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straykeedz · 7 months

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day 10: lee know + rimming

©straykeedz

tw: switch!minho; kind of softdom!reader; oral sex (m receiving); minho has a big d but what’s new; balls play (??? idk if it’s a thing); hints at subspace (minho) and aftercare; ♡

wc: 2,3k;

this is part of my kinktober masterlist. you can find my regular masterlist here (tho it will not be updated until the end of kinktober) ♡

🔖 (open): @linos-kitten ; @luneskies ; @kxcies-blog ; @idunnomanmynamewastaken ; @cessixja ; @stolasisyourparent ; @kookiesbunny ; @xoxo-xoxo-bunny ; @ivyskzsworld ; @mal-lunar-28 ; @leetaste ; @sunnykynnie ; @channiesgoodgirl ; @seonghwatoothless ; @mrsminho ; @seungminluv3 ; @jin-from-the-block ; @aaasia111 ; @sulkygyu ; @whosanaanyway ; @y-ur--I ; @vixensss ; @nightimescapes ; @freckleboilix ; @dreamingaboutjisung ; @yourbeomiebear ; ♡

to make sure i add you to the taglist, your age must be clearly visible on your profile. also, empty blogs will not be added - add at least a profile picture to your blog so that i’ll know you’re not a bot. ♡

smut below the cut, minors dni.

☁︎

The relationship you have with Minho is a relationship of mutual teaching, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Throughout your nearly four years of dating, he taught you many things.

He taught you to cook his favorite dishes, spent hours with you in the kitchen, explaining step by step all you had to do, reading the recipe out loud and helping you with the ingredients. Laughing when you didn’t get the result you were hoping for, hugging you and kissing your pouting lips, reminding you that “practice makes perfect, jagiya”, but tasted your dishes nonetheless - even though they tasted pretty fucking awful.

He taught you how to assemble a tent in the woods and how to remove the pegs when it was time to go. To be fair, he also taught you how to survive in the woods - telling you curious anecdotes that could save your life in case you ever found yourself camping alone and in need of help - highly unlikely, really, but it was nice hearing him talk about something he’s so passionate about.

He taught you how to take care of his three cats - Soonie, Doongie, Dori -, explaining to you that each of them has different needs and likes different things. He taught you how each one of them likes to be petted or which toy they prefer - and in record time you earned his babies’ affection.

He taught you how he likes to be cuddled when he’s feeling low. This one, he did indirectly. Each time he’d come home after a bad day, he’d want nothing more than to lay in your arms. He’d rest his body on top of yours - in a non-sexual way -, resting his head on top of your chest, enveloping you in his arms. He’d want you to wrap your legs around his waist and run your hand through his hair. Bonus point if you kiss him on top of his head from time to time - he’d never ask you, tho -.

He taught you how he likes to be touched down there. He’d want you to start by teasing him over the clothes, palming the growing bulge in his pants. Then, he’d want you to wrap your hand around his length and give it a single stroke. He wants to be kissed as you touch him. Not all the time, just a few pecks on the lips here and there. Then, he’d want you to move your hand faster, but not too fast. He likes it when you squeeze his member, especially when you reach the tip - and if you play with his balls with your other hand… mwah, chef’s kiss, he’d cum in record time.

He also taught you to love and to believe yourself. It was a long and definitely not easy, a rollercoaster of emotions, but he never gave up. Showed you everyday his unconditional love and support, loved you for all your qualities and even more for your flaws, embracing them. Reminded you of how much he loves your body whenever you were feeling insecure and self conscious about a certain body part - making soft love to you in front of you bedroom mirror, whispering soft words in your ear.

Minho never explicitly thanked you - but you taught him a lot of things, too.

For starters, you taught him how to swim. Or, at least, not to sink. Took your time with him and didn’t force him into anything if you sensed he wasn’t ready. You never let go of his hand when he finally convinced himself to entering the water. A kids’ pool is still a pool, after all. “Baby steps.”, you’d said, kissing the tip of his nose.

You taught him how to braid you hair. It took him a long while, but now he’s become pretty good at it - even better than you if you were to be honest. Then, you taught him how you love it when he pulls it while he’s giving it to you from the back.

You taught him to love the scar on his stomach - the scar he doesn’t show anyone, the one he keeps covered all the time. You’d noticed it the first time you saw each other naked - how he’s self conscious about it. He was scared you wouldn’t like it, that you’d think of it as a turn off. Instead, you smiled at him and placed a series of soft kisses all over it while repeating “You’re so perfect” all over again - and then, you gave him the blowjob of his life.

You taught him the difference between having a big dick and having a big dick energy, and he learned he has both.

You taught him that communication is key - especially in a long-term relationship. You taught him to get in touch with his emotions, to embrace and to accept them - that it’s not healthy to bottle up his feelings and that it’s best if he speaks up when something’s bother him. “We’re a family, whatever’s wrong we’ll fix it together”, you’d said - and from that moment on, he never kept a single thing to himself. Needless to say, your relationship improved a lot.

Last but not least - you taught him that it’s important to let go sometimes. To just relax, sit back and enjoy things, that he doesn’t have to be in control all the time. You chose a peculiar way to teach him that, he has to admit.

It started with a blowjob and him sprawled on your shared bed.

It had been a long day for Minho - one of those days when life decides to just be a bitch with no apparent reason. He’d come home frustrated over the dance practice he’d had with the guys, mad at himself that, despite trying hard, he still couldn’t learn the fucking choreography, and nearly sprained his ankle. Given that the twenty minute long shower he took didn’t make him feel any better, there was only one option left.

His head buried in the pillow and his lip between his teeth - Minho was having the time of his life with your mouth around his hard cock. Moreover, his mind was completely blank. Empty. Not a single thought distracting him from what was taking place in the semi-darkness of your bedroom. He entangled his fingers in your hair, pushing you down on his cock until you had most of his length in your mouth - actually, in your throat. Another thing he taught you - how to deepthroat that massive cock of his without gagging nor choking on it.

“Like that, jagiya.”, he moaned, pushing your head closer to his groin, your nose pressed against the skin of his lower abdomen. Then, he lifted his hips to meet your mouth. “You know how much I like it when you act like a slut for my cock.”, he grunted. You moaned around his length, aroused by his words.

“You can’t get enough of it, do you?”, he thrusted his cock inside your mouth once again, and you did your best breathing through your nose while trying to stuff all of his length inside of you. “Of course not, you love this cock, don’t you?”, you tried your best to nod, but it was really fucking hard with a seven-inches dick shoved down your throat.

“I love you so much.”, he groaned. “You’re so good to me - letting me use your mouth when you know I’ve had a rough day.”, he gripped your hair tighter. “Makin’ me forget everything…”

That’s when you released him from your mouth. He looked panicked for a second, worried he’d accidentally hurt you or been too rough. He hadn’t, of course, you just had a better idea in mind. One that, hopefully, would help him relax even more.

“How bad did you say your day was?”, you placed a kiss on his inner thigh, hand lazily pumping his cock.

“On a scale from one to ten?”, he asked.

“Mh-hm.”

“A solid nine.”, he let out a heavy sigh. “Why?”

You placed a series of kisses that went from his inner thigh to his groin, teeth delicately brushing his skin, then licked the underside of his shaft. He shivered.

“I can help you relax.” Another lick.

“You’re already helping me relax, jagi.” Minho pointed out. “And you’re doing a pretty good job at it.”, he caressed your temple with his thumb, looking you in the eye.

“Yeah, well… I can do an even better job.”, you said confidently.

Minho quirked an eyebrow at you, clearly intrigued by your proposition. “Well, then. I’m all yours.”, he bit his lower lip, smirking at you.

“Just… relax and enjoy. Let me do all the work.”

You kept on kissing the sensitive skin of his groin with his hard shaft in your hand, neglecting it, not giving it any attention, and for a solid minute there, Minho was beyond confused - but he didn’t say anything. However, his cheeks flushed red when the tip of your nose brushed the skin of his balls - his weak spot.

“Please.”, the word came out as a whisper, as if he didn’t want to say it out loud and it just slipped.

You smirked cockily, your other hand caressing his inner thigh as you repeated your previous motion, earning a desperate sigh from Minho. Then, you released his hard cock from your grip, letting it slap on his abdomen, and gently cupped his balls with the palm of your hand. This time, he let out a high-pitched sound. “You like it when I play with you balls like this, don’t you?”, you teased, although you already knew the answer.

“Yes- yes, I love it.” Minho whimpered. “Need more.”

“More?”, you repeated, placing an open-mouthed kiss on his inner thigh while you kept playing with his balls, gently squeezing them, knowing well that it drove him crazy. You knew what he wanted - you just wanted him to say it.

“Yes, please.”, he whined.

“What do you need me to do?”

His cheeks turned incredibly red as he swallowed the lump in his throat before whispering - “In your mouth. Please.”

You decided to give him exactly what he’d so diligently asked for, without teasing him further. After all, your mission was to make him feel good and to get him relaxed. So you moved your mouth from his thigh to his balls, placing a soft kiss on his sensitive skin before sticking your tongue out and licking. He kicked his head back and rolled his eyes in the back of his skull at the feeling - familiar, but at the same time never the same.

By the time you put them in your mouth he was already a shivering mess under your touch, and he could already feel the familiar, warm feeling in his stomach, signaling that his orgasm was approaching, even if from just a simple touch. Your saliva was dripping all over his balls, so you stuck your tongue out to lick it off, brushing against the sensitive skin between his balls and rim in the process - and boy, Minho didn’t even know he was capable of letting out such a high-pitched sound.

“Oh, my-“, he was cut off by you, placing your tongue flat on his rim, widening his eyes as he could feel his legs starting to tremble.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”, you snapped your head in his direction, looking him in the eye. Him being comfortable with this was what mattered the most to you, and no matter how much you were enjoying this - which was a lot -, if Minho didn’t feel like it, you’d stop immediately.

“I don’t…”, even his ears were red now. “I don’t want you to stop.”, he admitted, flustered.

You smirked, before placing your tongue back on his hole. This was new territory for both of you - although you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before.

“Spread your legs wider, baby.”, you instructed, tapping on his knee with your fingers.

He obeyed, giving you full access to his most intimate parts, now fully exposed to you. You collected some of your saliva in your mouth before letting it drip directly onto his tight hole, still very much unexplored, and then latched your mouth on it, using your tongue to spread it all over.

Minho fisted the sheets beneath him so hard his knuckles turned white - the feeling was too overwhelming in the best way possible, and he was pretty sure he was going to cum practically untouched. Well, without having his cock touched, at least - but it was gonna be worth it. Your tongue circled his hole a few times before you closed your lips around it while lapping at it.

“I’m so close.”, he whimpered, chest rising as he panted heavily, toes already curling as he flexed the muscles of his thighs, on the verge of his orgasm.

Your fingers on his balls was the final straw for him. His body trembled as he released, shooting his load onto his stomach as he let a series of high-pitched whimpers and incoherent words fall from his lips. Of all of the orgasms Minho had experienced - this was without a doubt the most intense and mind-blowing, practically sending him to another dimension.

He lay there for a while, taking deep breaths as he came off of his high, feeling extremely light all of a sudden - absolutely no trace of worries or problems or frustration in his mind.

“Baby?”, you called him by his pet name.

“Hm?”, a faint hum was all he manage to get out, not even able to open his eyes. So, so relaxed and light, his whole body felt jelly.

“C’mon, baby, let’s get you cleaned up and then off to bed.”, you kissed his temple softly.

“Mmm, ‘kay. Love you.”, he slurred his words.

Yeah - Minho learned that day that maybe it’s okay not to be in control of everything for once and just live the moment.

☁︎

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#lee know smut #lee know hard hours #lee know hard thoughts #stray kids smut #skz #stray kids #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #minho smut #minho hard thoughts #minho hard hours #lee minho smut #lee minho hard hours #lee minho hard thoughts

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cleostoohot · 2 years

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my long awaited void state success story ˘ ³˘

some of y’all may know that my #1 goal when i started this blog was to finally enter the void state. i knew i could manifest without it but for some reason i felt like it was a necessity to enter that state in order to change my life entirely. i later found many other distractions and methods that made me not desire the void state as much as i did. i was able to completely change my appearance, my relationships, personality, mental health, and much more without using that method which made me completely take it off the pedestal. but recently i entered it, here’s how it went…

how did i enter? i was meditating (per usual) and the void state entered my mind for the first time in a minute. something told me “just do it” even though i have no active desires. i tried to think of at least a couple things to manifest but i couldn’t come up with some but i was still gonna do it anyway. so i just laid in the position i usually sleep in and started affirming…

- the void state is easy to enter

- i love being in the void state

- i enter the void state effortlessly

(those are the only affirmations i remember affirming).

my intention was to wake up in the void state so i just affirmed and affirmed until i fell asleep. then boom… i woke up in the void state. i knew for a fact that i was in it when i absolutely could not feel my body. i was literallyyy nothing but my mind. that was one of the main things i never understood about the void state prior to entering it: how the hell do you not feel your body at all? but it was just like i was fully relaxed and floating. moving on, i wasn’t super excited like i thought i would be, i just felt regular.. like it wasn’t new to me. maybe that’s because i’ve known about it for so long but wasn’t obsessing over it idk. also! i heard that some people see stars when they’re in that state, ian see no damn stars everything was black as shit. and it wasn’t scary at all either so stop letting fear stop you.

okay moving on fr, since i had no desires at the moment i just decided to manifest having the best manifesting skills meaning that all i have to do is affirm once and then i have it instantly. the affirmation i used was “i have mastered manifesting”. after that i just set the intention to wake up at 8am (my sleep schedule has been really fucked up for the past few weeks so when i was setting that intention to wake up at 8am i low key assumed that my sleep schedule would be fixed so i guess you can say i manifested fixing my sleep too).

of course, at 8am i woke up and everything was normal of course. you know when you just had a long ass dream that you thought was real but wake up just to realize it’s fake and you try to comprehend everything?? yeah i was starring at the wall for like 5 minutes before i actually got up lollll. i knew the void state was real but finally entering it just felt like a huge achievement. the first thing i manifested was an ice cold lemonade to be on my dresser (the ones that they sell at chinese food restaurants! blessed) and after i affirmed i literally watched it appear on my dresser! instantly! it was sooo cool i’m happy i manifested that skill cus as someone who used to be soo impatient… i very much deserve this.

i’ve gotten into the void state over 2 weeks ago (august 31st) and since then i’ve manifested much other things. i can make another post soon but for today i just wanted to share the story. it was so easy for me to get in and it can be just as easy for you too <3.

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #neville goddard #self concept #void success #void state #success story

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gardenofnoah · 1 year

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i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u

summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds.

tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k

much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often.

you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance.

he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.

and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be?

“where’s your girl?”

“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”

that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning.

“sure she’s not.”

it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting.

when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”. he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother.

there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise.

lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction.

he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him.

“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”

“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”

“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?”

he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again.

“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him.

he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites.

he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought.

“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth.

“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding.

“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”

he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”

he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“a drink? my—oh. wait.”

your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—

“forget it—“

“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”

he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you.

“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.”

you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually.

“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.”

he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off.

“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.”

he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself.

“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him.

“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous.

“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.”

you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up.

“can i meet him?”

he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall.

“c’mon then.”

it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy.

“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“

“oh, who cares. let me see him!”

he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—

and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting.

you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting.

“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”

“you—huh?”

“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”

“…yeah?”

“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.”

Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply.

“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”

that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish.

“i—uh. didn’t.”

you blink at him, processing, and then you frown.

“are you kidding me?”

he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment.

you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.”

as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor.

“why?”

“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.”

Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar.

“alright. Buck it is, then.”

you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit.

“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.”

he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead.

“see you Friday?”

he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright.

“okay. see you, Touya.”

“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.”

every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him.

you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy.

it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you.

you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you.

and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.

you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare.

it was even harder to get away with it.

“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.”

“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.

“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?”

“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”

he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response.

you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him.

“pick a color.”

“what?”

“i said pick a color, grandpa.”

the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?”

you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy.

“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.”

“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking.

another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.

there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them.

you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center.

you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space.

“whatcha thinking about?”

he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.”

“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch.

“made you something.”

“hm?”

you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”

his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands.

“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?”

he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”

you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them.

“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”

“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.”

you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering.

“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.

he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work.

customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor.

“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door.

Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.”

“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.”

“why’s that?”

you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment.

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter.

you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks.

you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came.

you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately.

you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.

you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it.

you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break.

standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it.

sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal

received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage

received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?

sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it

sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?

received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?

sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone

received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow

you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family.

you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek.

you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.

you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier.

like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.

“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”

“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early.

“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—

“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”

your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth.

“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—

and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face.

you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look.

she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.

“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”

he blinks. “i–uh–”

“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”

she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house.

you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.

“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.

“you’re related to that dinosaur?”

you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”

he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light.

dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children.

“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this.

“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”

you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.

“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar.

“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”

the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”

he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”

“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”

he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”

you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”

you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it.

the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.

“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”

you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”

he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”

“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”

you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.

“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment.

“sometimes.”

you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know.

“are you angry?”

he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any.

“no.”

the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.

you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you.

you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.

“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once.

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery.

“make it quick, brat.”

you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave.

“now go inside before y’get sick.”

you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either.

you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.

“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”

you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.

“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”

he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.

you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.

you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn.

“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”

Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.

“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”

he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch.

“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation.

“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”

he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”

“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t.

“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length.

she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.”

he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh.

“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”

Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened.

he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise.

the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely.

he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.

immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin.

“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”

his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny.

“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing.

“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered.

shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.

he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt.

“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”

you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.

“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”

he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.

but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire.

a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.

“come back to mine?”

you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret.

his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.

“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold.

“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.

“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it.

he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you.

“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing.

“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole.

“lead the way, old man.”

he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now.

he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.

your demeanor changes immediately.

you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch.

“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”

"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"

he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."

it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.

“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”

something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it.

"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits.

he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.

you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him.

"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.

"yes."

it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar.

through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager.

you seem to be aware of that, too.

you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far.

"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing.

"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”

you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way.

"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."

he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you.

"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.

you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"

he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him.

"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."

and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp.

"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now.

he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried.

adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.

what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems.

"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely.

he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue.

you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache.

"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."

he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it.

he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again.

you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t.

“need you, Touya.”

he could just die.

"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath.

"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."

he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory.

he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it.

"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

as if you'd ever need to do that.

he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you.

"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"

he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.

"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.

in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.

"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"

he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can.

he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation.

he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand.

"you with me, kid?"

you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."

he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh.

"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep.

he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out.

he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.

he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that.

there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you.

it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting.

that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else.

“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”

you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves.

“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”

the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you.

it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too.

still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder.

“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”

“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”

you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”

it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it.

“you could’ve fooled me.”

he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple.

“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch.

“let me know if you see one, then.”

“hey!”

he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh.

“c’mon then, pretty lady.”

you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.

“you alright?”

it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.

you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down.

despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it.

he does.

“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?”

his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth.

“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”

you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time.

you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant.

“s’that such a bad thing?”

your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely.

“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts.

“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”

“i know that you don’t do this shit.”

he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear.

“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.”

you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration.

“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”

“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“

“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it.

“you don’t—you’re not—“

“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”

“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”

you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this.

“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.”

you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there.

“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.”

his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud.

you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion.

“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”

he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.”

you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put.

“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest.

“i love you.”

epilogue—1 year later

Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now.

he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.

“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”

he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying.

walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh.

it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart.

“babe? you here?”

you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.

“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.

“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him.

“what did Mam need—oh.”

you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms.

you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.

“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve, “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”

you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners.

“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”

you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there.

“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again.

“do y’want to?”

you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”

he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”

you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”

“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—

“lunch meat.”

“...i’m sorry?”

“his name is lunch meat.”

you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body.

“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”

he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

#am i....a sap?#i love him. oh my god do i love him #my baby deserves a good fucking ending #glares at horikoshi #todoroki touya x you #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya fluff #touya x reader #fic: when fire doesn't burn

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tinystepsforward · 2 months

Text

i've still been keeping tabs on what's happening at automattic. a couple of things i've observed:

toni schneider (who is a man btw), the interim ceo, has been quite open with staff in ways that mean they generally seem relieved to have him leading the company for now. i've heard people speak optimistically about him from all parts of the spectrum (by which i mean: staff who are trans tumblr users right through to staff who are "anti-woke" or whatever and were absolutely intolerable to work with as a trans person), which seems like... a good sign? maybe.

this relative transparency includes things like weekly updates from an executive level, as well as openly saying that he did have to directly speak to matt and encourage him to, you know, stop posting.

matt is back to his usual milquetoast blogging, and replied to someone on mastodon about the AI issue saying he'd comment on it when he's back in may, so whatever toni said to him seems to have worked for him keeping out of it for now.

people have no idea what it's gonna look like when matt's back.

the best case scenario is that schneider manages to create a significant enough boost in morale and productivity that "it'd be nice if we just kept him" becomes a sentiment that isn't held just by the rank and file. i don't know how likely that is, but there's a sense of cautious hope and of making the most of this reprieve from matt's increasingly erratic decisions no matter what.

the tumblr staff statement was approved by schneider and hr, so i am also hopeful they won't face repercussions. what they said might seem pretty mild from the outside, or carefully worded, but it's pretty clear to me and to most people who've worked at companies like this that it's a pretty bold one.

i'll quote a friend:

keep reminding the more histrionic elements out there that: 1. there really are trans people, INCLUDING TRANS WOMEN, in the fight here. 2. we don't have nearly the power they seem to think we do. 3. we're fighting anyway. was the statement we wrote enough? fuck no. does it fix everything? fuck no. but we literally called out the CEO, and got the greenlight for it from the interim CEO. i don't know where this will end, but that's not nothing.

i'm not sure automattic deserves the immense honor of having this many of its brave, dedicated trans staff put effort into trying to make it better. but it has them, and it would be wise to do its best to keep them. so many of us — even me, even now — believe in the ideals that drew us to the work automattic does, and hope that it can return to them. we will see!

other things i want to say:

the wellbeing of my friends on staff is my priority. i am interested primarily in their safety, and won't pressure them to give me goss. the ways i've spoken publicly are already pretty scary to people who might worry about retaliation against them just for being known to be my friend.

this is a regular personal blog. i'll keep updating if there's shit to update about, but i also don't work at automattic any more (thank fuck, again), have a life, and am not interested in declaring matt my specific nemesis or otherwise acting purely out of spite.

some of youse really deeply do not understand companies, the internet, generative ai, or pretty much anything else i've said. that's okay — big tech in particular is fucked up on purpose bc it benefits those in power to have it be incomprehensible! but maybe it's not a great position from which to get mad at me specifically or at staff for idk not personally assassinating matt.

got tired of blocking transphobes so i've turned anons off. i'll probably flick them back on eventually.

#tony muses #tumblr meta #<- just for my blog's tag search

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luvfy0dor · 6 months

Note

Henlo

You know who it is, we all know, henlo

I feel like I’ve been here a lot recently

Just starting off with saying I loved the Dazai piece. It was really cute. Dad Dazai trying his best, made my heart melty

But I think you know why I’m here today

On this day

Honestly the day doesn’t entirely matter but I’m here on THIS one

With the dad Fyodor thought I promised

Cuz here I was thinking to myself. I feel like Fyodor definitely wants his child or children having some connection to Russian culture, since that’s a part of them too, regardless of their other parent’s nationality or background, he definitely wants his included. (Tho his partner could totally do the same)

So I was wondering, would you like a piece of him either teaching his children Russian or making Russian food for them? Or really sharing any Russian cultural thing with them at all. Honestly whatever one is easier for you to write or go into detail with, they’re all equally cute.

Cuz if his child or children develop a connection to that, I feel like that would make him a lot happier than maybe he would fully show.

I hope this ask sparks the creative brain juices in a fun way

Also considering sending a Halloween themed request at some point idk… oh but who knows!We’re here rn and having fun with this, that’s all we need at the moment

Also real glad you enjoy my messages lol. I will absolutely keep sending. Take as long as you need

-the person here attempting to give everyone baby fever because it’s funny

This blog’s Dad Fyodor anon

"da!" - Dad!Fyodor x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; Google translate Russian, not much reader involvement, very minimal proofreading happened

Description; Dad!Fyodor teaching his child about Russian culture! It incorporates ideas from the first dad!Fyodor part.

A/n; YESYESYES I one hundred percent agree, I think about this on the regular OMG I hope I depicted this well bc my knowledge on Russia isn't all that extensive lol, if you have any corrections, do tell me!! : ) Also I'm gonna be so fr I had NO idea what to name this so we're rolling with da I guess.............

Headcannons !! ༊*·˚

★ He teaches his child/children classical Russian music when they're old enough to play more difficult pieces. Until then, he'll settle for twinkle twinkle little star.

★ Introduces his children to ballet.

★ His children have a variety of Russian-originating toys, such as Matryoshka/Russian nesting dolls, rocking horses etc.

★ Brings his children to Russia at least once, specifically to Moscow (irl Dostoevsky was raised in Moscow, so we're gonna assume BSD Dostoevsky was too) to experience the culture first hand.

★ Teaches his children the foundations of the Russian language. He would like them to fluently speak it one day, though.

★ Cooks Russian food for them like I mentioned and included in the first part.

★ They learn about Russian history from their father, anywhere from Peter the Great to fur trade and all that jazz

Scenario !! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

(as always, p/t is parental title, d/n is daughters name)

Your head leaned against your fist while you watched your husband and daughter focus on their current activity. D/n carefully picked the colors and pigments she would use to color in the white spaces on her paper, and Fyodor just tried to keep things inside the lines. You could see the little girls tongue slightly sticking out from between her lips in concentration, making you smile.

Your daughter went to pick her next color, chosing a pink crayon to fill in the nose of the cat. "Papa, what'd you say your hat was called again? The one you always wear." She clarifies, even though there was really only one hat that Fyodor would wear at all. His eyes don't leave his thin paper as he replies, "A ushanka, and it's from Russia, malyshka." He answered, pushing some of his hair out of his face and behind his ear. "Russia." She says, the sound not unfamiliar, but not common to her either. "Where's that?" She tilts her head upwards, putting her crayon down to signify her attention on her papa. He puts his down too and rests his arms on top of one another.

"Quite far, but it is in both Asia and Europe. That's how big it is, it stretches over two continents." He says, a smile on his face. Her eyes widen a little. "That is really big. Have you been there before?" Her head tilts and she shifts a bit in her seat. "I grew up there, in the city of Moscow." He says, happy with her clear interest in his motherland.

"We should go there for a vacation one day!" She says, a grin on her face. He laughs a little bit and nods. "I agree, we definetly should." He agrees, fantasizing about it in his head. "Is that why you talk like that?" She questions her fathers accent, skittering around the table and climbing onto his lap. He smiles gently and nods. "Yes, it's called an accent, malyshka. I learned English, but Russian is my mother tongue. There are a lot of different pronunciations for certain sounds in Russian." He tells her, his hands fidgeting with the young girls hair. He parts it into three sections and starts to braid it.

"Is everything different there?" Fyodor hums, thinking as he weaves her hair into a gorgeous French braid. "Well, it definitely very different, but I don't think I would say everything." He says. "There are more historical differences than anything, if I do say so myself." She hums in understanding. "Papa, can you teach me some Russian?" She asks, turning her head to look at him with puppy dog eyes, even though she really didn't need them. He smiled and nodded.

"What should I teach you?" He softly questions, looking into the young girls eyes. She thinks for a moment, tapping her pointer finger on her chin. "I don't know! Whatever you want." She says, just excited to hear another language. He chuckles softly. "я не знаю, что тебе сказать" (I don't know what to tell you) he responds, a small grin on his face. Her eyes widen, almost as if she never believed he could speak a different language. You giggle a bit at her reaction.

"What does that mean?!" She excitedly asks, her mind seemingly blown over this. "It simply means I don't know what to tell you." He speaks. "But I can tell you the simple stuff. Like 'да' means yes and 'нет' means no. Hello is 'привет' and goodbye is 'до свидания'."

The young girl takes a mental note of these words. "привет, papa! I think I said that right." She says. You proudly watch the scene go down. Fyodor gives you a similarly prideful smile. "Yes, you did wonderful, malyshka." He praises her, patting her shoulder. "I'll have to teach you more one day." She nods vigorously, very obviously wanting him to. "Yes! And then we can have secret conversations, no one else will know what we're saying!" She snickers, making him smile.

A/n; I hope this is alright!! I loved this request a whole lot. Oh, also, feel free to send in that Halloween request even though it's November now lol

"Oh, ofcourse. That will probably be rather far in the future, though." He says, removing her from his lap and gently patting her back. "That's okay. If I learn more I'll know more words." She states the obvious. "And I'm gonna learn from the best russian ever." She beams, making Fyodor grin. "That's right, sweetheart."

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hentyehottie · 1 year

Note

i am so upset. we’ve been moots for like a month now and i haven’t come to throw some filth in your ask box yet 😩 buT it’s not too late!

alsO hI miya it’s nice to officially greet you 👉🏾👈🏾 i’m glad you enjoyed reading warm bodies! how are ya?

clears throat this is so long and i’m sorry but i like to ramble when i have ideas

So, I was lowkey just scrolling through your blog (i need to read more of your tasty ass work fr fr) and I noticed you reblogged a short fic about villian Kiribaku… A concept that has been untouched by my brain and was probably for good reason because now all I can think about is Red Riot the hardening villain who uses unbreakable to strike fear into civilians, heroes, and villains who dare to threaten his authority. Red Riot the villain is fucking huge and bulky and still has a smile of sunshine but a heart darkened by a selfish society. He honestly gives me Pain vibes, and idk if you’ve ever watched The Boys but I think he’d fit in perfectly with them, he definitely wants to kill heroes who don’t deserve to be called heroes.

Red Riot is very meticulous about the crimes he commits but there is one thing for sure— he loves a good fight. Doesn’t matter where the fight is or when it is, if there’s a fight brewin’ he’ll be there to find it. Also, random fact, he likes rocks soooo… he robs a lot of jewelry stores when he wants to add to his collection or he goes “shopping” at museums.

For example, big boy Riot has left the headquarters in search of a way to get his knuckles bloody, cruising around, looking for a hero to pick a fight with. Listen, even he’s got standards. He’s murdered a couple of people but never innocent ones, only heroes that don’t deserve their titles. And for that, he’s wanted by the Japanese government… Why’s he still walkin’ around like he’s some regular civilian though? I don’t even know. But… oh! Look at that, a hero.

The name of this hero doesn’t matter, he’ll scrapbook it later. A grin spreads across the villains face, a set of razor sharp teeth reveal themselves as he begins to approach the unsuspecting hero, following them to a more secluded part of the city to minimize witnesses as well as collateral damage.

This particular hero has quite a destructive quirk, so it’s truly no surprise that as soon as Red Riot attacks him, the hero begins to lay in blows that aren’t held back in the least. Indiscriminate waves of the disastrous quirk, that Red Riot easily dodges or blocks, cause nearly irreversible damage to nearby buildings, which no-doubt is putting civilians in even more danger than Red Riot’s presence alone. This is exactly /why/ he does the things that he does. With just one stupid fucking test, anyone could become a hero, even psychopaths like this.

As the hero is attempting to knock Red Riot down, the redhead villian doesn’t halter in anyway, getting closer and closer to the hero that looks like their about to shit their pants right in the alley. He’s nearly a foot away from the hero when he hears a blood-curdling scream that appears to be coming from above. He takes a moment to glance up and sees a woman plummeting to her death from the destroyed building that was just beside the alley. Then he looked back at the hero to see if he would do anything.

No. He was far too busy trying to keep his own ass safe. And for some reason, that pissed him off beyond comparison. He’d been holding back since the fight began, giving the hero a chance to defend himself, but it appeared time was running out. Hardening his fist, he aimed a blow directly to the hero’s face, satisfied with the sickening sound of flesh and bone breaking from the heavy punch, and watched the hero fly back into a pile of garbage bags, deserved.

With the screaming come closer and closer to where he was, Red Riot used the debris of the crumbling building to propel himself upwards and easily captured the woman who’d been falling, only then taking note of the bundle of life that she had protectively curled over. As they approached the ground, he hardened his legs and landed with ease, causing quite an indent in the earth.

While she’d been falling, hero eyes remained shut the entire time, but when she stopped falling, suddenly becoming hyper aware of her surroundings and the big strong arms that were wrapped around her rather protectively, she slowly opened one eye to take a peek at her savior.

In all his glory stood the infamous new Hero Killer, staring down at her with an arched brow on his handsome yet rugged face. The childhood scar on his eyelid had somewhat faded but fresh scars had been added to his face, a few nicks on his chin, cheek, and forehead, but they didn’t take away from his handsome appearance. He’d been wearing a red sleeveless hoodie, that showed off his muscular arms and a sleeve of ink that started from his right wrist, up the entirety of his arm, and disappeared under the hoodie no-doubt covering his right pec with a decorative tattoo, along with some plain black cargo shorts. His hair was spiked in the front and the rest flowed down his back in a mullet of sorts. She hadn’t realized she bad been silently staring at him in awe until he cleared his throat, asking if she was alright. Weirdly enough, she felt comfortable enough to answer him honestly, along with thanking him for saving her life. Unexpectedly, a cocky grin spread across his face and an idea came to mind.

“I’ve got other ways you can thank me, lil’ diamond.”

Next thing she knows, Red Riot aka Hero Killer 2.0 is mumbling some name that starts with a ‘K’ and a portal of purple smoke suddenly forms beside them out of thin air. Poor girl is basically kidnapped right then and there, but who woulda thunk Red Riot wanted a reward for taking down another hero and that reward just happened to be the lil’ milf who’d just dropped from the sky (or destroyed apartment building more specifically).

Don’t worry though, he may be a villain but he’s sweet and kind when he wants to be. And that includes taking care of you and your kid. Just like any normal abductee you question this motives and why’s he suddenly taken you from your home. He easily corrects you, saying that your home no longer existed and it was the manly thing to do to offer his surface to provide for you until you were able to get back on your feet.

(insert that one Soulja Boy audio where he says ‘HUH?!’ hella loud)

Why in the flying fuck would this man offer to take care of you? He had to have some kind of objective. But… to your surprise, he didn’t. In fact, you were free to leave whenever you wanted, and he made that clear.

Much to your surprise, Red Riot didn’t live in the LoV headquarters, he lived by himself in his own lil’ cabin in the woods that could easily fit a family or two. It was strange. You were thankful that he saved you and your baby’s life, but he was still a villain. A really, really handsome one at that. After his oh-so-caring suggestion, he mentioned if you wanted him to he would drive you back to the city and drop you off wherever you wanted to go. You dunno how it happened exactly but he’d been holding your baby while he was speaking to you, rocking the sleeping infant in his arms like he was their biological father. How was this man so fucking charismatic and sweet to you? He HAD to have some kind of ulterior motive.

Spoiler alert: yes, yes he did, but not the one you would expect from him.

Y’see… he’s always wanted a family. And here you were, dropped right into arms for the taking, and you didn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon, so he was going to use this opportunity.

A day turned into a week, a week turned into a month. And just as he promised, he took you out the house whenever you wanted and asked you each and every time if you wanted to be left in the city after your daily adventures (shopping and shit y’know, yes this man goes grocery shopping). But you always went back to his cabin with him, each and every time. Was this Stockholm Syndrome? No… couldn’t be, he openly told you to leave if you wanted to, then did that mean you were falling for the rugged mass-murdering villian? Looks that way.

As expected, the developing relationship between the three of you was not normal in the least, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He’d even introduced you to some of his buddies from LoV, only the ones he trusted tbh, and after that— you now had some willing and ready babysitters on call whenever you two needed.

Who wouldn’t abuse this opportunity? After some time convincing you, Red Riot, who had disclosed to you his real name was Eijirou Kirishima, managed to get you to go on a real date with him with just the two of you. And soooooo, ya did.

Who knew a villain could be so romantic? Certainly not you. He’d wined and dined you like his life depended on it and you were now putty in his hands. Perfect. The real games could begin.

He’s called a driver to take you both home and before you know it, Eijirou’s carrying you over the threshold like the two of you had just said ‘I Do.’

cracks knuckles

Now, this is where the real fun begins.

Red Riot, the hero-killing, tall, muscular, BDE, long-haired, thick-thighed, scarred, tattooed, smiling, thieving, hardening villain… has a breeding kink. And not just that, he’s got a big fucking dick that’s usually impressively hidden behind his usual wardrobe of loose fitting pants. But, you’ve seen him adjust himself more than a few times when he thinks you’re not paying attention, but you’re sure he just does it subconsciously without even realizing.

So there’s no real surprise when he’s dropped you onto your shared bed after a date and you can see the imprint of it through the black slacks he chose to wear. You coulda swore you saw the fuckin’ thing throbbin’ through the fabric but maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

He’s now staring you down, noticing how your eyes have stayed glued to his crotch, with a timid look with some worry hidden behind your eyes. He grins and decides to have a little show for you. You’re struck back into reality when he suddenly grabs it, giving it a lil’ squeeze and a tug, causing your thighs to rub together in anticipation.

“No need to be nervous. It ain’t gonna hurt ya, baby. Promise.”

He purred, stroking his cock a few for times for you through his pants before moving his hands to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“Think you could strip for me, mamas? I like that dress on ya… Think I’d rip it to shreds if I tried to take it off.”

Sweet fuck, when’d you become so obedient???

Before you know it, you’re both naked and on top of the bed, not even bothering to get under the comforter or the sheets. Seems you two were impatient.

Eijirou was splayed out on his back, cock on fully display as it rested against his stomach that wasn’t exactly chiseled with abs, it was a lil’ squishy but the muscles in his arms and chest were hard to ignore. And would ya look at that, you were right, he did have a nagasode and hikae style tattoo with a dragon, flowers, and other symbols. His monstrous cock was almost teasing you with its ridiculous width and length, how was that going to fit in you? With its thick tanned shaft, and its fat brink pink circumcised tip that was dribbling precum despite being only half erect. The happy trail that led to a trimmed bush of onyx hair made you think about the hyped mane of hair on his head.

He’d decided to leave the gel out of his hair this evening so the bright crimson locks flowed in waves under his head… what kinda conditioner did this man use? Them locks shiny as a muhh’fucka- No, no, no, don’t get distracted.

Where were you?

He’d had you sitting on his chest, beckoning you to straddle his face with your thighs, and when you hesitated he took matters into his own hands and grabbed you by the hips, pulling you right onto his face.

Maybe I should have mentioned earlier that he’d got a forked tongue…? Y’know, the kinda tongue a snake has… He kinda got into a bit of body modification after dropping out of U.A.

And the way he uses his forked tongue on you is heavenly. So heavenly, that you nearly hunch over and run away from his skilled tongue, whining and whimpering his name, pathetically asking him to calm down and give you some time to adjust. The iron grip on your hips forces you stay right where he wants you, thick digits easily sinking themselves into your plush hips like memory foam. He’s absolutely ravishing you with the rapid fire motions of his tongue, writing out every Hiragana symbol in the charts, observing how you react to every trace of ever symbol. And when he draws out that one symbol, his tongue acting as a brush drenched in ink and your pussy acting as the paper, he notices the way you shudder and let out a guttural moan, clenching at his hair hard enough to make his scalp burn just a fraction— he smirks, abusing this new power.

ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki ki.

Ironically, the symbol that makes you shudder and silently scream sounds a bit like laughter, and laughter you shall receive. It is the best medicine after all.

Abusing this particular symbol, it is no surprise that the hardening villian soon rips an orgasm right out of your body, the searing heat that builds up inside you releasing into his mouth as you squeeze his head between your thick thighs.

Easily, Eijirou laps up your sweet nectar while groaning about how sweet and delectable you are, and gives you a moment to collect yourself, hearing the sweet pants and huffs that escape you as he rubs comforting circles onto your hips. That won’t last long, however.

“Think ya can cum on my tongue a few more times, lovely? Gotta make sure you’re slippery enough to bounce on my cock a lil’ later after all, hm? Be a good girl f’me, ya know ya can.”

my bad, my bad… went a lil’ crazy on this one 🧍 do with this as you please, aLsO i had an urge to draW hIm but i haven’t colored the lineart yet 😩 ill show ya when im doNe

You’ve been reduced to nothing but a whining, whimpering mess on the redhead’s tongue. He’s flipped and twisted your aching body so many times to get you in the perfect position, but nothing beats that good ole spread eagle.

Your hero turned villainous lover has both of those big hands holding you wide open for him, fingertips sunk into your plush flesh.

One knee is flush against the bed, the other is up against your chest, leaving nothing hidden from his fiery gaze. Your pretty pussy is his to abuse, at the mercy of that dexterous tongue and those razor sharp teeth.

Your moans and sounds are so cute to him, so pretty he wants nothing more than to keep fucking you on that long tongue.

You peer down at the beast between your thighs and the sight has you immediately tossing your head back, a breathy sigh passing through your lips.

Eijirou looks so precious—crimson eyes hooded and low, the thin sheen of your slick spread around his mouth while he licked and sucked you to another release.

‘Cu-cumming.’ Is how you’ll warn him before your pussy is creaming around that tongue again. You’re so sensitive, clit so swollen and red even the waft of his breath hurts.

But Eiji loves seeing you squirm, so much that he’s lathering your poor clit in spit, sucking the nub into his mouth just to hear you squeal as you claw at the sheets.

“Ei, p-please baby.” You’re begging, pleading for just an ounce of mercy from your lover’s tongue.

He raises his head to look up at you, or what’s left of you, granting a brief intermission as he flips you onto your belly.

He’s palming the fat of your ass, spreading you until he’s face to face with your delicious cunt and puckered asshole, his moistened lips curling up into a devilish smirk.

He loves this. He loves you and your perfect fucking pussy so much that tonight he plans on making you a mommy again. As soon as you cum for him one more time he plans to split you open and breed you.

“Just one more pretty girl, I promise.”

It’s nice to meet youuu, I love your work 🥺❤️Villian Kiri makes my pussy brain melt 🥹 I hate that it’s so short but I’m writing like 4 other one shots and my brain is a can of baked beans right now 😭

Hey bae, care to join us? @darkmajesty-xo

#kirishima smut #villain kirishima #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you

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