with entertaining and pleasuring the palace guests, and you are assigned to General Acacius the night of a feast held in his honor.

"𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛, 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎." — 𝘈𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘶𝘴

As one of the few high ranking women of comfort in Emperor Geta’s palace, you were no stranger to the decadence and debauchery that a large celebration often brings. The battleworn and extolled military men, fresh off their wave of conquest and destruction, were most frequently the guests of honor, and they were always enthusiastic to delight in the revelry of victory, wine, and women.

Your position afforded you an agreeable life for the most part. It was certainly better than striking out on your own, fending for yourself in the notoriously unforgiving streets of Rome. An orphaned and unskilled female such as yourself would not fare well in such conditions, and you’d become quite accustomed to the social ranking that came with being owned by the Emperor himself. 

You have all the luxuries afforded to you that one could dream of in these times, and the men you host, though overeager and handsy, knew better than to mistreat the class of entertainment that Emperor Geta was kind enough to provide them. You were his property, and as such were not to be mistreated. Just as a guest would not break a priceless vase or seek entry to private areas in the palace without consent, the men knew better than to abuse the privilege of your company unless they wished to endure the wrath of the Emperor.

You had a few repeat guests that would specifically request your coupling whenever they were staying at the palace, and it was often enjoyable getting caught up on the happenings of the world outside the marble walls. Sometimes you were assigned to a specific guest, and other times you were simply asked to be present and make yourself available to any suitor who showed interest.

It wasn’t uncommon for the men to get so carried away in their merriment that they were too drunk to perform. In those cases you made sure to tend to them should they need assistance getting to bed or finding themselves sick in the middle of the night when the fatty meats and wine caught up with them. On rare occasions there were men skilled and sober enough to bring you to completion, but the standard lack of personal pleasure didn’t bother you too much. After all, it was your duty to ensure your male guests were satisfied with their stay at the palace overnight, and you had a sense of pride that you’d never garnered a single complaint.

Tonight the Emperor was hosting a celebration in honor of a top ranking General whose ruthless and unwavering prowess secured a highly sought after peninsula in the Emperor’s name. It meant more resources and labor for the Empire, and General Marcus Acacius was heralded as a hero for his efforts. You and the other women had been instructed to make your appearance after the other entertainers had performed. It wasn’t until the last minute you were informed that you had been assigned to the General and were to “see to his every need and wish” during his stay.

You’d been doing this long enough that you were only mildly flustered with the news, but you were level headed by the time you made it to the grand hall. You were aware of his reputation, and his strong features fit rather well with what you knew of him. A proud nose, broad shoulders, downturned mouth with pensive forehead wrinkles. His hands easily grasped the entirety of his goblet. He was handsome and possessed an authoritative presence that you suspected would carry over to the bedchambers. 

“General Acacius, might I join you this evening?” you greet warmly.

His eyes slide over to you, giving your form an assessing gaze, before nodding and gesturing to the empty seat beside him. You thank him for the invitation and hold yourself as tall as you can next to him. His size is even more impressive side by side. You introduce yourself and comment on how well he looks considering he’d just arrived from his travels early this morning. No doubt the handmaidens had bathed and clothed him upon his arrival. He’s not much for conversation, so you follow his lead and quietly watch the partygoers together.

You offer to refill his drink, but he declines. He isn’t gluttonous or vain or rude, and as the festivities begin to wind down, you begin to wonder what this man’s vice was. It was imperative to understand these sorts of things because it dictated how you performed to ensure satisfaction. With little to go on, you were almost worried he didn’t want your company at all for the remainder of the evening. It was a relief when he informed you he was retiring for the night and extended an invitation to join him. You demurely accepted and walked quietly through the stone passageways that lead to the more opulent chambers where only the most highly regarded guests were permitted to stay.

“Have you had your fill of nourishment this evening?” he inquires.

“Yes, General. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m pleased to hear that. After you help me disrobe, I request that you do the same and return to me once you are ready.”

You help him out of his garments and try not to stare at the constellation of scarring that adorns his body. His form is muscular with some usual signs of age, but he is undoubtedly the most divine looking man you have ever entertained. His cock swings softly between his thick thighs, and he has no reaction when he catches you ogling him. You excuse yourself to the corner of the chambers to disrobe and freshen up before presenting your nude form for his examination. His eyes are half-lidded, but otherwise you can’t much tell a difference in his mood.

“What sort of pleasure do you offer to your companions, Little Dove?”

You smile brightly at the moniker, appreciating its reference to your attire decorated with small white birds. It wasn’t often a man would take note of such detail, let alone bestow you a personal endearment based on it.

“I offer whatever sort of pleasures you wish, General.”

“And what sort of pleasures do you wish, Little Dove?”

The question catches you off guard, but you maintain the easy back and forth as best you can. “I am sure whatever you have in mind will be immensely pleasurable, General,” you assure him as you slowly saunter towards him.

“That is not what I asked. Answer a question when I ask it of you.” His face is not unkind, but his words are firm.

“I– It is not something that often crosses my mind,” you admit. “My pleasure is gained from your satisfaction.”

“And what if I demand your pleasure above all else? What then would you have to say?”

You rack your brain for an answer and end up blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“It is… rather enjoyable to lay in each other’s company, is it not? Perhaps we could start there?” you suggest.

“Is that what you desire?” he presses. He stands, and your eyes zip to all the sinewy, strong flexing across his body.

“It is.”

“Then that is where we will begin.”

This is unlike any encounter you’ve had, and you are nearly at a loss for how to conduct yourself. After exploring the planes of his warm body for a few minutes and gladly receiving the same, your mind goes on autopilot. You attempt to initiate intimacy, but he rebuffs the mindless advance.

“I am well aware I can have you, but that is not what I seek,” he states plainly.

You shake your head, not fully understanding his meaning.

“It is not enough that I take your body. True capture means the mind must also be won. I ask for your entire being, Little Dove,” he explains matter of factly.

You’ve never had a partner speak to you this way, and you can feel the effect of it between your legs where wetness gathers. “Of course, General. Anything you wish you shall have.”

“We will see. Your surrender cannot be fabricated. The blood of the men I’ve killed that stains my hands and the sieged settlements I leave in my wake have left me with the ability to recognize genuine submission, and that is what I ask of you: full, true surrender.”

“I will do my best,” you promise.

“It is not a matter of effort. It is a matter of truly desiring to yield.”

“I feel the strings of that desire, General,” you say in a soft hush. As though to prove your point, you guide his hand between your legs and sigh at the rough, calloused fingertips that graze your most sensitive parts.

He finally seems content with your frame of mind and corresponding bodily reaction, and it is how you find yourself happily succumbing to every exploratory lick and caress and bite. Your thoughts are a nebulous oasis, gently washing back and forth as your bliss heightens. The candlelight is waning just as he presents you with what you think might have been his desire from the start.

“Do you give yourself to me, Little Dove? I wish to feel you from the inside. Your body craves my fingers. It pulls them inside hungrily no matter how many I give. You have taken four already with such greed.”

While it was true that your body steadily adjusted to his fingers, his hands were large and not the easiest to take. He was well-endowed, and that would’ve been plenty to handle on its own. You were certain that he would want to fuck you after this was done. The growing circumference of his fingers inside you had you worrying whether or not you could tolerate it. But you wanted to try. It felt good despite the initial pinching and tightness. His groans of approval every time you successfully took more only spurred you on. You felt yourself wanting to give everything over to him.

“Give me what I need. Only you know what I need,” you whimper.

He sucks in a sharp breath at your deference and repositions himself with additional vigor than just a few moments prior. Your back feels like it’s melted into the bedding as he props your legs open and situates himself in front of your entrance. You watch with bated breath as he cinches all of his fingers together and begins to steadily plunge them inside your messy opening, drenched in your arousal from the General’s relentless onslaught. 

“It is my intention to learn every want of your body so that I might break you apart piece by piece. Do you understand that, Little Dove?” he asks. 

He pushes his fingers further until you feel the sharp rounding of his knuckles against your pelvic bone. You gasp at the resistance and frantically scramble for something to ground yourself, finding his other hand already waiting for your use. You grasp it with both of yours and let him feed his middle and pointer fingers into your mouth. You instinctively suckle on them and close your eyes.

“There you are,” he breathes. “Feeding from nearly every hole, Little Dove. Your body already knows what your mind has decided. Your body responds to me and only me. It craves me as its master.”

You dumbly nod and suck harder on his fingers, getting lost in the sensation of them pressing onto your tongue and gathering a pool of saliva in the middle of your mouth.

“You will only know the desire and pleasure that is my hand piecing you back together,” he coos.

His knuckles begin to slide past your opening and sink into you. The burning lasts for several minutes, but you give in to the new and intoxicating feeling coursing in your body. Eventually the rest of his hand slides in without protest. It’s an odd shape to have housed inside you, but you focus on sucking his fingers. Blood rushes to your stretched walls and engorges the tissue, making everything feel warm and hypersensitive. You feel his hand make a fist inside you, and you cry out when he begins slowly pumping it in and out.

“Ssshhh sshhhh, let your body do what your mind has decreed,” he soothes.

You whimper and suckle as he fucks you with his fist. He groans as he watches your gaped hole suck him back in over and over. You feel a tight coil in your belly build, and he must sense it, too, because he props himself up straighter again and hums contentedly.

“You are an exceptional creature, Little Dove. Reaching the greatest pleasures by letting yourself be my little fuck hole, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you cry. “I’m your fuck hole. Only yours.”

His pace picks up like he’s become a bit crazed at your rambling submission.

“That’s right, Little Dove,” he grits. “You will see my face, imagine my touch, and dream of my domination in every man you lay with from this day onward.”

Your jaw and body are slack as the power of his drives rocks you back and forth. You don’t have the lucidity to warn him that your climax is quickly approaching.

“I will not be content until you are ruined for any other man,” he snarls.

You swear you can feel every crevice and curve and bend of his fist as you clench down on it. Your vision is a flat white that matches the deafening silence that overcomes you as your orgasm tears through you. It’s a mixture of the most painful and the most pleasurable orgasm you’ve ever experienced, and well after it ebbs your legs continue to shake with the force of it.

You barely register your limbs being moved and adjusted. You regain a bit of clarity when you feel his wide cockhead notch at your wrecked hole and plunge inside in one smooth motion. He lets out a ragged moan, and it sends you right back into that foggy euphoria. He thrusts fast and deep, murmuring platitudes and filthiness into the shell of your ear as he chases his high.

His hands grip the meat of your sides so tight you’re sure there’ll be marks by morning. A firm grip on your jaw shakes you from your blissful floating.

“Look into the eye of the man who conquered you,” he hisses. “Look into my eyes while I fill you.”

With great effort you keep your lids parted and take in the glorious sight of his face twisting and contorting as he begins pulsing inside the pitches of your cunt. Every thrust pushes some of his spend out, and for a fleeting moment you wish you could keep every drop inside you. With one final snap of his hips, he finishes and sags into your body below him. His breath is hot and humid on your neck, heartbeat hammering against your chest, and you wrap your legs and arms around him as though you fear his departure.

“I must stay inside, Little Dove. Plug you with my seed. Fuck you ‘til it takes,” he rambles a little breathlessly.

You smile against his neck and welcome the surrender.

[stars-for-circe]

Save A Horse… (1000 Special) - Part 1

Tags / cw: headcanons, cowboy!ellie x high society/noble victorian!reader, 1800s dual Victorian and Wild West eras, historical romance, hidden/forbidden romance, sexual tension, fluff

Surrounded by other patrons in a busy seaside bar, Ellie sat in the corner booth, lazily swirling a whiskey glass in clockwise motions. Her Stetson hung low on her head, hiding her face from the many who chose to seek shelter from the sweltering heat. Occasionally, the doors would be opened, letting in the bright midday sun and outdoor buzz, but the ambiance of the bar remained otherwise undisturbed. Peace and fucking quiet - something Ellie had been needing.

Cowboy!Ellie who was drinking at that oceanside bar when your family first arrived in the Americas

She could remember it clear as day, how it went from a bustling street outside to yelling and gathering in excitement. It seemed that everyone was rather keen to see the new family - and new wealth - moving into the town.

She could also remember the bells ringing and the thudding of the wooden stairs as they lowered for your family to step off the ship, one by one. Curiosity won, Ellie thought, as she raised her hat to take a look out of the window next to her, and she counted four people - two parents and two young boys. Behind them a large group of maids carrying enough luggage to weigh down a small boat.

For a moment, Ellie thought that was that, but then - in the corner of her eye - came a flurry of bright fabric as you ran to the stairs, almost tripping in your dress on the way down. And for the first time in a long time, that heady buzz of the port went quiet, as almost every man (and some women too, Ellie noticed) watched you in awe.

But Ellie ignored everyone else, and their plans and advances on you. Because the moment you stepped off the ship, catching her eye - and quite possibly her heart - in the process, Ellie knew you would be hers.

Cowboy!Ellie who was hired to do work on your property, only to meet you the very first day

The estate your father bought was fucking huge - she could tell from the very end of the winding road leading up to the hill it stood on. But the paddocks were messy, and unkempt. In hindsight, Ellie really should have guessed she’d be hired to fix it up…

…And also get closer to you, of course.

It was a boiling hot day that she was ordered to ride shimmer up to the property, for a tour and and instructions and all that. And by the time Ellie got up there, she was drenched in sweat - all this money and they couldn’t offer her a carriage or something?

It was just before noon, too, so it would only get hotter. Ellie could only hope that the first few hours would be spent inside the property and away from the afternoon sun. She unbuttoned her shirt down by two, pulling it back. and forth to uselessly fan her partially exposed chest. This was a bullshit job for the pay she was promised.

But, she thought, as she noticed not one, but two figures walking out to meet her on the patio, the promise of you once again most definitely payed the rest. God, you were even more beautiful closer up - the sun casting a glow on your face, as the wind at the top of the hill blew your hair around your face like a halo, and the baby blue silks of your dress around you like rippling water.

You walked up to her with your father, as he introduced the both of you to Ellie, and welcomed her to the property along with all the other necessary formalities. She shook hands with him - quite firmly, too - as he told her of the projects and repairs needed to be done on the property. But she couldn't help but let her eyes trace back to you, as you took turns glancing at your father as he spoke, and at Ellie. Or more specifically her hands, that now rested at her side after she shook hands with him.

Partly, she listened to the long list of chores your father had set up, but Ellie was mostly just focused on your wandering eyes finding their way back to hers, and she smirked softly as you blinked in surprise when you realised she was already looking at you, taking you out of your trance. And, as your expression grew slightly more shocked, cheeks warming just a tad past normal, her expression could only be described as one of a mischievous grin, as the never-ending speech your father gave only meant one thing:

She was going to be here, with you, for a while.

Cowboy!Ellie who then spends every waking hour finding spare time to be around you

It would have been a few weeks by now, each day within that filled with stolen glances, shy smiles and sly smirks between you two. Each and every time you passed the old storehouse Ellie had been assigned to repaint, you would feel her gaze leave the building and become fixated on you, daring you to turn around and make eye contact. You almost did - to be fair - by letting your eyes wander the grassy path between the both of you, and travel up her soiled boots and paint-stained jeans, up her dirty wife-beater hidden under baggy flannel, and to her sheening neck, almost glistening under the hot summer sun.

But never her eyes. You weren't ever going to lose that game to temptation, not when she so obviously wanted you to play. Instead, you simply walked past, book tight in your hand as you crossed the field and into the middle of an empty paddock, letting her gaze follow you all the way to the large oak tree standing proudly in the centre - after staying here for a while, you had found the perfect place to read. And, well, the swings on hanging down from the tree gave you the perfect view of Ellie hard at work, safe from her attention.

Unfortunately, however, it seemed that you had been spotted after all these weeks. At first, you hadn't even noticed, much too engrossed in your book. But the clearing of her throat as she smirked down at you, hands on her hips, told you everything you needed to know.

"Nice book you're reading" She spoke, taking her eyes off you as she leaned against the trunk of the tree behind you, placing a cigarette between her lips. And the sun at this time of day did nothing to help, creating shadows and rays through the leaves that made her just that much hotter.

"You mind?" She asked, raising a brow while making a gesture to the lighter in her hand.

"Not at all" you replied, taking your attention back to your reading, before registering what she said. You furrowed your brows and snapped your book shut.

"I didn't know you read books."

She glanced up at you as you said that, huffing out a laugh as she took the lit cigarette from between her lips, the smoke billowing out of her open mouth.

"Nah, but those books definitely ring a bell, doll." You paused, confused for a moment, before realising what exactly you had brought out with you.

"I- you mean you- you're..?"

Ellie let out a full on chuckle this time, kicking her leg out from off the tree trunk and putting the cigarette back between her lips. She took another puff, before giving you once last glance as she walked off. But not before calling out to you one last time, as she headed back downhill.

"You're a smart girl, doll. You'd be right to trust your gut."

...Damn those sapphic poets.

Author's note: *peeks head behind door slowly* hiiiii.......No but actually, I went MIA for a bit sorry ab that </3, there's actually a lot more to life than tumblr when you discover the outside world and fresh air, surprisingly. But anyways! I hit 1000 about a month ago and felt like I really should have posted something for it so here's this! There's actually another half thats incomplete but I felt like you guys at least deserved something after so long without any posts, so here u go <3

Taglist: @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands @flowersforvi

[kcrossvine-art]

hi friends! This recipe/review was delayed at first from- well it was a different recipe originally, technically bat tempura should be the next item but id like my first tasting experience of bat to be made by someone else who knows what bat should taste like. The recipe after bat tempura is living armor and id intended to use geoduck to mimic the scale. Living armor is interesting with dunmeshi as they used the suit of armor in 3 different ways; grilling, steaming, and souping.

Affording geoduck, a PNW delicacy, is a stretch for one dish, let alone 3. With my write-ups id like to offer a chance that readers will actually be able to make what we talk about. So I opted to use regular clams instead. I feel myself above the fire so we're still sticking with one dish, the dish that doesnt require a grill or a helmet-esque plating arrangement.

Today in our delicious dungeon, we're going to be making Living Armor Soup!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes into Living Armor Soup?” YOU MIGHT ASKThe ingredients used in the show didnt give much to work on, quoting "medicinal herb" and "special sauce".

1 lbs Mussels

Shallots

Garlic

Bay leaf

Curry powder

Chicken stock

Cream

Eggs

Its important to use cream as your dairy, the higher fat content gives you leeway with boiling and acidity to avoid curdling. Any cream should do. Still bring it to temp gently but rest assured in the moo moos protection. 

AND, “what does Living Armor Soup taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

A smoother, buttery-er cream of chicken soup

The mussel meat itself feels like a simplified version of chicken hearts- structurally and in taste

Its not bad. You could hard sell it to a picky eater 

Green onions would bring crispier top-notes much needed

And maybe building a roux base for the soup would fill out the low end?

I dont know what drinks would pair well with this. My heart wants to say red wine but im not a grape fan and cant get more specific than that

I think the hassle of procuring seafood is why when i ask my friends their opinions, the responses are middling to negative. You cant build a palate for it if you dont eat it enough. If i'd had fish stock i wouldve used that rather than chicken, while it doesnt turn the soup disgusting or make itself known much at all, awareness of its presence draws unfavorable comparisons to food I'd rather be eating. And eating for cheaper too (...besides the chicken hearts).

. Some mussels out of a bunch will inevitably be DOA, you wont be eating exactly a pound of them. This and waterweight are the nature of seafood. . Lay easy on the salt until the end before serving . If you have enough mussel stock left after straining, you might not need additional stock

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

From deciding to cook to sitting and eating, the process took about an hour and a half. Not bad but not great, considering this dinner left me feeling full for all of about an hour after.

And the mussels were mostly usable/alive too! I discarded maybe 3 of the whole pound! Sure seafood can be light eating- youd think the dairy and vegetables would hulk it up more. The science of what makes food filling isnt entirely understood, as is most nutrition and gastro science, so i dont know what to blame. Stunning that 1lbs of mussels was not enough to keep a 110lbs person full for an hour.

If i were to make this again, i would serve it with fresh dinner rolls (or another carb). Breads and seafood are joined at the hip in my mind. You want more delicate tastes from your fish? I got just the thing. An entire family of food with varying flavors and textures that just so happen to all work pretty well with the third thing people eat often with seafood; butter.

I give this recipe a solid 4/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) It needs workshopping beyond being recognizable to the show.

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

1 lbs mussels, cleaned and de-bearded

Butter

3 shallots, finely diced

3 garlic cloves, crushed

2 bay leaf

Curry powder to taste

120g chicken stock

100g heavy cream

2 eggs

Method:

Wash your mussels. Remove any beards and barnacles. Discard any mussels with open shells.

Finely dice your shallots and garlic.

In a saucepan, brown your shallots and garlic in some butter over medium-low heat. Once softened add your stock, bay leaves, and curry powder to the saucepan. Increase the heat to medium.

Add your cleaned mussles to the saucepan, the liquid should cover them but if not add more stock. Bring to a boil, and then cover and reduce to a simmer.

Keep simmering until most/all of the mussel shells open. Discard any that still havent after about 6 minutes of simmering. Set aside the remaining mussels.

Pass the liquid in your saucepan through a strainer and return the liquid into the saucepan.

In a seperate bowl, combine the eggs and cream together. Carefully stir the egg/cream mixture into the saucepan until incorporated.

Remove the meat from the mussels, either discard or save some shells for garnishing.

Place the mussel meat on the bottom of serving bowls and pour the hot broth overtop, add your garnish (if any) and enjoy!

[aurora-starwars]

When Something Gets Broken, It Can Be Fixed

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Hecate daughter!reader

Summary: When Clarisse breaks her spear, your there to fix it

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Not proof read, not very good, oh well. Just fluff and very slight angst.

Request by @magicalengineerdonut:

I have a request for Clarisse. The reader could be a daughter of Hecate and it takes place during capture the flag and clarisse’s spear breaks and reader comforts her and the next day she comes back to clarisse with her spear that reader fixed and it ends with a cute moment between them

A/n: Thank you for requesting! I hope you like it! I am very excited to be getting into the PJO fandom. My friends have been raving about if for years! I am on the third book right now and I love the series so far. And I love Dior. Anyway, I would love to write more for this girl! So please request!

Masterlist

As the sun rose, it cast a soft, golden glow over Camp Half-Blood, signalling the start of another bustling day. The day of 'capture the flag' always stirred up excitement and anticipation among the campers, transforming the usually tranquil camp into a hive of activity.

It was a day that held great significance within the camp's traditions, and the palpable hustle and bustle was a testament to its importance. [Name] walked from her cabin to the training grounds in hopes to get a few more minutes to go over some defensive positions.

However, her contemplative silence was abruptly shattered by the commanding bark of instructions echoing from a voice she recognized all too well. The words were harsh, direct, and specific, as the head of the Ares cabin usually was. [Name] smiled at the sound of Clarisse La Rue’s pointed yelling, her direct and impersonal insults at the red team were a sign of her good mood.

If that was not enough of a sign, Clarisse looked over at [Name] when she finished speaking and smiled. It was a slight smile, [Name] will admit, but she saw it.

[Name] knew Clarisse very well. There was little that [Name] didn’t know about the girl at this point. And [Name] knew Clarisse had a plan.

“Where are you off to?” Clarisse asked, sauntering over as her hair, in a ponytail, swung behind her. [Name] always thought she was a sight to behold.

“Just on my way to the training grounds, care to join?” [Name] asked, already starting to make her way to the grounds, Clarisse falling into step beside her.

[Name] watched Clarisse face closely as they walked, hoping the girl might give up what she was thinking about. What she was planning.

When she didn’t say anything, [Name] took matters into her own hands.

“What are you planning?” [Name] smirked, her voice playful as watched Clarisse’s mouth twitch, the corners of her mouth turning upward ever so slightly. It looked like she was trying not to smile.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, just planning on winning,” Clarisse smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. Something twinkled in them though, something like mischief…

“And this could have nothing to do with our new camper? The one kicked your ass in the washroom?” There was a careful teasing in [Name]’s voice, she was determined to get her point across but she was not willing to feel the force of Clarisse La Rue’s rage.

Clarisse only rolls her eyes. She scoffs and looks away. [Name] sniffles a giggle at vision of Clarisse, soaked in toilet water, running out of the washroom like a wet puppy. Clarisse abruptly stops and turns to [Name], bringing her thoughts from Clarisse to the reason she was there, the defensive positions. ”You know your job. I know you will do well,” Clarisse puts simply, her face remaining stoic, but her eyes betray her, conveying the fondness she tries so hard to hide.

[Name] nods as she walks away.

The game started as usual, the only difference was the direction Clarisse and some of her siblings ran, which [Name] thought was strange but knew not to question Clarisse about these things. The game moved quickly at the start, everyone running off into a different direction, [Name] doing the same. But after running a little further in the forest, she found her spot not far from the Red flag. There were only a few Ares kids protecting the Flag a few metres away but other than that, the forest was surprisingly empty. A stark contrast to a few minutes prior. There, [Name] took her stand, waiting for the blue team to come barreling in. The young Athena girl on the blue team had a brilliant plan for her to just run in with her invisibility cap and just take the flag. A plan she has used before, Clarisse was hoping that this time [Name]’s magic could somehow make it so the red team could actually see the young girl.

[Name] figured she could just make a small spell to not let magical items/gifts go past a barrier. It wasn’t strong and it would only work once, but it was better than nothing. Unfortunately, the spell could only protect the front of the flag, which left the back completely defenceless.

And, of course, Annabeth Chase would know that.

[Name] breaks out into a run after the floating red flag watching as the blue team breaks out into cheers as they see the flag floating quickly in their direction. [Name] slows down to a jog, knowing that if the Are’s kids couldn’t keep up with them, they had already won. And a well-deserved win at that. She could almost smile at the fact but as she comes up to the beach she hears the ear piercing scream of Clarisse. [Name] rushes in as Clarisse attempts to take the head off the new twelve year old. Grabbing her shoulders, [Name] pulls her away from the terrified boy. [Name]’s eyes lock on the broken spear on the floor as she walks Clarisse out and tries not to wince.

Her spear, her gift from her dad.

Turning Clarisse, [Name] gets a good look at her face. Clarisse’s face is rigid with anger, unmoving and unsurprisingly shocked, her eyes lock with [Name]’s. With her hands on Clarisse’s shoulders, she could feel the heavy breaths Clarisse was trying to take.

“Clarisse.”

“M-m…” She started quietly, her brows shifting from turned down to turned up and back again. Her eyes looking just past the daughter of Hecate in front of her, unfocused.

“Clarisse,” [Name] calls again.

“My… My spear,” Clarisse pants, her fists tightening around nothing.

“Clarisse!” [Name] calls louder, moving her hands from the Are’s girl’s shoulders to cup her face.

Clarisse finally snaps out of it, her eyes falling on the girl in front of her, her shoulders fall and she takes a deep breath.

“Oh Clarisse, I am so sorry,” [Name] brings her into a hug, one arm wrapped around the bigger girl and one holding her head, being careful of her curls.

She tucks her head into [Name]’s neck and takes a deep breath, when she lets it out her grip on the Hecate girl tightens, but her shoulders relax.

“Okay, love. Let’s get you back to your cabin,” [Name] whispers, gently caressing the strong girl’s face, finding that her hand comes back slightly damp, and [Name] knows its not from sweat.

The next afternoon, Clarisse was simmering moping on a bench by the training grounds when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Clarisse whipped around, standing up quickly, arms crossed, “What?! Oh, it’s just you.”

“Just me,” [Name] repeats, smile on her face.

Her smile causes Clarisse to drop her accusatory glare in favour of a curious head tilt.

“Where were you all day?”

[Name] shrugs, “Around, why? Missed me?”

Clarisse just pouts, brows furrowed, her face somewhere between annoyed and amused.

“Aww, was spending last night in my arms not enough for big, strong, Clarisse?” [Name] giggles, eyes watching the girl before her with fondness. Clarisse was always easy to read.

Clarisse remained silent, but her eyes screamed, ‘yes, it was not enough’.

“Well, don’t you worry. I am here now, and I brought a gift. Hopefully this makes you feel better,” [Name] pulls out Clarisse’s spear—completely fixed as if it hadn’t been broken to begin with— from behind her back, that she was somehow able to conceal.

Clarisse’s eyes blow wide, her arms dropping along with her jaw. She quickly takes the spear from [Name]’s hands, examining it. Feeling how the weight feels in her hands.

“How did you do this,” She questions, still looking at the spear with amazement.

[Name] shrugs, “I may not be a daughter of Hephaestus, but being the daughter of Goddess of witchcraft and sorcery has its benefits when it comes to magical artifacts.”

Clarisse puts the spear on the bench carefully before turning her attention to [Name], taking her face into her hands.

“You are the most beautiful, wonderful, talented, gorgeous,” she kisses [Name] passionately, pulling her closer, before parting again. “-adorable, skilled girl I have ever met.”

She connects their lips again, this time softer, gentler, lovingly.

“You know that?” she questions, looking into [Name]’s eyes.

[Name] giggles, “So, you like it?”

“Yes, dummy,” she kisses her again, a big smile evident as she presses her lips to [Name].

“Now it is time to wave my hot girl and my awesome spear in that little twerps face.”

Master-list

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I love you! <3333 Feel free to request! Check out my request guidelines, it might make it easier! <333333

[katsukikitten]

You've been writing to inmates in prison for almost two years now and have helped many feel more at ease with their current situations and possible futures. So it should come to no surprise when the warden of the most notorious prison seeks out your help with a difficult inmate they can hardly contain. The task proves difficult after you receive your first letter back from Bakugou Katsuki. More infamously known as Ground Zero, and you're not so sure you can help a man this far gone.

wc 6.8k warnings: dunno but he's mean and a villain so read at your own risk. MDNI 18+ content

Congratulations!

You've been selected for a special project due to your credentials with previous inmates. Letters exchanged between you and other inmates have had a positive effect on their rehabilitation which is one step closer to getting them assimilated back to the normalcy of society. 

We ask that you help us by reaching out to inmate B-001174 Bakugou, Katsuki. He has not had mail correspondence nor a visitor due to his self isolation since his incarceration. We are hoping that a letter from the most well received correspondent begins to pave the way for a brighter future for B-001174. Please see the below instructions on what topics to avoid for inmate B-001174

Family members of any relation to inmate

Previous crimes by inmate or inmate's affiliates. 

Current crimes by inmate's affiliates or any such nature of crime 

Current events of any kind including natural disasters, diseases, political elections or anything of relation. 

Current hero rankings, change of status or death of any hero since incarceration December 18th 2XXX

Any mention of hero(es) who captured inmate listed as follows : Aizawa, Shouta - Eraserhead, Todoroki, Enji - Endeavor, Toshinori, Yagi - Allmight, Usagiyama, Rumi - Mirko 

Current known affiliates are listed as follows : Kirishima, Eijirou, Midoriya, Izuku, Shigaraki, Tomura and Todoroki, Touya. 

We appreciate your efforts in brightening the dull lives of inmates and hope you pick up your pen and do what you do best, change lives for the better! Please see the following attachments for instructions on how to address the letter and seal inside the pre-paid postage envelope before dropping it off at any post office.

Remember each letter will be opened and read for any sort of criminal activity before being passed along to the inmate. 

Sincerely, 

Warden of Tartarus Maximum Prison Facility

You flip the letter over and skim the instructions, the same as they always are expect this time there is an extra line to add, maximum security level ten, as if you had to notate some sort of alert to the mailroom for an extra thorough check of this particular piece of mail. You bite the inside of your lip, toeing off your kitten heels before padding over to your computer with letter in tow.  

The request comes as a surprise, mostly because they listed a specific inmate instead of your usual list of inmates who wished to receive mail but had ties cut from their own families or needed some semblance of someone on the outside to speak with. Never asking you to address some sort of conversation with someone who sounded like they didn't want to have one at all. 

Snarling your lip when you read the affiliates that you needed to avoid as if their government names gave you any idea of who they were, some of them anyway. 

Two with whom you were already exchanging letters with weekly. 

Your usual routine to wind down from work is lost to your undying hunger of who this person was. Although you had to admit Bakugou sounded eerily familiar. 

A quick search brings up his villain name,  Ground Zero, captured during a raid of some sort and he alone needed several heroes for his capture. His quirk was dangerous, explosions detonated by sparks along his forearms and palms from his sweat that contained nitroglycerin and it seemed as if his mental health was just as stable as the fuel to his quirk. 

Looking at him wrong set him off and he was powerful enough to level buildings from just a few juls of output from his intense explosions. Still curiosity killed the cat and you delved deeper. 

Wondering how Izuku, aka Deku, who was quirkless and Eijirou, aka Blood Riot who could harden his skin, which you knew from their letters, got caught up with a living, breathing nuke. 

Thankfully most of the documentation and footage involving Katsuki's arrest was released to the public with redactions and edits of course but what you needed was the raw data. 

Finding unofficially released footage from Mirko's body cam, the only surviving body cam between the pursuing heroes. It starts right in the midst of the action, sirens wailing  and people screaming in the background as the scene unfolds. Ground Zero and Mirko exchange blows evenly while Endevor tries to ambush him from behind. The hulking blonde smirks, as if he had no blind spot, swinging his large arm backward hitting Endeavor right in the mouth, hard enough it sends him flying.  Katsuki's bromine eyes flicker to what must be vantage points off camera as if searching for something. 

"Got that pesky ass four eyes on me huh? I'm hurt ya don't wanna play with me properly, hops." He dodges a kick to the chest, sliding back and it's obvious his prowess as a fighter is unmatched, even with his quirk silenced.

"Shut the fuck up. Ya talk too much."  Shifting her weight to fein a kick that he catches, pinning her thick leg between his sturdy ribs and strong arm as he wears the nastiest smile. One that Mirko wipes off quickly with a swift kick from her free foot straight to his handsome face. Turning his cheek and blood arcs from his mouth, still he does not stagger nor falter. 

He even still has her leg pinned as she stands awkwardly, back arched to him and her bunny tail twitches. The viewer can only see the ground and her free leg but the mic still very much catches what he says next and you're sure the smile he was wearing earlier comes back tenfold. 

"Careful hops, ya get any rougher with me and I'll cum." 

His laugh echoes shortly after and the sound should not cause your stomach to flip the way it does before the footage abruptly ends. 

Taking the time to scroll through a few more pictures and articles, trying to find where it all went wrong when really none of that was your business, still it killed you to know. 

And when you fail to find anything, fail to find that butterfly effect that puts his whole life askew, it does little to quell the uneasy feeling that gnaws at the pit of your stomach. If anything it fuels it yet still you rummage your desk for stationary and a pen. 

Sealing away the envelope once you were done and setting it by your purse to grab in the morning when you think you'll be braver. 

Or maybe less brave as you hesitate by the mail drop off box, your train fast approaching the outside terminal before you shove it into the slot quickly. 

Too late to take it back now. 

Besides what were the odds he'd even send one back?

"B-001174, got mail." The guard grunts as he slips the already open letter under the cell door, finishing his rounds before the doors would open and the inmates could roam about the pod as they saw fit. 

Katsuki snarls, he didn't get mail, letters or pictures or even the cult following he once had he'd scared 'em all off. Tired of all the stupid bullshit they spewed at him, the ideals they placed on him or the words they shoved into his mouth. Worst yet were how they justified their actions, their own wrong doings in the name of Ground Zero, too pussy to even own up to their own actions. Katsuki hated that as much as he hated liars. 

Besides he didn't ask for all that shit, didn't care. He just wanted to watch the world burn. 

Wanted to set it on fire and Katsuki's philosophy was that anything was kindling. 

That everything is kindling. 

And he thinks he should just ignite the smallest spark despite the quirk "silencing" cuffs and let the letter be devoured by the heat of his palms. 

But the return address catches his eye, the name does. It's familiar in a way he can't quite place yet. Pulling the paper out of the envelope in the meantime. The first thing he notices is the faint almost perfumey smell of coconut from the paper, not from spraying the stationary but as if it were lotion rubbing across the parchment as you wrote in long looping letters, for a moment he finds the smell pleasant. His poisonous bromine eyes slide over the letter with ease. 

Dear Bakugou, 

I heard you don't get letters very often, if any, so I hope this one finds you well. The weather is warming up quickly, the cicadas are starting to scream even though it's barely June, we'll all be sweltering come August. Summer is my favorite season, do you have a favorite? Work slows down around this time and they usually grant us extra leave so we can enjoy the weather, which is quite nice. I hope you're getting to enjoy the sun as well. 

I know cooking is one of your favorite things, I can see why. It can be relaxing or make you feel good to nourish someone else. What other hobbies do you have aside from cooking? Any favorite books or authors? Maybe I can send your favorite one in! Just let me know. 

Do you have everything you need? Do you need any money for commissary? Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything at all, I'm only a letter away. 

Hope to hear from you and maybe soon I can call you Katsuki. 

Much Love

He snorts as he reads the last line and it finally dawns on him from where he knows your name. Lifting himself out of his prison cot with ease, the cheap thing groaning from his bulk as he exits his cell. Heading towards the neighboring cell that holds Deku and Riot, shoving his way into the too cramped space for the bulking men. 

"Ka-kaachan!" Izuku chirps, surprised to see the hot headed blonde out of his cell and especially surprised to see Bakugou in his own. Lingering by Izuku's half with a quirked brow, his eyes roaming until they found the hidden stack of papers. 

"Gonna grab breakfast with us?" Kirishima asks as he watches large hands snatch at the pile. Instantly Izuku stands, eyes darkening as he steps towards Katsuki.

"Put those down, Kaachan." It's that fake polite smile Izuku wears before a fight, the kind that never reaches his eyes and Bakugou doesn't heed the warning, "Please."

It's clipped and now Kirishima thinks to rise, doesn't want either of them to do solitary or to deal with the month long bickering if they do get into a physical fight. 

Katsuki looks over the letters, reading them quickly and appreciating that Izuku is meticulous enough to keep them in chronological order, each one signed off the same way. Much love. 

Such bullshit. 

Izuku shoves Bakugou when he still scowls down at the papers that also smell like coconut. Katsuki drops the letters unceremoniously and Izuku scrambles to keep them from hitting the concrete floor. Bakugou already on Kirishima's side who watches with a confused glare. 

"What are you-" But Kirishima doesn't get to say much else as Katsuki lifts the thin mattress from the metal frame to find the hidden letters. Tucked away safely as if the battle worn villain took comfort in the false words in shiny black ink. 

Same return address, same name, same bull shit sign off. 

"Katsuki!" Kirishima shoves him and the blonde hardly moves, Eijirou's skin half hardening out of habit before he tries to shove again. Katsuki hits his forearm harshly, a soft pop in warning although neither could do too much with the amount of sedation and silencing that came from the collar from around their thick throats. Izuku sans silencing cuffs, has no worries about a part of him being dulled. He was built like an ox with the metabolism of a pubescent teen despite being in his late twenties so sedatives or mood stabilizers hardly have any effect. 

Bakugou tosses the letters onto Kirishima's scratchy blanket before he scoffs. 

"Tsk, believe that bullshit?" He's rolling his eyes as he leaves the cell with nothing but the rustle of paper as they try to rehide what they act like is their dirty little secret. 

God weak hearted fools were so fucking annoying. 

Post through the prison system could take some time, especially when it came to newer exchanges. It could be anywhere between two weeks to two months before you saw a reply from Katsuki. If you got one at all. 

But the thought of his phantom reply slips to the back of your head what with your current workload and the other correspondents so when you see a sealed envelope the prison's return address you think nothing of it. 

Not until you open it to see an open envelope with your address but instead of your name is spelled out Fake Bitch. 

Blinking furiously you pull out the letter, unfolding it quickly to let your eyes scan over the page, each word burning into your retinas.

Piece of shit, 

Such a pathetic fuckin slut, writing any and every desperate man behind bars you think is hot, hopin you'll get a conjugal visit. Already fucked everyone at surface level ya gotta try prison dick? 

Or is it worst than that?  Mommy and daddy didn't love ya enough? Didn't give ya enough attention so you look for it in anyone that'll give ya the time of day? Prey on those with no one to talk to knowing you'd get a reply out of desperation. 

Lickin knives all ya know sweetheart? Pretty fuckin scummy if ya ask me. 

Fuck off and die, 

Bakugou Katsuki 

Now you've received your fair share of mean and asshole letters but this? This was different. 

This felt personal. 

It was rule number one you'd given yourself when you were asked to start penning letters while in a shitty place yourself. 

And yet here you were breaking it for some asshat who thought the cityscape was his to destroy. 

Heart ringing in your ears as you try to calm yourself, counting your breaths until you finally could see straight. Penning up something simple yet effective telling yourself that even if he didn't reply it didn't matter. 

You drop it into the mail the next day, two weeks later the same guard is slipping another opened letter under Bakugou's cell door. A snarl to his lip, he didn't expect you to reply and if he was being honest he may have forgotten about you, still the envelope was addressed to his inmate number and no longer is his name written in your cute script. 

While you may think you know everything there is to know about life and me, I'd like to point out your position over mine. 

Last I checked I'm not miles and miles in the ground, under heavy security, among other things a civilian wouldn't be privy to. However I will put it into lame man's terms as it seems your cognitive abilities have declined. 

I'm not the one behind bars, asshole. 

Much Hate

Bakugou clicks his tongue, he was used to the insult, wore it proudly most days but he knew his first letter would go one of two ways.

One, you'd cry when you read it and never replied to him again, which was his hope or two there was a very slim chance he'd get under your skin enough you'd feel the innate need to respond and defend yourself. 

Bakugou does what he does best and burrows further under your pretty skin twirling the pen he finds in the library with ease as he takes to writing out a delicious reply. 

Mail from Tartarus normally came on Wednesday or Thursday as if someone at the facility always forgot to send it out at the beginning of the week. So it became a part of your routine to check your PO Box you set up in a prefecture over in order to preserve your safety should something ever go awry with any of your pen pals or to receive online purchases. Mail day used to be a day you looked forward to, something to help you get through the remainder of your work week but today it was a day you dreaded. 

The excitement from seeing the others' responses in the mail is overshadowed by one particular envelope that slips out of the Manila folder that all of the letters to the same correspondent were sent in to save postage. 

You should be reading Touya's letter or hell anyone else's for that matter, yet here you stood, going for that obnoxious scrawl as he still refused to spell out your name and instead gave you some horrible insult. 

Pathetic Slut

If lying to yourself by writing half ass disingenuine letters to prisoners out of pity makes ya feel like yer changing the world then by all fucking means write away sweetheart. 

Just don't be surprised when you get an asshole response from an asshole behind bars. 

Cause we both know that's what you think of all of us don'tchya? 

Die, 

Bakugou Katsuki 

It shouldn't bother you, it shouldn't burrow so deep into your skin that his inky words scratch at your bones. Like his fingers could dig around in the marrow like maggots yet still it makes your cheeks heat. Makes your eyes burn from frustration and lack of blinking as your palms sweat. 

Soles of your feet burning as you walk further into your apartment to rummage through the drawers of your desk.  Uncaring how things topple over as you furiously grab for a permanent marker, pens and books scattering over the hardwood floors. 

Heart pounding as it resounds through your body like metal striking a bell. Each beat faster, harder than the last until you think your vision starts to ehb at the edges from how much hatred burns away at any of the kindness you built up over the last decade. 

Snapping the marker in half by the time you're done writing your final letter to the asshole. 

FUCK 

YOU 

You don't read it, don't care if it makes it past screening and he never sees it at all. Shoving it into one of your personal envelopes on your desk slapping on a floral postage stamp before stomping down to the express box that sat just outside of your apartment complex. 

It takes a full week for you to calm down, another week to stop thinking about it daily, and one more week to even reply to the letters you got almost a month ago. 

An email comes in from the post office, alerting you to something being placed in your box. You hope it's the new sun dress you bought as retail therapy after a long week and an even bigger bottle of booze that you'd drained. Spending quite a pretty penny on something you didn't even really have an occasion to wear it to. 

More like a nice date, the type of dress you could dress up or down depending on what sorts of accessories you paired with it. 

Taking the train three stops past your own to head into the post office. Turning the key to your decent sized box finding within the metal your promised package. 

And on top of that a familiar manila folder with the return address to Tartarus. 

You grit your teeth, holding onto the mail harder than you should as you take those three long stops back home. Swallowing thickly as you climb your steps, the folder and plastic bag package punctured from your sharp nails as you quickly press in your seven digit key code to get into your apartment and out of the sweltering mid August air.

When your door shuts it closed off the sound of the screaming cicadas and the few crickets that lie in the green space beside your apartment as you try to force yourself to follow your nightly routine. 

Remove shoes, take off makeup, eat, shower, sleep. 

But that damn folder was burning a hole into your fingers as you go to your desk, rocking your chair side to side before you just rip it open like you'd rip off a bandaid. 

This time the letter addresses you in a new way. 

Sweetheart, 

I dare you to come say that shit to my face. You fuckin better show up Saturday other wise I'll let your precious Izu and Eiji know just how much of a fake bitch ya really are. Imagine what it would do to them? Break their hearts I'm sure.  

Ya'd hate to mess with their progress wouldn't ya? 

Don't forget to wear something cute, it'd be nice to see some fat tits in my face at the very least. If a shitty woman like you even owns anything relatively sexy.

Fuck off 

Bakugou Katsuki 

You see red, breathing deeply as you re-read the letter again, who the fuck was this asshole? Black mailing you into visiting him so it wouldn't hurt your other correspondents because Bakugou was so fucking selfish. 

So black out angry you don't seem to wake up, not when you put yourself in that sleek summer sun dress that went to your mid thigh, not when you stare at your angry scowl as you apply light make up, and especially not on the hour drive and then two hour ferry ride to Tartarus. Especially not during the twenty minute descent in a cramped elevator box with a guard in front and behind you with AKs clipped to their chests, the sweltering heat seeping down this low in the ground due to body heat and poor ventilation of the prison. 

Not until the buzzer of the barred door in front of you screams its demands, that the handle was "live" and could be opened by the guard standing in the cage between the hallway that led back to freedom and the other where you could already see toxic bromine burning into your skin. 

This was a bad idea. This was a really fucking bad idea.  

You swallow thickly, it was too late to turn back now wasn't it? The door had already swung shut as the guard came closer to you for one final inspection.

"Dress is kinda short." Katsuki can overhear the guard mumble to you, can see how the guard's fingers twitch and for some reason his own do too. He watches how the guard lingers, how the man's hand press against your body and bunches up your dress as he pats you down a little too roughly. How you bite your lip when the man squeezes your ribs and under the weight of your breasts a little too roughly. 

Katsuki is starting to see red, sweat begins to collect on his brow. He hasn't even fully seen you at least not without an obstructed view but already he can tell he likes what he sees. 

Likes how the dress clings to parts of you you'd favor, the parts you want to really highlight. How the hem flusters higher with each step of your strappy flat shoes.

Loves the scowl that pinches up your cute face when the door buzzes to allow you into the room with him and another six guards. Likes how you straighten your spine as if you've gotten fresh resolve when you come in. 

Looking at him like he was trash and he smirks, like how you don't recoil from him despite how he looks now.  

Plexiglass spit guard with metal framing afixed to his face to keep more than his salvia to himself, more so to keep his gnashing teeth away from people's skin. How his throat is encircled with a thick black collar with a red light set far past stun and closer to kill that would send an electric pulse if he misbehaved but only if they could reach their remote fast enough. 

How the silver cuffs around his thick wrists chain him to the table top, thick forearms exposed from him rolling up his bright orange suit that was harsh on the eyes thanks to the flickering fluorescent lighting overhead. Soft ash blonde hair messy at the top with a self given undercut beneath, iris so bloody red it was as if he was born straight from the calf of Ares himself. 

"Hey Sweetheart." He purrs and his voice is pure sin. 

Pure fucking sin. 

Sending a jolt straight to your clit as his pretty lips curl up into a deadly smirk, showing his sharp canines. 

Bakugou can't contain the feeling of triumph that dances in his veins, purposely egging you on in his letter with the closest Saturday knowing you'd be allowed to come on such short notice. See, most visitors needed to have thorough background checks and intensive mental testing before coming to meet anyone in maximum security five hundred meters below sea level. 

But the conniving blonde knew you were special. 

Knew the warden of Tartarus favored you and would allow you to skip these precautions, especially after what that dumbass thinks you've done. In less than a month of writing to him, that damn Deku finally added Inko-san back to his visiting list, actually came to the visit and cupped her hands. Murmuring on and on that her baby boy with the wavy emerald curls was okay. Inko cried and returned every month since.

No different for Kirishima either, adding Fat Gum, who was like a father figure to him during their shared time at UA, to his visitor list. Surprisingly Taishiro came, still comes, him and Inko car pool together. 

Not even a few heartbeats pass between the two of you before you feel your tongue slicing up the sensitive skin of the roof of your mouth. Of the hard bone of your teeth. 

"Fuck. You." The words drip with sticky poison that even one of the guards behind him flinches but not Bakugou. 

No never Bakugou Katsuki, the Ground Zero himself who leveled a city for the fucking fun of it 

He smiles, both sides of his mouth curling up and it should be disturbing how much he obviously gets off on your frustration, on your hate. But it isn't, it's almost mesmerizing how he looks at you. Like you're something to triumph and conquer, something he wants to keep for himself. 

With that you turn to leave, skirt fluttering from the movement and Katsuki can see the tattoo on your upper thigh, the ink making his mouth salivate as he wonders if he can find any more you've got hidden on that fine body. 

He lunges despite the rattling chains that keep him close to the table, still he has enough leeway to grab onto your arm in one giant hand. Foolishly you try to pull free. 

"Oh come on sweetheart. I've got a whole hour of play time for this. Yer not leaving, sit down." 

His grip on you is tight, his hand big enough to engulf half of your forearm and it gets tighter still. Hot palm making your bones creak from the pressure as he smiles up at you cruelly. All you can do is glare down at him, bore all of your hate where the two of you are connected, his skin feels electric against yours. 

"Ya know, I could probably still blow your arm off." He doesn't bother to say it quietly, chuckles when you look at the quirk silencing cuffs and collar he dons, "They ain't shit against strong quirks." 

Your eyes flash, anger spiking your blood and stupidly you strike. Hand stinging as badly as the tears that come to your eyes and threaten to fall past your lash line. Clawed fingers met with the metal framing of the glass spit guard mask that covers his mouth. Still one of your claws cuts his cheeks and he howls with laughter. 

"Like I said-" He yanks you down harshly, playful tone from his voice gone as your ribs smack into the edge of the metal table, puffs of hot breath fogging the glass of his spit guard, "Sit." 

The awkward angle forces your knees to bend, settling on to the cold metal stool while his warm fingers leave blossoms of black and blue on the skin. As if returning the favor for the cut. 

"I can feel your heart pounding princess,yer pussy throbin this hard too?" He licks his lips, laughs when you lean away from him in disgust, "Ya like it. All sluts play hard to get at first." 

Your eyes flicker to the guards behind him, all six pretend not to notice, panic shoots through your veins and the realization of just how bad of a fucking idea this was settles over you harshly. Like ice water flowing from the nape of your neck.  

He follows your gaze, even cranes his head like he didn't know who was behind him and exactly where they stood. 

"Oh them? They ain't gonna do shit. They're too scared of me. Blew a guy's head off last week." He smiles and one of the guards suddenly finds the floor interesting, "Do ya know how drugged up I am right now baby? How much force these cuffs have to use to bring my quirk down to half power?" 

Choosing not to respond you let your eyes fall back on his handsome face watching it snarl as you ignore him. 

Oh he'd make you see him. 

"What cat got yer tongue now ya scared cause I'm so strong? Invincible?" Your eyes narrow as he speaks the arrogance of this man is far beyond your comprehension. 

"You bleed like every other man." He loves the way you speak, how you wield that sharp tongue. How he wants it pressed and slashing over his own as he's two fingers deep into your tight cunt, moaning into his mouth. 

He brings the thick digits of his free hand parting gift you bestowed upon him. The long thin slash as rough pads bring smeared blood into view so he can lick away the dark red beads. 

"Bloody men are usually the most dangerous, you never know if it's his or that of another's." He lets his hot thumb roll over the cut, cauterizing the small wound hoping it scars. 

Eyes widening as he blatantly uses his quirk as if there weren't armed guards behind him. You're watching his eyes closely as he does and finally you realize what he said is true. There is a dullness to them that was lacking in the raw footage you saw all those months ago. 

Then his eyes were vibrant, sharp and slicing, much more intense then the hazy glare he gives you now. It didn't make him any less of an apex predator. 

Still watching you, recording your small movements and committing your soft skin to his memory as he studies you. 

"Got a quirk?" He grunts out after a moment, after he collects whatever information he was looking for, "I wanna guess first. Manipulation?" 

He smirks at his own joke and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore how his thumb swipes at the underside of your forearm idly. How the motion twists your stomach violently with dizzying emotions. 

Rolling your eyes before you scoff an answer, "No. Besides you expect me to manipulate through what? Ink?" 

"Ya never know. Went to school with some asshole whose quirk was comic book sound effects." He leans back never letting go but now his hand is around your wrist. His fingers twitch when he looks at yours, fights the urge to roughly lace them with his own. 

"Well I don't. Manipulate I mean." You adjust in your seat, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, "And I won't disclose whether I have a quirk or not." 

"Haaah? Worried I'll like it?" When you don't answer he adds, "Is it compatible with mine?" 

Slowly blinking at him trying not to read into what you think he means. He groans at your silence, the higher dosage of his morning meds finally catching up making him a little lethargic. Taking his edge off when all he wants to do is rise over the crashing wave of the pending high he can barely keep at bay and whisk you out of the depths of hell the two of you currently sit in. 

"So then what? You just used regular words to manipulate them?" He fights back a yawn. 

"Who?" Your ribs still ache from his actions earlier, it doesn't warn you like it should. 

"Don't play fuckin stupid, Sweetheart." He's lurching into your space again, hand moving back over your bruise. It makes your stomach clench when it shouldn't, especially not as the chains rattle against the metal table top, serving as a heavy reminder of the setting of this conversation. 

Still his breath comes in quick puffs as it fogs up the glass again, "Shitty hair. Deku." 

Your brows furrow for a moment, another groan from him. 

"For fucks sake." Light squeeze of your arm as he spits their names, "Fuckin nerdy ass Izuku. Eijirou."

"I can't talk about them." Looking away from his darkened eyes that flash with a fury of emotion.

"Who's stoppin ya? Them?" He tilts his head towards the guards, "I told ya-" 

"B-001174, you have five minutes left for visitation." A voice crackled over an old speaker in the visitation cell, "Please remove your hands from the guest or we will apply force." 

The small light on his collar flashes red and he just smirks, looking up, well above your head. Staring directly at the warden like he knows exactly where he stood behind the two way mirror. 

"Yea? You'll apply force? Go ahead. Nothin but a little shock t' me but t' her? She'll die warden." There is no mirth in his smirk, lips twitching as his eyes are shrouded in dark warning, "And we wouldn't want that would we?" 

The way he speaks sends a chill down your spine, the haze of whatever sedative they had him on is now gone and you're left sitting across from those vibrant radioactive eyes. Burning through the mirror to sear the warden's skin in a threat, a promise. 

A buzz rings out as the seventh guard comes in, he scrunches his nose and it makes his oddly shaped mustache twitch. 

"Miss." He grunts holding out his hand for you to take too close in your personal space for your liking. Slapping it out of your face before following your right arm down to where Katsuki held fast. Peeling off his thick digits with your finely manicured claws. 

He hisses at the loss of contact, glaring at the guard when his hands hover close and the older man is smart enough not to antagonize a literal monster. Katsuki stands suddenly, a scream comes from the bolts securing metal to metal as he rips the table out of the ground, unable to break the chains for now. 

Everyone but Bakugou in the room freezes, guns cocked and aimed at the bulking villain who rose to his full height, sticking his prison issued white shoe onto the seat he just sat on to push down roughly. Thick thigh muscles straining against the fabric of the bright orange pants. A smile to his face when the chains finally snap and he can move his hands more freely before ripping off the plexiglass spit guard letting it clink on to the ground. His large hands run through his hair as if to fix it. 

"I'm entitled to a proper fuckin good bye." He hisses at everyone in the room, they keep their guns aimed at him but make no move to pull any trigger. 

Katsuki stalks closer, a wall of muscle, broad chest and shoulders, slim waist that leads down to powerful legs and you try not to let your breath catch in your throat. 

Try not to let the big bad wolf win by letting him know just how scared you were. Over how impressive it was that he snapped reinforced titanium chains so easily. 

He's well within your arms reach now, so close heat radiates from his chest. 

"I'll see ya soon, Sweetheart." He bids you a final goodbye, waving his fingers that pop with burning caramel explosions. You're not sure why it sets you off, maybe it was the way he wore that stupid smirk on his face, maybe it was the way he demonstrated his power or his dominance in an attempt to intimidate you one last time. 

Maybe it's the way he was arrogant enough to think you'd waste six hours round trip on his ass ever again. 

Either way it makes your temper flair, burrows deep into your subdermis to scarpe at your bones one final time before you unknowingly seal your own fate. Not knowing how his body would react to your parting words. 

"There won't be a next time. I came here for one thing and that was to say fuck you." Delivered with just as much clotting venom as it was before, middle finger held high.

His smirk turns deadly, blowing out a snort as he leans closer as if to share a secret. You can smell the cheap commissary soap that clings to his skin that's starting to lose out to the rapidly building nimbus of smoking caramel that clouds the air as his lips press to your ear.  

"Don't have t'. I'll come to you." He pulls back and winks as you're guided out of the room, glare fixed on him as he stands unbothered. 

He's lying, prisoners lie all the time especially if they think they can get the upper hand. He couldn't come to you. He couldn't escape prison for starters and lastly there was no way in hell he'd ever find out where you lived.  The prison made sure of that by always including a fresh envelope with their own return address in the top left corner, you should know. You only triple checked each time you sealed away the letter, even a fourth time at the post box staring down at the address on the envelope making sure both were correct.

So fuck Bakugou Katsuki for being a dirty liar, fucking hypocrite.

Shoving yourself into an oversized shirt after your body shower you finally get to plop down into bed. Relishing the feel of fresh sheets and blankets as you sigh deeply. It had been a long, long day and no amount of self care could get his toxic blood red eyes out of your head.

Switching on the TV to pull up some show to numb your mind with familiarity when the channel cuts out. Breaking news flashing across the screen makes your body go rigid. 

A prison break from Tartarus has occurred in the late evening hours, several high profile villains are believed to have escaped such as Shigaraki Tomura, Todoroki Touya, aka Dabi, Kirishima Eijirou aka Blood Riot,  Midoriya Izuku aka Deku and Bakugou Katsuki better known as Ground Zero. Please do not approach suspected escapees, please report any suspicious person or activities immediately. Most importantly keep all doors and windows locked at all times. I repeat do not engage with the inmates. 

A knock comes from your left, making you jump out of your skin as you fist the sheets. A cold sweat breaking out over your skin in goose flesh as your hearing rings in your ears. Unable to bring yourself to look at the sliding glass door to your balcony just yet as if you could ignore it and the cause of the sound would simply go away.

Another rapt of knuckles pulls your attention once more before you finally dare to peek to see glowing red eyes peering in. The devil himself at your door and you knew better than to let him in. 

Knew better that a locked door couldn't keep him out. 

Bromine burning in the night like ever fanned flames, orange jumpsuit obnoxiously out of place against the night sky, stained in deep burgundy red and ash grays, the same colors streaking his face before he knocks again. But this time it's in warning, hard enough to rattle the door that you both know he could rip off the track with ease.

"How- how did you?" Teeth chattering that you grit closed still refusing to give in to his tactics until he presses a small envelope against the glass. Your personal envelope with your real home address listed for return. 

Panic bubbles up your throat in a scream that dies at the back of your teeth as you sit frozen a minute longer while he gives a predatory grin, large hands pressing against the glass before his palms glow bright orange. Brighter than his jumpsuit before the glass shatters and your scream finally escapes your lungs. 

In an instant he's towering over you, palms pressing into biting shards as he cages you against the plush comforter dipping his head low so he can nose at your throat, hot palm at your ribs. Leave a searing bite pulling a strangled yelp from your soft lips that makes him laugh before his mouth is at your ear for the second time today. Finally speaking dangerously low.

"Told ya I'd see ya soon, Sweetheart."

[hxltic]

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐓… 𝑴𝑰𝒀𝑨 𝑨𝑻𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑼

Genre: smut

Warning: car sex, mild alcohol mention, fem reader, degradation + praise, pet names: sugar, sweetheart, etc, creampie, birth control

Synopsis: You have been on Atsumu’s ass about he and his brother’s country accent for the longest, so when it comes back around to bite you back on Halloween, you are not ready for it.

A Halloween party!! You’re not sure how it came up in conversation when picking couples’ costumes: police, a Princess and Prince, a scary movie duo; all you know is that ‘Tsumu roared his engine from outside to inform you of his presence while you were rushingly retrieving your perfume.

You had an idea of what he was wearing since you two were supposed to be matching, but he bought you a (super cute) pair of embroidered boots and guided your outfit from afar. Like a personal designer. The shoes with a slight heel on them clacked down your front door steps in the cold night, the brisk air bit at your skin, your breasts rebounded in the low-buttoned flannel, and a holster connected to your ripped jean shorts. The only correct way to style your hair was braided pigtails (even though you are positive this isn’t how someone who actually handles animals would dress) and owning a huge belt to compliment your gorgeous figure even more.

Once you reach the car, ‘Tsumu came around from his side to open your door for you.

Your jaw went slack.

The blonde’s own button down was opened almost farther than yours to reveal his carved chest but a thick belt cut it off. A brown coat to match was being removed from the outfit, one that paired with the folded hat atop his head that left some of his hair to peek out. The dark jeans heavily covered his boots—with an exception for the ends— and were even slightly tainted. The shoes look worn. Has he always had this? Was your boyfriend a country American hottie with an accent and you had no idea? After pulling his long arms out of the garment, he slung it over your shoulders.

“Pick yer jaw up ‘n keep those pretty feet movin’ sweetheart, I know it’s cold.”

He patted your ass twice as if you were a fucking horse instructed to trot, and the worst part was, you obliged and sat in the car with no complaint.

Your eyes trailed his body and face the whole ride. The battery on your phone was slowly rising with it being on the charger, so with nothing to do, it was easy to adore the man to your side before a large, gentle hand was placed on your thigh.

He keeps his eyes on the road before speaking, “There somethin’ on my face?”

You shook your head, “No,” and gazed outside the window until your destination was reached. The last thing you’d do is fuel his ego.

————•————

The liquor in your hand led you around the party, half conscious. You knew it was dangerous—not only drinking—but splitting with Tsumu to get it. Though, you wouldn’t quite say you were in danger, you knew everyone here at least a little bit and was able to pinpoint who was who; but there was a specifically familiar face that caught your attention.

Osamu curled around a stumbling woman once he caught your eye and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, the other hand occupied by a drink as well.

“There y’are, what’s the famous _____ up to? Where’s ma brother?”

You took a sip as he mindlessly walked you around to catch up; you hadn’t been doing anything much, and you had no idea where your boyfriend was.

Speak of the devil, the two of you hit a corner and Tsumu was atop the marble kitchen counter conversing with Sakusa. He reverted his gaze to you, to Osamu, back to you, and cringed a little. It was like a face of disgust with a fake laugh at the end. You were sober enough to see it, but drunk enough for it to piss you off for the rest of the night.

————•————

You turn the knob to the radio up. Whether you were trying to distract yourself from the irritation bubbling in your throat or just ease your mind in general, Atsumu picked up on it. “Fake it till you make it” they’d say, except that you could only hide your emotions to an extent that the liquor would allow.

Having not payed attention to your surroundings, when Atsumu pulled into a scarce parking lot it caught you off guard. His large hand rotated along the leather until he shifted the stick to park, and with a click he locks the doors. If it wasn’t him you’d have assumed you were being kidnapped.

He twists to you, “Kay, what’s the problem?”

“Nuthin partner,” you exclaim with sarcasm dripping off your words. Even if it was a minor look that shouldn’t have bothered you, it did because of the alcohol. And him asking that (with no type of attitude or invalidating tone as if he had no idea) irritated you even more.

His gaze slides back to the windshield while he attempts to hide a growing smirk. It darts back to you in amusement.

“Ya wanna play that way? Alright sweetness.”

He presses down on a glowing button connected to his door that reclines his seat. You only look at him intently as he mimics you with crossed arms, shuffling a bit to flaunt himself getting comfortable before his eyes close.

You stare angrily at him. As angry as you could get when he rests the large cowboy hat over his face. Fuck, he was hot with the thick belt on display and the manspread he boasted.

“What the hell are you doing?” You deadpan anyway.

“Waitin ‘till ya decide to drop the attitude ‘n tell me what’s the matter,” he sighs back.

“Fine, whatever.”

You fall back harshly to the seat and revert your attention to nothing in the windshield. Out of pure spite you’d sit here and count the blades of grass. Which this Atsumu knew, but he’d rather have this than drive you home angry at him.

About five minutes of your hiatus pass. You’ve calmed a bit but not by much, and one of you has to give in. You turn to Atsumu’s resting figure and take a deep breath, asking, “Why did you look at me like that?” You were unsure if he was asleep or not.

“Like what? When?” He inquires. His voice is slightly muffled by the hat atop his face.

“I don’t know. You like, cringed at me or something.” Your shoulders hunched up in emphasis, “At the party when I walked in.”

It was silence, then he removed the hat from his face to reposition it on his head and sit upright. He turns to you over the console.

“You know I’d never look at ya like that.”

You just gazed at him incredulously. He came in closer. “If anything, you looked too damn good for ma brother’s grubby hands all on ya.”

Ohhh.

You were too stricken to realize how his arm being thrown over you looked having just split apart at the party. Or a slightly tipsy Osamu leading you around, the twin of your boyfriend.

“That’s what it was? You were jealous?” You quipped. This caught his attention.

His jaw ticked, and even though he knows the answer to the question, he’ll refuse to admit it. He hates that word.

Jealous. Jealous of what? He’s the recognized setter. He’s the one with fans in his dm’s (because Osamu ignores his). And he’s the one with you. “What is there to be jealous of?” he’d question himself and his sanity all the time. Hell, he was even born first.

And he wishes to believe that all the time, except that only one of the twins has dyed blonde hair. It sells him out. The urge to be separated— different, is a drive he’s had since he was a child.

Seeing someone with such importance to him in too close of presence to that one person he wanted to be different from fucked him up.

“Sure, but I wouldn’t say jealous.”

You nibbled the inside of your lip and raised a brow, “What would you say?”

“Hmm… irritated, maybe? I know how ya feel about me. It’s sure as hell not how you feel about him.”

“Do you really?” You teased him. “Do you know how I really feel about him?”

“Do I?” He parrots as a grunt. The atmosphere switches to sexual tension in the second it takes for his big brown eyes to scan you as if he was searching for any hint of truth in your words, eventually not finding any but the thought alone shoving him over the edge.

You’re not sure if you were feeling it before, or if it’s the liquor, but that’s how you climbed over the console and into his seat.

His hands were large enough to cover the span of your bottom, large enough to cup whatever he saw fit in those embedded bootcut jeans you’d been wearing all night, and strong enough to guide your hips onto him roughly.

He couldn’t even take his eyes from them. It was so bad that he felt like a 13 year-old again. But he couldn’t help it; not when you filled out the jeans better than the lady on the website and your ass practically waved goodbye at him each time you would turn. A deep groan falls from him at the memory.

His pinkish lips attach to the supple skin at your neck and redden until he sees fit. You tilt as he kisses the spot like he was relaxing it, then more wet ones trail downwards to the swell of your breasts. You arch upwards and away from him.

Your soft moans mixed with his deep ones cloud your vision. He admires you, copying your movements and leaning back to slowly grind you against himself. There was a tent growing in his jeans at the slot located beneath you.

The loud sound of a honk causes you to physically jolt on top of him and his eyes to find yours. Your back was pressed against the wheel.

It didn’t deter the rush of adrenaline flowing through your bloodstream, so you throw the hand that isn’t pressed against the cool window to your chest in shock.

“Holy shit,” you breathe— half a moan and half surprise. He just chuckles. No slick comment, no anything. You were going to say something else comedic about what happened and how badly of timing it was, but that darkness was already in his eyes and it seemed that he’d forgotten about the situation completely. Or if he hadn’t, he had priorities.

You come forward onto him and rotate your hips along the erection below you to the rhythm he set. You catch the sound that falls from his lips and notice the way his eyebrows deepen and eyes close.

Skipping the softness and diving into territory you knew like the back of your hand, it was so passionate, and everything was so sultry. You could feel the moment heating when you begin to feel his tongue on yours, his head leaning to accommodate for the space lost in your mouth, and his position shifting with you on top because it was more than he could handle to have you sitting directly on top of his strained length.

You pull off, mainly for air, but also to taunt him: “Sometimes, I imagine you with a different hair color. A warm grey, maybe?”

Instead of what you thought he’d say, something about how your anger earlier stemmed from sexual frustration, or an insult about how wet your pussy was for him instead of his brother, his eyes don’t even open. The only confirmation that he heard it was the furrow of his brows and the deep groan. He leans in again immediately to feel you on him and it seems he has dismissed the comment completely.

His breathlessness shows itself to you, asking for you to give him strength, oxygen, or whatever else it was that he needed to live. His lips are puffy and his eyelashes are long.

You intake his bottom lip between your teeth while your fingertips graze his fallen hair, and you cherish the sound he makes when it plops back into place. Your hands rotate to his jaw so your head can turn comfortably into his mouth.

You feel yourself slowly falling forward, but it’s just Atsumu descending to lay flat on his back. The hat ultimately proves this difficult so you take it upon yourself to remove it and rest it on the console.

Then you crawl off him, turn to face the steering wheel, and begin to unbuckle the large accessory and shimmy your small shorts down. The tight space complicates things, but Tsumu doesn’t mind.

When you attempt to twist back to your lover, he grabs your hips firmly, forcing you to stay with your back to him. You glance over your shoulder confused.

He stares back with a smug expression, eyes low and amused at what he’s about to say next.

“Don’t think I’ll forget about yer little comment.”

You think for a moment to pinpoint which one. “Keep yer back to me so you can imagine him all ya want. Maybe you’d prefer it if you were bouncing on his cock instead.”

Your eyes blow wide.

Never in a million years did he think he would become comfortable enough with the topic of jealousy to use it against you like this. But maybe, just maybe, you’ll come to your senses and beg for who’s right in front of (behind) you. There’s no way to lose here, considering he’s 100% secure with your love for him.

“Tsumu you know I didn’t-”

“Ah ah, you’ve made yer choice.”

As punishment, he crosses his arms, making it clear he wouldn’t be touching you. He was essentially allowing you to use him to imagine your supposed attraction to someone else. His twin.

Slowly, you reach behind yourself and feel around for the zipper of his jeans. The cool metal reaches your fingers.

He does lift his hips to push the jeans to his mid-thigh once you get it down, efficaciously leaving his length thick and tall between your fingers. The pads of your fingertips soothe up and down his skin when you begin to stroke him.

He makes it a point to ensure his sounds of pleasure are low. Since you teased him about Osamu, you can’t back out now, and it’s his job to make sure it never happens again.

If you were imagining anything, it was Atsumu’s twisted up face of pleasure. So, instead of going through the trouble of completely removing them, you push your panties to the side and hover above his red tip. And then you’re sinking, sucking him in, bringing him to lean on his elbows for support so he can see. You manage, “that feels good, Tsumu.”

“Osamu,” he rectifies sternly.

He knows what you’re doing. You can’t butter him up. With nothing but your own wetness, it is a long journey to reach the bottom; once you are, despite being filled all the same, the emotions aren’t right.

The words should have never left your mouth in the first place. Little did you know, his twin brother’s name grinded through Atsumu’s teeth when even he himself said it, triggering a train reaction that tightens his fists at his sides. There’s a distant frown on his face, a far contrast to what you’re imagining it is.

Hopefully helping to reverse your damage, your palms stretch around his knees, aiding to push you to drag your walls all the way up until your thighs clench. It erupts a curse out of him, but that’s all you get.

“Please touch me, Tsumu,” and your hands go back to search for his, and you find them, to place around your hips. You’re slightly breathless. “I was just messing around.”

The muscles tense before retracting back to where they were previously, earning a grunt from you. The newfound irritation drops you back down thigh-to-thigh. There was a slight burn, but nothing you couldn’t handle and nothing compared to the one in your chest.

“You know it’s always been you—” back up you go, “—There hasn’t been a situation where I even, fuck, accidentally picked him.” And down again. The slap of skin only gets louder and louder each time. He’s listening, you think.

“Please, I miss f-feeling you. You’re the only one I want.” Your ass jiggles with impact now that you’ve set a pace for yourself. But even then he ignores you and just watches the scene unfolding in front of him, calculating when you’d get tired.

He knows you’ll go until you can’t move and he doesn’t think you’ve ever gone this consistent pace before. You’ll run out of gas in due time.

Meanwhile, it takes a lot to maintain his composure when you’re bouncing in front of him. The pigtails practically ask for his hands to be wrapped around the ends, the length of your back is on display, and your thighs are more defined with your “exercise.” There’s a line of translucent white that connects you and thickens every time you come down. He can only imagine your tits if they were let from the confines of your top.

He’s trying to get you to crack, and you’re trying him, but only one can come out victorious. He concludes it’s him when a long grunt carries in the car and you start to slow right as the heat gathers in your tummy.

“Ugh, Atsumu…” you halt momentarily to correct your hands on his knees, “P-Please, I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” And he can hear the pout in your voice. He doesn’t even want to think about your upturned eyebrows. Frankly, if he does, he may explode on the spot.

“Are ya really?” He tests. You’re happy just to hear his response.

“Yes.”

You drop your head forward, catching your breath and resulting to gyrating your hips along his waist. None of it matters in the end because you finally feel him rip your pigtail back.

In no more than a few seconds you’re bouncing again, both of his hands around your waist to help navigate your vertical movements. A fresh circuit brings power to your legs especially now that you’re doing less than half the work.

The moans and grunts are music to his ears. He can feel the car shift below him even more when he slams you down onto his thighs creating a red tint to the skin there, and it worsens when he gets to thrusting upwards, cutting you off halfway and finding deeper. His tip prods at your g-spot, right up against your front walls.

You don’t get to tell him. Releasing an animalistic noise and tightening up in the span of a second, the suddenness hits you hard. You squeeze his shaft as if milking him dry and your skin glistens with sweat. He loves watching you chase your high like he isn’t even there, but not more than when he drills into your cunt until you can’t take it. Maybe he should turn the air on in here.

When you’re done and come back to earth, you see a mix of your wetness dribbling down the side of him as your breaths feel like ten pound weights. You try again to turn around. He lets you, guiding the shift of your spin around on his tip and the process of finding somewhere to put your feet. You straddle him completely with them to the side of his hips.

You’re shocked when he kisses you, not gently but not as rough, bringing a hard hand down to your ass. Like he forgave you, but not quite.

“Think you can ride one more out f’me?” He caresses your legs.

You think about it. Honestly, your first reply is no, but there’s no better feeling than watching his facial expressions as you do it, and you didn’t get that luxury the last time. Your body may begin to run on its lactic acid because your legs are still trembling from the last orgasm; however, if it meant the sight, then you’d go until you collapsed. “Yes,” you breathe out.

And then you rise up to your toes with the little space you have, determined. With a slow drop and the slide back up, you moan together. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He sends another harsh slap to your cheek just to soothe it out when he’s done.

You watch his eyes flicker closed. His face is red with arousal and his chest was trying to contain the air about to pop out of his lungs. He was cursing under his breath some more.

You keep bouncing and lean forward over him, placing both hands on his cheeks while trying to keep your balance. At the feeling of your soft touch, his eyes blink open, eyebrows still sunken and the darkness clouding his vision.

“Look at me,” you command, hitting his balls every time you come down.

And he does just that, searching either eye above him, a toothy smile spreading across his face with his tired eyes. He laughs almost like it hurts (it does. One wrong move and there’ll be white painting your insides).

You laugh breathlessly too when his hand starts to move. Shifting your focus and following it, he grasps the folded top of the discarded cowboy hat to reach it up over your head. He presses down so it fits snugly.

Over the slapping, you hear him grunt: “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy. Now yer my real cowgirl, yeah?”

Your head drops into his neck, as far as the hat would let you go. “You’re so annoying.” And despite the seemingly cruel words, you suddenly feel the twist in your tummy, tightening around him from trying to stop it coming so fast. A non-convincing, pathetic whimper falls from your lips.

“Yer still fuckin’ yerself on my cock though, aren’t you sugar?”

It may sound strained, but it’s still the aggravating, cocky Atsumu you knew underneath. “Sit up,” he demands.

You do, feeling no self-consciousness as your entire body and spread legs are on display for him with the exception of your chest. On that note, he undoes the buttons faster than you’ve ever seen. Your hands propel you since being placed on your knees when the flannel falls past your shoulders, leaving the regular black bra underneath for him to push past.

He loved it. You’re like a painting, ruined for him, but that’s what makes it art right? The emotion behind it?

“Tsumu, ’m g-gonna come.”

There’s a million things going through his head: that he’s about to as well; that when you get home, he’s coming in right behind you; that your breasts look so pretty bouncing in front of him like the rest of you; but in your head, there’s one thing only. The pressure built that is almost at its peak. “Ya think Osamu knows how to play witcha like this? How to fuck ya like this?”

You shake your head no. He looks so determined watching you, it doesn’t shock you when he hastily raises upright and wraps a hand around your breast. His thumb continuously rolls over your nipple. “My name is the only one you’ll scream, ever. Ain’t that right?”

You don’t see the other that has crept up between your open legs, now pinching and prodding at your clit. Weakly, you nod yes.

“What was that?”

“Yes! F-Fuck yes.”

He looks up at you in your eyes, like he’s trying to reach the deepest part of you with his next words. “Let me see you.”

Your hands relocate to his neck desperately. One thing you can say about Atsumu during sex, he’s extremely vocal. And isn’t afraid to say anything. “I’m—”

“—Come all over me, baby, ya earned it. I’ll fuck this pretty pussy just how ya like when we get home.”

The crazy part is, it wasn’t even the encouragement that sent you over the edge. No, it was when both his hands locked around your hips, dragged you all the way down until you were against his pelvis, then rocked you back and forth, rubbing right into your sensitive nerves with the depth you couldn’t reach before and right along your clit. You threw your head back, crying his name.

It’s a chain reaction because all of his muscles tighten simultaneously, as well as his balls, and his cock twitches strong inside of you. You moan again at the feeling of his cum spreading through you. “Fuck.”

He’s still in a state of bliss when you sink into him, spurting out more than you think he ever has. It fills you up full, but you don’t move. You both stay there for a moment, catching your breaths.

The window is fully fogged over so you draw a little heart.

“Don’t move,” he pleads. “It’s worse fer you than it is fer me.”

You wiggle a bit, feeling everything else move inside. You see what he means. “We have to get up set some point before we fall asleep,” you return. There’s just a groan back.

Reaching over into the glove department, you retrieve some takeout napkins that have piled up over the months. You mentally prepare yourself to move.

It’s not enough because you both moan loudly when you raise up, only waiting a moment before white comes falling out of you in heaps onto his angry red, engorged cock. “Shit,” he grins tiredly. “That’s a lot.”

You only look at him. “You’re gonna override my birth control, dipshit.”

He adds languidly, “Oh well. Take 2 to cancel it out this time? Maybe?”

That’s not how it works.

©️ hxltic