But like literally imagine Kirishima or someone knowing Dragon King Bakugou is still a virgin, so as an offering they bring him you.
You’re a vicious little thing really, trying to fight these huge hulking men with no weapons but your bare hands. Your nails already caught the side of Sero’s face as he’s sporting some pink scratches that look more like the claws of a kitten than anything else.
And it isn’t like you have anything left to fight for— your friends, family and village are gone. Reduced to nothing but burning embers from the flames of the King’s loyal dragon.
But here you are, displaying the fight that is still very much alive in you as Bakugou stares down at you in a mixture of confusion and admiration. Smirking at the marks you’ve left on Sero’s face as you struggle against Kirishima’s hold.
And he just doesn’t know what to do with you?? Like this big, strong, powerful hulking man doesn’t have a clue.
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mdni; tw: slapping, slightly mean coryo. fem!reader
academic rivals with Coryo to the point you’re always spewing hate at each other, an obvious distaste to those around but the moment you’re alone with him, he’s fucking your brains out. And neither of you admit that you love it, that the sex is so good. The way his hands encompass yours when he pins them down and his lips leave a lasting feeling on your skin that you’ll savor for days on end until you can have him again. You find yourself missing the way his hands fist the sheets when his cock is down your throat, surprisingly letting you take all the control you wanted.
"I really don't care what you do, get your mouth on my dick." Coryo fumbles with his uniform pants as he tries to get the button undone and shoves the fabric past his thighs. You watch him, arms crossed and raise a brow.
"You're not even gonna say please?" Your voice is mocking, piercing his already desperate and entitled attitude and if he was feeling up for it, he would have bent you over and slapped your ass till you cried, but he felt generous this afternoon.
"I won't say thank you either, princess," he rasps out, holding himself back from smiling when you roll your eyes at him and get on your knees in front of him.
He never stops thinking about how you moan his name, the marks you leave on his shoulders and chest are more aggressive when you’re angrier at him, it only spurs him to do so; to piss you off so bad you have the gall the actually slap him. He'd think badly of himself later that night when he remembers the sting of your hand on his cheek, but then he finds himself wanting it again the next time he's fucking you. You looked at him too prettily as your moans turned to whimpers. It was too much for him. No, he needed you to get angry at him again. So he turned to his mean self for answers, as his cock pounded into you, ridiculing you about how awful you did in your presentation that day. He pressed and pressed until you slapped him.
But he loves it. He despises it so fucking bad. You’re like a vice he can’t shake, even if he tries to not come crawling back to your arms and wet cunt, his dick can’t resist you, hell his brain can’t resist you. Both of you come back each and every time.
"You're like clockwork, Snow. Always here exactly at eight," you'd jab at him one night, too prideful to recall the fact that you'd do the same if you were meeting at his place instead of yours.
"You wouldn't touch me if I was late," he'd mutter, not really meaning for you to hear, but you hear it. He sees that. A rare and true moment of shyness comes over him and he freezes, his eyes widening as he tries to cover his tracks, "Guess my timing's just good," before he's pushing you back into your bed and towering his body over yours.
It’s worse when he’s invited to a dinner party at your parents’ behest, and he greets you in the most proper etiquette matter of holding your hand, delicately, like you’re fragile. But of course he knows you’re not. He knows how rough he’s taken you with his cock and when his lips touch your knuckles in a small kiss, his eyes shooting up to peer into yours, Coryo has to try with all of his might not to smirk, with all of his strength not to lick the length of your fingers and take them into his mouth. But he’d chance it. He’d dart his tongue quick before you could process it and even the small feeling of his wet tongue on your finger makes your anger flare up.
It would only be a matter of time before you’re pulling him by his arm and shoving him against a wall to teach him some manners.
let’s chat about coryo, here :)
here’s this too
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Steddie lunchbox fic I joked about but then people liked it so now I'm. I'm write it now.
"Hey, Munson!"
Eddie ducked his head down before the blow could hit. Tommy Hagan was one of those men who never outgrew his highschool jock phase, and seemed intent on dragging the rest of the world into his football role playing; not so gentle head smacking included.
He blow never came, instead the heavy metal thunk of a lunchbox landed on his desk. He chanced an eye open, and took in the neat black tin box, no two boxed which stacked perfectly and were secured in place with a patterned cloth. He opened the other eye and instead looked to Tommy, waiting for some sort of explanation.
"the missus packed it up for me," the younger man explained, his eyes off to the side where some co-workers were gathering to make lunch plans, "real pain if I'm honest, how about you take it off my hands for me?" Then he grinned down at Eddie and clapped his should, too hard, like they were regular old office pals.
It wasn't like they were office enemies, per se, but Eddie had a distaste of Tommy and while the feeling certainly seemed mutual they were srupid enough to let petty distaste interfere with their pay checks. Eddie would certainly never do Tommy any sort of favour if it wasn't by obligation to his working contract, and Tommy had certainly phrased this as if it was a favor so... So Eddie instinct screamed to rebuff him.
Except it was lunch time, and Eddie was hungry, and he hadn't packed his own lunch because his fridge had probably three things in it max and he couldn't afford to go out to eat since most of his paycheck had already been dolled out to rent, his uncle, his savings, and he only had money for absolute necessities. Even as he sat in indecision he could feel his stomach writhing and slithering in on itself. Shit, had he forgotten breakfast to?
"Sure," he responded, and then quickly tacked on,"man." There was a moment of silence that made Eddie feel like he ought to crack a joke, but Tommy seemed to decide for them both that was a bit chummy, even for his sports team larping. Instead he landed a solid whack, right where the last one had landed, then spun around and jogged to catch up with the other Alphas on their way out to lunch.
The office had emptied out in the span of their conversation and now cubicles sat still with their roller chains sprawled haphazardly as if evacuated in some emergency instead of a quick shuffle in hopes of skipping the worst of the lunchtime queues. Eddie decided to forgo the company cafeteria and instead snatched a pack of cigs out his backpack and scooped up the packed lunch. He could eat on the roof, since the fire doors alarm hadn't worked since he was hired and nobody bothered going up there in the heat of the day.
It wasn't that Eddie was exceptionally antisocial at work, or loathed ALL his coworkers. He actually had a few friends, Jeff and Gareth in the IT department would tolerate him during lunch breaks, and they'd even met up a few times outside of work. They were cool, he liked spending time with them, might even call them friends in a month or two. But spending all morning on the top floors, in marketing and branding and surrounded by other Alphas, Eddie probably wasn't much fun to be around at the moment.
The corporate world and Alphas went together like honey and ants. The opportunities to compete and peacock were nigh endless, not to mention doing well wouldn't net you a hefty income for some extra peacocking on the side. Eddie wasn't like that, his Alpha didn't operate that way. So much so even he had been surprised when his second puberty hit and he dropped fang and knot. The kids at school had snickered and called him a half-bit Alpha, while others said he only presented that way because his sole guardian was a lone omega. It had hurt at the time, but looking back Eddie couldn't help but laugh. Maybe he was a half-bit, maybe he presented wrong because of some base instinct to protect his uncle. He certainly didn't prance around like the other alphas did, bickering and shoving like little kids fighting over a toy.
But maybe that was the joke Tommy was playing on him, Eddie thought as he popped the lunchbox and saw the note sat neatly to the side. Maybe Eddie was too much of a bitch-Alpha to get a mate, while Tommy with all his flouncing and team player make belive had someone waiting at home, making him lunches and writing sweet love notes signed with a kiss. Maybe the joke was to give Eddie a taste of something he could never have.
Goodluck with work today, please bring home some avacados for guac. Love you - Steve.
Eddie stared at the note in his trembling hand. He could smell the omega- Steve - from where his lips had pressed to the paper. Unmated. Surprising, but not unusual. Plenty of couples got married first, then sealed the bite later on. Some Yuppie thing that Eddie was far too romantic to entertain. If you loved someone, wouldn't you want that commitment forever? But the again, Tommy and his sneer around the word "missus" gave Eddie the impression he wasnt the "forever" sort. Further more, a male Omega? Most people were somewhat hesitant to be associated with one, if not outright hostile to their very existence. Far too rare to be ordinary, and far too Omega to be respected male Omegas were almost never on an up and coming Alphas radar of potential mates.
Eddie slipped the note into his pants pocket, and lit his cigarette before turning back to the lunch box. Black oval tins, two stacked and tied with a floral cloth. A bento, he realised, he'd seen it on the cover of house and home in the checkout line. The hot new craze in lunchboxes. Tha made him snicker a little. The floral cloth seemed odd, and stuck out against the black metal. The material was smooth and soft, like brand new. Huh. The tins themselves had some scuff marks, and one had a dent on its edge that spoke of a life of use. He set them down, side by side, on the laid out cloth. It looked fancy, but also surprisingly homey and inviting. It looked delicious.
The Omega- Steve had outdone himself. The top tin contained two halves of a prego roll stuffed to bursting with marinated shredded chicken. The meat was cradled between lettuce leaves to keep the bread from going soggy, and Eddie could catch sight of some glistening tomatoe slices in there. The second tone had an orange, peeled with each slice individual cleaned of any white hairy bits and laid on a bed of some gummy fruit candy. Apple sliced were laid in a separate tin, still shinning with lemon juice and not a spot of brown to be seen. Slid neatly into the side, half hidden, has the familiar pink white of coconut ice for desert.
Eddie could feel his mouth watering. Holy shit, did Tommy eat like this everyday? And if he did what was wrong with him that he'd give it up for some second rate slop at a restaurant? Breathing deeply he could smell the food, but beneath that something else, something tempting. Steve, his hands delicately pulling the chicken from the bone, slicing the tomatoe, cradling the bread as he buttered it, his nails catching and pulling off every white part from the orange slices. His hard work, his effort, laid before Eddie like some sort of worshipful offing. He felt high when he bit down on the orange slice, the caress of it's soft inner skin along his gums, like a kiss. The burst of flavour on his tongue, sweetness invading his sense so all he could see was orange orange orange leaving the bitter taste of citrus. He could taste, most importantly, beneath it all. God he could taste Steve. He could taste his love.
"Oh, thanks man," Tommy didn't look up from his computer as he said it, just kept tying away. "No problem man," Eddie mumbled back, eyes fixed on the lunchbox and he's straightened it on the other alphas desk. Every crumb had been kicked up, every smear of sauce sucked away. But placed gently, reverently, back in the top box was the love note. Eddie wanted to give Steve something in return, to thank him for sharing something so magical, so special with him. In the end he'd decided against it, could work up the courage to indirectly challenge Tommy like that. Instead, he'd pressed his lips tightly to where Steve's had once been, before returning it to its rightful owner.
The words Love You sat nestled in the tin as Eddie walked away.
Part 2 exists now
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Ayo fellow Spider-Smutties
Comere lemme speak to you for a second-
I will never understand how there's so much Hobie x Spider!reader smut but there's none where they be straight up breaking the bed.
Miguel too. Cause they'll have him aggressive but like in the normal human dom way. Y'all do realize he don't even need to do all that, right?
He could have normal sex and he'd still crack your little Ikea bed in half like a popsicle stick the man is 6'9
Like these mfers are super human. You ever seen Twilight: Breaking Dawn?
The headboard should be splintering. The sheets should literally be torn to shreds. TOW UP.
The comforter should be destroyed and the nightstand too prolly
Your nightstand got nail marks on it now. Looking like a saber tooth tiger got in. I hope you not renting cause y'all should be putting holes in the walls. Breaking your dinning room table
Have the neighbors downstairs like
Where is the webbing? Them walls should be covered in webs more ways than one. Where is the web bondage? Where is it
They should be on the walls or something. Like.. they can just walk up there. 69 upsidedown is still 69 🤨
I mean if we smutting it up have at it but y'all we gotta be a little bit creative 😩
tuh At this point if ain't leaving him like this I don't want it
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"Oh no, someone's attracted to the aesthetics of my -punk movement but doesn't know the praxis and history behind it like I do--"
OK. Tell them. Make it a teaching moment. Everyone who's in your movement learned the background from somewhere at some point, maybe this is that point for that person. Give them a jumping off point that they can dive into later.
"Oh but I shouldn't be responsible for teaching baby -punks about the history and the how-tos and--"
OK. Then don't tell them. You don't have to be responsible for teaching people with a budding interest in your group the ins and outs and how-tos. That's fair and valid! It can be a lot of work. Someone else will handle it
"But I'm annoyed that they would try to claim to be part of/be interested in my community without knowing all the details that I know after being in it for months/years/decades, they're dumb, they're posers, they're--"
OK. Then don't engage with them, if it's that bad. Maybe someone else will come around and tell them the history, maybe they'll pick it up on their own, maybe they'll just enjoy the fashion elements for awhile.
"But they shouldn't claim to be part of the -punk community if they don't know the--"
I feel like we have a few options here. People can either talk to them, share the history, share the values, share the praxis. Or they can just chase off anyone who even thinks about dipping a toe in their community, and then wonder why it's dying off later down the line.
I dunno, maybe I'm too naive and patient or whatever. But if people are entering your -punk spaces without knowing The Rundown of what you feel they need to know, maybe being nice about it and informing people instead of immediately assuming stupidity and malicious intent could help you make a new friend. Even the loudest voices in a space had to learn from somewhere, and not everyone has the luxury of being in the space as the History was Happening--whether it's an age thing or a not being aware of the space thing. Or maybe I just don't see what the big deal is behind people hating people who like the aesthetic of something and don't know the behind the scenes history about it yet.
Because I believe in the word 'yet.' No one comes into this world knowing everything about everything, and we're all constantly learning new things. I'm not gonna degrade someone and call them a poser for not knowing what I know. Because if it were me, interested in a scene but getting chased out and called a poser? I wouldn't hit the books and study up, I'd go 'that fuckin sucks, those people sucked' and then avoid anyone and anything having to do with it.
So chase people off and call them posers if you want. But if your community starts dwindling, don't be fucking shocked.
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